Month: December 2022

Mare Nostrum

Introduction

Senatus Populus Que Romanus

People who enjoy reading about ancient Rome are fascinated by the strength and capabilities of the Roman Legions.  Perhaps not so much of the brilliance of Rome’s generals, but the capacity of 5,000 to 6,000 men advancing 50 miles in a single day, establishing a well-defended bivouac, tearing it down the next morning, and then marching another 50 miles — is nothing short of extraordinary.[1]

Of all the things we know (or think we know) about the ancient world, there is one aspect of that history we know very little about — the Roman Navy.  Even considering eight hundred years of faithful service to Rome, modern historians know far more about Rome’s legions than they do its Navy.  It is a sad fact because Rome’s navy was the instrument through which the Republic (and later the Empire) transformed the Mediterranean Sea into Mare Nostrum (Our Sea) — and the loss of naval power contributed to the fall of Rome in 426 A.D.

We know very little about the Roman Navy’s early history because so few records of naval activities exist.  In any case, Rome was always a land-based society.  The Romans only occasionally went to sea, and until around 311 B.C.E., if any size of Roman fleet existed, hardly anyone took notice of it.  But 311 B.C.E. was when Rome ordered the construction of a fleet of twenty ships and appointed two magistrates to command it.

Before the Punic Wars (264 – 146 B.C.E.) Rome’s fleet (classis) was restricted to minor coastal operations mainly centered on defending commercial ships from raiding pirates.  We understand this from a chronological standpoint by realizing that Rome first had to conquer and consolidate its power on the Italian Peninsula before it could look outward.  This was an effort lasting roughly 500 years.

Nor should anyone think that creating a navy was a simple task.  An effective Navy must have a sufficient number of ships capable of imposing its will on an enemy fleet.  The captains of such vessels must be skilled pilots and employ strategies and surface warfare tactics that allow them to defeat their enemies.

A Short History

Mare Nostrum

As legions of land infantry sought to expand Rome’s influence on the land, a small naval force was trying to develop some degree of power at sea, but before the First Punic War, Rome’s fleet confined itself to coastal patrols to protect trade routes.  If Roman commanders decided they needed naval blockades, they called upon their Greek allies in Southern Italy for assistance.  That situation changed when Rome went to loggerheads with Carthage in 264 B.C.E.[2] 

The Punic Wars was a series of conflicts between Rome and Carthage lasting from 264 B.C.E. to 146 B.C.E.[3]   The first of these broke out in Sicily and lasted 23 years.  The conflict was primarily naval warfare conducted in the Mediterranean Sea surrounding the island of Sicily.  When war erupted, Carthage was the dominant power in the western Mediterranean, and insofar as the Carthaginians were concerned, Sicily was part of the Punic Empire.

Once they decided to dispute the Carthaginian claim over Sicily, the Roman Senate ordered a massive construction effort of 100 quinqueremes and 20 triremes.[4]  Quinqueremes were large galley ships with five rows of oarsmen; triremes were smaller ships hosting three rows of rowers.  Over more than two decades of fighting, both sides suffered tremendous human and material losses.  Ultimately, the Romans defeated Carthage in 241 B.C.E., even if the quest for supremacy remained undecided.  A 2nd Punic War was fought between 218 – 202 B.C.E., ending with another Roman victory.  In 146 B.C.E., Rome assaulted Carthage, slaughtered most of its inhabitants, and demolished the city and its fortifications.  Afterward, North Africa became a Roman province.

Rome’s new fleets fell under the direct command of elected magistrates, men elected for one year.  Because they were politicians with no expertise in naval warfare, the navy’s principal advisors and ship captains were Greek seamen.  The Greeks provided the Romans with a large amount of knowledge, but the Carthaginians, formerly known as Phoenicians, invented seafaring — and the Romans ranked inferior to the Carthaginians for many years.

Corvus

One maxim is that necessity is the mother of invention.  During the First Punic War, the Romans sought ways of compensating for their lack of seafaring skills with new naval warfare technologies.  One was a sea bridge (shown right) called a Corvus. Measuring roughly 4 feet by 36 feet, the device was (likely) placed in the prow of a galley where a pole and a system of pulleys permitted the raising and lowering of a bridge.  A heavy spike acted as an anchor on the enemy ship’s deck, allowing marines to cross over onto the enemy ship and engage them in direct combat.[5]  Rome’s first success with the Corvus occurred during the Battle of Mylae, which the Romans won.

Despite the Carthaginian advantage in experience, they only won one major sea battle at Drepana in 249 B.C.E.  By 120 B.C.E., Rome was the undisputed Mediterranean power and remained so for the next 546 years.  Rome’s navy helps to explain this success. 

Rome’s first sea battle outside Mare Nostrum occurred in 56 B.C.E., during the Gallic Wars.  When a maritime tribe of Veneti rebelled against Rome’s authority, it was up to Julius Caesar to respond to it.  Caesar, the great land general, was at a disadvantage because the Romans were unfamiliar with the coastline, struggled against tides and currents, and they had lost their surface warfare expertise.  Additionally, Veneti ships were made of sturdy oak, stood taller than Rome’s lighter galleys, and relied on sail for propulsion.  These factors gave the Veneti important advantages over the Romans.  Still, the Romans were clever engineers.  When the Veneti and Romans finally clashed in Quiberon Bay, the Roman Navy used hooks at the end of long poles and cut the halyards supporting the Veneti sails.  It didn’t end well for the Veneti after Roman marines boarded their ships.  In the following year, Caesar used his Roman galleys to invade Britain.

The Ships

Egyptian Ship

Ancient Rome can take no credit for inventing ships or surface warfare.  It has been going on for a long time.  Nearly 2,000 years before Italian tribalists began identifying as Roman, Egyptian ships patrolled the Nile River.  Because of a lack of suitable wood for shipbuilding, Egypt constructed its earliest vessels from woven papyrus reeds.  They were large enough to accommodate 30 rowers and two men on the rudder.  Scholars claim that Egyptian surface warfare is as old as Egypt itself.

Phoenician ship

Next came the Phoenicians, who, around 1,500 B.C.E., gave the Egyptians a seaborne thrashing.  Scholars tell us that the Phoenician culture developed from the ancient Canaanites (present-day Lebanese).  The Phoenicians dominated the Mediterranean Sea around 500 B.C.E., establishing settlements in Cyprus, Sardinia, Sicily, Malta, and Carthage.

Persian Warship

The Persian navy developed within its first empire between 525 – 330 B.C.E. We know it is pure speculation because there are no existing written records of the Persian Navy.  Scholars believe the Persian naval force came about because Cambyses wanted to use it to conquer Egypt, strengthen a Persian presence on the coast of Asia Minor, assert its authority over Samos, conquer Thrace, and war against Scythia.   In its time, the Persians developed 1,200 warships and three times that number in transport ships. 

Greek Warship

Greece was never a nation-state until long after the Roman period.  Before Rome, Greece consisted of independent city-states that were happy to fight with other Greeks when not warring with foreigners.  Of the strongest city-states, Athens had the most formidable navy, its ships no doubt influenced by the Phoenicians, and created out of necessity as a defense against Persia’s attempts at conquest.  The Persian wars were fought between 499 – 449 B.C.E.

The earliest Greek ship of war was known as a penteconter.  This ship emerged when there was no distinction between merchants and warships.  They were versatile, long-range vessels used for sea trade, piracy, and warfare and capable of transporting freight or troops.  A penteconter was rowed by fifty oarsmen, arranged in a row of twenty-five on each side of the ship.  A midship mast with sail could also propel the ship under favorable conditions.  The Penteconter design provided a long ship with sharp keels (thus referred to as “long boats”).  Typically, they lacked a full deck — or were unfenced ships.

The Greeks later copied and produced the Phoenician bireme, a ship with two rows of oarsmen on each side.  Later, a trireme design increased the number of oarsmen to three rows.  Triremes were first used against Corinth around 700 B.C.E.  What we know about these ships comes from archeological investigations.  Modern analysts claim that these ships “most likely” pushed the technological limits of the ancient world.  By “technology,” historians refer to what humankind knew or understood about human accommodation, propulsion, weight, waterline, the center of gravity, stability, strength, and feasibility.  Each of these was an interdependent variable — even if one became more important than another according to the ship’s purpose.

Shipbuilders would determine the size of a ship based on the number of men needed to crew it.  A trireme demanded a crew of 200 men, 170 of which were involved in its propulsion and steering mechanisms.  A demand for greater speed required high oar-gearing — the ratio between the outboard length of an oar and the inboard length, which made the trireme so effective at sea. 

Shipbuilding was a science and a delicate balance.  The original construction of a trireme was intended to maximize its performance.  Should a shipwright later modify the ship, its design would become compromised.  Designers attempted to optimize speed to the point where any less weight would result in losses to the ship’s integrity.  They placed the center of gravity at the lowest possible position — just above the waterline — which retained the ship’s resistance to waves and capsizing.

How good were these ancient shipbuilders?  The purpose of the area just below the center of gravity and the waterline (known as the hypozomata) was to allow the bending of the hull when faced with a 90-knot force.  The fact that these ancient thinkers could put such technology into practice is mind-bending.

Roman Quinquereme

Even so, the intricacy of triremes was such that they demanded a great deal of maintenance to stay afloat.  Ship’s lines, sails, rudders, oars, and masts required frequent replacement, and if left at sea too long, they would become waterlogged.  To extend the life of such ships, they were pulled out of the water at night (whenever possible).  Even though constructed with light wood, drawing the ship out of the water took 140 men.  Properly taken care of, the vessel might last 25 years.

Construction of a trireme took 6,000 man-days.  That’s 40 men, 150 days per ship.  Archeologists believe the vessel measured 120 feet in length and 18 feet wide.  The height of the ship sitting in the harbor was almost 7 feet.  When under power, the ship was capable of 6 knots as leisurely effort.  At average cruise speed, the ship could travel 50 – 60 miles in a day.  The Roman quinquereme was much larger.

In classical antiquity, the primary purpose of these galleys was to ram an enemy ship — to cause the enemy ship to sink or become disabled.  They called this  ram rostra, giving the name Navis Rostrata for “warship.”  Ship ramming took skill, luck, and a ship capable of surviving the act of ramming another ship at 8 to 10 knots speed.

It is important to remember that Rome turned to the Greeks for their expertise in its early days of investigating naval warfare.

Roman Navy High Command

During Rome’s Republic, command of a naval fleet was given to a serving magistrate or pro-magistrate — men of consular or praetorian rank. 

