Soldiers of Fortune

Soldiers of Fortune are men who have no political interest in the outcome of armed conflict but participate in it as hired infantry in exchange for lucrative payments.  Most of these men received training while serving in European and American military forces. The reasons men fight as mercenaries are probably as varied as those for joining a regular military organization. Still, no matter their circumstances, they’ve probably concluded that the pay is worth the risks. One risk, but not the only one, is that mercenaries have no legal protection. If their operations fail, hired soldiers are subject to arrest, trial, and capital punishment —which is one motivation for winning their battles.

Major “Mad Mike” Hoare

One such man was Thomas Michael Hoare (1919-2020), a British mercenary leader and adventurer in Africa and Seychelles, who passed away in February. Hoare’s parents were Irish expatriates working in Calcutta when “Mike” was born. His father sent him to Margate College[1] in England for his education when he was 8-years old.  Believing that his son was best suited for training in accountancy, Mike’s father did not allow him to attend Sandhurst; Mike instead joined the British territorial guard, an integrated reserve organization.

At the commencement of hostilities in World War II, military authorities assigned Mike to London’s Irish Rifles. He later joined the 2nd Reconnaissance Regiment of the Royal Armored Corps, received a commission to Second Lieutenant, and served in Burma and India.  By 1945, Hoare was serving as a Major. After the war, he married Elizabeth Stott, with whom he had three children. Short in stature, most people regarded Hoare as a “charming fellow,” whose dress and appearance was always “dapper.”

After the war, Mike re-enrolled in an accountancy program to complete his training, and he was qualified and certified in 1948. When Hoare realized how bored he was with his sedate lifestyle in London, he relocated his family to Natal Province, South Africa.  There, while working in accountancy, he organized safari operations as a part-time interest.  It was then that he began to quietly advertise his availability to work as a soldier for hire.  Always athletically active, Hoare kept in shape by marathon walking and long-range motorcycle races (Cairo to Cape Town).

By the early 1960s, Hoare realized that he wanted to return to a soldier’s life.  Between 1961-65, Major Mike Hoare led two mercenary expeditions into the Congo.  His first mercenary action occurred in 1961 in Katanga, a province attempting to break away from the newly created Republic of the Congo.  His mercenary unit called itself “Four Commando.” By this time, Elizabeth had had her fill with her husband’s adventurous life, and they divorced.  Hoare later married Phyllis Sims, an airline stewardess, with whom he had two additional children.

The Congo

In 1964, Congolese Prime Minister Moise Tshombe (his employer in Katanga) re-hired Major Hoare to lead a unit called Five Commando, Armée Nationale Congolaise (also, 5 Commando ANC), comprised of around 300 men of mixed nationality, to help put down a revolt known in history as the Simba Rebellion[2].  A former British officer named Alistair Wicks[3] served as Hoare’s second-in-command. Tshombe brought in mercenaries because he distrusted his military commander, General Joseph-Désiré Motobu, who had already led two coup d’états against Tshombe and refused to commit the Congolese Army against the Simba.

Once hired, Hoare recruited his commando force by running ads in South African newspapers, asking for physically fit white men experienced in the combat arms.  While in control of 5 Commando, the press began referring to Hoare as “Mad Mike,” painting him as a wild man. “Wild” was not an accurate description of Mike Hoare.  He was competent, resourceful, and thorough in planning mercenary operations.  Hoare was also a strict disciplinarian who demanded that his men shave, wear close-cropped hair, dress smartly, and attend church services weekly.  5 Commando was an all-white combat unit, its men representing South Africa, Rhodesia, Belgium, Germany, and the United Kingdom —all of whom previously served during the Second World War.

Mad Mike repudiated claims that 5 Commando was a mercenary unit.  He instead argued that his men were volunteers who resisted a communist takeover in the Congo.  In 1963 dollars, Hoare’s men earned $1,100/monthly.  Mike fought the sobriquet Soldier of Fortune; he claimed the money was never an issue with either himself or his men.  It may have been true for Mike Hoare, but such a claim did not describe his men, who frequently looted and misappropriated United Nations property in the Congo.

Reflecting pride in his Irish heritage, Hoare adopted a flying goose as his unit’s symbol.  He called his men Wild Geese, after the Irishmen who fought for the Stuarts in exile during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.  Mike Hoare had an excellent reputation as a combat commander.  He was calm and courageous under fire, always leading his men from the front to inspire them.  As a disciplinarian, Hoare once pistol-whipped one of his men who attempted to organize a mutiny.

Initially, the officers of the Simba force included tribal leaders who were, in turn, guided by military advisors from Eastern Bloc nations seeking to establish a communist regime in the Congo.  Ultimately, the Simba’s leadership devolved to the military advisors because tribal leadership was inept.  At first, Simba rebels successfully captured much of eastern Congo and, in doing so, quickly proclaimed the People’s Republic of Stanleyville —perhaps thinking the war was almost over.  However, poor Simba organization, lack of cohesion, and competing tribal interests defeated these initial successes.

Hoare capitalized on these failings.  His use of available air support, his application of diversionary tactics, and his innovative use of reverse marches enabled him to deceive and confuse Simba rebel commanders; he was never where they thought he might be. Hoare was also known to hijack boats on the Congo River and use them for making lightning-fast water-borne raids to rescue hostages.  Hoare was also ruthless in combat.  Having no time for prisoners, he never took any.

Later in the rebellion, Hoare worked in concert with Belgian paratroopers, Cuban exile pilots, and CIA-hired paramilitary forces who attempted to save 1,600 European civilians and missionaries in Stanleyville. Of the Simba treatment of their captives, Hoare reported, “The mayor of Stanleyville, Sylvere Bonekwe, was a great and respected man, whom the Simba forced to stand naked in front of a frenzied crowd while one of them cut out his liver.”

In another Congolese operation, labeled Dragon Rouge, Hoare saved another 2,000 European lives when he rescued them from Simba savages.  Before the rescue, the Simba tormented their captives to the point where these wretched people no longer resembled human beings.  Hoare remarked, “Taking Stanleyville was the greatest achievement of the Wild Geese.  There is only so much 300 men can do, but there we were, part of a very big push, and clearing the rebels out was a major victory.  As a result of this one incident, Hoare became a hero in the western press.  Hoare didn’t see himself as a hero, however —but he was thoroughly disgusted by the savagery of the Simba rebels and gave them no quarter in combat.

In 1964, Tshombe promoted Hoare to Lieutenant Colonel and added another battalion to Hoare’s force.  Hoare commanded 5 Commando through November 1965.  Reflecting his anti-Communist attitude, Hoare said, “I had wanted nothing so much as to have 5 Commando known as an integral part of the ANC, a 5 Commando destined to strike a blow to rid the Congo of the greatest cancer the world has ever known —the creeping, insidious disease of communism.”

After returning to South Africa, Hoare told the press that “killing communists is like killing vermin, killing African nationalists is as if one is killing an animal.  My men and I have killed between 5,000-10,000 Congo rebels in the 20 months that I have spent in the Congo. But that’s not enough. There are 20 million Congolese, you know, and I assume that about half of them at one time or another were rebels whilst I was down here.” One of the Simba advisors was an Argentine-Cuban officer named Che Guevara, a murdering swine of such low character and regard for human life that he wantonly murdered hundreds if not thousands of people.  Hoare was proud of the fact that he was the first man to have defeated Guevara.

The exploits of Hoare and 5 Commando in the Congo have been much celebrated and have contributed to veneration of the mercenary lifestyle.  Many of Hoare’s exploits appeared in Soldier of Fortune Magazine and pulp novels. Fictional writers and filmmakers modeled their heroes after Colonel Hoare.  One fictional film account of the Wild Geese in 1978 starred Richard Burton, Roger Moore, and Richard Harris, with Burton playing the Mike Hoare character’s role.

Seychelles

The Republic of Seychelles is an archipelagic island country in the Indian Ocean that consists of 115 islands.  In 1978, Seychellois exiles living in South Africa approached South African officials to discuss the prospect of launching a coup d’état against usurper-President France-Albert René.  René promoted himself to president from prime minister while the duly elected President James Mancham was out of the country.  The United States viewed a coup d’état favorably because of the distrust certain Washington officials had of René and the proximity of Seychelles to the American base at Diego Garcia.

With a clear signal of U.S. backing, friends of Mancham contacted Colonel Hoare to see if he would be willing to lead an operation to Seychelles to reclaim Mancham’s presidency. Of course, Hoare was willing, so he raised a force of around 55 men from former South African special forces, former Rhodesian troopers, and ex-Congo mercenaries.  For Hoare’s plan to work, he disguised his men as rugby players and named them Ye Ancient Order of Froth Blowers.  He hid automatic weapons at the bottom of their luggage, which was then possible because South African rugby players often acquired toys and returned them to South Africa to distribute among several orphanages.

However, while going through the customs line at the Seychelles airport, one of Hoare’s men erroneously entered the “Something to Declare” line.  Once in that line, customs officials insisted on searching his bag, discovered concealed weapons, and sounded an alarm.

Another of Hoare’s men then pulled out a rifle, quickly assembled it, and shot the customs office before he could escape. Despite this setback and no other option available to him, Hoare continued the operation, and fighting broke out inside the airport.  In the middle of this melee, an Indian jetliner was slightly damaged upon landing when it collided with trucks on the runway.  Realizing that the Indian flight passengers were in danger of finding themselves in a crossfire, whether they remained aboard the aircraft or not, Hoare quickly negotiated a ceasefire with Seychellois officials.  Once these passengers safely deplaned, Hoare and his men boarded the Indian plane, hijacked it, and flew back to South Africa.

Upon returning to South Africa, the South African government charged Hoare and his men with kidnapping (the aircrew). Since kidnapping carries no minimum sentence in South Africa —and because it appeared as if Hoare and his men might “walk,” international powers pressured South Africa to recharge Hoar with aircraft hijacking, a more severe offense.  A South African court convicted Hoare and 42 of his 43 men. The one-man found not guilty was an American ex-soldier, a former Vietnam War veteran wounded at the airport and placed on the aircraft while in a sedated condition.

Colonel Hoare received a sentence of ten years imprisonment for his part in the Seychelles Affair.  The South African government quietly released Hoare’s mercenaries after serving only three months in jail.  Hoare, on the other hand, remained in confinement.  After serving 33 months in prison, South Africa’s president granted Hoare a Christmas Day pardon.

In total, Mike Hoare authored eight books about his life as a mercenary. He passed away from natural causes on 2 February 2020.

About Modern Mercenaries

Mercenaries continue their work in the world’s cesspools, but no longer as “Soldiers of Fortune.” Today they’re called Corporate Warriors.  These modern men are no longer the hard-drinking quick-fisted dogs of war of years past.  They wear designer clothes, use the finest after-shave, and rather than operating from their home offices, they rent spacious glass and chrome-plated offices.  Corporate executives are well-read and experienced former combat officers, astute businessmen, and politically connected players in the field of regional conflict.  They maintain good relations with the political movers-and-shakers of their own and other countries.  They refer to combat units as “security groups.” They also no longer confine themselves to coup d’états; today, they focus their attention on mining security, engineering, transportation, finance, and of course, area and personal security for highly placed politicians.  These well-connected modern corporations no longer need to smuggle arms and munitions —FedEx delivers them to corporate warehouses.

Who hires these kinds of firms?  The much-celebrated Kofi Anan discussed hiring corporate warriors while serving as UN Under-Secretary for peacekeeping operations.  For one thing, hiring a private security group is more cost-effective than maintaining a regular military defense force.  There is even talk of replacing traditional police departments with corporate law enforcers.

A Personal note

I have known one mercenary. While serving as Adjutant, Marine Aircraft Group 46 (1979-81), one reservist served as an airfield operations officer in one of the group’s subordinate drill units.  I will refer to him as Major Charles Claire (not his real name).

Claire had an average build, lean, but had a pallid face with no evidence of over-exposure to the sun.  His deep blue eyes complimented his dark blond hair.  A somewhat melancholy man, Claire spoke effectively but always in a quiet tone.  He had immense pride in his military accomplishments and his uniformed appearance.  Whether authorized by Marine Corps uniform regulations, he always displayed his French parachute wings. Occasionally he would join me for lunch at a local restaurant during scheduled training weekends, and, knowing that I found his adventure interesting, recounted several of his more exciting tales.  He often spoke of operational planning (mostly how combat operations never seemed to go as planned), logistical challenges (resupply, caring for the wounded), and glitches involving rapid extraction at the operation’s conclusion.

When Claire left active duty following a Vietnam combat tour in 1967, he knew that he enjoyed the risks associated with combat service but found Marine Corps culture too restrictive.  While maintaining his reserve commission, he went to France, where he enlisted in the French Foreign Legion for five years. It was after this when Charles began hiring himself out at a mercenary.  Whether he ever served with Hoare, I cannot say; it never came up in our conversations.  When he wasn’t fighting, he worked as a freelance writer.

“You can’t argue with the pay,” he told me, “but now I question whether the pay was worth it.”  Claire’s problem was that he was dying —something he kept concealed from the Marine Corps hierarchy.  In Angola, he said, he contracted intestinal parasites.  Returning to the United States, he consulted with medical specialists who told him that he had a significant infestation.  It was so profound, the doctors told him that an operation would probably kill him. Claire’s only recourse was to deal with it until the parasites killed him.  His announcement seemed consistent with his lunch fare, which always consisted of mashed potatoes and a glass of water: no meat, no salad, no dessert.

Claire’s stories were enough to convince me that a mercenary life is not something a normally-wired person would pursue—but then, I never considered Claire normal.  He had a heck of a life, just not a very long one.  It might have been better were he shot to death than to die slowly.  I last saw him in 1981.

Sources:

  1. Burke, K.  Revolutionaries for the Right: Anticommunist Internationalism and Paramilitary Warfare in the Cold War.  Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2018.
  2. Dadrian, E.  Mercenaries in Africa: From Soldiers of Fortune to Corporate Warriors.org online, 2004.
  3. Hoare, C.  Mad Mike Hoare: The Legend. Partners in Publishing, 2018.
  4. Mockler, A.  The New Mercenaries.New York, Bantam Books, 1985.
  5. Venter, A. J.  War Dog: Fighting Other People’s Wars: The Modern Mercenary in Combat. New Delhi: Lance Publications, 2006.

Endnotes:

[1] William Leach-Lewis established Margate College in 1873 as a secondary institution and preparatory school for boys. Lewis gave his life while in service as Mayor of Margate in 1906. Margate College High School advertised that “Boys are prepared for Oxford and Cambridge local examinations, for the College of Preceptors, also for the Army and their universities.  Today, a shopping center stands at the site of the original campus.

[2] The Simba Rebellion (1963-65) (also, Orientale Revolt) took place within the larger context of the Congo Crisis (several simultaneous rebellions) and the Cold War. The rebellion leaders were the followers of the deceased Patrice Lumumba, ousted and killed in 1960.

[3] Alistair Wicks served in the RAF during World War II.  After the war, while studying law at Oxford, Wicks migrated to Rhodesia.  Hoare recruited Wicks to serve as his second-in-command of 4 Commando.  When Wicks wasn’t engaged in mercenary work, he was employed by Rhodesian Air Services.  He resigned from mercenary in 1967 following four-months imprisonment in Biafra.

The West Florida Expedition

American history is quite fascinating —I would say even more so than the revisionist accounts offered in our public schools and universities over the past sixty years.  Two of my interests are the colonial and early founding periods of the United States.  History isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, of course, but there is so much we can learn from it —lessons that would positively contribute to modern society.  Ut est rerum omnium magister usus[1], and if true, if experience is the teacher of all things, then our learning from past mistakes can only aid us in the future.

One of the things I find interesting about the American Revolutionary War is how little attention historians have paid to the British loyalists.  After all, they too were part of that story.

1763 was a banner year for the British because, in that year, England finally triumphed over France after fighting one another to a standstill since 1689.  In the Treaty of Paris of 1763, England acquired Spanish Florida and French Canada.  British divided Florida into two provinces: West and East Florida.  West Florida included the southern half of present-day Mississippi, a rectangular region straddling the Gulf of Mexico from Lake Pontchartrain and Maurepas and the Mississippi River in the west, to the Chattahoochee and Apalachicola rivers on the east.  It extended northward to an imaginary line running east from the confluence of the Mississippi and Yazoo rivers, including the old Spanish port of Pensacola and the former French settlements of Mobile, Biloxi, and Natchez.

In the late 1760s, West Florida was sparsely settled because, except for a narrow strip of land along the eastern bank of the Mississippi River, the soil was unsuitable for agriculture, which led settlers to rely on raising livestock.  The British anticipated settling West Florida effortlessly and for reasons of security, they reserved the area west of the Appalachian Mountains for Indians.  British policy at that time intended to avoid confrontations with the Indians by channeling white settlers either to Canada or to one of the two Florida settlements.  The British also decided to offer land to members of the British court as a reward for faithful military service.  As an example, 40,000 acres were set aside for the Earl of Eglinton near the Natchez and Pensacola settlements.  An untended consequence of land grants to noblemen was that they almost immediately began selling these lands, and by every measure, they were quite successful in doing so.

The British accorded settlers of lesser rank, 100 acres to the head of household and 50 acres for each member of his family, including slaves.  The head of a family could also purchase an additional 1,000 acres for a reasonable price —but clear title to this land was withheld until the settlers had cultivated their land for three to five years.  The settlement of West Florida increased steadily, especially in the Natchez area, until in 1773 when the foreign office inexplicably canceled the governor’s authority to grant land.

In 1775, with the outbreak of the American Revolution, the situation in West Florida changed rapidly.  Both Florida provinces were converted into sanctuaries for British loyalists escaping from colonial terrorists.  After 1775, West Florida enjoyed its greatest period of growth, an attraction among sturdy pioneers of Englishmen and Scotsmen.

Who were the loyalists, and why weren’t they interested in freedom from Great Britain?  They were generally older people, conservative by nature, well-established in the colonies with long-standing business interests in England.  Older people tend to resist change and the Revolutionary War period was nothing at all if not an era of momentous changes.  In the minds of British loyalists, a rebellion was not only morally wrong but also unwarranted.

Taxation without representation was a key issue at the outset of the American Revolution.  Parliamentary taxation affected everyone, including loyalists.  There was no overwhelming repudiation of taxes among the loyalists because, in the first instance, Parliament had the right to tax colonists.  Second, the colonists had long benefitted from the security provided by the British Army.  Among loyalists, it was entirely reasonable that Parliament expected colonists to help pay for the costs of maintaining these forces.  The loyalists also had no objection to “quartering soldiers in private homes.”  These were young men from back home who had come to America to protect British citizens from the ravages of the French and Indian attacks, why not give them a nice place to sleep?  Besides, which would be cheaper (tax-wise)?  Quartering soldiers in the homes of citizens, or constructing barracks for the same purpose?  Since everyone benefitted from these tax levies, why object to them? Of course, the British Parliament could have addressed this issue with greater sophistication, but the British people (especially those living in England) were used to an authoritarian legislature.

When the so-called “American patriots” resorted to violence against the Crown and those who remained loyal to Great Britain, the older, conservative, well-settled colonists felt alienated —and with good reason.  The patriots burned down their homes, torched their businesses, and physically and verbally assaulted them.  In many ways, patriot behavior was more like that of  hooligans and domestic terrorists than of good neighbors with interesting ideas about government and society[2].

Many loyalists, at least initially, were fence-sitters.  Among those, optimists who believed that if there was to be a separation from the mother country, it should take place naturally and amicably, under circumstances mutually beneficial to both sides of the Atlantic.  Some pessimists believed that the only possible result of revolutionary thought and action would be chaos, corruption, and mob rule[3].  In either case, when patriots began terrorizing them, they either became apathetic to the cause, or they moved even further to the right.  Some returned to England, others decided to stay in the colonies and fight for their King.  In New York, many loyalists were part of influential families, some of these with unmistakable ties to the French Huguenot-Dutch De Lancey[4] faction supporting the British Crown.  There were also “black” loyalists —slaves who had been promised freedom from slavery by the British government.  Colonial patriots made no such promises, from any quarter —north or south.