Note: Rome thrived for well over 1,300 years.  As Rome Proper developed, it underwent three systems of government.  The first was a kingdom.  In this arrangement, the king served as the executive magistrate.  The king’s power was absolute.  He was the supreme ruler, high priest, chief lawgiver and judge, and sole army commander.

When the king died, his power reverted to the Roman Senate, a body of around 100 men who served by virtue of their wealth and influence in the Roman city-state.  The senate ruled Rome until electing a new king.  When that occurred, the senate relinquished its sovereign power back to the king.

A succession of kings became abusive and much resented by the people.  When the people overthrew the monarchy and adopted a republic, the constitutional balance of power shifted from the sole executive to the Roman Senate.

During the republican stage, the number of senators increased from around 100 to between 300 – 500 lifetime appointments.  After establishing a republic, the Senate assigned executive power to two elected consuls.  The consuls shared state power as chief executives for one year.  During the imperial period, power shifted from appointed consuls to a single executive, the emperor (who served for life).  Note: The Roman Senate continued until 603 A.D. — 177 years after the “fall of the Roman Empire.”

It was during the republican period when Rome abandoned permanent political assignments (except the Senate) and began the practice of limiting high-ranking appointments to one year.  But there was a problem … the Romans soon discovered that appointments made for periods of only one year denied the state practical advantages of experience and the flexibility needed to ensure the availability of knowledgeable men to perform important functions.  So, without making any changes to the limitations imposed by one-year appointments, the Romans decided to temporarily extend certain officials’ authority  (imperium) for as long as needed.  Pro-magistrates, therefore, were former consuls or praetors with extended authority.  They were also called pro-consuls and pro-praetors.

In the Punic Wars, one consul commanded the fleet; the other controlled the army.[6]  These men were politicians and, therefore, incompetent to command or direct fleet or squadron operations.  The actual command was instead entrusted to experienced legates and senior tribunes.

In ancient times, navies and trading fleets did not have the logistical capabilities of modern ships — which means that if they needed stores, repairs, or re-equip, they would have to go ashore to see to those needs.  Nor was a Roman Navy headquarters element directing the fleet’s missions.  Roman navies operated as extensions of the Roman Legions.

Ship’s Crew

Roman Marine 2nd Century B.C.

The helmsman, an experienced seaman, headed the ship’s deck and command element.  Experienced sailors were always upper-deck hands, as were lookouts on the bow, boatswain, quartermaster, shipwright, piper, and two rowing assistants.  Whether rowers or helmsmen, ancient sailors needed physical stamina.  Previous battle experience was a “given.”  These men were probably in their late 30s or early 40s.  Ten additional hands cared for and deployed the ship’s sails and masts.

Contrary to Hollywood depictions, the rowers of ancient navies were free men of society’s lower classes.  Enslaved people may have been employed, but if they were, it was only out of necessity rather than standard practice.  These men were the greyhounds of the fleet, so they were likely young and powerful. 

We believe Roman marines served aboard ships during the Punic Wars — but there is a shortage of specific information about these men that allows much insight into their duties, training, rank classifications, or uniforms.  We think the naval infantry component of a Roman galley numbered between ten and fifteen men experienced in boarding enemy ships, closing with them, and engaging in combat with their enemies.  Such men had to be fearless in the performance of their duties.

I think marines (naval infantry) joined the fleet during the 1st Punic War when the Roman Navy understood they could not defeat the Carthaginians by ship-ramming alone.  It would be necessary for marines to help defeat enemy crews, and when Roman leaders found that even spear throwers and archers had limitations, they came up with the idea for a Corvus.  Then, with that innovation, the Romans began defeating enemy ships.  It may have been a marine who came up with the concept of the Corvus — and it may have been then that the Roman marine proved his worth to naval battles.

Roman Marine, 3rd Century A.D.

A Roman soldier served for 25 years; it was probably no different for sailors and marines.  Like the army, the Roman Navy trained its men to perform necessary tasks.  Sailors learned their tasks; Marines learned theirs.  It is also possible that marines/sailors cross-trained — that marines learned how to perform certain naval tasks, and sailors learned how to perform marine tasks.  When quinqueremes and triremes were alongside each other, marines would deploy to kill enemy crew with their spears or bows and arrows or board the enemy ship with drawn swords.  Surface warfare was a dangerous game.  The boarder could be killed, of course — and probably many were.  But if too many marines boarded the enemy ship, the galley might capsize.  No doubt, many did.  We think a marine in the 3rd century A.D. may have looked like the caricature shown at right.

Endnotes:

[1] If these men were able to advance 50 miles in a 12 hour period (daylight hours), they sustained a pace exceeding 4 miles per hour.  Impressive. 

[2] Modern-day Tunis.

[3] The word Punic refers to the language spoken by ancient Carthaginians, who evolved from Phoenician culture.  There were three Punic wars.

[4] Scholars claim that the Romans captured a Carthaginian quinquereme and used it as a blueprint for its own ships.

[5] Few warfare technologies are “perfect,” and neither was the Corvus.  The downside of this device was that if not properly secured, or if it became unsecured during rough seas, it could cause a galley to capsize. 

[6] In subsequent wars, praetor’s assumed command of a fleet.  A praetor was the title of either a military commander or an elected magistrate.   

John Arthur Hughes

Introduction

Courage, pluck, grit, and sand — all have similar colloquial meanings.  They are terms one might have overheard in a conversation between two men (not among the ladies).  They are words that refer to someone who has stamina, is physically and mentally tough, someone with a strength of character.

Author Mark Twain used such terms as grit and sand.  In Huckleberry Finn, Clemens wrote, “She had the grit to pray for Judas if she took the notion — there warn’t no backdown to her, I judge. You may say what you want to, but in my opinion, she had more sand in her than any girl I ever seen; in my opinion, she was just full of sand.”

Words reflect how we think, and Americans seem to admire someone who demonstrates a strength of character and physical and mental toughness. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, Mr. Clemens wasn’t the first to use such expressions.  They were slang in common use as early as 1862 and 1825, respectively.

Years ago, a cartoon circulated where I worked depicting a tiny mouse sitting hunched on its two hind legs, looking up into the sky.  A shadow appeared over the little mouse; it was an outline of a bird of prey.  Seconds before its demise, the little mouse displayed its pluck by giving the bird “the finger.”  The cartoon was very popular.  I may even have a copy of it among my papers.

We marvel at the toughness and resolve of our fellow man because such characteristics and attributes are part of America’s values.  This is why we read novels and develop affinities for the “good guys” who fight for justice or defend the weak.  Well, we at least used to admire such qualities.

Speaking of Pluck

The U.S. Medal of Honor is the highest combat award bestowed upon members of the Armed Forces to recognize gallant conduct in combat.  There are three medals, one each for the Army, Navy, and Air Force.  The U.S. Navy was the first to award a medal of honor in 1861.  The last Medal of Honor issued was in December 2021.  In total, the Medal of Honor has recognized the gallantry of 3,525 Americans, 618 of those posthumously.

Nineteen servicemen have received two Medals of Honor — of those, five “double recipients” received both the Army and Navy Medal of Honor for the same action, all of which occurred during World War I.[1]  Fourteen men received two medals of honor for separate actions.  Two of those men were U.S. Marines: Major General Smedley D. Butler and Sergeant Major Daniel J. Daley.  Numerous others received the Navy’s two highest awards: the Medal of Honor and the Navy Cross.  One of these men was John Arthur Hughes.

John Arthur Hughes had grit.  Some might even argue that he had True Grit.

Born on 2 November 1880 in Brooklyn, John Arthur Hughes was the son of William H. T. Hughes, a director of the Ward Steamship Line, and his wife, Olive.  John was educated at the prestigious Berkeley School, graduating in 1900.  Although John received a congressional nomination to attend the U.S. Military Academy, he failed the entrance examination.  By then, his father had died — leaving attendance at college out of the question.  Joining the U.S. Marine Corps was not out of the question.

Curious to type

John Hughes joined the Marines on 7 November 1900.  He stood roughly five feet ten inches tall, weighed less than 136 pounds, and had a slender build — which was not altogether different than most other young Americans.  Initially, Private Hughes was serious about his role as a Marine.  He focused on his duties and earned high praise from his superiors.  In 1901, John Hughes sewed on the rank insignia of a Marine corporal — and four months after that, the Marines promoted him to sergeant.

The early twentieth century was a period of opportunity in the Marine Corps.  In 1898, the Marine Corps had taken an unexpected turn from that of a group of sea-going bellhops to an amphibious force of lethal capabilities while projecting naval power ashore.  See also the First Marine Battalion, 1898.  In 1901, John Hughes was what the Marines in the 1960s might describe as “A.J. Squared Away.”

Following the American Civil War, the primary source of Marine Corps officer commissions came from graduating students of the U.S. Naval Academy.  But it was also a time when naval power projection became exceedingly complex.  The Navy had transitioned from sail to coal-fired ships, demanding sophisticated operating systems with keen instruments and electrical capacities throughout their ships.  The navy required a steady stream of highly qualified naval architects and engineers to operate and maintain these ships.  This meant that the navy could no longer afford to offer Marine Corps commissions to Naval Academy graduates; they needed men wearing the navy uniform.  But the Marines needed qualified officers, too.

In 1898, Colonel Commandant Charles Heywood petitioned the Secretary of the Navy for permission to offer commissions to well-educated individuals from civilian life (not associated with a service academy) and to highly qualified enlisted men who had proven themselves as noncommissioned officers.  With the sizeable expansion of the Navy after 1900 came the growth of the Marine Corps, as well.  In 1900, the Marine Corps needed 18 Second Lieutenants.  Congress directed that only eight of these entrants could be civilian college graduates — the remaining ten had to come from either the Naval Academy or the enlisted ranks.  Since all of the Naval Academy’s graduates went to service with the Navy in 1900, Colonel Heywood turned to the Marine Corps NCO.[2]

Stepping Up

An insurrection was going on, and the American government needed its Marines to stop it. Sergeant John A. Hughes took his oath of office as a Second Lieutenant 0n 21 December 1901.  During the swearing-in ceremony, Hughes stood next to another former NCO named Earl H. Ellis, whom everyone called “Pete.”  After their training as newly commissioned officers, Hughes and others joined a replacement battalion bound for the Philippine Islands.

Upon arrival in the Philippines, Marine officials posted 2ndLt Hughes to the Marine Regiment under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Mancell C. Goodrell and the battalion under Major Constantine Perkins, a graduate of the Naval Academy.[3]  John Hughes’ impetuousness and unpredictability caused both Goodrell and Perkins some discomfort — much like too much gas after dining for a week on navy beans — because they had little patience for Hughes’ penchant for playing pranks.  Moreover, Lieutenant Hughes drank too much and did not appear to take to heart efforts to reform him in the mold of the Old Corps.[4]  It was then that Hughes’s reputation for “grit” began.  Some Marines began to refer to Hughes as Johnny the Hard; as we’ll see, he was one tough hombre.