There were many prominent families among American patriots[5].  One of these was the family of a man named James Willing … a wealthy Philadelphia family.  His father Charles twice served as Philadelphia’s mayor; his mother was Anne Shippen, the granddaughter of Philadelphia’s second mayor.  James’ older brother was a merchant, a business partner with Robert Morris[6], and a delegate to the Continental Congress from Pennsylvania.  In his younger years, James sought his fortune in British West Florida operating a general store within the Natchez settlement.  The folks of Natchez were happy to live in America, but they were loyalists —and intensely so.  Willing, not being able to share those sentiments, and being rudely vocal about it, soon decided to return to Philadelphia[7].

In 1777, serving as a congressional spokesman, Willing returned to Natchez to convince the residents there to join the American independence movement.  His proposals rebuffed, he returned to Philadelphia with greatly exaggerated claims that the people of West Florida posed a serious threat to the cause of American independence, although he was probably right in thinking that loyalists would interrupt trade on the Mississippi River, a major source of colonial resupply.

Oliver Pollock, meanwhile (an Irish-born colonist with many years devoted to trading with the Spaniards in the West Indies), established a close working relationship with Alejandro O’Reilly[8] and other Spanish-Louisiana officials.  Granted the privilege of free trade with New Orleans, Pollock became a successful businessman, married, and raised his family there.  In 1777, Pollock was appointed Commercial Agent of the United States in New Orleans.  He used his influence and wealth to help finance American operations in the west, including the campaign by Major General (militia) George Rogers Clark[9].  In September 1778, Pollock introduced Colonel David Rogers and Captain Robert Benham to Louisiana Governor Bernardo de Gálvez.  Rogers delivered a letter to Governor Gálvez from Virginia patriot Patrick Henry —a letter that led to Spain to join the war against England.  In the British view, there could be no better example of treason than that.

In 1778, James Willing was calling himself a naval captain[10] in the service of the United Independent States of America[11]  Pollock received a letter from Robert Morris stating that Willing would be leading an expedition against loyalist settlements above New Orleans.  In his capacity as a naval captain, Willing led 29 men of the 13th Virginia Regiment from Fort Pitt and sailed down the Ohio River[12].  Willing’s mission may have been more on the order of moving supplies from New Orleans to Fort Pitt than it was conquering West Florida, but the correspondence Willing carried with him to Florida could be construed as authorization to punish British loyalists.  With his desire for adventure and a somewhat reckless nature, Willing boarded the gunboat Rattletrap[13] with his Virginians, now dubbed “marines.”

Willing and his marines departed Fort Pitt early on the night of 10 January.  A short distance from where the Wabash empties into the Ohio River, the Willing Expedition seized the large bateau[14] belonging to the Becquet Brothers, which was laden with pelts.  They also arrested a man named  La Chance and impounded his cargo of brandy —which Willing and his crew subjected to extensive tests for impurities.  Willing’s notoriety thus established, off they went into the Ohio River and southward.  The commander at Fort Kaskaskia, a Frenchman named Rocheblave, suspected that the Willing Expedition was moving toward Illinois and believed that the sort of insults offered to Becquet and La Chance was the sort of thing frontier settlers could expect from colonial hoodlums should they ever achieve a foothold into the western (French) colonies.

Painting by Charles Waterhouse

By the time the expedition reached the Mississippi River, Willing had added two canoes and ten recruits to his entourage.  One of these was a youngster named George Girty, whom Willing commissioned a second lieutenant.  George was the youngest of four brothers, a family whose only claim to history was that they all became British loyalists.  Historians know that Willing stopped at a Spanish post at the mouth of the Arkansas River, where, having warned the few American settlers living there that their lives were in peril from British loyalists, proceeded on his journey.  The then-petrified settlers ended up petitioning Spanish officials for their protection.

Willing arrived at the Natchez plantation of Colonel Anthony Hutchins[15], a loyalist, on 19 February, promptly arrested him and seized his property —including his slaves.  Willing then divided his force by sending two canoes on a scouting mission further south to the Natchez settlement —a farming community populated by American, English, and French settlers (all of whom lived together in harmony) —and until recent times, the home of James Willing.  The scouting party, well-armed and dressed as hunters, arrested all settlement inhabitants and secured their property.

Willing and his main body arrived the following morning.  According to later testimony, captive townspeople sent a delegation of four citizens to parlay with Willing.  They agreed to surrender and promised their neutrality if Willing restored their property.  Willing agreed, adding these stipulations: (a) that the settlers must agree to re-provision his expeditionary force, (b) that single men join the expedition, and (c) that all married persons relocate to Spanish territory within fifteen days.  From among the single men who joined the expedition, Willing appointed Richard Harrison a lieutenant of marines.

South of Natchez, Willing carried out a campaign of destruction to crops, livestock, and the homes of Loyalist settlers and carried off their slaves (likely sold in New Orleans).  William Dunbar and Frederick Spell, who witnessed Willing’s behavior, suggested in their later testimony that Willing was more interested in enriching himself than he was in any patriotic endeavor (which, by every account, seems to have been the case).  Willing, however, did not molest any “patriotic” Americans.

By this time, the British were aware of Willing’s marauders —which given the expanse of the territory and poor communications back then, is quite amazing.  In any case, the British dispatched their sloop Rebecca (well-armed with sixteen 4-pound and six swivel guns) up the Mississippi to interdict Willing’s campaign.  On 23 February, 18 marines under lieutenants McIntyre and Harrison captured Rebecca, which for a time ended Great Britain’s control of the Mississippi River.  McIntyre and Harrison sailed the vessel to New Orleans as a prize of war.  The ship would be renamed, Morris.

Oliver Pollock established and maintained a close relationship with Governor Bernardo de Gálvez.  During a future Spanish campaign against the British, Pollock would serve as Gálvez’ aide-de-camp.  When Pollock received word that Willing was approaching New Orleans, he recruited an additional 40 men to join the expedition and assisted him in transporting “British” property to New Orleans.  Of these 40 men, 26 men took it upon themselves to float downriver to join McIntyre and Harrison.  McIntyre’s group soon came upon the British Brig Neptune and seized her.  Neptune was laden with lumber and a handful of passengers bound for Jamaica.  McIntyre off-loaded the passengers, retained the cargo, and sailed her to New Orleans —the expedition’s second prize.

News of Willing’s expedition quickly spread throughout British West Florida and caused some panic among the loyalists.  They abandoned their large plantations, loaded their slaves, livestock, and valuables on boats and barges, and headed toward New Orleans where they petitioned Spanish officials for protection.  For their part, at least initially, Spanish officials were intent on remaining neutral in the conflict between the British and Americans, so they graciously received these refugees and accorded them Spanish hospitality.  Governor Gálvez similarly welcomed James Willing, which in large measure as a result of Oliver Pollock’s efforts.

Willing and his men were granted freedom of the city, provided with housing, and they were allowed to auction the property taken from loyalists, including their slaves[16].  The precise amount of the profits gained by Willing’s auction is unknown, but some estimates ranged as high as £60,000.00.  While appreciative of the courtesy and hospitality accorded to their subjects, British officials strongly protested the fact that Gálvez extended those same courtesies to James Willing, who in their view was nothing more than a pirate.  Neither were the British pleased about Willing’s auctioning British property.

Gov. Gálvez ignored British protests, and the longer he did so, the louder their protests became.  Within a short time, British petitions for redress were filed almost every day.  Finally, Gálvez appointed a commission to consider the merits of British complaints.  Until mid-March, Gálvez remained unconcerned with British protests.  But then came the arrival of the British sloop Sylph under the command of Captain John Ferguson.  In addressing the problem, Ferguson was simple and direct:

Having the honor to command one of His Britannic Majesty’s ships in this river, and having information that your excellency has received into your government a body of armed men, enemies to my Sovereign and that you have suffered them from the Spanish Territory to commit depredations on this River by forcibly seizing upon the vessels, property, and persons of British subjects, in violation of the Treatise of Peace, the Law of Nations, and the Rights of Men.  I cannot help looking at such conduct on your part, as a tacit if not an open declaration of war against the King, my master.

Governor Gálvez answered Ferguson with equal fervor[17].  He had no obligation (he said) to protect British citizens residing on British soil but (pending the report by his commission), Gálvez offered to return British goods and property seized by Willing.  This decision came as a blow to the Willing/Pollock clique.  They offered a stout defense of their activities, particularly as it related to the capture of the two British ships.  Neptune, argued Willing, having been seized on open water in British territory, was a  lawful prize of war.  Gálvez remained inflexible; Neptune must be returned.  When it appeared that Morris (formerly Rebecca) seemed more secure, Oliver Pollock proceeded to refit and man her.  William Pickles was selected to serve as Morris’ Captain, and Robert Elliott was chosen to serve as Commanding Officer of Marines (Daniel Longstreet was appointed to serve as Marine First Lieutenant)[18].

In April, Captain Ferguson and Sylph was relieved by Captain Joseph Nunn, commanding HMS Hound.  Nunn continued to press Gálvez on the issues raised by Ferguson; Gálvez continued to resist all British suppositions and remained firm with the Americans.  Nevertheless, believing that the British would initiate military action, Governor Gálvez requested reinforcements from the Viceroy of New Spain and began working on New Orleans defenses.  He also demanded that every British/American person living in New Orleans take an oath of neutrality or leave the city.  A few British departed the city, but most remained.  Americans were unanimous in their acceptance.

Gov. Gálvez felt better once the American and British had offered their oaths respecting Spanish neutrality.  Captain Nunn, on the other hand, did not feel better.  In his view, Gálvez had openly demonstrated his support for the colonial rebellion, and this placed Spain in opposition to the British Crown.  It wasn’t enough to cause Captain Nunn to initiate war with Spain, of course, but Gálvez’s cozy relationship with the colonists did prompt the British into reasserting their authority on the Mississippi River.

Before dawn on 19 April, Nunn sent a force of fifty men to recapture Fort Bute at Manchac (115 miles north of New Orleans) which had been seized by Willing’s expedition.  British riflemen killed two men and a woman and wounded ten others.  Fourteen Americans were taken, prisoner.  Willing was, by this time, concerned about retaining control of Natchez, which led him to dispatch a force of marines under Lieutenant Harrison to observe whether Natchez loyalists were keeping their oaths of neutrality.

Meanwhile, Colonel Hutchins had violated his parole by returning to his plantation.  In Natchez, Hutchins agitated among the citizens and urged them to take up arms against American colonists.  We do not know what Hutchins told these people, but we do know that he alarmed them to the point of organizing a stout defense at a location known as White Cliffs.

En route to Natchez, Lieutenant Harrison was forewarned by a man named John Talley of Colonel Hutchins’ mischief.  Harrison sent Talley ahead to offer assurances that his intentions were peaceful.  Hutchins’ work was well done, however, and upon Harrison’s approach, loyalist gunfire inflicted a heavy toll on the marines.  Harrison lost five men killed with several more wounded and captured; Harrison returned to New Orleans with only a few of his remaining force.

British West Florida Governor Peter Chester (—1799), with service between 1770-81, encouraged British settlers to return to their homes and “restore yourselves to that full allegiance and fidelity which you owe to your sovereign and country.”  And, he added, that should these citizens not comply with Chester’s advice, then they would be judged guilty of criminal neglect of their solemn duty.  With a British army garrison of  110 men from Pensacola guarding Fort Bute at Manchac, a British ship with a crew of 150 men, and 200 British militia protecting Natchez, loyalist settlers finally felt secure.  Thus renewed, British presence also stopped the flow of goods between New Orleans and Fort Pitt.

The Willing Expedition had aroused British loyalists along the river to such extent that Willing could no longer return to Philadelphia via the Mississippi.  And, the longer Willing remained in New Orleans, the less Gálvez and Pollock wanted to deal with him.  Gálvez was highly incensed when Willing circumvented the governor’s prerogatives by issuing a proclamation to Americans living in New Orleans.  The proclamation not only violated Willing’s oath, a condition of his being allowed to remain in New Orleans, it was also a violation of Spanish sovereignty.  But if the rift between Willing and Gálvez was significant, the break with Pollock was even worse.  With some justification, Willing criticized Pollock for his poor administration and questionable financial accounting[19].  Willing’s unpaid marauders were displeased to the point of deserting in large numbers.  It was only the consistent discipline and fair treatment of Lieutenant Harrison and Lieutenant George that kept most (not all) marines on duty.  In any case, Pollock was anxious to be rid of Willing and did not hesitate to express his annoyance with Willing in his reports to Congress.

Hoping for James Willing’s departure from New Orleans was one thing; witnessing his departure was another.  Effectively, Captain Willing had become a prisoner in New Orleans, but he had no one to blame but himself.  It was his actions that caused the British to block the Mississippi.  Willing had but two options for returning to Philadelphia: an overland march, or by sea.  Willing had no interest in walking back to Pennsylvania.

By mid-June, Oliver Pollock decided he’d had enough of James Willing and formally petitioned Governor Gálvez to allow work to proceed on Morris so that it might carry Willing and his men back to Philadelphia.  Without much consideration, Gálvez consented and the ship’s refit was soon started.  Unhappily for both Gálvez and Willing, the refit project experienced several delays.

Fed up with life in New Orleans, Lieutenant George and Lieutenant Harrison requested the governor’s permission to leave New Orleans via the overland route.  Governor Gálvez gave his consent conditionally: George and Harrison had to give their oath not to cause further dismay to any British subject.  Having offered their oaths, the officers soon departed.  After a year of overland travel, the marines finally returned to Fort Pitt.  After the marine detachment was officially disbanded, George accepted an appointment as a captain of an artillery in the Continental Army.

Accompanied by Lieutenant McIntyre, James Willing finally departed New Orleans in mid-November carrying dispatches for the Continental Congress.  The ship, however, was captured by a British privateer off the coast of Delaware and Willing was taken as a prisoner to New York where he remained until exchanged for British Lieutenant Governor Henry Hamilton.  Some historians contend that Willing spent two years as a prisoner of war.  If this is true, when one considers his many depredations imposed on Mississippi River settlements, then a reasonable man might conclude that his internment was warranted.

James Willing died at his home in Haverford Township, Pennsylvania in 1801.  He was 51 years old.  For additional insight into the corruption of early-American officials, see also:  James Wilkinson, Image of Respectability.  The amount of dishonesty during the Revolutionary and early founding periods of the United States could lead one to conclude that as despicable as James Willing was, he had much in common with more than a few of our founding fathers.

Sources:

  1. DuVal, K. Independence Lost: Lives on the Edge of the American Revolution.  Random House, 2016.
  2. Eron, R. Peter Chester, Third Governor of the Province of West Florida Under British Domination 1770-1781.  Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 1925.
  3. Haynes, R. V. The Natchez District, and the American Revolution. Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2011.
  4. James, A. J. Oliver Pollock, Financier of the Revolution in the West.  Mississippi Historical Review, 1929.
  5. Smith, C. R. Marines in the Revolution: A History of the Continental Marines in the American Revolution.  Washington: History and Museums Division, Headquarters, U. S. Marine Corps, 1975. 

Endnotes:

[1] Attributed to Julius Caesar, De Bello Civille.

[2] The same thing is happening today within the so-called Progressive Movement; modern conservatives (the classic liberals of the colonial era) are being regularly attacked because of their values.  Progressivism, as it turns out, is not very enlightened.

[3] It is impossible to say the pessimists were completely wrong about the level of political corruption in America.

[4] Followers of Oliver and James De Lancey.  Oliver was a wealthy merchant, politician, and British Provincial soldier; James was his nephew.

[5] Modern leftists define “patriotism” as an anti-government “far right” movement.  In 1775, it was a far-left movement.

[6] Robert Morris, Jr., (1734-1806) was an English-born financier who served in the Pennsylvania legislature, the Second Continental Congress, and the United States Senate.  He was a signer to the Declaration of Independence, Articles of Confederation, and the U. S. Constitution.

[7] According to his “friends and neighbors” in Natchez, Mr. Willing drank too much, talked too much, and thought too little.  This may be a fair assessment.

[8] O’Reilly (1723-1794) was born in Ireland became the Inspector-General of Infantry in the Spanish Empire, served as Captain-General and the second Spanish governor of Louisiana, and the first official to exercise power in Louisiana after France ceded it to Spain.  He was later made a count of Spain but known to creoles as “Bloody O’Reilly.”

[9] The older brother of William Rogers Clark.  A surveyor and militia officer who became the highest-ranking officer of the Revolution in the western frontier.  Most of his accomplishments occurred before his 40th birthday; subsequently, his drinking and indebtedness destroyed his reputation.  When Virginia refused to pay him for his Revolutionary war  expenses, he turned his attention toward the Spanish as a source of income, but mostly through questionable land speculation schemes.  His is not one of the great American stories of our founding years.

[10] James Willing is not listed as a commissioned officer of the Continental Navy.

[11] The title claimed was something Willing made up.  There is an organization today with a similar title claiming to consist of ten states, five provinces of Canada, and Guam.  ISA announced its independence in 2007 where its officials all wear tin foil hats.

[12] What the Continental Congress did not want was a sizeable expedition to West Florida to attack Pensacola and Mobile, an ambitious plan that had the support of Benedict Arnold.  Congress decided instead on a more modest expedition and placed Willing in charge of it.

[13] I’m not sure how to respond to questions about the naming convention involve with this vessel, but Rattletrap was purchased from John Gibson for 300 pounds in Pennsylvania currency.  It was a galley-type vessel with ten oars, and she/it was armed with two ¾-pound swivel guns.

[14] A long, light, flat bottom boat with a sharply pointed bow and stern.

[15] Colonel Hutchins was a retired British Army officer whose grant of land for military  service was 250,000 acres.  His home was located at White Apple Acres, which he occupied in 1773.  He served as a representative representing the Natchez district in the provincial assembly in Pensacola in 1778.  At times during the Willing Expedition, Hutchins was the de facto governor of the Natchez district.  He remained active in political and military affairs in present-day Mississippi for many years.

[16] Despite Spanish law, which forbade commerce with foreigners.

[17] The British were hardly in a position of strength in West Florida.  Eventually, Gálvez would seize both Pensacola and Natchez (1779).

[18] Both Robert Elliott and Daniel Longstreet’s names appear in the lineal list of officers of the Continental Navy and Marine Corps.

[19] Pollock was, as previously stated, a businessman whose every action was motivated by profit.  He is not remembered as a man having an abundance of scruples.

Nawzad —2008

Some Background

Men have used spears in warfare for well over 3,000 years —and they continued using them even after the invention of firearms.  The use of spears began as implements for hunting in pre-history.  They were fashioned by burning one end of a straight stick until it had become pointed, its makers scraping the wood further to make the pointed end even sharper, which increased its lethality.

The hunting spear may have been one of mankind’s earliest technological advances, inspired by early man’s demand for food.  Scientists in Germany discovered this kind of weapon embedded into the skeletal remains of an elephant.  No one is quite sure when humans turned these hunting weapons upon one another; we only know that it was a long time ago.  What we do know is that spears were far more efficient than clubs, and likely preferable because of their versatility.  A spearman could thrust his weapon into an enemy or throw it from a distance.

Over time, hunters-gatherers became agriculturalists.  With farming came the domestication of animals and less demand for hunters.  One demand remained, however: the defense of small villages to protect loved ones and food stores.  When men learned that more spearmen were far more efficient in self-defense than one or two uncoordinated defenders, they began to develop offensive and defensive tactics.  At first, it is likely that the employment of these maneuvers more closely resembled a Chinese fire drill than a military formation, but in time someone came up with the idea that a well-drilled formation fared better in warfare than a mish-mash of stick-wielding yahoos.