According to researcher Colonel Merrill Bartlett, Major Perkins (of whom little is known) rated Hughes as an average officer, observing that Hughes was reckless and careless with a disposition toward boisterousness.  Apparently, Lieutenant Hughes and his running mates liked to sing loudly at 3 a.m., which irritated the senior officers billeted in officer’s quarters.

Despite his somewhat lackluster fitness reports, Hughes passed his examination for promotion, and a promotion board recommended him for advancement to First Lieutenant.  By this time, Hughes had become known, by reputation, as a hard ass.  He preferred to resolve minor disciplinary problems with his men through one-on-one instructional periods, often involving fisticuffs and somewhat harsh language. This type of behavior was the one drawdown among mustang officers: they knew what worked for them as sergeants and took those “successes” with them into the officer ranks — where they were not appreciated. In the modern Marine Corps, Hughes would likely face a court-martial for such conduct. The Marine Corps has every right to expect better of its commissioned officers.

After leaving the Philippines, Hughes reported to the Marine Barracks, Boston, where he served for two years as an assistant quartermaster and commissary officer.  In 1906, the Commandant posted Hughes aboard the U.S.S. Minneapolis and later detached him to constabulary duty with the 1st Provisional Regiment in Cuba.

Despite Hughes’ unwillingness to change his irresponsible behaviors, the Marine Corps promoted him to Captain in 1909 and ordered him to the Marine Barracks in New York City.  A short time later, Marine officials assigned him to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, via the troop ship U.S.S. Hancock.

In Cuba, Hughes and his men transferred to the auxiliary cruiser U.S.S. Buffalo, which transported the leathernecks to Panama in March 1910.  Just thirty days later, while assigned to the Third Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, Hughes participated in the bombardment and assault of Coyotepe Hill, Nicaragua.

The Marine Corps was a small service in the early 20th century; the officer corps was small enough that nearly every officer knew every other officer — particularly since these were men with whom they competed for promotion and assignment.  In this kind of environment, it wasn’t long before everyone knew about the incident involving Captain Hughes and his commanding officer, Major Smedley D. Butler. 

These two officers, each colorful in their own peculiar way, detested each other.  Butler opined that while Captain Hughes was efficient and knowledgeable, he was excitable and disloyal (to his commanding officer).  In April 1912, Hughes’ superior ordered him confined to quarters because of getting into a fistfight with a brother officer. Fighting among officers was strictly prohibited.

The Commandant is watching

In June, Hughes earned five days’ suspension from duty for “assumption of authority and insubordination.” The nature of Hughes’ alleged offense is lost to history, except as noted on his next fitness report.  But then, less than a month later, the impulsive Leatherneck absented himself from duty without authority and received another suspension from duty due to “unwarranted evasion of orders.”

Besides noting that he had been suspended from duty, Hughes’ reporting senior added that “he knows his profession thoroughly, but he is excitable and not always loyal, in his attention to duty, manner, and bearing, to his commanding officer.” But the incident that raised the hackles of his superiors occurred in April 1912, when Hughes was confined to his quarters as a result of a fistfight with a brother officer.  We believe the identity of this “brother officer” was Smedley D. Butler.

Major Butler cabled the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Colonel William P. Biddle, stating that he considered Hughes a menace to the welfare of his command and requested that the Commandant order his return to Washington under arrest or a transfer out of his command with a preference for sending him as far away from Central America as possible — even to the extent of recommending the Philippines.  But Butler did more than that.  He turned to his father, U.S. Congressman Thomas S. Butler, who served on the House Naval Affairs Committee.

Congressman Butler turned to the Secretary of the Navy for assistance in relieving his son from the challenges caused by the unrepentant Captain Hughes.  Secretary Meyer was in no mood for tattling or seeking special favors.  He denied the congressman’s request and directed the Commandant to inform Butler that he’d have to learn to deal with his challenges without the help of his father.  Secretary Meyer also noted that Major Butler had attempted to embellish the charges against Captain Hughes by adding previous incidents for which he had already been punished.[5]

Nevertheless, at the end of 1912, officials ordered Captain Hughes to Portsmouth, Rhode Island, for service with the Marine Barracks.  Within a year, however, the Commandant ordered all East Coast Barracks to provide the human resources needed to man two regiments of the Advance Base Force (A.B.F.) (forerunner to the Fleet Marine Force).

Captain Hughes reported to the Commanding Officer, 2nd A.B.F., at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, where his commanding officer appointed him to command a rifle company.  The A.B.F. Commander was Lieutenant Colonel John A. Lejeune.

The purpose of these Navy-Marine Corps exercises was to test the concept of the A.B.F.  Still, a secondary objective, owing to declining political conditions, was to serve as a force in readiness for possible operations in Mexico.  With naval maneuvers judged successful, the A.B.F. set sail for New Orleans on 9 February 1914.  On 5 March, the A.B.F. received orders to proceed to Veracruz.

Veracruz, Mexico

In 1914, the Mexican-American War had been over for 66 years.  Still, diplomatic relations between those two countries remained strained — and the truth is that Mexicans, Texicans, and Americans had never gotten along.  Today, it is doubtful that they ever will.  U.S. policy toward Mexico hasn’t made many efforts to improve these relations, but neither has Mexico. 

In 1913, after assuming the office of president, Woodrow Wilson withdrew the United States’ official recognition of the government/presidency of Victoriano Huerta.  Wilson’s reasons for taking this action were that Huerta was using borrowed funds to purchase armaments and munitions for use against the people of Mexico to maintain his power over them.

Conditions deteriorated even more when Wilson imposed an arms embargo on Mexico in August 1913.  The final straw was the Mexican officials arrested nine U.S. sailors in Tampico, Mexico, for entering areas of the city marked as off-limits to foreign military personnel.  When this matter was not resolved to Wilson’s satisfaction, he ordered a naval force to capture Veracruz.

Captain Hughes led his 15th Rifle Company ashore on 21 April as part of the landing force.  For his conduct between 21-24 April, Captain Hughes was cited for conspicuous gallantry and was nominated to receive the Medal of Honor.[6]     

Major Butler was another nominee.  To his credit, Butler pleaded with his superiors to withdraw the medal, insisting he did nothing to deserve such a high-level award.  This issue of awarding the medal of honor to Marine officers had become political, and Butler’s complaints weren’t helping matters. Irritated, Butler’s superiors in the chain of command ordered him to stop moaning and wear the damn thing. Butler’s discomfort increased, however, when he learned that his superiors had also nominated Captain Hughes for the Medal of Honor. Modern historians believe Butler despised no man more than John A. Hughes.

While the Marine brigade was en route back to the north, Captain Hughes received orders that he would proceed to the Marine Barracks, Portsmouth.  In his final fitness report, despite his nomination for the Medal of Honor, Major Randolph C. Berkeley (also a Medal of Honor nominee) rated him poorly in leadership — for treating his men harshly.

In 1916, while serving as the Commanding Officer of the Marine Detachment, U.S.S. Delaware, Hughes landed with his Marines in response to civil unrest and banditry in the Dominican Republic.  President Wilson made a Marine presence in the Dominican Republic permanent after late October that year.

Meanwhile, Captain Hughes became eligible for promotion to major by achieving fifteen years of honorable service.  Amazingly — or possibly not, the Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels denied Hughes’ advancement.  Historians suggest that usually, the Secretary of the Navy would take no hand in the matter of a Marine officer’s promotion, but in this case, it would seem that through his father, Smedley D. Butler was involved in urging Daniels to “do the right thing” for the Corps (and for Butler).

At this time, the Commandant, Major General George Barnett, received a telegram reporting that Captain Hughes had become a combat casualty — wounded by gunshot.  Barnett promptly took the telegram to Secretary Daniels and demanded that he release his hold on Captain Hughes’ promotion.

The Marine Corps promoted Hughes to Major on 16 March 1917.  Accompanying his promotion was a strongly worded memorandum from Secretary Daniels.  Merrill Bartlett tells us that the memo warned Hughes against any future drunkenness or harshness toward his men.

After Hughes recovered from his wound, he served as a staff officer at the headquarters of the A.B.F. in Philadelphia.  When the United States entered World War I, Hughes proceeded to Quantico, Virginia, to prepare for a substantial increase in Marine Corps manpower.

An Interesting Aside

Shortly after the U.S. entered the European war, Brigadier General John A. Lejeune wrote to this friend, Major Smedley D. Butler (then serving as a major general in the Haitian constabulary), informing him that he (Lejeune) expected to command a Marine brigade in the American Expeditionary Force (A.E.F.).  Should that happen, Lejeune wrote, he would offer Butler command of an infantry battalion.

Subsequent planning revealed that the A.E.F. commander, General “Black Jack” Pershing, reduced the Marine Corps’ footprint to a single regiment.[7]  Lejeune was sad to advise Butler that a colonel would command a single regiment and he had no further say in the matter.

Colonel Bartlett assures us that Lejeune’s letter to Butler was somewhat less than honest.  By then, Butler had burdened HQMC with a constant stream of requests for relief from his duty in Haiti and assignment to the A.E.F. in France.  Commandant Barnett was unsympathetic.  He first informed Butler that his position was vital to American interests in Haiti.  Secondly, he reminded Lejeune that Butler had used all of his political leverage to gain the coveted post to command the Gendarmerie d’ Haiti and that he could damn well remain there.

But General Barnett had a problem that needed a resolution.  He required the names of qualified officers for service in the A.E.F.  He needed Lejeune’s advice — and one of the officers suggested by General Lejeune was Major John A. Hughes.

World War

When the United States declared war on Germany in April 1917, the U.S. Marine Corps included 462 commissioned officers, 49 warrant officers, and 13,214 enlisted men.  Of those, 187 officers and 4,546 enlisted men served outside the continental limits of the United States.  Six weeks later, the Marine Corps had organized the 5th Marine Regiment (consisting of around one-sixth of the Corps’ total strength).  When the regiment sailed for France in June 1917, U.S. Marines accounted for one-fifth of the A.E.F.’s expeditionary force.