The earliest formation was the phalanx, a closely packed block of spearmen.  The phalanx made the spear far more deadly in close combat; even back then there was no ribbon for coming in second.  The phalanx formation made ancient Greece into a military power with subsequent armies adopting similar formations over the next 2,000 years.

Gladius Hispaniensis

The Roman armies did such a good job of emulating Greek strategies that they eventually took over the known world.  The Roman started with the basics of Greek tactics and improved on them.  While retaining the spear (pilus) the Romans also used swords (Gladius).  Initially, Roman swords were much like those used by the Greeks, but from around the third century BC, Rome adopted the Celtiberian[1] sword; they called it Gladius Hispaniensis.  This sword was shorter in length, better made, and far more manageable for close-in fighting.  The Roman spear was especially adapted to Roman tactics, used as a kind of close-combat artillery, but constructed more on the order of a javelin.  After throwing their pilum in a single volley, Roman legions then charged into their enemy in close formation with shield (scutum) and gladius.

Rome’s demise[2], after 1,100 years of military domination, produced several hundred years of political and social instability.  The next innovation of the spear came in the form of the lance, a weapon used from horseback by mounted knights.  Knights led infantry (foot) formations (that retained the spear as its primary weapon), but it was the mounted warrior that led to most military innovation in subsequent years—such as saddles, stirrups, a longer “cavalry” sword.  Cavalry (or its earliest form) became the Middle Ages’ most important combat component.  Eventually, polearms replaced spears as infantry weapons.

The polearm provided a defense against mounted assaults —an innovation that enabled the Swiss to become the most feared military force in Europe during the Middle Ages.  The most widely recognized polearm of that period was called a halberd, a cross between a spear and an ax with a hook.  The halberd was useful in stabbing, slashing, and pulling riders from their horses.

The pike was an exceptionally long spear fielded by large blocks of men (similar in many ways to the Greek phalanx, but without shields).  Pikes enabled infantry to hold off charging cavalry.  By this time, military formations had begun to field fire arms so the pike blocks also protected musketeers while they reloaded their weapons.  When muskets and rifles became the primary weapon of field armies, bayonets became the primary means used by riflemen to defend themselves in close combat.  When attached to the musket or rifle, the two weapons served the same purpose as the ancient spear.

U.S. Marine Corps bayonet

Bayonets continue to function as a close-in weapon in modern military arsenals.  They are primarily used while searching for the enemy in confined spaces, or whenever a field commander anticipates close combat.  There are many examples of the use of the bayonet in World War II and the Korean War.  The command, “Fix Bayonets” is chilling because at that point, everyone knows that a knife fight is about to take place.

In Afghanistan

When First Lieutenant Arthur E. Karell ordered “Fix Bayonets,” the hunkered down Marines of Fox Company’s 3rd Platoon began to perspire.  The sound of Marines withdrawing their bayonets from scabbards and affixing them to the ends of their rifles was distinctive.  Click, click, click.  Lieutenant Karell’s order was precautionary because he didn’t know what to expect in the quiet darkness.  All he knew was that his orders placed he and his men at that specific spot, and that Helmand Province (later known as Marineistan[3]) is where someone high up in his chain of command had decided that U.S. Marines could do the most good.  Karell was part of the vanguard of Marines who would become predators —their prey was the Taliban.

Nawzad, Afghanistan was a ghost town.  The 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines (2/7) assumed responsibility for pacifying this enemy-occupied but once-populated town in a remote and god-forsaken area of southeast Afghanistan.  The people who used to live in Nawzad (some 10,000 in number (estimated)) abandoned their mud-brick homes and melted away into the dusty area surrounding it.  With the departure of these simple people, the Taliban moved in and made themselves at home.  Karell’s battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Richard D. Hall, had sent Fox Company to issue eviction notices.

The fact was that Colonel Hall didn’t know much more about Nawzad than Karell; Hall had no “intel” of the enemy situation because Helmand Province wasn’t a priority for the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), NATO’s coalition headquarters in Kabul.  Up until 2/7’s arrival in Helmand Province, the ISAF had ignored Nawzad.

The quiet darkness of early morning was periodically interrupted by the sounds of distant  jackals, which was enough to straighten the Marine’s neck hair.  Karell’s Marines didn’t know what awaited them, but whatever it was, it was about to get its ass kicked.  The Taliban were dangerous, of course, but they weren’t U.S. Marines.  They may have intimidated poor farmers and the U.S. Army led ISAF in Kabul, but they weren’t going to cower Fox 2/7.  Still, neither Lieutenant Karell nor his company commander had a firm picture of the enemy situation.

The 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines was initially activated on 1 January 1941 at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.  Its world war service included Guadalcanal, Cape Gloucester, Peleliu, and Okinawa.  During the Korean War, 2/7 participated in the landing at Inchon, the Battle of Seoul, the landing at Wonsan, and the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir.  Captain William Barber received the Medal of Honor for his extraordinary courage while commanding Fox Company.  The battalion deployed to Vietnam from July 1965 until October 1970.  While based at Twenty-nine Palms, California, the battalion was deployed for Operation Desert Shield and Desert Storm in 1990-91 with additional service in Iraq in 2004, 2005, 2006.  The battalion deployed to Afghanistan in 2008, and again from 2012-2013.

2/7 spearheaded the return of Marines to Afghanistan in April 2008, engaging in combat almost from the very first day.  It was the hardest hit battalion in the Marine Corps in 2008.  During its eight month deployment, the battalion lost 20 Marines killed in action; 160 wounded in action, and of these, thirty amputees.

It was 15th June 2008 and Karell was seconds away from launching his first combat assault.  Most of his noncommissioned officers were combat veterans, but their previous experience had been in Iraq.  Afghanistan was a horse of a different color.  From their position in a dried-up irrigation ditch, in the pitch-black early morning, the only thing the Marines could see was the vague outline of a thick mud wall that stood higher than most Marines were tall.  The wall separated the town from a small, scraggly forest.  Up until then, it was “Indian country,” and no one from Fox Company had seen what lay on the other side.  They only knew that whenever a patrol came near the wall, someone from the other side started shooting at them.  Not knowing the enemy situation beyond the wall prompted Karell to issue his order, “Fix Bayonets.”

Karell began the platoon’s advance, stealthily creeping along in the dark with he and his platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant (SSgt) Gabriel G. Guest, leading the way.  This is how Marines do combat: leaders at the tip of the spear.  Despite a long list of unknowns, the Marines of the 3rd Platoon had confidence in their lieutenant.  Karell possessed all the positive attributes of an outstanding combat leader.  He was calm in stressful situations.  He moved with purpose and self-confidence.  He was open with and respectful of his men.  He was willing to admit when he’d messed up.  He learned from his mistakes.  In the eyes of his superiors, Karell had additional traits: knowledgeable, thoughtful, aggressive, good at planning and even better in execution.  In short, Karell was a hunter-warrior —a dangerous predator.

As Karell’s Marines moved forward, they could hear the growling engines of support vehicles coming up behind them.  Suddenly, from behind the wall, a rocket-propelled grenade shattered the silence of the night —the explosive swooshing above the heads of the leathernecks toward the approaching support vehicles.  Marine machine guns opened up; enemy machine guns answered.  Muzzle flashes from the base of the wall revealed the enemy’s positions.

The instant before the shooting started, Karell’s Marines were nervous; an instant after, Marine Corps training took over.  The Marine’s first emotion was that they were pissed off that someone was shooting at them.  After coordinating by radio with Fox Actual, once the Marine’s machine guns shifted their fires, Karell launched his assault toward the enemy.  2nd Squad laid down a base of fire as Karell and the 1st Squad rushed forward.  Then 1st Squad took up suppressing fires as 2nd Squad advanced.  The Marines of 3rd Platoon ignored the enemy’s fire as deadly rounds snapped past them, but they were expending a lot of ammunition.  SSgt Guest began relaying ammo resupply forward. The enemy machine gun went silent and the enemy began running in the opposite direction.

Lieutenant Karell brought combat engineers forward.  After firing mine clearing devices into the area in front of the wall, they blew a gaping hole through the adobe barrier.  Karell’s platoon poured through the wall and took up a hasty defense position until the platoon was ready to pursue the enemy.  What they found inside the compound stood in stark contrast to the desolate moonscape on the outside.  It was a garden setting, complete with flowing water and a forest of fruit trees.

Karell and his Marines had no time to enjoy it; the lieutenant organized his Marines to begin destroying enemy bunkers.  Their progress took them into the light forest.  Standing before them was a white mound that rose above the trees.  Karell estimated that the damn thing was forty-feet above ground.  The skipper[4] supposed it could be a command bunker.

From where the 3rd Platoon was standing the mound looked like a stone fortress.  It was “no big deal.”  The Marines started climbing weighted down by the intense morning heat, their weapons, ammunition, and body armor.  They were looking for caves —but found none.  They expected enemy resistance —but there was none.  When he reached the top, Lieutenant Karell did a quick search of the area.  All he found were scars from artillery of some earlier battle.  Karell laughed —his 3rd Platoon had captured a huge rock.

2/7 was sent to Nawzad to train Afghan police.  The ISAF reasoned that if the Marines could train local police, the police would then be able to protect their own community.  The fly in that ointment was that there were no police in Nawzad.  Absent the police training mission, Colonel Hall queried higher headquarters about his new mission.  He was told to make it possible for the Afghan people to return to their long-deserted town.  There was no mention of how he was to accomplish this task, of course, only that the Marines needed to “get it done.”  So, Hall executed the Marine Corps plan: find the Taliban and convince him that he’s in the wrong business.

Helmand Province in Afghanistan

While it was true that the battalion’s mission had changed, little else had.  Since ISAF controlled all in-theater air assets, 2/7 would not have dedicated air support.  Marine grunts love their aviators, and this has been true all the way back to the early days of Marine aviation —when Marines began to explore the utility of aircraft for ground support missions.  For two decades, the Marines perfected air-ground operations during the so-called Banana Wars.  During World War II, Navy and Marine Corps aviation perfected the art and science of close air support.  They employed these skills in the Korean War.  In fact, it was during the Korean War that the Marines taught the Army a thing or two about on-call close air support.  In Afghanistan, however, the Marines would have to REQUEST air support through the ISAF.  Maybe they would get it, maybe they wouldn’t.  There was no guarantee that 2/7 Marines would have their USMC Cobra pilots (their combat angels) overhead.

By the time 2/7 arrived in Nawzad, the once-thriving city was already long-abandoned.  It was likely that Taliban or drug trafficking warlords had driven them away.  But Colonel Hall was resourceful and smart.  Before the scheduled deployment of his Battalion, Hall went to Helmand Province and talked to people on the ground.  He came away with the understanding that, despite his (then) stated mission to train a police force, his Marines would do more fighting than training.

A week after Lieutenant Karell’s rock climb, Captain Russ Schellhaas, the Fox Company commander, assigned Karell’s 3rd Platoon to support of his 1st Platoon during an operation that unfortunately found 1st Platoon in the middle of a minefield.  It was a horrible day for twenty-six seriously wounded Marines.  A few days after that, Staff Sergeant Chris Strickland, an explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) technician was killed while attempting to disarm an improvised explosive device (IED).

The mission of the Marine combat engineer is to enhance the mobility and survivability of ground combat forces.  Among its several specific tasks are expedient demolition, route/area minesweeping operations, and a range of other force protection measures.  Thirty days later, it was Lance Corporal John Shrey’s duty to conduct minesweeping operations while leading Lieutenant Karell and his platoon’s 3rd Squad through a potential IED minefield.  Karell and his Marines followed him as if they were baby ducks.

Once the Marines had made it through the minefield, they concealed themselves in a grove of scrubby underbrush within sight of their point of interest —a supposedly abandoned compound with a single adobe shack.  Intel claimed that insurgents were using the compound as a rallying point, a place where they stored their gear before laying in more IEDs.  North of the rally point was a band of trees, within which was another series of compounds —in distance, about a half-mile in length.  Heavily armed Taliban occupied these compounds and used them as IED factories and safe havens.  According to the 2/7 operations officer, the Taliban were Pakistanis who had come to fight through what the Marines were calling “Pakistan Alley.”  And the Marines knew that it was only a matter of time before they would have to clear it out.  For now, though, the Karell concentrated on the immediate threat: the rally point.

At daybreak, the 3rd Squad could hear the Moslem call to prayer echoing through the northern forest.  Lieutenant Karell also detected the sound of armored vehicles bringing up the rest of his platoon.  Shouts erupted from insurgents just inside the tree line; two Pakis ran from the wood carrying RPGs.  They were unaware of Karell’s presence in the grove.

Enemy machine-gun fire opened-up against a Marine bulldozer as it barreled its way through a minefield, clearing a lane to the rally point.  An RPG was fired at the MRAP carrying Karell’s second squad.  The leader of the 2nd Squad was a young corporal by the name of Aaron Tombleson.  At 23-years of age, Tombleson was responsible for the lives and welfare of twelve Marines.  His point man was Private First Class Ivan Wilson, whom everyone called “Willie.”

Explosions began erupting near the MRAP.  Lieutenant Karell heard a loud detonation and this was followed by the giant tire of an MRAP flying toward 3rd Squad.  With none of his men injured in the blast, Corporal Tombleson quickly transferred his squad to a second vehicle.  It was already a jumbled day and it was still early in the morning.

Marines of Fox Company 2/7 in 2008          Photo credit to Sgt F. G. Cantu, USMC

The bulldozer went on to punch a hole through the wall of the compound but had gotten stuck in the rubble and tight surroundings.  A fire team from 2nd Squad dismounted to provide security for the engineers while they attempted to straighten out the bulldozer.  Willie led the fireteam alongside the MRAP toward the rear of the dozer, but incoming small arms fire began pinging the side of the MRAP.  The fire team took cover and began returning fire.  PFC Wilson on point ran to the edge of the compound and took a kneeling position to return fire.  In that instant, an IED exploded under him.  Lieutenant Karell heard the explosion, followed seconds later by a radio report that the 2nd Squad had four or five casualties with one KIA.

3rd Squad’s Navy Corpsman was HM3 Tony Ameen.  He requested Karell’s permission to move up to help attend to the wounded.  Assuming 2nd Squad’s corpsman was overwhelmed in treating the injured, Karell told Ameen he could go —but only with an engineer to sweep for mines.

With Lance Corporal Shrey leading the way, Ameen and another Corpsman, HM Jack Driscoll, and a few additional Marines to provide security, moved up.  The going was slow.  As the medical team inched forward behind Shrey, another explosion erupted, and a plume of smoke appeared behind the tree line.

“Doc” Ameen, impatient with the rate of march, bolted out of line and rushed forward.  This is what Navy Corpsmen are trained to do.  They run to their wounded Marines —and this explains why 2,012 Navy Corpsmen have been killed in combat since the Navy Medical Corps was founded in 1871.  Forty-two corpsmen lost their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan.  There are 21 U.S. Navy ships named after Navy Corpsmen; they have received over six-hundred medals for valor —including 23 Medals of Honor and 179 Navy Cross medals.

A few steps past Shrey, Ameen stepped on another IED.  Ameen went flying head over heel.  He lost one foot and half of his left hand.  Shrey, knocked to the ground by the concussion and bleeding from both ears, got groggily to his feet.  Despite his injury, Shrey maintained his presence of mind and shouted to Doc Driscoll to halt in place.  LCpl Shrey did not want another casualty among the corpsmen.

Meanwhile, Corporal Tumbleson and seven of his Marines —all that was left of his squad— carried Willie to the MRAP; as the Marines struggled to place him inside the vehicle, Wilson attempted to help them.  It was then that he and realized that his arm was missing.  Willie slipped into unconsciousness.  Nearby, a contingent of ISAF Estonian soldiers rushed forward to help get Willie to the Medevac Landing Zone.

Lieutenant Karell called for an airstrike, which after a few minutes destroyed the compound.  Afterward, Karell moved his platoon forward and occupied the compound.  That afternoon, during retrograde back to Nawzad, another MRAP set off an IED, but there were no more human casualties; the truck was damaged beyond repair.  When the Marines arrived back at the company command post (CP), Karell learned that Willie had died on the medical evacuation helicopter.

Even though 3rd Platoon Marines were shaken and exhausted from the day’s events, Karell assembled them to break the news about PFC Wilson.  Afterward, the Marines never spoke about the battle of the compound —they only talked about the day Willie died.  That night, Karell led an eight-man patrol from 1st Squad back to the enemy rally point.  The Marines had learned that the Taliban often returned to a battle site to assess the damage and lay in more IEDs.  No sooner had Karell and his men reached the area just outside the compound, they heard movement ahead of them.  Apparently, the enemy also heard the Marines approaching and withdrew.  Karell wasn’t looking for another fight —he wanted to get his Marines back in the saddle after losing Wilson.

Conditions in Nawzad were what one might expect in Afghanistan.  2/7 Marines were fighting in temperatures that hovered around 120-degrees Fahrenheit.  The chow sucked —but then, all MREs[5] do.  Critical resupply was continually interrupted by enemy activity along the main supply route (MSR).  There was no running water.  The constant swirling of powdery Afghan dust clogged the Marine’s throats —they were continually rinsing their mouths with water, gargling, and spitting it out.  Lack of contact with the outside world challenged unit morale, but worse than that, the Marines believed that their sacrifices were serving no worthwhile purpose.  They were sent there to train police, but instead, the Marines became the police.  And the fact was that a single battalion of Marines was an insufficient force to deal with the overwhelming number of Taliban/Pakistani insurgents over so large an area.  As a result, the Marines were spread too thin —a direct consequence of President Obama’s decision to withdraw the military from Afghanistan.  There were no replacements for evacuated casualties; the Marines would have to fight with what they had.  Corporal Tombleson’s squad, for example, started off with twelve Marines, casualties reducing it to eight —a 33% reduction in combat efficiency.

The attitudes of Marines of Fox Company mirrored those of the other line companies.  Everyone believed that when 2/7 was pulled out, as one day it must, there would be no one to replace them —and they wondered, if this was true, then why were they in Afghanistan at all?  Staff Sergeant Kevin Buegel, who replaced the wounded and evacuated Staff Sergeant Guest as platoon sergeant, was pissed off.  The very idea of losing Marines for no good purpose was a constant source of irritation.  Eventually, word came down that Obama had reversed his earlier decision to withdraw all US forces.  2/7 would be replaced by another battalion landing team after all.

In late October 3rd Platoon assumed the company vanguard (the point) position when Fox Company plunged into Paki Alley to root out and destroy Taliban forces.  Hall’s 2/7 had already cleared Nawzad but clearing the Taliban from the alley would be a tough fight, as urban-type warfare always is.

Lieutenant Karell’s platoon was engaged in clearing operations; each of his rifle squads moving deliberately through their assigned sectors.  At one location, the 1st Squad encountered a Taliban shooter in the structure’s basement.  Marines called out to him in Pashtu to surrender, but he kept shooting at them with an AK-47.  Corporal Joe Culliver was an intelligence analyst temporarily attached to Fox company.  He wanted the shooter taken alive, if possible; one of the Karell’s Marines told him, “Don’t count on it.”  Nothing the Marines did convinced this shooter that it would be to his advantage to surrender.

1st Squad’s delay of advance was becoming a critical issue because the three squads moving forward provided mutual security during the platoon’s operation.  Lieutenant Karell decided that they’d wasted enough time on this one holdout.  Marines tossed hand grenades into the basement; the insurgent answered with more rifle fire.  Staff Sergeant Buegel was pissed off; he always was about something.  He rigged a C-4 explosive and tossed it into the basement.  Whatever impact the explosion had appeared negligible because the shooter continued to unleash measured fire.  Karell knew that the shooter was wounded, knew that he wasn’t going to surrender, and he knew that he was not going to leave him alive in the rear of his Marines.

Elsewhere in the Alley, the Taliban was putting up one hell of a fight.  The enemy employed mortars, machine guns, and hand grenades against the 3rd Platoon.  Karell needed to close the door on this shooter.  Marines inched down the stairwell and poured hot lead around the adobe corer into the open basement.  The shooter finally went silent.  Karell, with his pistol at the ready, entered the basement with Corporal Culliver right behind him.  The Taliban was laying on the floor along the wall on the far side of the room.  He was badly wounded.  Spread out across the floor in front of him were dozens of needles and empty ampules of morphine.  The shooter was higher than a kite, and this explained his apparent lack of pain.  As Karell approached the shooter, he suddenly heaved, reaching for his AK-47.  One of the Marines behind Karell fired twice, killing the Taliban.

Folks back home believe (because this is what the U.S. media tells them) that the Taliban are deeply religious people, dedicated to their belief system, that they are willing to sacrifice themselves in the name of their god.  This could be true among those who run dozens to hundreds of madrassas, and it may even apply to Afghanistan’s dozens of warlords.  Taliban fighters, on the other hand, are seriously malnourished men radicalized by drug addiction.  Culturally and historically, the average Afghan is opposed to any form of government and there is nothing any western coalition can do to change that.  It is a situation that has existed since the days of Alexander the Great.  The only options available to western forces is that of (a) relieving them of their misery and sending them into whatever awaits them in the afterlife (although, with a population exceeding 36 million people, this is highly unlikely), or (b) leaving them alone.

3rd Platoon fought on.  Now, finally, with the backing of newly assigned cobra gunships, pilots[6] could see Karell’s three squads dangerously separated in the urban setting.  3rd Platoon’s fight lasted well over seven hours.  Karell believed his Marines were making progress, but that’s not what the cobra pilots were seeing.  From their vantage point, dozens of insurgents were swarming eastward toward the Karell’s Platoon.  It was only the gunship’s well-aimed rockets that drove them back toward Pakistan.

After seven hours, Lieutenant Karell was running out of daylight —and everything else— and his platoon was only half-way through the series of walled compounds.  Marine engineers destroyed several IED factories and knew more of them lay ahead.  The problem was that the 3rd Platoon was an insufficiently sized force to seize and hold the compounds.  Worse, the combat engineers were out of explosives —so that even if the 3rd Platoon did capture additional IED factories, there was no way to destroy them.  Captain Schellhaas knew that when he ordered the withdrawal of his platoons, it would be only a matter of time before the insurgents filtered back in.

Caught in the middle of all this was the Afghan farmer who only wanted to raise his poppies in peace[7].  The day following 3rd Platoon’s assault on Paki Alley, Karell led a motorized patrol to a small hamlet known as Khwaja Jamal.  In the spring, someone from this village was always taking pot-shots at patrolling Marines; since then, the insurgents there had either withdrawn or gone underground.  More recently, 2/7 Marines had established a dialogue with village elders.  Everyone in Khwaja Jamal was curious about these American interlopers.  It worked to the Marine’s advantage that their living conditions were equal to those of the poor farmers, but while the Marines —the product of 21st Century American society— enjoyed their creature comforts, Afghanis steadfastly rejected modernization in every form.

Were these villagers’ friend or foe?  A third of them were intent on selling Marines their ample supply of illicit drugs; another third wanted to know about American farming and irrigation techniques —and then there was a group of younger men who demanded to know why the Marines were in Afghanistan at all, how many soldiers they had, and how far could their guns shoot.

In December, when 2/7 was withdrawn, Nawzad was still empty of civilians.  By then, a third of Karell’s platoon had been killed or wounded.  Platoon sergeant Buegel was himself wounded by an IED, but he was one of the lucky ones.  Maybe the good Lord likes cranky people.  Relieved by Battalion Landing Team (BLT) 3/8, BLT 2/7 Marines returned to California to resume their lives.  Some of these men left the Corps at the end of their enlistments, some remained on active duty.  The majority of those who remained on active duty were transferred to other posts or stations.  As new men reported for duty with 2/7, replacing those ordered out, the battalion began its workup for a subsequent tour in Afghanistan.

Lieutenant Karell, who was at the end of his obligated service, decided to remain on active duty.

Sources:

  1. Brady, J. The Scariest Place in the World: A Marine Returns to North Korea.  New York: Dunne Books, 2005
  2. Drury, B., and Tom Clavin. The Last Stand of Fox Company.  New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 2009
  3. Henderson, K. A Change in Mission.  Washington: Washington Post Company, 2009
  4. Kummer, D. W. S. Marines in the Global War on Terrorism.  Quantico: History Division, USMC.  2014
  5. Martin, R. Breakout—The Chosin Reservoir Campaign, Korea 1950.  Penguin Books, 1999.

Endnotes:

[1] Celtiberians were Celticized people inhabiting the central-eastern Iberian Peninsula during the final centuries BC.

[2] There are dozens of explanations for the collapse of Rome, among them corruption, social malaise, and the fact that Rome attempted to incorporate barbarians into the Republic/Empire —people who were culturally non-Roman, and who therefore lacked the uniqueness of Roman esprit-de-corps.

[3] At the end of 2007, the most optimistic description possible for Helmand Province was that it was a gaggle turned stalemate.  When the Marines were sent to Helmand Province, Marine commanders decided they had had enough of fighting battles the Army way; they intended to fight the Taliban on their own terms.  It wasn’t long before the U.S. Army hierarchy in Kabul complained to Washington that the leathernecks had gone rogue; the Marines refused to do anything their Army superiors wanted them to do.  But the Marines know how to win battles.  They win battles through aggressiveness, thinking outside the box, and terrifying the hell out of the enemy.  This mindset is a significant contrast to Army careerism.  The Army began referring to Helmand Province as Marineistan.

[4] Skipper is an informal naval term denoting the Commanding Officer of a Marine company, the Commanding Officer of a Navy ship, or a Navy/Marine Corps aircraft squadron.

[5] Meals, Ready to Eat.  Also, Meals Rejected by Ethiopians.

[6] Every Marine officer is trained as an infantry officer.  A combat pilot knows exactly what his ground counterpart is facing and strives to support the grunts in every way possible.

[7] Fifty-two percent of Afghanistan’s gross domestic product (GDP) is generated by their illicit drug trade.  Given that the majority of its 36 million people are happy to remain in the stone age, one wonders how “saving” Afghanistan is in the United States’ national interests.

At the Airport/In Transit

There aren’t enough military airplanes to accommodate every general officer (except in the Air Force), so most flag officers in the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps rely on commercial aircraft to get where they need to go.  There is no preferential accommodation, though.  Whether serving as a one-star general or a three-star admiral, they all ride in normal class accommodations because the Government Accounting Office prohibits the pampering of senior military officers at the public’s expense.  Other military personnel uses commercial aircraft, too … only they usually end up paying for it out of their own pockets —such as people traveling home on authorized leave.

Both situations explain how a Marine Corps brigadier general ended up spending time at a commercial airport with an Air Force second lieutenant.  Normally, flag rank officers do not much enjoy talking to lieutenants.  This isn’t so much a matter of snobbishness as it is that general officers were lieutenants once, too, a long time ago, and no one wearing stars today wants to remember how screwed up they were back then.

The brigadier general was in uniform because he was flying officially, attending important meetings.  He was sitting by himself at a small table in a crowded waiting room at an aircraft hub, waiting for a connecting flight.  He was minding his own business, reading a newspaper, drinking a cup of coffee, and munching on a few snacks.

The Air Force second lieutenant was also in uniform.  A recent graduate from the academy, he too was waiting for a connecting flight.  En route to the gate area, he stopped at a local news shop and picked a newspaper, a package of Oreo cookies, and a cup of coffee.  Carrying the purchased articles was difficult because he also had to carry his hat, his briefcase, and his raincoat.  The sooner he put all these things down on a tabletop, the better.  He rushed forward into the waiting area only to find the area packed with other travelers.  Well, except that there was this one fellow sitting alone at a table for two.  Perfect.

The lieutenant rushed over to the table (lieutenants are always rushing around) and hurriedly setting down his several hand-held articles said, “Mind if I sit here, soldier?”

The general unfolded his newspaper long enough to affix his deadliest stare upon the young lieutenant whose own eyes fixated upon the single star on the general’s collar.  Having seen all that he needed to see, and without saying a word, the general went back to reading his paper.  After a few seconds of painful silence, the lieutenant sat down in his chair and set about organizing his personal belongings, which took a few moments because in organizing his personal effects it was necessary that he stand and sit again a few more times.  The raincoat, for example, came off the top of the table and was hung neatly over the back of his chair.  He set his briefcase on the floor beside the chair.  He moved his hat to the side of the table, out of the way, and he laid his folded newspaper in front of him.

At that moment, the general again unfolded his newspaper, re-affixed his death ray stare, and reached over to help himself to an Oreo cookie.  Once the item was firmly grasped in the general’s hand, the newspaper came up again.  The only sound coming from behind the newspaper was that of an Oreo cookie being consumed.

The lieutenant was both aghast and perplexed.  Sure, rank has its privileges, he thought to himself, but there is such a thing as social grace, and here this … general fellow has helped himself to the lieutenant’s Oreo cookies.  Without asking.  Without so much as a damn “by-your-leave.”  Well, the lieutenant reasoned, those are my cookies; I paid for them, and I’ll darn sure eat them.  He then reached across the table, ruffled his fingers through the cookie container, extracted one, and began eating it.  Again, the newspaper unfolded, and the general’s stare returned once more.

Undaunted and refusing to be intimidated, general or no general, the lieutenant ate the cookie, took a few sips of coffee, and returned the general’s stare.  It wasn’t a disrespectful stare, just somewhat rebellious.  And it worked, too.  The general went back to reading his paper.  Life is full of small victories, or so the lieutenant thought.  It was exactly as his Dad told him years ago.

This sharing of cookies went on for a few more minutes until finally, in response to an announcement over the public address system, the general abruptly stood, retrieved his briefcase and hat, and walked off toward a boarding gate.  The package of Oreos, with one cookie remaining, sat on the table.

The lieutenant watched the general’s departure, shook his head, and thought to himself, “That is one very cheeky general.”  Having eaten the final cookie and with another sip of coffee, the lieutenant unfolded his newspaper.  There, inside the newspaper, the young lieutenant discovered his very own unmolested package of Oreo cookies.

Of Note:

  1. I was told this story years ago.  Whether it happened, I cannot say but it did bring a smile to my face, and I hope it does yours as well.

The Gun Maker

There are many positive things to say about the American Republic —along with a few deserved criticisms.  One of my criticisms is that we Americans seem never to learn important lessons from history —so we are continually forced to relearn them.  This relearning process is too often painful for our nation —for its complex society.  Maybe one day we’ll smarten up, but I’m not holding my breath.

Speaking of lessons unlearned, given their experience with the British Army the founding fathers were distrustful of standing armies.  I find this odd because the British Army’s presence within the thirteen colonies prevented hostile attacks against British settlements.  Years later, at the Battle of Bladensburg during the War of 1812, observing how the American militia cut and run when confronted with a well-trained British Army, President James Madison remarked, “I could never have believed so great a difference existed between regular troops and a militia force if I had not witnessed the scenes of this day.”

Our reliance on state or federal militia to defend our homeland was one of those unlearned lessons.  War is not for amateurs.  Federalized state militias during the American Civil War were not much of an improvement over the Revolutionary War minute men.  History shows us, too, that finding enough resources to fight a war against Spain in Cuba was very close to becoming an unmitigated disaster.  There was only one combat force ready for war in 1898; the U. S. Marine Corps was able to field a single (reinforced) battalion —one that was engaged with the enemy before the Army figured out which of its senior officers was in charge.  Who knows how many horses drowned because the Army couldn’t figure out how to unload them from transport ships and get them to shore.

The United States was still unprepared for combat service at the beginning of the First World War.  Politicians —those geniuses in Washington— had little interest in creating and maintaining a standing armed force.  Worse, our military leaders were incompetent and complacent, and as a result of this, the US military lacked modern weapons.  When Congress declared war against Imperial Germany, the American army was forced to rely on weapons provided by Great Britain and France.  It wasn’t that the United States had no weapons, only that our arsenal was a mishmash of firearms requiring an assortment of munitions that were both inadequate and inefficient for the demands of general war.  In particular, the United States arsenal included ten different revolvers of varying calibers, 12 rifles of foreign and domestic manufacture, and six variants of automatic weapons/machine guns.

Some Background

The Puckle Gun

The world’s first rapid-fire weapon was the brainchild of James Puckle (1667-1724), a British inventor, a lawyer, and a writer, who in 1718 invented a multi-shot gun mounted on a wheeled stand capable of firing nine rounds per minute.  The Puckle Gun consisted of six flintlock barrels, operated manually by a crew.  The barrel was roughly three feet long with a bore measuring 1.25 inches (32mm).  The weapon was hand loaded with powder and shot while detached from its base.  To my knowledge, this device was never used in combat.

Today, we classify machine guns as either light, medium, or heavy weapons.  The light machine gun (with bipod for stability) is usually operated by a single soldier.  It has a box-like magazine and is chambered for small caliber, intermediate power ammunition.  Medium machine guns are general purpose weapons that are belt-fed, mounted on bi-or tripods, and fired using full power ammunition.  The term “heavy machine gun” may refer to water-cooled, belt-fed weapons, operated by a machine gun team, and mounted on a tripod (classified as heavy due to its weight), or machine guns chambered for high-powered ammunition.  Heavy machine gun ammunition is of larger caliber than that used by light and medium guns, usually .50 caliber or 12.7mm.

Gatling Gun

One example of America’s use of rapid-fire weapons was the weapon designed by Richard J. Gatling in 1861, which seems to follow the Puckle design.  Called the Gatling Gun, it was the forerunner of the modern machine gun (and of modern electric motor-driven rotary guns and cannons).  It saw only occasional use during the American Civil War, and only sporadic use through 1911.  It was not an easily transportable weapon.

Wide use of rapid-fire (machine) guns changed the tactics and strategies of warfare.  Magazine or belt fed ammunition gave opposing armies substantial increases in fire power.  No longer could soldiers advance in a frontal assault without incurring massive casualties, which then led to trench warfare.  Machine guns would never have been possible without advances in ammunition —a shift away from muzzle loading single-shot weapons to cartridges that contain the round, propellant, and means of ignition.

The first recoil-operated rapid-fire weapon was the creation of Sir Hiram Stevens Maxim in 1884, a British-American inventor.  The Maxim gun was used by the British in several colonial wars between 1886-1914.  Maxim’s work led to research and development by Hotchkiss[1], Lewis, Browning, Rasmussen[2], Mauser, and others.

First World War 

The only machine guns available to the United States at the beginning of World War I were the Hotchkiss M1909 Benét–Mercié, the Chauchat M1915, M1918 (pronounced Show-sha), which was a light machine gun made in France, Belgium, and Poland, the Colt-Vickers (called the potato digger) was a British water-cooled .303 caliber gun, the Hotchkiss 1914, and the Lewis gun[3].  While the Lewis gun was designed in the United States in 1911, no one in the Army’s Ordnance Department was much interested in it, which caused inventor Colonel Isaac Newton Lewis to seek license for its production in the United Kingdom in 1914.

Some of these machine guns were more dependable than others; they are, after all, only machines.  But one consequence of faulty weapons was the needless combat-related deaths of many young men, whose weapons failed to work at critical moments.  Whenever combat troops lose confidence in their weapons, they become less aggressive in combat; they lose their determination to win —they lose battles.

America’s War Department in 1914 was inept.  Not only were the Army’s senior leader’s incompetent, the entire organization was ill-prepared to carry out the will of Congress.  Of course, the Congress might have taken note of these conditions before declaring war on Germany in 1917, but it didn’t.  Before America could go to war, it was necessary to increase the size of the Army through conscription, complete re-armament was necessary, and massive amounts of spending was required to satisfy the needs of general war.  Until that could happen, until war technology could be developed, the American soldier and Marine would have to make do with French and British armaments.

In 1917, John Browning personally delivered to the War Department two types of automatic weapons, complete with plans and detailed manufacturing specifications.  One of these weapons was a water-cooled machine gun; the other a shoulder fired automatic rifle known then as the Browning Machine Rifle (BMR).  Both weapons were chambered for the US standard 30.06 cartridge.  After an initial demonstration of the weapons capabilities with the US Army Ordnance Department, a second public demonstration was scheduled in south Washington DC, at a place called Congress Heights.

On 27 February 1917, the Army staged a live-fire demonstration that so impressed senior military officers, members of Congress, and the press, that Browning was immediately awarded a contract for the production of the BMR and was favored with the Army’s willingness to conduct additional tests on the Browning machine gun.

In May 1917, the US Army Ordnance Department began this additional testing of the machine gun at the Springfield Armory.  At the conclusion of these tests, the Army recommended immediate adoption of Browning’s weapon.  To avoid confusing the two Browning automatic weapons, the rifle became known as the M1917 Rifle, Caliber .30, Automatic, Browning.  Over time, the weapon was referred to as simply the Browning Automatic Rifle, or BAR.

What was needed then was a company capable of producing the weapons in the quantities needed to arm a field army —which is to say, three infantry corps, each consisting of three infantry divisions, each of those having three regiments, and each regiment consisting of three infantry battalions.  It would be a massive undertaking.  Since the Colt Firearms Company was already under contract to produce the Vickers machine gun for the British Army, Winchester Repeating Arms Company was designated the project’s primary manufacturer.  Winchester, after providing invaluable service to Browning and the Army in refining the final design to the BAR, re-tooled its factory for mass production.  One example of Winchester’s contribution was the redesign of the ejection port, which was changed to expel casings to the left rather than straight up.

The BAR began arriving in France in July 1918; the first to receive them was the US 79th Infantry Division.  The weapon first went into combat against German troops in mid-September.  The weapon had a devastating impact on the Germans —so much so that France and Great Britain ordered more than 20,000 BARs.

B. A. R.

The Marines, always considered the red-headed stepchildren of the U. S. Armed Forces, now serving alongside US Army infantry units, were never slated to receive these new weapons.  Undaunted, Marines of the 1st Battalion, 6th Marine Regiment developed a bartering system with co-located units of the 36th Infantry Division.  The Marines traded their Chauchats to the soldiers in exchange for the new BAR.  Given what I know of the average Marine’s ability to scavenge needed or desired resources, I have no doubt that the Marines were able to convince the doggies that one day, the soldiers would be able to retain the French guns as war souvenirs[4], whereas the BARs would have to be surrendered after the war.  Unhappily for the Marines, senior Army officers learned of this arrangement and the Marines were ordered to surrender the BARs and take back their Chauchats.

The BAR was retained in continual use by the US Armed Forces (less the Air Force, of course) from 1918 to the mid-1970s.  The BAR’s service history includes World War I, Spanish Civil War, World War II, Second Sino-Japanese War, Chinese Civil War[5], Indonesian Revolution, Korean War, Palestinian Civil War, First Indochina War, Algerian War, and in Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Cyprus, and the Thai-Laotian Border War.

The Man

The BMG and BAR were not Browning’s only accomplishments.

John Moses Browning was born into a Mormon family on 23 January 1855.  His father, Jonathan, was among literally thousands of Mormon pioneers that made their exodus from Illinois to Utah.  The elder Browning established a gun shop in Ogden in1852.  As a Mormon in good standing, Jonathan had three wives and fathered 22 children.