Closely following the 5th Marines in July and August 1917 was the 6th Marine Regiment and 6th Machine gun Battalion (M.G.B.)  Within one year of America’s entry into the war, the Marine Corps had placed as many enlisted Marines in France as had served on active duty at the outbreak of the war.  President Wilson’s policies in Central America and the Caribbean Sea demanded a massive increase in the number of Marines serving on active duty.  In June 1918, the authorized strength of the Marine Corps was 1,323 officers and 30,000 enlisted men.  The number of Marines serving on that date was 1,424 officers and 57,298 enlisted men.[8]

Colonel Albertus W. Catlin assumed command of the 6th Marine Regiment.[9]  Catlin assigned Major John A. Hughes to command the 1st Battalion, Thomas Holcomb (later, Commandant of the Marine Corps) to command 2/6, and Berton W. Sibley to command 3/6.

Upon arrival in France, Major Hughes settled his battalion at St. Nazaire.  He joined his fellow officers for temporary duty under instruction at the I Corps School of Infantry at Gondrecourt.  Hughes’ performance as a student prompted the Army to extend his temporary assignment through February 1918 so that he could serve as an instructor.  In mid-February, Hughes asked the Army to send him back to his battalion, and they refused — so Major Hughes packed his kit and returned to his battalion without orders.  The Army high command was unhappy with Hughes, but Colonel Catlin sorted it all out.

On 27 May 1918, Imperial Germany launched the third of its spring counteroffensive operations to bring the war to a close before the United States committed the total weight of its Army to the fight.  Within four days, German soldiers reached the Marne River at Château-Thierry.  Until this point, General Pershing had consistently refused to release any American forces to serve under foreign command, but with Imperial German troops sitting a mere 35 miles from Paris, Pershing rushed three American infantry divisions to Château-Thierry to halt the German advance.  One of those divisions was the U.S. Second Infantry with the 4th Marine Brigade.

Catlin’s 6th Marines occupied a position along the Paris-Metz highway, south of a small forest called Bois de Belleau (Belleau Wood), with orders to dig in and hold at all costs.  Having halted the German advance, the Brigade received new orders: expel the Germans from Belleau Wood.  Thus began the Battle of Belleau Wood, one of the Marine Corps’ most contested and bloodiest fights.  Before the end of this battle, the Marine brigade suffered a 50% casualty rate — and it was during this fight that Major John A. Hughes earned both the Navy Cross and Silver Star.  He also suffered the effects of poisoned gas, thereby earning his second Purple Heart medal.

Following the Battle of Belleau Wood, the German high command foolishly decided to cut the highway between Soissons and Château-Thierry.  The Marines deployed south of Soissons on 18 July.  After two days of bitter fighting, the Brigade gave up an additional 2,000 casualties — with most of the dead and wounded from the 6th Marine Regiment.  One of those injured Marines was Major Hughes.

By this time, Johnny the Hard was a physical wreck.  His previous wound had opened up and made walking difficult and painful.  His gas-seared lungs sapped his strength, and he had reached the limit of his endurance.  But despite his pain and discomfort, he did his duty and persevered until his superiors ordered him returned to the United States.

Before that happened, however, again, according to Colonel Bartlett, Major Hughes took a nasty fall as a bunker collapsed.  The major cussed and asked the Marines, “Say, any of you birds got a pair of wire cutters?”  Using those wire cutters, Major Hughes sat down and cut off a shard of bone protruding from his leg.

Grit.

Second Medal of Honor Recommendation

Major Hughes’ promotion to lieutenant colonel, effective 28 August 1918, finally caught up with him — along with another Silver Star medal and two French Croix de Guerre.  But one Marine Corps icon thought that Hughes deserved more.  Colonel Hiram I. Bearss (shown right), believing that Hughes earned the Medal of Honor for his performance at Soissons, put that recommendation in writing and sent it directly to the Commandant of the Marine Corps.[10]

In writing his recommendation, Bearss reported, “During the engagement east of Vierzy, on the 19th of July 1918, Lieut. Col. Hughes (then major) conducted his battalion across open fields swept by violent machine-gun and artillery fire.  His entire commissioned and non-commissioned staff were either killed or wounded. Though suffering the severest pain from an old wound, he led his battalion forward and, by his dauntless courage, [and] bulldog tenacity of purpose, set an example to his command that enabled [it] to hold [its] position against the enemy throughout the day [and] night, though without food or water and with very little ammunition. Major Hughes’ battalion had been reduced to about 200 men, but due to this magnificent example of gallantry and intrepidity, this remnant of a battalion held a front of over 1,200 yards. As a battalion commander, he risked his life beyond the call of duty.”[11]

The Commandant returned Bearss’ recommendation, noting that it should have been submitted through the chain of command to Headquarters, A.E.F., but by then, too much time had elapsed, and Hughes did not receive a second Medal of Honor for his World War I service.[12]

After five months in the Army hospital in France, Colonel Hughes was ordered back to the United States for further treatment at the U.S. Naval Hospital, Philadelphia.  After an additional two months of treatment, Hughes attempted to ask for an assignment to the A.B.F., but to no avail.  Colonel Hughes was no longer medically qualified for Marine Corps service.  The Commandant transferred Hughes to the disability retired list on 3 July 1919.

In retirement, Hughes joined his brothers in the Hughes Trading Company[13] but left two years later to work for Mack Trucking in Cleveland — and later the first director of the Ohio Liquor Control Department.  In 1936, the square-jawed Marine became the Director of Safety at the Great Lakes Exposition.  Ill health relating to his military service forced Hughes to retire again in 1937, and he moved to Florida.  Johnny the Hard passed away on 25 May 1942 while undergoing treatment at the Veterans Hospital.

Meanwhile — back in July 1918 — Smedley Calls His Daddy

At about the time Colonel Hughes had fought his last battle in France, Smedley Butler finally made his way to France — but only after side-stepping the Commandant of the Marine Corps and calling on his father to help him achieve an assignment in the A.E.F.  Congressman Thomas S. Butler spoke with Secretary of the Navy Daniels, who ordered the Commandant to send Butler to France with the next replacement draft.  This interference resulted in Butler’s meteoric rise from major to full colonel and command of the 13th Marine Regiment.

In the summer of 1918, Secretary of War Newton Baker and his senior staff had no interest in another Marine Brigade in France, but on 15 September, within only a few weeks of his father’s interference, Colonel Butler and the 13th Marines embarked for France.

To Butler’s profound disappointment, however, General Pershing decided to break up the 5th Marine Brigade and use the Marines as replacements and for logistical duties behind the lines.  When Brigadier General Smedley Darlington Butler arrived in France, General Pershing placed him in charge of a supply depot.  Within only a few months, Butler was awarded the Army Distinguished Service Medal, the Navy Distinguished Service Medal, and the French Order of the Black Star — no doubt arranged for by his daddy in recognition of his non-combat service.  General Butler continued to cry on his father’s shoulder for the balance of his career.

No pluck, no sand, and no grit.

Sources:

  1. Bartlett, M. L.  The Spirited Saga of Johnny the Hard.  Naval History, U.S. Naval Institute, 2007
  2. Catlin, A.  With the Help of God and a Few Marines: The battles of Chateau Thierry and Belleau Wood.  Blue House Books, 2016.
  3. Sweetman, J.  The Landing at Veracruz, 1914.  U.S. Naval Institute Press, 1968.
  4. “A Brief History of the Medal of Honor, U.S. Army Center of Military History, online.

Endnotes:

[1] During World War I, Marines served with the American Expeditionary Force (A.E.F.), which placed these men under the operational authority of the Department of War, even though at the time, they were regularly assigned to the Department of the Navy.  It was a bit confusing back then, so it was possible for a Marine to receive a medal of honor from both the Army and the Navy.  After the war, service regulations changed to reflect that a medal of honor can only be awarded once for a single action.  It is still possible to receive two such medals, but only for separate actions. 

[2] The process of commissioning enlisted men to serve as officers resulted in the term “mustang,” denoting an individual who “came up through the ranks” rather than someone who was born with a silver spoon in their mouth.  A mustang was a feral animal, not a “thoroughbred.”  Over many years, the Armed Forces found that in terms of leadership, raw determination, and professional knowledge, former enlisted men made better officers.  A few former enlisted men found their way to general officer status, but for the most part, accession to flag rank was reserved for graduates of the service academies.

[3] My primary source for this information is retired Lieutenant Colonel Merrill L. Bartlett.  Were it not for his fine writing at Naval History Magazine, I would never have heard of Colonel Goodrell or Major Perkins.

[4] Certain individual Marines had severe drinking problems at the turn of the century; more than one officer succumbed to the effects of alcoholism, including Pete Ellis — which remarkably all seemed to originate in the Philippines. 

[5] The incident suggests that despite his demonstrated courage in combat, Smedley Darlington Butler would have made a perfect centerpiece for a bouquet of assholes. 

[6] The Medal of Honor is awarded by the President of the United States in the name of the Congress of the United States — hence, the medal is often termed the “Congressional Medal of Honor.”  After the incursion into Mexico, Congress amended its legislation for the Medal of Honor to include naval officers.  Within the Department of the Navy, the conflict provided an opportunity to shower the Medal of Honor on selected participants at Veracruz.  Of the Navy contingent deployed to Veracruz, 28 officers and 18 enlisted men earned the award — and nine Marine Corps officers.    

[7] History tells us that ultimately the Marines did provide an infantry brigade to the A.E.F, but in the planning stages, Pershing did all that he could to avoid having Marines in his command.

[8] The two regiments and separate battalion formed the 4th Marine Brigade, with an authorized strength of 258 officers and 8,211 enlisted men.  The brigade fought in eight major engagements and suffered 12,000 casualties.  At the same time, the Corps maintained the 5th Marine Brigade in the A.E.F. reserve, provided the U.S. 2nd Infantry Division with staff officers and enlisted men, and provided officers to command U.S. Army infantry and aviation units.

[9] See also: With the Help of God and a Few Marines by Colonel Albertus W. Catlin, USMC (deceased). 

[10] Bearss, himself a holder of the Medal of Honor, commanded an Army infantry regiment and the U.S. 51st Infantry Brigade in France.  His moniker in the Marine Corps was “Hiking Hiram,” famous for his trek across the Island of Samar in the Philippines in 1901.

[11] Source, LtCol Merrill L. Bartlett, USMC (Retired) Naval History Magazine, 2007.

[12] General Barnett was right, of course.  The recommendation should have been submitted through the chain of command.  It is also possible that Barnett knew that Secretary Daniels would never allow the approval of the Medal of Honor for Hughes.

[13] In retirement, Colonel John A. Hughes provided a falsified dossier for “Pete” Ellis’ ill-fated spy mission to the Central Pacific in 1923. (Ellis assumed the identity of a salesman for the Hughes Trading Company as a cover for his undercover and somewhat bizarre escapade).

Market Garden, 1944

Ego:

(a) Self-esteem or sense of self-importance.