John Browning began working in his father’s gun shop at around the age of seven where he learned basic engineering and manufacturing principles, and where his father encouraged him to experiment with new concepts.  He developed his first rifle in 1878 and soon after founded the company that would become the Browning Arms Company.  In partnership with Winchester Repeating Arms Company, Browning developed rifles and shotguns, from the falling block single shot 1885 to the Winchester Model 1886, Model 1895, the Model 1897 pump shotgun, and Remington Model 8.  He also developed cartridges that were superior to other firearm company designs.

John Moses Browning

Browning Arms Company is responsible for the M1899/1900 .32 ACP pistol, M1900 .38 ACP, M1902 .38 ACP, M1903 Pocket Hammer .38 ACP, M1903 9mm Browning Long, M1903 Pocket Hammerless .32 ACP, M1906/08 Vest Pocket .25 ACP, M1908 Pocket Hammerless .380 ACP, the US M1911A1 .45 ACP, Browning Hi-Power 9mm Parabellum, the Colt Woodsman .22 long rifle, and BDA handguns in .38 and .45 ACP.  He developed ten variants of shotgun, eleven rifles, six machine guns, and was awarded 128 patents. 

The Legacy

What it takes to win battles is reliable weapons expertly employed against the enemy.  John Browning gave us expertly designed, quality manufactured weapons to win battles.

We no longer rely on state militias to fight our wars, but we have taken a turn toward including more reserve organizations in our poorly chosen fights.  The US also has, today, a robust weapons development program to give our Armed Forces a battlefield advantage.  Despite past failures in providing our frontline troops quality weapons, the US Marines have always succeeded against our enemies with the weapons at their disposal.  Occasionally, even entrenching tools were used with telling effect against the enemy.

If American Marines have learned anything at all about warfare since 1775, it is that success in battle depends on never taking a knife to a gunfight.

Sources:

  1. Borth, C. Masters of Mass Production.  Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1945.
  2. Browning, J. and Curt Gentry. John M. Browning: American Gunmaker.  New York: Doubleday, 1964.
  3. Gilman, D. C., and H. T. Peck (et.al.), eds. New International Encyclopedia.  New York: Dodd-Mead.
  4. Miller, D. The History of Browning Firearms.  Globe-Pequot, 2008.
  5. Willbanks, J. H.  Machine guns: An Illustrated History of their Impact.  Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2004.

Endnotes:

[1] Benjamin B. Hotchkiss (1826-1885) was an American who, after the American Civil War, with the US government little interested in funding new weapons, moved to France and set up a munitions factory he named Hotchkiss et Cie.

[2] Julius A. Rasmussen and Theodor Schouboe designed a machine gun that was adopted by the Danish Minister of War, whose name was Colonel Wilhelm Herman Oluf Madsen.  They called it the Madsen Machine Gun.

[3] The invention of Colonel Isaac Newton Lewis in 1911 that was based on the initial work of Samuel Maclean.  The US Army’s ordnance department was not interested in the Lewis Gun because of differences between the Chief of Ordnance, Brigadier General William Crozier and Colonel Lewis.

[4] Larceny has been a Marine Corps tradition since the 1890s.  During World War II, Marines were known to steal hospital sheets from adjacent Navy hospitals, make “captured Japanese flags” out of them, and sell them to sailors and soldiers as war souvenirs.  During the Vietnam War, anything belonging to the Army or Navy that was not tied down and guarded 24-hours a day was liable to end up on a Marine Corps compound.  In 1976, three Marines were court-martialed for stealing two (2) Army 6×6 trucks, attempting to conceal the thefts by repainting the trucks and assigning them fraudulent vehicle ID numbers.  In 1976, our Marines were still driving trucks from the Korean and Vietnam War periods.  Despite overwhelming evidence that these three Marines were guilty as hell, a court-martial board consisting of five Marine officers and a Navy lieutenant, acquitted them.  Apparently, no one sitting as a member of the court thought it was wrong to steal from the Army.

[5] Franklin Roosevelt’s “lend-lease” program provided thousands of US made weapons to the Communist Chinese Army during World War II.  The Communists under Mao Zedong hid these weapons away until after Japan’s defeat, and then used them to good advantage against the Chinese Nationalists.  Some of these weapons were used against American soldiers and Marines during the brief “occupation” of China following World War II.  The United States  government continues to arm potential enemies of the United States, which in my view is a criminal act.

Flying Sergeants

Aviation history began before there were airplanes and the first use of aviators actually began with lighter-than-air balloons.  In 1794, French observation balloons were used to monitor enemy troop movements.  Balloons were also employed during the American Civil War, as part of the Army Signal Corps, for observing enemy movements and artillery spotting, and this in turn necessitated the development of a system for communicating between aviators and ground personnel.

In 1906, the Commandant of the Army Signal School at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, Major George O. Squier, began studying aeronautical theory and lectured student-officers on the Wright flying machine.  One of his fellow instructors was a captain by the name of Billy Mitchell, whose expertise included the use of balloons in reconnaissance missions.  Mitchell also became interested in aeronautical principles.

Major Squier later served as an executive assistant to the Army’s Chief Signal Officer, Brigadier General James Allen.  In 1907, at Squier’s urging, Allen created the Aeronautical Division of the Signal Corps.  In December of that year, the Signal Corps requested bids for a heavier-than-air flying machine.  Not everyone in the Army agreed with this development, but ultimately, the Aeronautical Division became the world’s first military aviation organization[1] when it purchased the Wright Model A aircraft in 1909.

American naval interest in aviation followed the Royal Navy’s interests in developing aviation capabilities in 1908, when Prime Minister H. H. Asquith approved the formation of an Aerial Subcommittee within the Imperial Defense Committee.  At this time, the British were primarily interested in dirigible airships for over-water reconnaissance.

In 1910, American aviation pioneer Glenn Curtiss contracted with the U. S. Navy to develop and demonstrate an aircraft utility for ships at sea.  One of Curtiss’ pilots, Eugene Ely, took off from the cruiser USS Birmingham anchored off the Virginia coast in late November 1910.  Then, in January 1911, Ely demonstrated the ability to land on a navy ship by setting down aboard the USS Pennsylvania in San Francisco Bay —efforts which validated Curtiss’ theory.  At the time, landing and takeoff platforms were crude temporary constructs.  On 27 January 1911, Curtiss further demonstrated the suitability of naval aviation by piloting the first sea plane from San Diego Bay.  The next day, Navy Lieutenant Theodore G. Ellyson became the first Naval Aviator when he took off in a Curtiss grass cutter.

Marine Corps aviation began on 22 May 1912 when First Lieutenant Alfred Austell Cunningham[2] reported to the Naval Aviation Camp at Annapolis, Maryland “for duty in connection with aviation.”  Lieutenant Cunningham became the first Marine aviator in August of that year when he took off in a Burgess Model H aircraft, presented to him by the Burgess Company of Marblehead, Massachusetts.

In those early days, the Navy and Marine Corps had different concepts of naval aviation and they were substantial enough to lead Marine aviators to conclude that the Marines should have their own section within the Navy Flying School (created in 1914).  In the next year, the Commandant of the Marine Corps authorized the creation of a Marine Aviation Company for duty with the Advanced Base Force.  The company, manned by ten officers and forty enlisted men, was assigned to the Navy Yard, Philadelphia.

A major expansion of the Marine air component came with America’s entry into World War I.  Wartime enlargements resulted in renaming organizations and a substantial increase in personnel.  In July 1918, Marine Aviation Company was divided and renamed First Aeronautic Company and First Marine Air Squadron.  The aeronautic company deployed to the Azores[3] to hunt for German submarines, while air squadrons were activated and assigned to the 1st Marine Aviation Force in France.

In France, Marine aviators in provided bomber and fighter support to the Navy’s Northern Bombing Group.  Within the short time span of America’s participation in World War I, Marine aviators recorded several aerial victories and credit for dropping in excess of fourteen tons of ordnance on enemy forces.  In total, the 1st Marine Aviation Force included 282 officers and 2,180 enlisted men operating from eight squadrons.  Second Lieutenant Ralph Talbot[4] was the first Marine Corps aviator to earn the Medal of Honor for action against the Luftstreitkräfte, the air contingent of the German Imperial Army.

By the end of the First World War, Marine aviators had gained aeronautical expertise in a wide range of air support roles, including air to air, air to ground, close air support for ground troops, and anti-submarine patrolling.  Congress authorized an aeronautical force of 1,020 men and permanent air stations at Quantico, Parris Island, and San Diego.  From that time forward, whenever and wherever Marines confronted an enemy, their aviation arm accompanied them —at the time, in Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and in Nicaragua.  It was during the Banana Wars that Marine Corps pilots expanded their unique application air air-ground tactics, resupply of ground forces in remote locations, and air-to-ground communications.

If there was one area where Marine aviation stood apart from the other services, it was in the number of enlisted men serving as pilots, especially in time of national emergency/war.  Enlisted pilots were not a “new” concept.  The French air services employed enlisted men as pilots, but if there was a general rule, it would have been that commissioned officers were the primary source for aviators[5].  The Navy implemented its (enlisted) Naval Aviation Pilot designation in 1919.  The Marines, as part of the Naval Services, also authorized enlisted men to serve as pilots.  First Sergeant Benjamin Belcher was the first Marine enlisted man to serve as a NAP in 1923.  Some of these men later received commissions, such as Marine Ace Lieutenant Colonel Kenneth A. Walsh[6], who scored 21 kills and earned the Medal of Honor during World War II.  Walsh served as an enlisted pilot in the 1930s until he was commissioned in 1942.  In that year, there were 132 enlisted pilots serving in front line (fighter/bomber) squadron.  In later years, enlisted pilots flew helicopters and jet aircraft.

Technical Sergeant Robert A. Hill, USMC performed 76 combat missions as the pilot of an OY aircraft.  Hill earned the moniker “Bulletproof” because he often returned to base after a combat mission with massive amounts of bullet holes in his bird.  Hill was awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross for evacuating wounded Marines near the Chosin Reservoir while under heavy enemy fire.  Enlisted pilots also flew R4D[7] transports, which were also used to medevac wounded men and the remains of men killed in action.

During the transition from propeller to jet aircraft, enlisted pilots trained in the Lockheed P-80 (also, TO-1) but only after 1949 and not without some objection by a few squadron commanders who did not want enlisted men flying high performance aircraft.  It was a bit confusing and difficult.  Some of the enlisted pilots in the Korean War had been commissioned during World War II and then reverted to their enlisted ranks in the post-war demobilization period.  Some of these temporarily commissioned pilots left the Marine Corps after World War II and then later regretted doing so.  It was possible for these men to re-join the Marine Corps, but only as enlisted men.  Reenlistment within 90 days entitled these men to rejoin at the rank of Master Sergeant (in those days, E-7[8]), and if beyond 90 days, they could be accepted as Technical Sergeant (E-6).

VMF-311 was ordered into the Korea War with its F9F Panthers and several NAP pilots.  Master Sergeant Avery C. Snow was the first NAP to complete 100 combat missions in a jet aircraft.  Snow achieved the rank of captain during World War II while serving with VMSB-232.

In 1952, Master Sergeant Lowell T. Truex was ordered to fly over an area near the Yalu River.  During his pre-flight briefing, Truex was told that Air Force F-86s would fly escort for his mission.  He was not at all happy to learn that he had no escort and he was flying alone in Indian Country.  When Truex spotted several MiG-15s taking off, he started sweating.  He hurriedly completed his photo-reconnaissance mission and returned to base.  Truex had a few unkind things to say about the Air Force during his post-Op debrief, but he was reassured that the Air Force birds were on station and had kept a close eye on the MiG’s.  The problem was service-rivalry; Air Force pilots had little regard for Marine Corps enlisted pilots, so they occasionally went out of their way to make the flying sergeants feel uncomfortable.

Master Sergeant James R. Todd completed 101 combat missions before rotating back to the States.  He flew 51 missions in Banshees, 10 in the F9F, 23 in the F7F, 13 in F4U-5Ps, and four escort missions in F4U-4Bs.  The F4U-4B was an armed aircraft, but in all the others, Todd had only his sidearm for self-defense —and a high-performance engine.  Like many of his contemporaries, Todd had been commissioned as a second lieutenant in World War II.  He was mustered out in September 1946 but returned to active duty in November of the same year.  He resigned his commission as a first lieutenant and then enlisted as a private.  After the ceremony, he was advanced to the rank of master sergeant.  He received photo reconnaissance training at NAS Pensacola, Florida so that by the time the Korean War broke out, he was well-experienced recon pilot.  It was a skill that would come in handy in the Korean conflict.

Note that in addition to their flying duties, NAPs also shared responsibility for supervising their squadron’s various divisions (flight line, powerplant, airframes, avionics, tool shed, and supply sections).

Enlisted Marines also flew combat missions in the Vietnam War, but by this time there were only a few remaining NAPs.  In 1973, there were only 4 NAPs on active duty;  all four of these men retired on 1 February 1973: Master Gunnery Sergeant Joseph A. Conroy, Master Gunnery Sergeant Leslie T. Ericson, Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert M. Lurie, and Master Gunnery Sergeant Patrick J. O’Neil.

A colorful era in Marine Corps aviation ended with the retirement of these flying sergeants.

Endnotes:

[1] The progenitor of the US Air Force.

[2] Cunningham (1882-1939) from Atlanta, Georgia, served in the 3rd Georgia Volunteer Infantry during the Spanish-American War.  Following his voluntary service, he worked as a real estate agent in Atlanta for ten years until 1903.  In 1909, he received a commission to second lieutenant in the U. S. Marine Corps.  His enthusiasm for aviation was contagious and he soon convinced the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Major General William P. Biddle, that aviation was well-suited to the concept of the advanced base concept.

[3] An autonomous region of Portugal, an archipelago consisting of nine volcanic islands in the North Atlantic.

[4] Ralph Talbot (1897-1918) from South Weymouth, Massachusetts, joined the U. S. Navy in 1917.  Owing to his participation in college level artillery reserve training, the Navy appointed him as a Seaman 2nd Class.  After ground training and flight training, he was appointed Naval Aviator #456.  At the time, the Marine Corps was having problems recruiting aviators so Talbot (and a number of other Navy pilots), in realizing that he would be in a better position to receive a combat assignment in the Marine Corps, resigned his navy commission and accepted a commission in the USMC.  He was assigned to the 1st Marine Aviation Force for duty with “C” Squadron.  Talbot was killed in an accident during takeoff at La Fresne aerodrome, France.

[5] At the beginning of World War II, the Royal Air Force would have been even worse off during the Battle of Britain were it not for their enlisted pilots.

[6] See also: A Damned Fine Pilot.

[7] This aircraft became a workhorse for America.  From its first design, the aircraft had several service and mission designations, including DC-3, R4D, C-47, Skytrain, Dakota, RC-47, SC-47, Spooky, EC-47, C-53, C-117, and C-129.

[8] In 1949, the highest enlisted grade was Master Sergeant (E-7).

Admiral of the Navy

Some background

As with most military officers of the 19th century, George Dewey was born into a prominent family that offered him the resources and support that he needed to achieve great success in life —and George Dewey did exactly that.  George’s father Julius was a physician in Montpelier, Vermont; an astute businessman (one of the founders of the National Life Insurance Company), and a devoted Christian.  George had two older brothers and a younger sister—all of whom received a good education.  When George reached his fifteenth birthday, his father sent him to the Norwich Military School (now Norwich University), where he studied for two years.

In 1854, George received an appointment to the U. S. Naval Academy; it was a time when the cadet corps was small —averaging only around one-hundred midshipmen per class.  Of course, the naval and military academies aren’t for everyone; each class experienced a significant attrition rate, which made the graduating class about a small percentage of its freshman populations.  George’s graduating class advanced fourteen young men, with George finishing fifth.  From then on, George Dewey served with distinction on several ships.  At the beginning of the American Civil War, Dewey served as an executive lieutenant on the USS Mississippi, a paddle steamer frigate assigned to the Gulf Blockading Squadron and later participated in operations at New Orleans, Port Hudson, and Donaldsonville.  In 1864, Dewey was transferred to the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron for service on USS Colorado under Commodore Henry K. Thatcher.  Colorado took part in the two battles at Fort Fisher (Wilmington, North Carolina).  It was during the second battle that Dewey’s tactical ability and courage under fire led to favorable mention in the New York Times.

Following war time service, Dewey followed the normal progression of a naval officer.  Promoted to Lieutenant Commander, Dewey served as the executive officer[1] of the USS Colorado, served at the USNA at Annapolis, and as a shore survey officer with the Pacific Coast Survey.  While serving in this billet, George lost his wife due to complications of childbirth.

After four years of survey work, Commander Dewey received orders to Washington where he was assigned to the Lighthouse Board.  It was an important assignment and one that gave him access to prominent members of Washington society.  By every account, Dewey was popular among the Washington elite.  The Metropolitan Club invited him to apply for membership; it was a leading social club of the time.

In 1882, Dewey assumed command of USS Juniata with the Asiatic Squadron.  Promoted to Captain two years later, he assumed command of USS Dolphin, which was one of the original “white squadron” ships of the Navy[2].  In 1885, Dewey was placed in command of USS Pensacola, where he remained for three years.  Pensacola was the flagship of the European squadron.  From 1893-96, Dewey served as a staff officer at Naval headquarters.  He was advanced to Commodore[3] in 1896.

When the navy began looking for a new Asiatic Squadron commander, no one seriously considered Commodore Dewey because he was too junior in rank.  As it turns out, though, Dewey’s Washington-area assignments and his membership in the Metropolitan Club paid off.  Assistant Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roosevelt interceded with President McKinley for Dewey’s assignment as Commander-in-Chief of the Asiatic Squadron.  It was a fortunate turn of events for the United States.

Dewey assumed command of the Asiatic Fleet in January 1898 and departed for Hong Kong to inspect US warships at the British colony.  Upon arrival in Hong Kong, Dewey learned of the destruction of USS Maine in Havana Harbor.  Even though skeptical of the possibility that the United States would go to war against Spain[4], Dewey readied his squadron for war.  Washington dispatched USS Baltimore to Hong Kong and Dewey purchased the British colliers Nanshan and Zafiro, retaining their British crewmen.

Spanish-American War

At the time Congress declared war against Spain, the United States military was a shamble.  The Army was barely capable of confronting hostile Indians in the American west, much less a major European power.  The Army was understrength, underequipped, undertrained, and worse than this, an incompetent officer corps led it.  The Navy was in a rebuilding process (thanks to Roosevelt), and the strength of the Marine Corps was small and widely distributed throughout the world.  The only edge the United States had against Spain was that the Spanish military was in far worse shape.

When the United States declared war, the United Kingdom quickly asserted its neutrality.  As a neutral power, the British governor ordered the US fleet out of the harbor.  Dewey removed his squadron into Chinese waters near Mirs Bay, north of Hong Kong.

The congressional declaration came on 25 April, retroactive to 21 April.  Five days before the Congressional declaration, however, Secretary of the Navy John D. Long ordered the formation of an expeditionary battalion of Marines.  By 21 April, the First Marine Battalion[5] was already embarked aboard ship and headed for Key West, Florida for staging and final preparations for war.  Meanwhile, the US Army was still trying to figure out how to organize regiments for duty in the field.

On 27 April, Dewey sailed from Chinese waters aboard his flagship USS Olympia with orders to attack the Spanish Fleet at Manilla Bay.  Three days later, the Asiatic Squadron was poised at the mouth of Manilla Bay.  He gave the order to attack at first light on the morning of 1 May 1898.  Dewey’s squadron soundly defeated the Spanish in a battle that lasted only six hours.  The Spanish fleet was either sunk, captured, or scuttled; fortifications in Manilla were rendered moot.  Only one American sailor died in the assault, an older chief petty officer who suffered a heart attack.  Owing to his success at Manilla, Dewey was advanced to Rear Admiral on 1 May 1898. 

The U. S. Coast Guard Joins the Fight

At the time of the outbreak of the Spanish-American War, US Coast Guard Revenue Cutter McCulloch was at sea on an extended shakedown cruise from Hampton Roads to her assigned station at San Francisco.  On her arrival in Singapore orders were received to proceed with all possible speed to Hong Kong and report to Commodore Dewey for further duty.  The ship arrived on 17 April and sailed with the fleet for Mirs Bay and a week later, to Manila.  While a smaller vessel and not built for naval service she was a very welcome and valuable addition to the Asiatic Squadron.  McCulloch performed excellent patrol and dispatch services throughout the period of hostilities and until November 1898 when she resumed her voyage to San Francisco.

On 29 June 1898 McCulloch received a signal from Olympia; which read “Spanish gunboat sighted bearing north-west apparently attempting to reach Manila, intercept and capture.”  McCulloch broke her record getting under way and set a course to get between the gunboat and the foreign shipping of Manila.  The unidentified ship changed her course to meet the cutter head on flying a flag at the fore, a pennant at the main, and a flag at the gaff, all of which were indistinguishable because of the light.  However, upon closing with the ship, McCulloch discovered that she was flying a white flag at the fore. After heaving to, a boarding officer discovered that the ship was the Spanish gunboat Leyte, which had escaped during the early morning of 1 May.  Leyte had remained in hiding in one of the numerous rivers emptying into the bay but could neither escape to sea or avoid the attacks of the Filipino insurgents and so her commanding officer decided to surrender.

McCulloch’s prize crew hauled down the Spanish flag and raised the US flag.  The prize crew promptly proceeded to Olympia and anchored off her starboard quarter. McCulloch accompanied her and sent a whale boat to the Leyte to take her commanding officer and the prize master to the flagship.

That morning, McCulloch had refueled in a manner customary to the Coast Guard, but not to the Navy.  Moreover, a heavy rain squall had kicked up a choppy sea.  When the whale boat came alongside Olympia, the prize master and captured Spanish captain mounted the gangway and were promptly escorted to Admiral Dewey, who was sitting, as usual, in a wicker chair on the quarter deck.  The prize master saluted and said, “Sir, I have to report the capture of the Spanish gunboat Leyte.  I herewith deliver the officer commanding on board.”  If the prize master anticipated a hero’s welcome, he was disappointed.  Admiral Dewey looked up sharply and said, “Very well, sir … and I want to tell you that your boat’s crew pulls like a lot of damn farmers.[6]

From that wicker chair on the quarterdeck there was very little that went on in Manila Bay that escaped Admiral Dewey’s sharp eyes.  His tongue was known as rapier sharp[7].

Philippine Occupation

All was not going well for the Americans in the Philippines.  With the defeat of Spain, Philippine nationalists revealed themselves and they were not entirely pleased about having to exchange one colonial master for another.  In 1895, Emilio Aguinaldo joined other nationalists seeking to expel Spanish colonials and achieve national independence through armed force.  While Dewey was attacking the Spanish from the sea in 1898, Aguinaldo was attacking them from land.  Initially, Dewey and Aguinaldo enjoyed a cordial relationship, but within six months, Dewey was threatening to shell Aguinaldo’s forces in order to allow the unopposed arrival of US Army forces under the command of Major General Wesley Merritt[8] who was tasked to take formal possession of Manilla on 13 August 1898.

In May, Major General (of volunteers) Elwell S. Otis, U. S. Army was dispatched to the Philippines with reinforcements for Merritt.  In late August, Otis replaced Merritt as Commander, Eighth Army and military governor of the Philippines.  As the military governor, first Merritt and later Otis were supreme in all matters ashore.  Because the Philippine Islands was America’s first extraterritorial possession, there was an associated learning queue; mistakes were made, and occasionally, American arrogance got in the way.

Of issues pertaining to jurisdiction and policy in the Philippines (generally) and to the local vicinity of Manila (particularly), there was no single point of view and not all questions were settled to everyone’s satisfaction.  Under these circumstances, there were occasions when someone stepped on someone else’s toes  Admiral Dewey had wanted to subdue Manilla, but in lacking enough land forces to achieve it, had no other option than to wait for the arrival of the US Army.

The affairs of the newly acquired territory were conducted by a joint board in which Admiral Dewey and General Otis were its most influential members. Meetings were held on shore and were usually agreeable affairs, but not always.  Admiral Dewey had little patience for long-winded discussions; on one occasion, having listened to blather long enough, stormed out of the meeting and returned to his ship.

In order to properly police the Pasig river and the adjacent back country it was necessary to have an efficient riverine force.  This duty fell to the Army.  Four vessels were so employed: the Oeste, a large tug given to the Army by the Navy; the Napindan, the Covadonga and the larger Laguna de Bay, which served the river patrol’s flagship.  The two latter-named boats were chartered or commandeered vessels.  Laguna de Bay had sloping casemated upper works and looked like a small edition of the confederate Merrimack [later, CSS Virginia].  All four vessels were protected with boiler plate and railroad iron.  This small fleet was manned by the 3rd US Artillery[9].

Occasionally this non-descript collection of river boats, which were mission-sufficient (but far from “ship shape”) would come out of the Pasig river for a turn in the bay on some business or other.  Now, since the waters of the bay were within Admiral Dewey’s domain, each time one of the river craft went beyond the lighthouse Dewey became apoplectic with rage and would order them back.  It happened too frequently, which prompted Dewey to send Otis a terse note warning him that the next time he found a river craft operating in the bay, the Navy would sink it.  The river craft never again reappeared in Manilla Bay.  General Otis was the better man in this instance by not challenging Dewey’s warning.

Admiral Dewey was ordered back to the United States on 27 September 1899.  Upon arrival, he received a hero’s welcome, which involved parades in New York City and Boston.  By an act of congress, Dewey was promoted to the special rank of Admiral of the Navy in 1903, his date of rank retroactive to 1899.  The congressional act provided that when such office became vacant, upon Dewey’s death, the office would cease to exist.  He was, therefore, the only officer of the United States Navy to serve in that rank, one he retained until his death on 16 January 1917.  George Dewey served as a naval officer for 62 years.

Sources:

  1. Adams, W. H. D.  Dewey and Other Great Naval Commanders, a Series of Biographies. New York: G. Routledge, 1899.
  2. Albion, R. G.  Makers of Naval Policy 1798-1947. Annapolis MD: Naval Institute Press, 1980.
  3. Barrett, J. Admiral George Dewey: A Sketch of the Man. New York: Harper, 1899.
  4. Dewey, G.  Autobiography of George Dewey, Admiral of the Navy. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1987.
  5. Ellis, E. S. Dewey and Other Naval Commanders. New York: Hovendon Press., 1899.
  6. Love, R. W. Jr.  History of the U.S. Navy, 1775-1941. Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1992.

Endnotes:

[1] Second in command.

[2] The squadron of evolution (white squadron) was a transitional unit in the late 19th century.  It was composed of protected cruisers (Atlanta, Boston, and Chicago) and dispatch boats (Dolphin and Yorktown).  Bennington and Concord joined the squadron in 1891.  USS Chicago served as the squadron admiral’s flag ship.  Having both full rigged masts and steam engines, the White Squadron was influential in the beginning of steel shipbuilding.

[3] In 1896, Commodore was a one-star rank junior to Rear Admiral.  In 1899, the navy abandoned the rank (revived during World War II) and used it exclusively as a title bestowed on US Navy captains placed in command of squadrons containing more than one vessel or functional air wings not part of a carrier air wing.  Today, the equivalent rank for commodore is Rear Admiral (Lower Half), and even though such persons wear two stars of a Rear Admiral, they are equivalent to the one-star rank of brigadier general in the Army, Air Force, and Marine Corps.

[4]  Dewey believed there was little to gain from a war with Spain.  Dewey had a short view of the situation because there was much at stake in this conflict.

[5] Five days before the declaration of war, Acting Secretary of the Navy John D. Long ordered Major General Charles Heywood, Commandant of the Marine Corps, to organize one battalion of Marines for expeditionary duty with the North Atlantic Squadron.  The battalion was named the First Marine Battalion and placed under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Robert W. Huntington, a 40-year veteran of service as a Marine.

[6] It is the responsibility of seniors (officers or enlisted men) to lead and mentor their subordinates.  There can be little doubt that Admiral Dewey was an irascible fellow; I have worked under such men myself.  But I believe Dewey’s snappishness resulted from his own training, his uncompromising insistence that subordinates exhibit pride in their seamanship and strive for perfection in the art and science of the naval profession.

[7] Story related and passed down from Captain Ridgley, U. S. Coast Guard, who at the time served aboard McCulloch.

[8] Merritt served in the Civil War as a cavalry officer with additional service in the Indian wars and the Philippine-American War.  After Dewey’s destruction of the Spanish Fleet, Merritt was placed in command of the newly formed Eighth Army Corps.  Merritt, with all available troops in the United States, departed for the Philippines form San Francisco in early June 1898.  In August 1898, Merritt became the first American military governor of the Philippine Islands.

[9] It was no small matter to train artillerymen to operate water craft.

No Guts, No Glory

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli;
We fight our country’s battles
In the air, on land, and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
Of United States Marine.

Our flag’s unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in ev’ry clime and place
Where we could take a gun;
In the snow of far-off Northern lands
And in sunny tropic scenes;
You will find us always on the job
The United States Marines.

Here’s health to you and to our Corps
Which we are proud to serve;
In many a strife we’ve fought for life
And never lost our nerve;
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven’s scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines.

Well, it’s all true, of course, but what most people do not understand is that before there can be victory in battle, there must be the development of doctrine and consistent training that develops a sense of unit and individual esprit-de-corps.  Winning battles is what the Marines do, but victory on the field of battle is no coincidence.  The superlative battle history of the Marine Corps is a result of years of developing doctrine, a process of scholarly discussions about how things should work, and the finding out what does work, and then implementing vigorous training, and constant rehearsal so that such things work consistently well.

This was not always the case, however.  Between 1775-1890, Marine Corps service was a somewhat narrow band of tasks and missions.  In the early days, the Corps’ primary mission was service aboard ship —and the Marines were quite useful to the captains of Continental/United States Navy vessels … it was simply that their missions were limited in scope.  This was true during the Civil War, as well, when the mission of ship’s detachments were finite.

In the 1890s, the Navy began its transition from sail to steam propulsion engines.  While having begun its experimentation with steam engines as early as 1816, US Navy vessels continued to hoist sail until the 1880s.  The official transition came with the commissioning of the battleships USS Maine and USS Texas and with this transition, the mission of shipboard Marine Detachments began to change, as well.  Over time, not every ship’s captain saw a need for a Marine Detachment aboard his ship.  There were only so many capital ships, only so many ships’ detachments, and so many billets for non-shipboard Marines.  Marine leaders realized that without a distinctive mission, without unique expertise, then the Corps would, in time, become passé.  The question became one of maintaining relevance at a time of rapid doctrinal and technological changes.

One of the Marine Corps’ scholarly leaders at the time was Robert Watkinson Huntington who, by 1890, had served in the Marine Corps for just under 30 years.  In that many years, Huntington learned how to do things —to get things done.  Huntington was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel in 1897.  Then in command of the Marine Barracks, New York Navy Yard, Brooklyn, Huntington received orders from the Commandant of the Marine Corps to immediately raise a battalion of Marines for possible service against Spain in Cuba.  It was no easy task to raise a battalion of combat-ready Marines at a time when there was no other battalion-sized unit in the Marine Corps.

LtCol Huntington’s Battalion, Cuba

To accomplish this task, Headquarters Marine Corps had to redirect four company’s worth of Marines from headquarters type units, recruiting stations, training commands, ships detachments, and Marine Barracks organizations up and down the Atlantic coast.  As Huntington started the process of raising this battalion, named the First Marine Battalion (Reinforced), Marine quartermasters began organizing the shipment of combat equipment and tropical weight uniforms to Key West, Florida.  While senior Army commanders were still haggling about seniority and raising an expeditionary force, Colonel Huntington was already in Cuba leading his Marines ashore.  It was this tireless effort and the success of the First Marine Battalion that provided the Marine Corps with its uniqueness: an amphibious force capable of projecting naval power ashore.

At one time, the world’s naval and military philosophers uniformly believed that successful large-scale amphibious operation was an impossibility—and with good reason.  While amphibious warfare has been conducted since ancient times, Napoleon’s failures to control the English Channel and invade England, the Crimean War, and the disaster of Gallipoli were frequently cited as classic examples of its failure as a strategy.

The performance of the First Marine Battalion (Reinforced) in Cuba initiated a love affair between the American people and their Marines.  Emotionally manipulated by the yellow press, the American people believed that the Spanish had blown up the battleship USS Maine.  They needed American heroes; the Marine Corps gave them a few.  The exceptional performance of the U. S. Marines in World War I reinforced this feeling.  After World War I, thoughtful, studious Marine officers began working with their Navy counterparts in the development of airpower and amphibious capability — Charles G. McCawley, Charles Heywood, George Elliott, William Biddle, George Barnett, John A. Lejeune, Alfred Cunningham, Roy Geiger, Robert Huntington, Dion Williams, and Earl Hancock “Pete” Ellis among them.

BrigGen Dion Williams

How does one mount a successful operation against a hostile shore without adequate information about the landing site, hydrographics, enemy displacements, the size of a hostile force?  Answer: it can’t be done successfully.  The officer who pioneered the concept of amphibious reconnaissance forces was (then) Major Dion Williams, USMC  (1869-1952).  While attending the Naval War College (1905-1907), Williams wrote a paper entitled Naval Reconnaissance, Instructions for the Reconnaissance of Bays, Harbors, and Adjacent Country.  This work became the first official US doctrine concerning amphibious reconnaissance.  Williams focused his attention on the creation and employment of specialized forces in the conduct of pre-assault reconnaissance; most of Williams’ concepts were later incorporated into the Tentative Manual for Landing Operations (1934).

By any definition, Brigadier General Williams was a well-rounded career officer who, before his retirement in 1935, served as Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps.  His contributions to the Marine Corps Reconnaissance mission continues to this day.

Marine Corps reconnaissance battalions had their beginnings in 1942-43, an idea sparked during the Guadalcanal Campaign.  The Commanding General, 1st Marine Division, Major General Alexander A. Vandergrift, approved a recommendation submitted by Colonel William J. Whaling[1] to form a scout-sniper company.  Whaling’s proposal was for a special operations/special missions company trained in long-range patrolling and as snipers.  Centralized training for its personnel was judged to be critical because, while combat patrolling was (and continues to be) governed by lessons learned in combat, the skill sets, and processes of gathering intelligence through long-range patrolling was viewed differently by the 1stMarDiv and 2ndMarDiv.  What the Amphibious Corps commander wanted was consistency in roles, missions, and command relationships.  The task then became one of standardization, or how to deploy limited reconnaissance assets and clarification of command relationships.

If the scout-snipers operated in general support of the Division, scouting missions would likely originate with the Division Operations Officer (G-3) in cooperation with the Division Intelligence Officer (G-2).  Information gathered would be returned to the G-3/G-2 and this intelligence would be used in the planning of subsequent offensive operations.

If scout-sniper assets operated in a direct support role, elements of the scout-sniper company would be temporarily assigned to the Division’s subordinate commands (regiments), who deployed a platoon or squads within the regimental tactical area of responsibility  (TAOR).  In these instances, the regimental S-3/S-2 would likely coordinate the activities of the temporarily attached scout-sniper element with higher headquarters.  Any intelligence gathered would of course be shared with the Division G-3/G-2.

The Scout-Sniper mission, which followed their training, involved long-range scouting, patrolling, escape and evasion techniques, land/maritime navigation, knife fighting, close-quarter combat, demolitions, combat swimming, underwater (scuba) training, hydrographic survey, amphibious reconnaissance, and rubber boat training.  Scout-sniper officers also attended the Navy’s Amphibious Scout School, which emphasized ambushes, and amphibious raids.

When the 9th Marine Amphibious Brigade (9thMAB) went ashore at Da Nang on 8 March 1965, reconnaissance assets were attached to battalion landing teams (BLTs) to provide direct support to the BLT commander.  For example, Company A[2], 3rd Reconnaissance Battalion (Alpha 3rd Recon) was attached to Battalion Landing Team (BLT), 3/9.  Additional reconnaissance platoons subsequently arrived as attachments to BLTs (3/4, 1/3, 2/3).  It was a matter of task organizing reconnaissance assets and attaching them to combat commands where they could do the most good.

Once in country, four recon platoons were reformed as Delta Company under Captain Patrick G. Collins.  Delta 3rd Recon operated in direct support of the brigade until 7 May 1965, when Lieutenant Colonel Don H. Blanchard led the 3rd Recon Battalion ashore at Chu Lai with the 3rd Marine Amphibious Brigade (3rdMAB).  Within a few days, Blanchard was ordered to move his battalion, (with Alpha and Charlie Companies) to Da Nang.  Delta Company joined the battalion at Da Nang, while Bravo Company remained at Chu Lai.  Under the concept of mission directed task organization, the 3rd Recon Battalion became an administrative headquarters element that provided reconnaissance assets to infantry battalions on an as-needed basis.

Lieutenant Colonel Roy R. Van Cleve assumed command of 3rd Recon Battalion on 1 September.  Twenty days later, Van Cleve realigned his battalion in compliance with the III MAF general support directive.  Headquarters, Alpha, Charlie, and Delta companies were to operate from Da Nang, while one platoon from Charlie Company would serve at Hue/Phu Bai; a newly designated Recon Group Alpha (consisting of Bravo Company, 3rd Recon Battalion, and Charlie Company, 1st Recon Battalion) would focus on operations from Chu Lai.

Because the infantry battalions at Hue, Phu Bai, Da Nang, and Chu Lai were assigned to static defense missions[3], Colonel Van Cleve wondered, “Reconnaissance of what?”  Van Cleve’s Marines were not performing reconnaissance missions; they were performing security patrols.  Rules of engagement within the TAOR limited patrols to the parent unit’s own front yard.  Geography dictates scheme of maneuver … so when defensive locations afforded Marines with good observation, there was less demand for a reconnaissance patrol.  Hue/Phu Bai reduced their recon contingent to one platoon.

Reconnaissance Areas of Responsibility (RAOR) were defined according to base camp assignment.  At Da Nang, the ROAR extended 4 to 10 kilometers forward of the Da Nang perimeter.  At Chu Lai, recon teams supported two regiments (4th Marines and 7th Marines); each regimental commander determined his own ROAR[4].  The range of reconnaissance missions was limited by the range of radio equipment, the life of batteries[5], and surrounding terrain.  The field radio PRC-25 replaced the older PRC-47 and PRC-10, neither of which was suitable for deep patrolling.  Added to the foregoing, Marine commanders had legitimate concerns about the size of reconnaissance patrols.  While true the Marines were operating from fixed bases, there had to be a balance in the size of the patrol.  It had to be small enough to be effective, and large enough to fight its way out of an enemy entrapment.

Conflict in Vietnam wasn’t a rehash of the Korean War and all Marine combat units in Vietnam underwent doctrinal tests, particularly since MACV insisted on a static defense strategy.  For reconnaissance Marines, 1965 was a year of adjustment.  The 3rd Marine Division had its 3rd Recon Battalion, and the 1st Marine Division had the 1st Recon Company; both organizations experienced great difficulty responding to the demands of supporting three (growing) TAORs: Da Nang, Chu Lai, and Hue/Phu Bai.  3rdReconBn and 1stReconCo were dissimilar in their mission-centered organization.  The mission of 3rdRecon was to support its parent infantry division (and subordinate commands); 1stReconCo, on the other hand, was a force level unit whose mission was to conduct pre-assault and distant post-assault reconnaissance in support of an amphibious or vertical assault force.