(b) The part of the mind that meditates between the conscious and unconscious, responsible for reality testing and personal identity.

Introduction

A military aviator with an inadequate grasp of aeronautics, who doesn’t know the capabilities and limitations of his aircraft type, a combat pilot who hasn’t mastered air combat maneuvering, or an airman who runs out of luck, is likely only to kill himself.  On the other hand, an inadequate field commander may very well die, but he is just as likely to kill hundreds or thousands of his men in the process.

No one doubts the stress experienced by a combat pilot, and no one should believe that it is an easy matter to command troops in the field, either.  A good leader, whether in the air or on the ground, must know their profession — but more than that, they must know themselves.  A pilot must never think of himself as better than his aircraft; a ground commander must never think of himself as better than his least experienced troops.  We expect our pilots and ground commanders to demonstrate confidence, not overconfidence.

Bernard Law Montgomery

According to his account, Bernard Montgomery was a horrid child made that way by his equally despicable mother and a father who was gone from home for long periods.  When Maud Montgomery died in 1949, her son Bernard refused to attend her funeral.  Bernard had become a bully toward his peers, including those at the Royal Military College, Sandhurst.  It was something he should have grown out of long before he reached college, and his violent behavior nearly resulted in his expulsion from Sandhurst.  Nevertheless, he graduated in 1908, commissioned a second lieutenant with the 1st Battalion, Royal Warwickshire Regiment.  Later that year, Montgomery posted with his battalion in India.

Four years later, Montgomery served as battalion adjutant at Shorncliffe Army Camp, a training base in Kent, which served as a training/staging base during the First World War.  Montgomery moved to France with his battalion in August 1914.  The Royal Warwickshire Regiment became part of the 10th Brigade, 4th British Infantry Division.  In mid-October, he was twice wounded at Méteren, Belgium, and cited for conspicuous and gallant leadership.  In 1915, Montgomery served as Brigade Major (Temporary) with the 112th Brigade and later with the 104th Brigade.[1]  Between 1916-17, Montgomery served as a staff officer with the 33rd Division and the IX Corps, Plumer’s Second Army.  After the war, the Army reverted Montgomery to captain but appointed him to brevet major and command of the 17th Service Battalion.

When the British Army passed Montgomery over for attending the Staff College, placing in jeopardy any hope he had for permanent promotion or command, he directly appealed to the Commander-in-Chief, asking to have his name added to the list.

After Montgomery graduated, the Army appointed him to serve as Brigade Major, 17th Infantry Brigade, located in County Cork, Ireland, during the Irish War of Independence.  Montgomery did not believe the British could defeat the insurgency without resorting to harsh measures, but he also thought the better course of action would be to grant self-government to Ireland.

In May 1923, Montgomery was promoted to major and assigned to command an infantry company in his parent battalion.  From 1926 to 1929, he served as Deputy Assistant Adjutant at Staff College (Camberley) while serving as a temporary lieutenant colonel.

After his wife died in 1937, Brigadier Montgomery immersed himself in his military duties.  His unhappy childhood and the tragedy of his wife’s death likely contributed to his eccentricities and inferiority complex.  These factors made him over-compensate for his self-perceived inadequacies and drove him to assume the role of an overbearing bully or tyrant.  His intolerance of “lesser men” and constant suspicion that others were plotting against him produced a paranoid man who hardly anyone could tolerate, professionally or socially.

If there was one agreement among Montgomery’s associates, peers, and antagonists alike, it was that he was a difficult man to like.  British Air Marshal Arthur Tedder, a peer, could not understand why Supreme Allied Commander, Europe, General Dwight Eisenhower, didn’t fire Montgomery for his insufferable arrogance and insubordination.  Instead, Eisenhower tolerated Montgomery even though he was so full of himself that it frequently crossed the line into psychotic behavior.  The evidence for this was Montgomery’s repudiation of everything the Allied staff knew in 1944 about conducting successful military operations.  His stubbornness resulted in the combat deaths of good men — about which Montgomery seemed to care little.

It is difficult to know which of these generals hated the other more, Patton or Montgomery.  Their disputes, in the field and the press, have become the subject of many books and magazine articles.  Scholars who admired either of these men offered continuous praise; critics saw the squabbles as mean and petty, more focused on their egos than the sacred duty of leading men in combat.

A Californian by birth, Patton had ties to the Old South; his grandfather was killed in 1864 while serving as a Confederate colonel.  He attended the Virginia Military Institute (VMI) and the US Military Academy (USMA).  He was an Olympic athlete and an early advocate of mechanized warfare.  Like Montgomery, Patton sought fame throughout his long career.  He possessed a legendary temper and could not abide unmanly behavior, leading to two incidents of slapping low-ranking soldiers.   The only difference between Patton and Montgomery was that Patton exhibited a superiority complex and was behaviorally less eccentric.

Toward Market Garden

In the weeks following D-Day, the speed of the Allied advance across France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands produced two false impressions among Allied leaders.  The first was that the Allied forces were winning against the Germans, and the second was that the German army was crumbling.  In  September 1944, neither of these was true.  Moreover, rapid advancement produced three crises: the first was that the advancing armies were spread too thin, the second was that the advancing troops outpaced their logistics train, and the third was that the front-line troops were exhausted.  All these conditions were dangerous in the extreme, not to mention foolhardy, as Allied forces approached Germany’s formidable Siegfried Defensive Line.

Relationships between Montgomery, Eisenhower, Bradley, and Patton, became strained. By early September 1944, a crack developed within the Allied command. Montgomery became convinced that he alone could win the war and achieve it before Christmas 1944.

Prime Minister Winston Churchill knew the United Kingdom needed its alliance with the United States, so he supported General Eisenhower as Supreme Allied Commander.  President Franklin D. Roosevelt knew that maintaining a healthy partnership with the British would make them strong allies after the war.

Montgomery planned to bypass the German Siegfried Line by executing an allied envelopment into Germany through The Netherlands.  Neither General Patton nor General Bradley could support Montgomery’s plan arguing that it was logistically unsupportable.

Undeterred, Field Marshal Montgomery devised a plan of action in two parts: Operation Market and Operation Garden.  Operation Market would employ airborne forces behind enemy lines to seize German-held bridges.  Operation Garden would push land and armor forces through The Netherlands, across the bridges, and into Germany.  Together, the plan was called Market Garden.

Of the airborne units, Montgomery planned on 40,000 men parachuting into Germany.  The units earmarked for this operation were the 101st U.S. Airborne (assigned to seize five bridges), the 82nd U.S. Airborne (responsible for one bridge), the British 1st Airborne, and the Polish 1st Independent Airborne Brigade (actually focused on two bridges).  The two critical elements for the success of Montgomery’s plan were (a) seizing the bridges from the Germans and (b) holding them.

Americans back home had their favorite military heroes; some adored Eisenhower, who never held a combat command.  Other Americans idolized Patton, the epitome of a combat officer and a bull in a fine China shop.  Still, others supported Omar Bradley, the so-called “soldier’s general.”  The British needed their heroes, as well.  Political pressure pushed Eisenhower to appoint Montgomery as Commander 1st Allied Airborne Army.  General Eisenhower was fully aware that Montgomery was working on a plan, but Eisenhower (later supported by his staff) claimed that he didn’t know any of the details of Market Garden.

As an Army commander, Montgomery did not believe he needed to obtain Eisenhower’s permission to proceed.  In the aftermath of the Market-Garden disaster — even well after the war, Montgomery continued to claim that Eisenhower had approved his plan.  Every success in combat has a proud father; every disaster in war is a red-headed stepchild.

Was Field Marshal Montgomery delusional?  Evidence shows that Eisenhower “approved in principle” Montgomery’s three-pronged attack.  Still, there is no evidence that Eisenhower gave his final approval or that Montgomery asked for one.  Still, one would think that the appropriation of thousands of allied aircraft would have required Eisenhower’s approval.

Field Marshal Montgomery named Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Arthur Montague (“Boy”) Browning as Commander 1st Airborne Corps and Deputy Commander, First Allied Airborne Army, during Operation Market Garden.  Browning was a Montgomery sycophant who knew as much about generalship as he did about airborne operations. Browning shared many of Montgomery’s less appreciated traits: he was argumentative, arrogant, and full of himself.  American officers didn’t like Browning and, as important, didn’t trust him.  The relationship between Browning and US Army Air Corps Lieutenant General Lewis H. Brereton was toxic.[2]

When General Browning finally revealed his plan to the Royal Air Force staff on 10 September 1944, the RAF raised questions that were similar to those posed by General Brereton — questions about feasibility, logistics, and Northern European weather patterns.  One early problem was that in that part of Europe in September, there was insufficient daylight to conduct two airborne airlift operations in 24 hours.  Moreover, if Montgomery expected allied air cover for his assault force, then nighttime operations were out of the question.  A second issue was that General Browning expected C-47 aircraft to pull two fully manned glider craft.  Such an experiment was never tested.  General Brereton quite correctly refused to allow it.

Additionally, the Northern European weather pattern in late September is inconducive to large-scale airborne operations — or the logistics footprint required to pull it off.  In any case, the RAF and USAAC urged “Boy” Browning to reconsider his assault plan.  Browning refused, and when he did, the allied air forces refused to drop airborne troops closer than eight miles from Arnhem.   To do so, British and American air corps commanders argued, would subject the air forces to unacceptable risks.

During the operational planning phase of Market Garden, Dutch resistance leaders warned Montgomery that while the German army was withdrawing from coastal Europe, the Nazis were neither defeated nor dispirited.  Moreover, the resistance argued, it was foolhardy to march so many men 64 miles up a corridor firmly in German hands.

Major General Roy Urquhart, commanding the British 1st Airborne Division, communicated his misgivings about Market Garden to Lieutenant General Browning.[3]  Urquhart, who until then had never controlled an airborne unit, was cautioned by Browning about the effects of defeatism on unit morale.  After landing outside Arnhem, Urquhart discovered that after protecting Allied landing fields, he would have no more than a single brigade (a third of his force) to seize and hold the Arnhem Bridge.[4]  As events unfolded, only one allied unit reached the Arnhem Bridge: the British 44th Parachute Battalion under Lieutenant Colonel Johnny Frost.[5]

There were other operational disasters, as well.  None of Urquhart’s high-frequency radios were working; he had no means of communicating with higher headquarters and could not receive intelligence reports from his subordinate units.  Urquhart was operating in the dark.

Market Garden was no cakewalk for the Americans, either.  Of the five bridges assigned to the U.S. 101st Airborne Division, the Germans destroyed two — which produced a bottleneck restricting the movement of Allied forces across the Rhine.  When the American commander learned about the two destroyed bridges, General Matthew Ridgeway slowed his pace of advance.  This decision allowed German forces more time to prepare their defensive works.