Between 23-27 February 1965, Marines of the 1stReconCo partnered up with the Navy’s Underwater Demolition Team (UDT) and conducted underwater reconnaissance of RED Beach 1 and 2 (Da Nang) in preparation for the amphibious landing of BLT 3/9.  This was exactly how reconnaissance was envisioned by (then) Major Dion Williams, as already discussed.  Similar missions were completed at Hue and Phu Bai, including underwater river reconnaissance of the Perfume River and at Chu Lai.  This was extremely dangerous work.  On 27 March, Corporal Lowell Merrill was one of five Marines/Sailors caught in a VC crossfire while surveying near the Tra Bong River.  Three of these men died from their wounds, including Corporal Merrill[6].   1stReconCo Marines also performed as a quick reaction force to protect downed helicopters—efforts which were directed by the III MAF G-2, but none of the missions taken on by 1stReconCo were easy, made more difficult by supply problems.  To help solve these issues, the III MAF commander transferred elements of the company to the operational control of the 3rdReconBn.

The earliest reconnaissance patrols in Vietnam were comparatively large, ranging from 12-22 Marines; a few were company-sized patrols, but there was no safety in numbers.  On 12 July, an 18-man patrol from Alpha Company was operating near Dai Loc, about 18 kilometers southwest of Da Nang when it tangled with a company of Viet Cong.  The patrol was led by 27-year-old First Lieutenant Frank S. Reasoner, USMC, a native of Spokane, Washington.  He enlisted in the Marine Corps in 1955 and having completed the Naval Airman’s course in 1956 was designated an Airborne Radioman.  After promotion to Corporal, Reasoner attended the Naval Academy Preparatory School.  He received an appointment to the U. S. Naval Academy in 1958, graduating in 1962 with his subsequent assignment to the 3rdReconBn.  He assumed command of Alpha Company on 20 June 1965.

First Lieutenant Reasoner’s patrol had affected a deep penetration of heavily controlled enemy (communist) territory when it came under heavy fire from an estimated VC force of 100 men.  Reasoner, on point with five other Marines at the point of enemy contact, immediately deployed his Marines for an assault.  Shouting encouragement and tactical instructions to his men while still isolated from the main body of the patrol, Reasoner organized a base of fire while under intense enemy machine gunfire.  Repeatedly exposing himself to the enemy’s devastating attack, Lieutenant Reasoner skillfully provided covering fire to effect the evacuation of wounded Marines.  Despite killing several of the enemy and silencing their machine gun, Marine casualties continued to mount.  When Reasoner’s radio operator was hit, the lieutenant moved to his side and began to treat his wounds while moving him rearward toward a position of greater safety.  When the Marine was hit again, Reasoner courageously went to his aid a second time, running through grazing enemy fire.  It was then that Lieutenant Reasoner fell mortally wounded.  Acting with unreserved gallantry and devotion to his men, First Lieutenant Frank S. Reasoner gave his life to the service of his country.

Lieutenant Reasoner was the first Marine to receive the Medal of Honor (posthumously) during the Vietnam War.  Before his family received this award, the Commanding Officer 3rdReconBn dedicated the battalion’s base camp to his memory.  “Greater love hath no man than this: the lay down his life for a friend.” —John 15:13.  The U. S. Navy further honored Frank Reasoner by naming FF-1063, a Knox-class frigate, after him.

First Lieutenant Frank S. Reasoner was but one of the thousands of young Marines and Navy Corpsmen who gave their last full measure of devotion to their country.  Not every hero gave up his life in Vietnam; some lived on … carrying with them to the end of their days the painful memories of the horrors of war, the loss of friends.

Sergeant Jimmie L. Howard, from Burlington, Iowa, was a student at the University of Iowa when he decided to enlist in the Marine Corps on 12 July 1950.  During the Korean War, Howard was awarded the Silver Star Medal, the Navy Commendation Medal, and two Purple Hearts while serving with the 1st Marines.  He subsequently served as a squad leader with the 1st Amphibious Reconnaissance Company (later redesignated as 1stReconCo).  Promoted to Staff Sergeant[7] (E-5)  in 1956, Howard served in several assignments, which included duty as a military policeman, a platoon sergeant in 2/9, Guard NCO, and as a Counterguerrilla Warfare instructor.  In April 1966, was assigned as a platoon sergeant with 1stReconCo.

During the evening of 13 June 1966, Staff Sergeant (E-6) Howard led a patrol of 15 Marines and two Navy Corpsmen into a drop zone behind enemy lines atop Hill 488.  His mission was to observe enemy troop movements and interdict these by calling in for air and artillery strikes.  Aware of the presence of the Marines, a well-trained North Vietnamese Army (NVA) battalion engaged Howard’s patrol with automatic weapons and overwhelming rifle fire.  Ignoring the unrelenting fury of hostile fire, Howard repeatedly exposed himself to mortal danger while directing the operation of his small force.  As the enemy fire increased in its intensity, Howard demonstrated calm resolve and exceptional courage by directing the fire of his own men and distributing ammunition to those who needed it.  When his radio operator was wounded and incapacitated, despite being painfully wounded in his legs by an enemy grenade, Howard called in artillery and airstrikes with uncanny accuracy.  By dawn, the next day, Howard’s patrol had suffered five killed in action and all but one Marine wounded.  When rescue helicopters attempted to land on Hill 488, Howard waived them off emphasizing that the hillside was still crawling with enemy troops.  He instead called in for additional airstrikes which he directed perilously close to his own position and delivered concentrated rifle and machine-gun fire on the enemy.  In this way securing a helicopter landing zone, the Howard patrol was soon evacuated.  In recognition of his valiant leadership and courageous fighting spirit, Howard was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Lyndon B. Johnson.

There was never a shortage of guts or glory among Recon Marines in the Vietnam War.

Semper Fidelis …

Sources:

  1. Hildreth, R., and Charles W. Sasser. Hill 488.  New York: Pocket Books,
  2. Shulimson, J., and Charles W. Johnson. Marines in Vietnam, 1965: The Landing and the Buildup.  Washington: History and Museums Division, Headquarters, U. S. Marine Corps , 1978.
  3. Shulimson, J. S. Marines in Vietnam, 1966: An Expanding War.  Washington: History and Museums Division, Headquarters, U. S. Marine Corps, 1982.
  4. Vetter, L. C. Never Without Heroes: Marine Third Reconnaissance Battalion in Vietnam, 1965-1970.  Random House/Ballantine Publishing, 1996.

Endnotes:

[1] Whaling was a highly decorated career officer whose service began in 1917.  On 7 December 1941, Whaling served as the Executive Officer, Marine Barracks, Hawaii and witnessed the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor.  He was subsequently recalled to Washington as a witness to the Roberts Commission.  He was subsequently assigned as Commanding Officer, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines in January 1942 and later assigned as the Executive Officer, 5th Marines Regiment (5thMar).  Whaling was legendary as a combat officer, but his administrative skills were lacking.  It was something he shared with his Commanding Officer, Colonel Leroy P. Hunt.  Colonel Hunt was charismatic, a superior troop commander, but he had no ability to organize or plan complex operations.  Whaling was promoted to colonel on 21 May 1942.  After landing on Guadalcanal, the performance of the 5th Marines was judged lacking by General Vandergrift who not only relieved Colonel Hunt, but also Colonel Whaling.  Hunt was ordered back to the United States; Whaling was retained at Guadalcanal as a division staff officer.  He was later promoted to major general, retiring from active service in 1954.  Whaling was the recipient of the Navy Cross, Distinguished Service Medal, Silver Star, Legion of Merit, Bronze Star, Air Medal, and two Purple Heart Medals.

[2] Alpha Company was the first division recon asset deployed to Vietnam.

[3] General William C. Westmoreland’s (COMUSMACV) defense strategy for South Vietnam.  Sitting  around waiting for the enemy to take the initiative is not how the Marine Corps operates; a bended knee is not a Marine Corps tradition.

[4] Farming out recon platoons meant that the regimental/battalion commanders had to be trusted to use the skill set of recon Marines.  Too often, regiments/battalions used the recon Marines in contravention to approved doctrine to missions that nothing at all to do with gathering intelligence.

[5] Battery life is less in hot/humid climates.

[6] Camp Merrill was named in Lowell’s honor.

[7] The Marine Corps has undergone several changes in its rank structure, officer and enlisted, since 1775.  In 1958, the proportion of serving noncommissioned officers was 58% of the total USMC enlisted strength, which when compared to the percentage of NCOs in 1941, at 25%, was exceedingly high.  The problem was one of advancing technology and increased demand for technical leaders.  Specialization led to an imbalance of the enlisted rank structure and some confusion about whom was senior to whom.  The Commandant of the Marine Corps ordered a new rank structure in 1958, to take effect in 1959.  A transitional period of dual rank structures initially scheduled to end on 1 January 1965, and to ensure that no Marine lost a rank due to administrative reshuffling, “acting ranks” allowed Marines to retain their titles until promoted into the new rank structure.  The transitional period ended in 1963.

The Captain …

… was as Mad as a Hatter[1]

Pierre de Landais (1731-1820) was born in Saint-Malo, Department d’Ille-et-Vilaine, Bretagne, France.  He was the son of one of Normandie’s oldest families whose wealth enabled him to attend the Ecole de la Marine.  Pierre might have had a notable career in the French Navy were it not for the fact that his father exhausted the family fortune providing a brilliant display of fireworks to entertain Mme. De Pompadour[2].  Under these circumstances, Pierre was unable to purchase promotion[3] and Pierre remained a midshipman until he was 32-years old.

In 1762, Pierre served aboard a French ship during France’s unsuccessful defense of Quebec.  During an engagement with a British warship, Landais was wounded, taken prisoner, and transported to England.  As a midshipman, Landais had no value as a prisoner and he was soon returned to France.  He later participated in the first French circumnavigation of earth (1766-1769), sponsored and led by Admiral Louis-Antoine, Comte de Bougainville.

French Lieutenant Landais

In 1775, aged 44-years, Lieutenant Pierre was discharged from the French Navy.  Two years later, Pierre accepted an appointment to command a merchantman for Hortalez et Cie —a shell company controlled by French entrepreneur Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais[4] (1732-1799).  Through the shell company, Beaumarchais smuggled arms and money to America through the West Indies.  Landais delivered his illicit goods to an American agent at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, which made him a hero among the American rebels.

Massachusetts was so pleased that they granted Pierre “honorary citizenship” and paid him in French currency the equivalent of £12,000.  To these grateful people, Landais proudly proclaimed that he “had served as a captain in the royal navy of France, had commanded a ship of the line, had served as chief officer of the port of Brest, and was of such worth and estimation for his great abilities at sea that he could have any honors or advancement in his own country that he pleased to accept.”

In 1777, the gratitude of Americans toward the French was such that they looked for ways of manifesting their appreciation in some public act.  In Massachusetts, Landais spent a great deal of time in the company of John Adams[5], who later observed that Landais was an enigma: he was frustrated in his ambitions, disappointed in love, unable to win the affection or respect of his officers, and intensely jealous of everyone else.  From John Adams diary, “There is in this man an inactivity and an indecisiveness that will ruin him.  He is bewildered and possesses an embarrassed mind.”  Worse, perhaps, Landais was deeply paranoid, convinced of plots against him.

In 1778, someone (we aren’t sure who) encouraged Landais to apply for a commission in the Continental Navy.  The Marine Commission of the Congress dutifully considered his application and initially rejected it (for reasons unknown[6]), but six weeks later, on 9 May, Congress did offer him a captain’s commission to serve as the officer commanding USS Alliance.

USS Alliance, 1778

Alliance was a 36-gun frigate originally named Hancock.  Her keel was laid in 1777 on the Merrimack River near Amesbury, Massachusetts.  The ship was launched on 28 April 1778, renamed Alliance on 29 May.  Alliance is believed to have been the first warship built in America.  She was brought down the Merrimack River from Salisbury to Newburyport and then to Boston in early August.  In Boston, the ship was ordered to prepare to receive the entourage of the Marquis de la Lafayette[7] and transport them to France; Lafayette’s mission was to petition the French Court for increased financial support for the American cause.  Preparations for sea did not proceed very well because not long after taking command of his new ship, Captain Landais encountered problems with his officers, which delayed the marquis’ departure.

Captain Matthew Parke American Marine

Apparently, the Alliance’s officers were happy to remain aboard ship, but unhappy with serving under Landais.  These were all experienced seamen.  We do not know their specific complaint, but I assume that they were underwhelmed, either by the quality of Landais’ seamanship or his leadership.  The officers probably anticipated that this would not be a happy cruise.  In any case, Landais requested that Congress replace several of his officers.   At an inquiry to determine the cause of this unhappy relationship between Alliance’s Captain and his officers, Marine Captain Matthew Parke[8] served as spokesman for disgruntled ship’s officers.  In Parke’s view, if even one officer was replaced, then the Navy Committee would have to replace them all.  Ultimately, Landais withdrew his demand for the removal of officers, but the animosity between Landais and his officers continued; Captain Parke of the Marines had earned no favor with Captain Landais.

Worse than Landais’ dysfunctional relationship with ship’s officers was his poor treatment of the crew.  Port towns are renowned for rumor, innuendo, and the rapid transmission of unhappy news.   It did not take long for word of Landais’ shoddy treatment of the crew to spread among those looking for birthing.  Consequently, Alliance was unable to recruit a full crew for service at sea.  Although, part of this was that eligible crewmen preferred instead to join privateers, where the pay was better.

Significantly short of the number of crewmen needed to man a frigate, Alliance was forced to draft seamen from USS Boston, and an additional 30 French crewmen from the squadron of Admiral d’Estaing —all of whom were recovering from some sickness.  Additional shortages remaining, Alliance took onboard British prisoners who opted for service in the Continental Navy rather than spending their days locked up in rat-infested holding cells.  Most British prisoners “signed on” as Marines.

Alliance finally shoved off on 14 January 1779 and for the most part, the journey was peaceful and calm —although Alliance did seize two Swedish vessels as prizes and the frigate lost her topmast in a storm.  During the early morning hours of 2 February, a mutinous plot was uncovered among the ship’s English-speaking crew.  All hands were called on deck and held there while officers searched personal belongings for weapons and evidence of the conspiracy.  Landais convened a court of inquiry to question alleged ringleaders.  Two of the ringleaders were Master at Arms John Savage and Marine sergeant William Murray.  Eventually, Sergeant Murray admitted that he and Savage (along with 70 men) intended to seize the ship and sail her to England.  Lafayette, Murray said, was to be placed in irons and delivered to the British government.  Landais ordered the mutineers placed in irons and the ship continued to Brest, France —arriving on 6 February.

Commodore Jones

In Brest, Alliance remained in port for a month while undergoing repair.  In early April, John Schweighauser, an American commercial agent, informed Captain Landais that he was to proceed to port on the Loire River.  There, John Adams had arranged for a swap of prisoners with the British at Nantes.  Adams boarded Alliance expecting to return with Landais to America, but while in port, Landais received new orders directing that he report to Commodore John Paul Jones[9] at L’Orient.

At L’Orient, Captain Landis and Mr. Adams called upon Captain Jones, who was then aboard his ship Bonhomme Richard.  At this meeting, Landis learned that he would be placed under the command of Captain Jones.  Captain Landais did not want to serve in a squadron; he preferred to sail on his own and he deeply resented having to join Captain Jones’ flotilla.  Added to this, from every account, Landais and Jones detested one another almost from the start.  For his part, Mr. Adams was disappointed in not being able to return to America aboard Alliance.

Disagreement between Jones and Landais wasn’t long in coming.  In terms of modern command relationships, disagreement between commodore and captain may seem strange.  In 1779, Captain Jones served as commodore of a flotilla of American and French naval vessels, but he did not command them because each ship’s captain was free to act as he pleased irrespective of the commodore’s wishes.  On 25 August, Jones’ flotilla was at sea and Jones became troubled by the fact that several of his squadron’s small boats were lost in the dense fog off the Irish coast[10].  Captain Landais desired to pursue a prize vessel into the treacherous waters along the coast with limited visibility, but Jones, fearing the loss of Alliance, ordered Landais to remain with the fleet.  Landais was not obliged to obey, arguing that he had the right to pursue when and where he thought proper “in this and every other matter.”

Jones, with a full realization that the command relationship was at best tentative, tried to reason with Landais, but Captain Landais was adamant and proceeded to accuse Jones of incompetence in losing the small boats, to begin with.  Jones, now in a fury, responded that Landais had slandered his superior officer and would not have it.  Both officers believed themselves affronted, and according to the code of gentlemanly behavior in 1779, Landais challenged Jones to a duel … choosing the sword.  This would, of course, give Landais an advantage given the French tradition of swordsmanship.  Jones was known as a hothead, but at this moment, there were larger fish to fry.  Jones suggested that duty must be their priority; he suggested they put aside their animosity until they were on land, where they could resolve the matter —as gentlemen.

American Sailor 1778

During the Revolutionary War period, sailing ships were crewed by seaman representing a variety of countries.  With the naval powers of Europe being constantly at war, neutral seaports in the North Atlantic abounded in captured ships, taken to port as prizes of war, auctioned and sold with some proceeds distributed among the officers and crew.  Once the ships were sold, the men who crewed them were left stranded in the neutral port until they could sign on to another ship.  It was in this way that the number of seafaring men increased; it also explains why there was among them no sense of national allegiance.  Captain Jones’ crew aboard Bonhomme Richard was a crew like this.  They were multilingual, scurvy-ridden, argumentative louts; they obeyed orders because they would have a close encounter with a cat o’ nine tails[11] if they didn’t.  To keep the crew in line, Jones divided them into watches with one of these always keeping a wary eye on the other.

During one foray, Jones’ squadron searched for British shipping in the Bay of Biscay.  During a squall, both Bonhomme Richard and Alliance were blinded and on a collision course.  The bow watch aboard Bonhomme Richard gave shouts of warning in a language other than English or French.  Captain Landais assumed that Bonhomme Richard was under siege of a mutinous crew and left his quarterdeck to retrieve weapons from his cabin.  The bowsprit of Bonhomme Richard tore into Alliance’s rigging, which damaged her mizenmast.  At that moment, Jones was asleep in his cabin.  It was no more than an accident at sea, but the incident did nothing to ease the tension between Jones and Landais.

On the late afternoon of 23 September 1779, sailing off Flamborough Head, England, Commodore Jones’ squadron came across the 44-gun HMS Serapis[12] and her consort HMS Countess of Scarborough.  The British ships escorted 44 small merchant vessels carrying naval stores.  The unarmed or poorly armed cargo ships hastily changed course for the nearest British port for safety.  Jones hoisted his signal lantern ordering Alliance to join Bonhomme Richard in the upcoming battle, but Captain Landais ignored Jones’ signal and maintained his course.  The battle was joined when Serapis opened fire, blasting Bonhomme Richard in a devastating broadside.  Jones lost several guns and crew in the first volley.  Worse for Bonhomme Richard, her hull was breached, and her rudder was badly damaged.  Alliance finally joined the battle, approaching from Bonhomme Richard’s stern.  Serapis, intending to fire on Alliance, raked Bonhomme Richard again.  Jones ordered identity lanterns hoisted higher to keep Captain Landais from getting confused.  Captain Landais was not confused, however, when he fired point-blank into Bonhomme Richard and then, turning away, unleashed a second barrage into his commodore’s ship.

Captain Richard Pearson, Royal Navy

The British Officer commanding HMS Serapis, Captain Richard Pearson[13], RN, was horrified by the damage done to Bonhomme Richard, but the two ships were locked together in a desperate struggle, each ship hoping to survive.  Jones’ Marines were killing the crew of Serapis from their perches in the topsails.  The crew of Bonhomme Richard continued to fight valiantly even as the ship began to sink beneath them.  The battle lasted more than four hours.  HMS Serapis finally struck her colors and Captain Pearson surrendered his sword to Captain Jones.  When morning arrived, the American ensign was flying over both ships, but Bonhomme Richard was sinking and would not last the day.  After the battle, Captain Landais confided to one of his officers that he intended to help Serapis sink Bonhomme Richard.

British flotilla operating nearby posed a serious threat to Commodore Jones’ squadron, so he was anxious to depart, but before Jones could return to the sea, the captured Serapis needed considerable rework to make her seaworthy.  The work took seven days.  Jones’ squadron then consisted of Serapis, Alliance, Countess of Scarborough, Pallas, and Vengeance.  His orders were to put in at Texel[14], but Jones preferred instead to call at Dunkirk where his prizes and prisoners could be placed under French jurisdiction.  His captains refused, however, insisting that Jones follow his original instructions; if the commodore did not wish to follow those orders, then he must proceed to Dunkirk alone.  Jones opted to accompany the squadron to Texel.

The American fleet’s very presence in Texel made his Dutch hosts nervous.  They agreed to allow the refitting of the squadron’s damaged ships but refused to accept any of his 500 prisoners.  Consequently, Jones was forced to retain his prisoners in the cold, damp, rat-infested hold of Serapis.  Many of these men were sick, but the Dutch remained adamant.  In late October, Jones’ Dutch hosts finally allowed him to remove wounded men and house them in the fort.  If Jones wanted these men cared for, then he would have to do that himself; Jones assigned this task to his Marines, which were also employed as guards for the prisoners at Texel, the prisoners aboard Serapis, and as members of the work crew repairing damaged ships.

On 15 October, when American Commissioner Benjamin Franklin[15] received charges of cowardice against Captain Landais, which were validated by the statements and oaths of several squadron officers, he ordered Landais to Paris.  Based on the evidence presented, Franklin suspended Landais from command of Alliance, which infuriated Landis to no end.

Captured British Ship HMS Serapis

Once France agreed to assume financial responsibility for the squadron (all except for Alliance), and to avoid rupturing the delicate relations between France and Holland, Captain  Jones transferred his flag, all American officers and crew (and most of the ship’s stores) from Serapis to Alliance.  Captain Jones was not pleased with the state of the discipline of Alliance’s crew; he wasn’t encouraged by the conduct of Landais’ officers, either.  They were too fond of rum.

Disgusted with the Dutch, Captain Jones sought the first favorable wind to depart from Texel; he waited four weeks.  Jones finally made his break, escaping through British pickets without incident but Alliance was not a happy ship.  Quarrels broke out between ship’s officers, one group supporting Landais, the other devoted to Jones.  The primary issue was Landais’ cowardice in the fight off Flamborough Head.  Jones instructed his officers to carry out their orders smoothly, professionally, and quietly and dispense with petty arguments with Landais’ officers.

On 10 February 1799, Jones put in at L’Orient and moored beside Serapis, which was awaiting condemnation.  Alliance underwent repairs and refit.  By mid-April, Jones received orders to return Alliance to America with large supplies of arms and clothing for General Washington’s army.  There was still the question of prize money[16], however, and to resolve the issues, Captain Jones frequently traveled to Paris.  Captain Landais, meanwhile, plotted to regain command of Alliance.

It was not difficult for Landais to agitate the crew against Jones; he convinced them that Captain Jones had neglected their interests in the matter of prize money.  The crew even wrote to Benjamin Franklin declaring that they would not raise the ship’s anchor until their wages and prize money had been paid, or until their captain (Landais) was restored to duty[17].  Marine Captain Matthew Parke was vocal about his refusal to sign such a letter.

On 12 June, Captain Jones returned to L’Orient, assembled his crew, and solicited whether anyone had any complaints.  The crew remained silent; their stillness gave no occasion for Captain Jones to act on their behalf.  After Jones went ashore, Landais went aboard and seized control of Alliance.  All officers of the Bonhomme Richard were sent ashore.  Landais then ordered Captain Parke to arm his Marines with bayonets and station them to guard the gangplank.  Anyone attempting to board without Landais’ permission was to be impaled.

Neither Jones nor any of his officers made any attempt to regain control of Alliance.  Instead, Jones returned to Paris to ask for increased authority from Commissioner Franklin.  But, by the time Jones returned, Landais had already departed L’Orient for Port Louis.  French authorities responded to Franklin’s request for assistance by laying a boom across the narrow strait outside Port Louis, through which Landais would have to travel.  The boom would force Alliance to pass within cannon shot of two French forts guarding the straits.  The French also stationed a gunboat to guard the boom, as well.  Suddenly, surprising everyone, Captain Jones gave up his intent to regain Alliance.  According to Jones, he did not want squabbling between American and French officials to give aid to their common enemy.

No sooner had the French removed the barrier, Captain Landais sailed through the strait, destination America.  En route, Landais placed Captain Parke under arrest in quarters for eleven days as punishment for his refusal to take an oath of obedience to Landais.  Parke’s arrest soured the officers and crew of Alliance.  To emphasize his authority, Landais ordered into irons any crewman who complained about Parke’s treatment.  On 11 August, the ship’s officers and crew revolted.  By this time, the ship’s crew were convinced that Captain Landais was utterly mad.  According to the testimony of Seaman John Kilby, “Landais conduct was such that … [it convinced the officers and passengers] that he was in a measure beside himself.”

Dismissed Captain Landais

Upon Alliance’s arrival in Boston, the Navy Board ordered Captain John Barry to relieve Landais of his command.  Landais refused to resign, however, so three stout Marines under the command of Captain Matthew Parke dragged him out of his cabin and took him ashore.  At his court-martial, even Pierre’s friends opined that he was probably insane.  The verdict?  Landais was judged guilty of allowing private goods shipped aboard a warship, of being incapable of handling a ship.  He was “broke in rank” and judged unfit of serving in the Continental Navy.

Pierre Landais later became a resident of New York; his share of prize money paid him an annual annuity of $100.00.  From this amount, he saved enough to afford an annual visit to the seat of government (first, Philadelphia, and later the federal city named Washington) to petition the Congress for their reconsideration of his dismissal.  He asked for the restoration of his rank and payment in arrears.  Congress would not hear of it … and Captain Pierre de Landais went to his grave with an intense hatred of John Paul Jones. 

Sources:

  1. Allen, G. W. A Naval History of the American Revolution.  Boston: Houghton-Mifflin, 1913
  2. Crocker, III. H. W. Don’t Tread on Me.  New York: Crown Publishing, 2006
  3. Ford, W. C. Journals of the Continental Congress, 1774-1789.  Washington: Government Printing Office, 1937
  4. Norton, L. A. The Revolutionary War’s Most Enigmatic Naval Captain: Pierre Landais.  Journal of the American Revolution, Online
  5. Meany, W. B. Commodore John Barry: Father of the American Navy.  New York/London: Harper Brothers, 1911
  6. Morison, S. E. John Paul Jones: A Sailor’s Biography.  Boston: Little/Brown, 1999
  7. Smith, C. R., and Charles H. Waterhouse. Marines in the Revolution: A History of the Continental Marines in the American Revolution, 1775-1783.  Washington: History and Museums Division, Headquarters, U. S. Marine Corps, 1975.
  8. Thomas, E. John Paul Jones: Sailor, Hero, Father of the American Navy.  Waterville: Thorndike Press, 2003.

Endnotes:

[1] This is a British phrase used to suggest that a person is suffering from insanity.  The phrase is thought to have originated from Bedfordshire where local men worked in the hatter business, which used mercury in the hat making process.  Their exposure to mercury caused symptoms like madness.  Louis Carol’s reference to a character in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is only casually related to Hatter’s Disease.

[2] Jeanne Antoinette Poisson, Marquise de Pompadour (1721-1764) was the official mistress of Louis XV (1745-51) and remained a favorite at Royal Court until her death.  Official mistress … those French!

[3] In these days, military officers purchased their promotions rather than earning them.

[4] Beaumarchais was a polymath with skills in watchmaking, invention, playwright, musician, diplomat, spy, publisher, horticulturist, arms dealer, satirist, financier, and revolutionary.

[5] In 1777, Adams was a delegate to the Continental Congress serving on as many as 90 separate committees, one of these being Chair, Board of War and Ordnance.  It was likely that in this position, Adams met with Landais.  In late 1777, Adams was appointed US Envoy to France, serving until March 1779.

[6] Rejection may have come from John Adams, who was a member of the Marine Commission.

[7] Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier.

[8] As one of the first Marine officers, Matthew Parke served alongside John Paul Jones on the Ranger during his highly successful cruise in British home waters, as well as serving on Alliance during the Battle of Flamborough Head.  The Continental Marine uniform consisted of green coats with white facings and tall leather collar to protect the neck from sharp edged weapons (hence, the term “Leatherneck”).  Captain Park’s portrait dates to around 1800.  Portraits of Continental Navy officers are rare; portraits of Continental Marines even more so.

[9] In 1778 “commodore” was an honorific title bestowed upon navy captains appointed to lead several ships, also referred to as a squadron.  The relationship between a commodore in command of a squadron and his subordinate captains was more on the order of a loose confederation since each ship’s captain was free to ignore the commodore and go their own way as they saw fit.  This was probably the result of the fact that one or more ships were captained by French officers who owed no allegiance to the birthing United States.

[10] It was customary in those days to lower boats, particularly in dense fog, to search for the presence of enemy ships.

[11] A multi-tailed flail commonly used to administer punishment in the British and Continental army and navy.

[12] HMS Serapis was named after the god Serapis in Greek and Egyptian mythology.  Captured by Jones, Serapis was later transferred to the French Navy serving as a privateer.  She was lost in 1781 to a fire.

[13] Pearson (1731-1806) was an experienced naval officer.  After his fight with Bonhomme Richard, the English people embraced him as a true British hero.  He was knighted and received many accolades from the English people.  Responding to a question about how he felt that the officer he defeated in battle received a knighthood, Captain John Paul Jones answered, “If he’ll meet me on the high seas again, I’ll make him a Lord.”

[14] Today, the Netherland’s largest and populated island.

[15] Franklin served as U. S. Commissioner to France from 1776 to 1785.  Among his accomplishments was the securing a critical military alliance between France and the United States, and the Treaty of Paris in 1783.

[16] Given the fact that France financially supported the combined American/French naval fleets, captured ships not converted to war ships or cargo vessels (and their cargoes) were sold at auction.  The proceeds from these sales were then divvied up between the treasury of France, and the officers and crews who had made the capture.  Delays in making these payments to crewmen was common and, not surprisingly, a major source of the crewmen’s complaints.

[17] It is almost laughable to imagine that this rather unsophisticated group of crewmen wanted (either) their money, or Captain Landais.  One suspects that Captain Landais himself slipped that one in …

Retribution

cropped-old-corps-ega.pngBrigadier General Robert Leamy Meade was truly “Old Corps.”  Born in 1842, he was the nephew of Civil War Major General George G. Meade.  On 14 June 1862, Robert L. Meade received an appointment as a U. S. Marine Corps as a second lieutenant.  A year later, he led a raid against Fort Sumter, South Carolina and, despite this courageous effort, Meade was captured by its rebel occupants and spent the remainder of the war as a guest of the Confederate States Army.  After the war, in recognition of his “gallant and meritorious service” while getting himself captured, Meade was brevetted to First Lieutenant.

In the post-war period, Meade served in several assignments that were typical of Marine Corps service in those days.  He commanded the Marine Detachment aboard the first US warship to visit Cochin (present-day Vietnam), he served as Commanding Officer, Marine Barracks at the New York Navy Yard, and later as the barracks commander in Boston.  It was while serving in Boston that the Assistant Secretary of the Navy prevailed upon Major Meade to consider hiring a construction company that was known to the secretary for their good work in military construction projects.  Meade considered the Assistant Secretary’s suggestion as wholly inappropriate and somewhat arrogantly rebuffed Theodore Roosevelt’s recommendation.  It was in this way that Robert L. Meade acquired a life-long political enemy.

The incident, while minor, illustrates how little politics has changed over the past 130 years.

In 1898, Theodore Roosevelt was instrumental in starting a “splendid little war” with Spain, known today as the Spanish-American War.  At the time, Lieutenant Colonel Meade was serving as the Fleet Marine Officer aboard the USS New York, during which time he participated in the Battle of Santiago in Cuba.  Meade’s inconsiderate (and some say, ungentlemanly) treatment of Spanish prisoners of war prompted Captain Victor Maria Concas y Palau, serving in command of the Spanish cruiser Infanta Maria Teresa to complain in writing about Meade’s poor attitude.  In his letter, Captain Palau stated quite emphatically that Meade’s lack of humanity contributed to the death of several Spanish sailors by refusing to afford these wounded men adequate medical treatment.   Captain Palau also complained about Meade’s blatant disrespect toward Spanish officers.  Both of these charges are very likely true.

Nevertheless, in 1899, Meade was advanced to the rank of colonel and received orders to assume command of the 1st Marine Brigade in the Philippines.  He would replace Lieutenant Colonel George F. Elliott, who was transferred back to the United States.  Meade, as it turns out, was very much the same kind of man as his contemporary, Henry Clay Cochran, who was known as cantankerous, a stickler for adherence to regulations and protocol, and harshly critical of almost everyone and everything.  Meade was also known for having pronounced affectations and for having little hesitance in offering a sharp rebuke.

One of the things that drove Meade into a tyrannical rant was a lack of punctuality among his officers and men.  He would not tolerate it, and he trusted no man to be at an appointed place and time without constant reminders.  Anyone who was late for muster, or late in reporting for duty, received ten days of arrest.  There was never any discussion about this.  Meade ruled his officers and men with an iron hand.  One of Meade’s officers observed, “The Colonel puts a crimp in everyone’s style.”

Meade R L BrigGen 001Not long after Colonel Meade (shown left after retirement) arrived at Cavite, Philippine Islands, he began issuing a stream of seemingly inexhaustible orders and was intent upon informing his officers of every rule, every regulation, and every policy imaginable.  His officers, especially the lieutenants, deeply resented being treated like schoolboys.  The lieutenants particularly disliked Meade’s insistence that they dine in full uniform.  He would not permit them to remove their blouses and dine in their shirtsleeves, which given the excruciatingly hot and humid conditions in the Philippines, might have been warranted.  After all, it wasn’t as if the officers were dining at the White House.  Every meal made these junior officers even more resentful of Meade for his silly protocol.  Each meal added insult to injury.

Being lieutenants, the young men began to look for ways to convey their profound unhappiness to the colonel of the brigade, but none of their ideas, each presented at clandestine assemblages, seemed plausible (or safe).  No one was foolish enough to present their complaint directly to the colonel, of course, because to do so would end any possibility of a career in the Marine Corps.  Besides that, all their ideas seemed completely impracticable.  The young officers continued to suffer and fume among themselves.

But then, since the Lord has a soft spot in His heart for lieutenants, Colonel Meade was laid up with rheumatism, a painful condition producing great discomfort.  In those days, the only remedy for rheumatism was light duty and topical treatments.  Colonel Meade’s physician confined him to his quarters while undergoing medical care.

In the Marine Corps, there are few intelligence gathering systems more efficient or impressive than the junior officer’s spy network.  It wasn’t long before the lieutenants learned of Colonel Meade’s intense hatred of monkeys, which in the Philippines are quite populous.  The constant chattering and scampering about of primates atop the corrugated tin roof of the colonel’s quarters was particularly annoying and they could not be quieted.  Colonel Meade endured this constant racket for two full nights, and the longer it went on, the more profane Meade became.

Colonel Meade’s orderly was Private Coughlin.  Coughlin’s good friend was a young man who performed orderly duties for the lieutenants.  The source of their information thus established, the lieutenants learned about Meade’s unhappiness with the monkeys and his muttering threats about having them shot.  They also learned about the colonel’s double barrel shotgun, which he kept stored in a closet, and that Colonel Meade had ordered Coughlin to obtain a box of double-ought buckshot shells.  It was this information that prompted the lieutenants to call another clandestine meeting.

Philippine Macaque 001The plan called for two groups of lieutenants.  One group, having collected a sum of money from all members of the lieutenant’s protective association, purchased every caged monkey they could get their hands on from the nearby village.  The second group performed a careful safety inspection of the shotgun shells.  That very night, in the safety of early morning darkness, Meade’s lieutenants liberated the caged monkeys into trees surrounding the Colonel’s quarters.

At dawn, the roof of Colonel Meade’s quarters was a solid mass of squabbling monkeys —so much so, in fact, that there was hardly any room for any more of them on the colonel’s roof or in any of the surrounding trees.  If this wasn’t bad enough, the cheeky monkeys were leaping from the trees to the colonel’s open windowsills.  At one-minute past dawn, Colonel Meade roared for his orderly.  “Private Coughlin!  Bring me my god-damned shotgun!”

Private Coughlin was quite worried.  The colonel was beside himself, stomping from one end of his quarters to the other, cursing like a sailor.  Considering the colonel’s state of mind, Private Coughlin was anxious about placing a weapon in his hand, but of course, orderlies do not argue with their officers.  Coughlin dutifully took the shotgun out of a closet and presented it to his commanding officer.

The expression on Colonel Meade’s face was maniacal.  Refusing to take the weapon, the colonel roared at Coughlin, “Private, I want you to shoot every one of these god-damned monkeys!”  Less than twenty feet away, sitting on the windowsill of the colonel’s bedroom, was a screeching monkey.  “And start with that bastard,” Colonel Meade added, pointing.

Private Coughlin loaded the double barrel weapon and took aim.  The Monkey defiantly chattered and shrieked at Coughlin, but the Marine, a veteran of several battles, calmly pulled the trigger.  The blast was deafening, and shotgun residue filled the space between Private Coughlin and the windowsill.  One might have expected to observe a monkey shot to pieces.  No, the monkey remained in the window —more agitated and fussing even more loudly.  Confused, Coughlin first looked at the weapon, and then at Colonel Meade standing a few feet away.  “Shoot him, damn you,” the colonel thundered.

Private Coughlin again took aim and pulled the second trigger.  Another loud blast followed by even more residue … and the monkey, remaining very much alive, began running helter-skelter inside the colonel’s bedroom.  Colonel Meade stood staring in disbelief.  Private Coughlin was perplexed. He didn’t understand … but the purple-faced colonel who stomped off into his drawing room understood.  Someone had reloaded his shotgun shells with sawdust.

Colonel Meade’s lieutenants had taken their revenge.

Later that morning, after consulting with his adjutant, Colonel Meade passed the word that henceforth, the officers would be allowed to dine in shirt sleeves.  That very night, quite amazingly, all but a mere handful of monkeys disappeared from around the Colonel’s quarters.

A few weeks later, Colonel Meade received orders transferring him to serve as Senior Marine Officer at the International Legation in Peking where he would occupy his time dealing with the so-called Boxer Rebellion.  Eventually, Meade returned to the United States for medical reasons.  In recognition of his distinguished service in China, Meade was brevetted to the rank of brigadier general on 13 July 1900.

In 1903, Major General Charles Haywood retired from his post as Commandant of the Marine Corps.  With Haywood’s retirement, Brigadier General Meade became the most senior officer on active duty.  According to tradition, Meade was next in line to serve as Commandant, and he might have received that appointment were it not for the fact that President Theodore Roosevelt had a long memory.  Passing Meade over, Roosevelt instead promoted George F. Elliott to Major General and appointed him to serve as Commandant, U. S. Marine Corps.

Brigadier General Meade retired from active service in 1906.  He passed away in 1910 and was buried with honors in Huntington, New York.

Source:  Colonel Frederic M. Wise, USMC (Deceased): A Marine Tells It to You.  J. L. Sears Company, 1929.  Colonel Wise was a lieutenant serving in the Philippine Islands at the time of the monkey incident.