Brigadier General James M. Gavin, commanding the U.S. 82nd Airborne Division, received orders from Browning to secure the Grosbeak Heights southeast of Nijmegen.  It was an order Gavin could not obey because, given shortages of boats and ammunition, he could only provide a single battalion of the 504th Parachute Regiment to hold the Nijmegen Bridge.

This operational and logistical planning failure allowed the Germans to reinforce a vital bridge, which delayed strengthening or relieving the British 1st Airborne Division at Arnhem.  Gavin’s 504th Parachute Regiment heroically seized the bridge across the Waal River, but by that time, the Germans had already killed or captured the men holding the bridge at Arnhem.

Aftermath and Conclusion

We remember Operation Market Garden as a colossal failure.  It was poorly conceived, inadequately planned, incompetently directed, and overly ambitious.  Montgomery/Brown failed to consider the most basic yet vital factors of warfare.  Montgomery underestimated the enemy’s strength, capability, disposition, and fighting spirit.  Moreover, Market Garden was logistically unsupportable, the terrain was ill-suited for corps-size operations, and weather patterns were ill-disposed to airborne operations.  Montgomery’s failure was more than negligent; it was malfeasant.[6]

Beyond losing 17,000 men to this poorly planned and executed fiasco, Market Garden had other consequences.  For instance, in seeking to establish a bridgehead across the Rhine, the Allied forces rushed offensive operations on three fronts in the south of the Netherlands.   To secure shipping to the vital port of Antwerp, the Allies advanced northwards and westwards.  The Canadian First Army seized the Scheldt Estuary.  Separately, Operation Aintree was designed to seize and secure the banks of the Meuse as a natural boundary for the established salient.  Aintree became a protracted battle, which eventually included Operation Overloon.  Operation Pheasant expanded the Market Garden salient westward.  The German counter-offensive intended to halt Allied use of the port of Antwerp, split the Allied lines, encircle four allied armies, and force a negotiated peace settlement.  In the aftermath of Market Garden, the Allied rush to victory resulted in over 90,000 men killed, wounded, or captured and the loss of 733 tanks and 1,000 aircraft.

Another unhappy consequence of Market Garden was the Dutch famine of 1944-45.  Dutch workers went on strike during the battle to aid the Allied assault.  Germany forbade food transportation in retribution, and in the following winter, more than 20,000 Dutch citizens were starved to death.

A healthy ego is as essential to field commanders as for high-performance jet pilots.  Montgomery did not have a healthy ego. Instead, the field marshal appears to have been a tormented man — one who may have suffered from Asperger’s Disorder for most of his life and a man who regularly relied on bluster and position to mask severe deficiencies as a field general.  It is one thing to make a costly mistake — our senior combat commanders are, after all, human beings with strengths and weaknesses — and tragic mistakes do happen in wars.  But it is quite another matter when a field commander risks the lives of thousands of men knowing that he’s exceeded his capability and then masks that failure by pretending there was no failure or trying to blame it on subordinate officers/commands.  This, I believe, describes Bernard Montgomery.  Browning was another matter altogether, but the men who served in the 1st Airborne Army in September 1944 deserved far better men to lead them. 

Sources:

  1. Badsey, S.  Arnhem, 1944: Operation Market Garden.  London: Osprey Publishing, 1993.
  2. Clark, L.  Arnhem: Operation Market Garden, September 1944.  Phoenix Mill: Sutton Publishing, 2002.
  3. Hoyer, B. K.  Operation Market Garden: The Battle for Arnhem.  Defense Technical Information Center, Fort Belvoir, Virginia, 2008

Endnotes:

[1] In the British Army, a brigade major serves the same function as a Brigade Executive Officer in the American Army; supervision of the several staff sections of the Brigade: Administration, Operations/Training, Intelligence, logistics, and special staff sections.  The brigade major usually held the rank of major (even if only a temporary advancement), intentionally ranked below officers commanding battalions.  The Brigade Commander directed his battalions, and the Brigade Major directed the Brigade Commander’s staff.

[2] If anyone in Europe knew about airborne operations, it was Lewis Brereton, whose entire career involved air assault operations.

[3] Robert Elliott (Roy) Urquhart (1901-88) fought with distinction at Arnhem, but in this battle, his division lost 75% of his men and was subsequently withdrawn from further combat service during World War II.  Major General Sir Richard Gale, Commander, 6th Airborne Division agreed with Urquhart’s assessment of the likely consequences of Market Garden, but Montgomery/Browning ignored him, as well.

[4] An SS training battalion was operating adjacent to the intended landing field.

[5] John Dutton Frost (1912-93) served with distinction with the parachute forces in North Africa, Sicily, and Italy.  He commanded the 44th Parachute Battalion and was responsible for seizing the Arnhem Bridge and holding it against an entire German Panzer Division for four days.

[6] Supreme Allied Headquarters received numerous reports about German troop movements, including the identity of German units.  Eisenhower was so concerned that he sent this information to Lieutenant General Walter Bedell Smith to raise the issue with Montgomery.  Montgomery dismissed Eisenhower’s/Smith’s concerns and refused to alter his plan for landing airborne units at Arnhem.  Even when briefed by his own staff intelligence officer, who showed him photographic evidence of armor units at Arnhem, Browning dismissed his evidence out of hand — and then ordered the intelligence officer placed on sick leave owing to his “nervous strain and exhaustion.”

Combat Leader

Introduction

Valor, audacity, and fortitude are words and phrases that describe (or used to do), all of America’s Armed Forces.  America’s Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, Marines are each replete with examples of individual and organizational esprit de corps.  What these men and organizations do in combat mirrors their mission and their training; how well they do it reflects the quality of their leaders and their individual fighting spirit, their willingness to improvise, adapt and overcome — their ability to sustain serious injury and keep on fighting.

America’s Marines have been at this now for going on 250 years.  The history of the Marines is replete with examples of courage under fire, refusal to quit, and victory without fanfare.  We don’t know much about the kind of training the Continental Marines experienced in preparing them for war with Great Britain in 1775, but we do know that despite the infinitesimal size of the early Corps, they displayed small unit camaraderie and self-confidence, and esprit de corps.  They were American Marines.  Their successes in battle far outnumbered their failures, and while they may have withdrawn, they never quit the fight.  Within two weeks of mustering on the stern of the Continental Navy’s flagship USS Alfred, these early Marines were en route to their first battle, which occurred at New Providence, Nassau, on 3 March 1776.  It wasn’t the bloodiest of battles, but they did their part in helping the navy accomplish its mission, and that’s what Marines do.

The British overwhelmed the Marines at Bladensburg during the War of 1812, but by that time, every other American military unit had already left the field of battle.  So well did those Marines acquit themselves that the Marine Barracks Washington was the only government building spared by the British Army when they burned that city.  Marine Barracks, Washington, is the oldest structure in Washington, D. C. today.

Outside the number of readers of this blog, few people today are aware of the Marine Corps’ battle history.  As naval infantry, American Marines protected their country’s interests from the coast of North Africa, throughout the Caribbean, in the Falkland Islands, Sumatra, West Africa, and in the Seminole Wars.  During the Mexican War, Marines seized enemy seaports along the Gulf and the Pacific Ocean.  A battalion of Marines fought under General Winfield Scott at Pueblo and carried the fight all the way to the “Halls of Montezuma.”  And during the Civil War, Marines fought at sea and onshore.  During the Spanish-American War, while the War Department and senior Army staff argued about who should do what, the Navy and Marine Corps were already ashore fighting.

The farther Marines get from one battle, the closer they get to their next.

The Crucible

The goal of military training in the United States is to ensure that when the politicians send the nation to war (as they frequently do), or send them into conflicts short of war, that America’s armed forces will be able to accomplish strategic, operational, or tactical objectives.  Ultimately, the goal of training is to develop individual combat skills within the fighting force and rehearse those individuals as a team to enable them to win battles quickly, efficiently, and with the lowest loss of life.  Because warfare continues to change in terms of technology and methodology, training is constant.  But there are no lessons in warfare greater than those learned in actual combat.

“Here lies the bones of Lieutenant Jones, a graduate of our finest institutions.

He died last night, in his very first fight, when he applied the school solution.”

During the Battle for Guadalcanal, America’s first major offensive in the Pacific War, American losses included 7,100 killed and 7,789 wounded.  The battle lasted six months and two days, from 7 August 1942 to 9 February 1943.   The Battle for Tarawa took place ten months later (between 20-23 November 1943).  Marines gave up 1,009 killed and an additional 2,101 wounded, with 88 missing/presumed dead.

There is no comparison between these two battles.  Both involved heavy fighting and horrible death, but the difference was that the Battle for Tarawa only lasted three days.  Had that fight lasted as long as the Guadalcanal campaign, it would have cost the United States well over 60,000 dead.  Another distinction is that the ratio of killed to wounded at Tarawa reflects the savagery of the fight.  Twenty percent of the Marines who landed at Tarawa were killed or wounded, but organizational losses were much higher.  The 2nd Amphibious Battalion, for example, lost half of its men and all but 35 of its 125 amphibian tractors.

The number of men lost at Tarawa within a period of only 76 hours caused a firestorm of controversy back in the United States — most of it involved heartbroken parents who found an ear with the American press, but some too from among the military hierarchy.  Douglas MacArthur was astounded by the losses and questioned the wisdom of Admiral Nimitz’s “frontal assault” strategies in the island-hopping campaign.  But the fact is that battles are not served up with clean linen.  Mistakes are always made in great undertakings, and in war, people die and receive horrific injuries.  The hard reality is that when war becomes necessary, its human and material costs are immaterial.  What matters most is winning.

But it is from within the confines of such horrors that the men who survive them learn how to conduct combat operations more efficiently — and quicker.  The one lesson never learned by politicians is that prolonged wars are never beneficial to anyone.

Additional background

At the conclusion of World War II, President Harry S. Truman wasted no time demobilizing the armed forces.  He was intent on making a smooth transition from a wartime economy to one that fulfilled the needs of a nation at peace.  Veterans were returning home from four long years of horror; they needed jobs, and Truman believed that it was the government’s duty to help create those jobs.  It was also a time of restructuring the Armed Forces.

The War Department was disbanded; in its place, a Department of Defense, which incorporated the service secretaries of the Army, Navy, and Air Force.  But, toward achieving his goals for a nation at peace, Truman placed the military services on the chopping block.  Every service experienced sharp cuts in manpower and equipment.  Truman reallocated funds away from defense toward social programs. Suddenly, there was no money to repair airplanes, tanks, or radios.  There was no money for annual rifle requalification, no money for training exercises, and hardly any money to feed, clothe, and see to the medical needs of active-duty personnel.

During this time, the Marine Corps had but one advantage over the other services.  They all “gave up” one-third of the wartime strength, of course, but while combat veterans in the Army, Navy, and Air Force dwindled to about twenty percent of their total force, the Marine Corps retained half of their combat officers and noncommissioned officers — the men who had led the way through the Pacific, and miraculously survived.

Cold War Goes Hot

When the North Korean People’s Army (NKPA) invaded South Korea in the early morning hours of 25 June 1950, they did so in overwhelming numbers.  It was a mechanized/combined arms force involving thirteen infantry divisions, an armored division of well-trained, superbly equipped troops, and to back them up, a full aviation division.[1]  Various sources tell us that the number of invading troops was between 90,000 —150,000 men.  An additional 30,000 men were part of the reserve force.

The suddenness of the Korean War caught the United States unprepared.  The men serving in forward units were young, inexperienced, and inadequately trained.  Their equipment was unserviceable.  There were shortages of ammunition and munitions.  Trucks wouldn’t run, radios wouldn’t work, planes couldn’t fly, and leaders couldn’t lead.  Within two weeks, US forces suddenly thrust into the heat of battle and suffered one defeat after another.  Within a month, the remains of thousands of young American soldiers were on the way home for burial and the United Nations forces.

General Douglas MacArthur, serving as Supreme Allied Commander, Far East, was headquartered in Tokyo, Japan.  Within this United Nations (UN) Command were several subordinate commanders, including Commander, U.S. Seventh Fleet, and Commander, U.S. Eighth Army, and Commander, U.S. Fifth Air Force.  MacArthur was least happy with the Eighth Army’s preparedness for war (although it was hardly the fault of its commander).

Commanding the Eighth Army was Lieutenant General Walton H. Walker, U.S. Army.  His subordinate commands included the U.S. 24th Infantry Division, 1st Cavalry Division, and the U.S. 25th Infantry Division — all of which were stationed in Japan as part of the post-war Allied occupation force.  In June 1950, not one of these organizations was prepared for a national emergency.[2]  The South Korean (ROK) armed forces numbered less than 70,000 men in the Republic of Korea.  One thing the South Koreans shared in common with the Eighth Army was that the men were poorly trained, poorly equipped, and poorly led.

Eventually, all UN forces were organized under the US Eighth Army.  By the time General Walker was able to organize an armed response, the NKPA had already overrun 90% of the South Korean peninsula.  The only terrain remaining in the possession of UN forces was a 140-mile perimeter around the port city of Pusan (southeast South Korea).  As previously stated, General Walker’s forces suffered one defeat after another throughout July and August 1950, racking up 6,000 casualties within around 45 days.[3]  The morale of the US/UN forces was at an all-time low.

Under these dire conditions, General MacArthur asked the JCS for a Marine regiment to help stem the tide of the invading NKPA.  A single regiment, mind you — when the NPKA had already mauled two infantry divisions within 30 days.  What MacArthur received, instead, was a Provisional Marine Brigade — the lead element of the rapidly organizing 1st Marine Division.

The New Sheriff Arrives

For the uninformed, a Marine expeditionary brigade is an awesome organization, chiefly because it incorporates ground, air, and service support elements designed to make the brigade a self-sustaining combat powerhouse.  The 1st Marine Provisional Brigade (1stMarBde) began forming around the 5th Marine Regiment (5thMar) at Camp Pendleton, California, on 7 July 1950.  Brigade combat support elements included an artillery battalion, tank company, combat engineer company, communications company, reconnaissance company, and shore party battalion.  The brigade’s air combat element was Provisional Marine Aircraft Group Thirty-three (MAG-33), which included three fixed-wing squadrons and a light helicopter squadron normally based at the Marine Corps Air Station (MCAS), El Toro, California.[4]

What made the 1stMarBde extraordinary was the circumstances under which it was formed.  Truman’s cuts were so devastating to the Marine Corps owing to its already small size, that on 25 June 1950, there was but one infantry regiment at Camp Pendleton — its personnel strength reduced by one-third and with most of its organizational equipment in depot storage.[5]  The regiment had three battalions (and a headquarters element), but each battalion was short one rifle company; each rifle company was short one infantry platoon.  These reductions simply meant that the Marines would have to fight harder.

The brigade pulled into Pusan Harbor on the evening of 2 August — with off-loading operations beginning almost immediately.  Troop leaders had already briefed their men about what to expect from this new enemy.  The Marines knew that they would be outnumbered, but they knew that not even superior numbers would save the North Koreans from their ultimate fate.  The one thing that seemed most noticeable the next morning, as battalions began to muster dockside, was the appearance of supreme confidence among those young Marines.

During the Korean War, US Marine combat commands operated within the Eighth Army.  General Walker decided to use the Marine Brigade as a stop-gap force.  Whenever the NKPA mauled and routed a US/UN Army unit, Walker sent the Marine Brigade to re-take the Army’s forfeited positions.  Had it not for these handfuls of Marines, the Pusan Perimeter would have collapsed, and the NKPA would have pushed the UN  forces into the South China Sea.

The First Provisional Marine Brigade was dangerously understrength, but what the Marines brought to the table was a foundation of exceptional officer and NCO leadership, combat experience, and an unparalleled fighting spirit.  When the NKPA met the US Marines for the first time, they quickly realized that they foolishly underestimated the lethality of the Marine Corps Air/Ground Team.

The Fire Brigade began combat operations almost immediately inside the Pusan Perimeter.  The North Korean Army may have had its way with our poorly trained army, but the Marines would have none of it.  Within a few days, American Marines began introducing NKPA soldiers to their worst (and last) day.

General Walker assigned Craig’s brigade to support the U.S. 25th Infantry Division (XX/25) under the command of Major General William B. Kean, U. S. Army.  In addition to the 1stMarBde, XX/25 included the U.S. 5th Regimental Combat Team (5RCT), U.S. 14th Infantry Regiment (III/14), U.S. 24th Infantry Regiment (III/24), U.S. 27th Infantry Regiment (III/27), and the U.S. 35th Infantry Regiment (III/35).  Altogether, Eighth Army HQ designated the division with all attachments as “Task Force Kean.”

Walker intended to initiate offensive operations against NKPA forces on 6 August.  Kean tasked the 1stMarBde and 5CT  to secure the area of Chinju from the NKPA 6th Division (NKPA/6).  Walker’s goal was the break up a suspected massing of NKPA troops near Taegu by forcing some NKPA troops southward.  Walker’s plan of attack was to move west from positions held near Masan, Seize Chinju Pass, and Secure a line as far as the Nam River.  The plan was only a contingency, however.  The success of Walker’s plan would depend on the arrival of the U. S. 2nd Infantry Division (XX/2) from the United States.

Overall command of the brigade fell to Brigadier General Edward A. Craig, USMC.  His assistant was Brigadier General Thomas J. Cushman, who also commanded Marine Aircraft Group-33.[6]  Lieutenant Colonel Raymond L. Murray (selected for promotion to colonel) served as Commanding Officer, 5th Marines.[7]  Below Murray, the 1st Battalion, 5th Marines (also 1/5) was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel George R. Newton;[8] 2/5 was led by Lieutenant Colonel Harold S. Roise,[9] and 3/5 was under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Robert D. Taplett.[10]  The skill and determination of these field commanders and the fighting spirit of their men won every battle.  The 1st Marine Brigade went to Korea with the finest combat commanders available, combat-tested Noncommissioned Officers, and a body of men who exhibited the highest qualities of the United States Marine.

To my knowledge, there has never been a shooting war without casualties.  Harkening back to the Pacific War, if there is one thing we know about amphibious operations, it is that there are no avoiding casualties during the assault phase, and this was particularly true when large numbers of Marines landed on small islands populated by fanatical enemies.  But from among the survivors of the great battles of World War II we will rediscover the gutsy Marine leaders who planned and executed America’s future battles — in Korea and Vietnam.

I have already mentioned the brigade commander, Brigadier General Edward A. Craig.  As a colonel, Craig served as the V Amphibious Corps’ operations officer during the Battle of Iwo Jima.  Craig was critical of Lieutenant General Holland M. Smith for his refusal to land the 3rd Marine Regiment when doing so would have provided much-needed relief to the Marines already ashore, and he argued, shorten the battle.

Colonel Raymond L. Murray, the Commanding Officer, 5th Marines, was an experienced combat officer with service on Guadalcanal, Tarawa, and Saipan while in command of the 1st Battalion, 6th Marines.  He was cited for conspicuous gallantry at all three battle locations, earning two Silver Star medals, the Navy Cross, and the Purple Heart.  Murray was awarded a second Navy Cross and two additional Silver Star medals during the Korean War.  Murray retired as a major general in 1968.

During World War II, Captain Kenneth J. Houghton participated in the Battle of Tarawa and the Battle of Saipan.  During the early days of the Korean War, he served as the Commanding Officer, Reconnaissance Company.  Houghton retired as a major general in 1977.

Changchon Ambush

At sundown on 11 August, Lieutenant Colonel Bob Taplett’s 3/5 dug in for the night on the road to Sachon.  The NKPA appeared to him somewhat disorganized.  For the first time since the North Korean invasion began, a sustained Eighth Army counterattack had not only stopped the communists but sent them into a withdrawal.  Taplett was about a day’s march from Sachon, while 5CT was racing along the shorter Chinju route northward, where enemy opposition had been light for the past two days.  Morale within the Army’s ranks seemed high, and radio traffic sounded optimistic.

General Craig was not at all optimistic.  Within the next 48 hours, the Marines were destined to carry out one of the most astonishing operations in the history of the Marine Corps: simultaneous battalion-sized assaults in opposite directions, 25 miles apart.  But at 0630 on 12 August, as 1/5 passed through 3/5 with the mission of seizing Sachon, there was no hint of any such development.  In fact, the front was quiet enough to make the senior NCOs nervous.  If one were to ask the company gunnery sergeant (pick any company), he’d tell you, “The enemy is up to no good, sir.”

1/5 moved out in column formation behind a 15-man detachment of the Recon Company under Captain Kenny Houghton.  Captain Tobin’s “Baker” Company followed behind.[11]  Two Marine tanks sandwiched in between the 1st and 2nd platoons.  Three more tanks were brought up to the rear of Captain Tobin’s company, followed by the rest of the battalion.

The eerie calm continued for another 4 or so hours.  At noon, with Sachon only four miles ahead, Captain Houghton led the battalion point around a bend into the thatched hamlet of Changchon.  Several Marines spied two skulking figures dashing for cover and opened fire.  When they did, the hills on both sides of the road erupted into flame.  Marine rifle fire had spooked the enemy into pre-maturely, revealing their ambuscade.  NKPA machine guns blazed away from the high ground in front and from both flanks.  It could have been a disaster for 1/5 Marines.

Captain Tobin ordered First Lieutenant Hugh Schryver’s 1st platoon forward along the roadside ditches; three Marines took hits, but the platoon reinforced Houghton’s thin line, who were busily engaged in returning enemy fire.  Tobin then sent First Lieutenant David Taylor’s 2nd platoon up behind the three tanks.  The roadway was too narrow for the tanks to maneuver, and the soil on either side of the road was too muddy to support the weight, but as mobile fortresses, they added to Marine firepower.

Within mere minutes, NKPA ambushers pinned down Tobin’s entire company, including the company headquarters further down the road, which received automatic weapons fire from higher up on Hill 250.  Lieutenant Colonel Newton requested airstrikes through his air controller, First Lieutenant James Smith.  Air support was all Newton had available.  Within a few minutes, Marine Corsairs dropped ordnance on Hill 250, after which Tobin directed 2nd Lieutenant Dave Cowling to attack the high ground.  Able Company sent forward a rifle platoon and a machine gun section.  To these reinforcements, Colonel Newton assigned the mission of attacking Hill 301.

As Cowling’s 3rd platoon crossed the roadway, tanks and mortars added their fires to the airstrikes, but enough of the enemy’s automatic weapons survived to catch the 3rd platoon in a crossfire, which forced the Marines back.  Cowling lost one man killed, and four wounded.  Meanwhile, Able Company occupied Hill 301 without meeting any resistance.

Smith notified Newton that he had two Corsairs overhead with five minutes of fuel remaining.  Newton asked that the pilot search for targets of opportunity along the road from Changchon to Sachon.  The Marine aviators visited an enemy convoy and left them with a lasting impression.

3rd platoon fell back on Hill 301 as Newton ordered the Able Company Commander, Captain John Stevens, to secure the nearby high ground on the right side of the road.  Newton’s maneuvering left Hill 250 as the center of enemy resistance on the right.  Marines dropped 113 mortar rounds on the enemy’s positions, and additional airstrikes followed.  This concentration of fire silenced the enemy machine guns, securing Baker Company’s right flank.

Meanwhile, Baker Company’s other two platoons and Captain Houghton’s Marines had their hands full on the left flank.  A brisk exchange of fire continued until Marine artillery solved the argument.  One NKPA position after another disappeared in a burst of glory.  Newton called for three more airstrikes, and these opened the door for a 2nd platoon left flank assault.

Newton’s Marines cleaned up remaining NKPA positions, the climax of which was a group of the enemy approaching the crest of Hill 202 from the reverse slope.  Lieutenant Taylor dispatched Technical Sergeant Lischeski with a squad to prepare an appropriate welcoming committee.  Thirty-nine unsuspecting communists walked into the sergeant’s trap.  There was only one survivor, but even that was temporary.

The fight at Changchon lasted all afternoon, and darkness set in before Baker Company could complete setting in for the night.  Newton estimated that his enemy opposition was a reinforced NKPA company, the rearguard element for a withdrawing battalion.  In this action, 1/5 lost 3 killed in action, and 13 WIA.  After Newton’s companies had secured the high ground, medical personnel evacuated the battalion’s dead and wounded.

This was a single action, on a single day, at the beginning of the US/UN counteroffensive. 

Sources:

  1. Catchpole, B.  The Korean War.  Robinson Publishing, 2003.
  2. Fehrenbach, T. R.  This Kind of War: The Classic Korean War History. Potomac Press, 2001.
  3. Montross, L., and N. A. Canzona.  U. S. Marine Corps Operations in Korea, 1950-1953, Volume I: The Pusan Perimeter. HQMC G-3 Branch, 1954. 
  4. Simmons, E. H.  The United States Marines: A History.  Naval Institute Press, 2003.

Endnotes:

[1] Two of these infantry divisions were mixed Chinese/Korean organizations.

[2] See also, From King to Joker.

[3] Battles are not won purely on the size of opposing armies; they are won by the skill of their commanders and the fighting spirit (and capacity) of their men.  None of these conditions existed within the US/UN armed forces on 25 June 1950.

[4] Despite several demonstrations during World War II of the advantages air/ground interface (close air support of ground forces), the Army was never interested in developing this capability until Marine aviators saved their bacon numerous times during the Korean War. 

[5] For the Marine Corps to meet this combat requirement, HQMC had to transfer men and material from the 2nd Marine Division and 2nd Marine Aircraft Wing at Camp Lejeune and Cherry Point, transfer people from the supporting establishment (supply depots, recruiting staffs, schools, and HQMC in Washington), and active Marine Corps reserve units.

[6] Lieutenant General Thomas J. Cushman (1895-1972 ) was the recipient of two Legions of Merit medals and the Navy Distinguished Service Medal.

[7] Major General Murray (1913-2004) was a highly decorated officer, having won two Navy Cross medals, four Silver Star Medals, a Legion of Merit, the Distinguished Service Cross, and the Purple Heart Medal.  Murray commanded 2/6, 3rd Marines, 5th Marines, 1st Infantry Training Regiment, and the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, SC.  He fought at Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Saipan, Inchon, Seoul, the Chosin Reservoir, and the Vietnam War.

[8] Colonel Newton (1915-2003 ) was a graduate of the USNA, class of 1938, retiring in 1962.  While serving with the US Marine Legation Guard in Peking, China, he was captured by the Japanese and held as a prisoner of war (1941-1945).  He was awarded the Silver Star medal for conspicuous gallantry on 23 September 1950 and the Legion of Merit for exceptionally meritorious service while commanding the 1stBn 5thMar  7 July – 12 September 1950.

[9] Colonel Roise (1916-91) was the recipient of two Navy Cross medals in the Korean War.  He served on active duty from 1939 until 1965 with combat service at Pearl Harbor, Okinawa, Pusan, Inchon, Seoul, and the Chosin Reservoir.

[10] Taplett was awarded the Navy Cross medal for his gallant service at the Chosin Reservoir.

[11] In the 1950s, Army and Marine rifle companies were phonetically designated Able, Baker, Charlie, Dog, Easy, Fox, George, How, Item, Jig, King, and Love.

Lieutenant Colonel Frank E. Bourne DCM OBE

On 8 May 1945, as the United Kingdom and the United States began celebrating Victory in Europe (VE) Day, a 91-year-old British hero took his final breath at his home in Kent, England.  His name was Frank Edward Bourne.  Few people know about him today, but by the end of this post, I hope my readers will know about this remarkable man.

Frank was born in Balcombe, Sussex, southeast England, on 27 April 1854.  He was the last of eight sons born to James Bourne and Harriet Gibson, a farming family.  From every account, James and Harriett Bourne were good parents, hardworking, and respectable.  Frank was a bright young man, literate, and motivated to make something of himself.  What he wanted from life was a challenge, and if he could also have an adventurous life, even better.  Where did one go in the south of England to find an adventurous life?  They went to the Army, of course.

Frank Bourne enlisted in the British Army in Brighton, East Sussex, in December 1872.  Knowing his son was making a colossal mistake, James tried to change Frank’s mind, but the young man would not be detoured.  Frank’s enlistment record reflects that he stood five and a half feet tall, was of slender build, and had brown hair, grey eyes, and a dark complexion.[1]

A year later, having completed basic training, young Frank was posted to the Second Battalion, 24th Regiment of Foot (also, 2nd Warwickshire).  He was one of those young men to whom soldiering came naturally.  In 1875, Frank was promoted to corporal and then, three years later, to Colour Sergeant — the senior noncommissioned officer in his rifle company (more or less equivalent to a company first sergeant in the U.S. military structure).  Because of his youth and relative inexperience, the men of Company B referred to him as “The Kid.”  Most of the privates in the company were in their thirties.

He may have taken a ribbing because of his relative youth, but the men highly respected Bourne.  He was the only literate enlisted man in the company, which allowed him to help his men write letters home to their families.  He was fair, even-handed, and very calm, and when he wanted the men to do something, they “snapped to.”

In 1879, Frank was 25 years old.  This was the year his battalion commander posted Company B to the missionary outpost at a ford (drift) along the Buffalo River abutting Zululand in South Africa.  The outpost was named Rorke’s Drift.  Colour Sergeant Bourne’s company commander was Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead.

In the native language of the Zulu people, Rorke’s Drift was called Kwa Jimu (Jim’s land); the mission was one belonging to the Church of Sweden, formerly a trading post owned by merchant James Rorke.  Under Lieutenant General Frederick Augustus Thesiger, 2nd Baron Chelmsford, Rorke’s Drift became a vital supply depot and field hospital under the overall command of Brevet Major Henry Spalding.  Company B was detailed to provide security for the depot/hospital.

On 20 January, Chelmsford marched his 2,000-man army to Isandlwana, some 10 miles east of Rorke’s Drift.  The next day, a small engineer detachment of No. 5 Field Company, Royal Engineers, under Lieutenant John Chard, arrived to repair the pontoons that bridged the Buffalo River.  Chard, unsure of his orders, rode to Chelmsford’s position to receive clarification.  He was ordered back to Rorke’s Drift with orders to construct defensive positions.

Spalding departed the station for Helpmekarr on 22nd January to ascertain the location of Captain Rainforth’s Company G, which was late in arriving.  Spalding left Chard in temporary command.  So informed, Lieutenant Chard went to the station to observe the work underway on the pontoons.  A short time later, two survivors from Chelmsford’s army arrived and informed the men at Rorke’s Drift that the British army had been defeated (in fact, wiped out) — and that the Zulu Army was en route.

Lieutenant Chard called a meeting with Lieutenant Bromhead and Acting Assistant Commissary James Dalton (Commissary and Transportation Department) to decide whether they should defend Rorke’s Drift or withdraw to Helpmekarr.  Dalton opined that the Zulu would quickly overtake a small party with wagons of sick and injured men.  The consensus was that the soldiers should stay and defend.  See also The Battle of Rorke’s Drift.  It was the most incredible stand in British military history.

As senior NCO, Colour Sergeant Bourne was at the forefront of the company’s activities — from organizing and assigning the men to their defensive positions to providing them with an example of soldierly virtue and remaining conspicuously in the fight.  In his statement to the BBC in 1936, Bourne said, “Now just one word for the men who fought that night.  I was moving about amongst them at all times, and they did not flinch for one moment.  Their courage and bravery cannot be expressed in words.  For me, they were an example all my soldiering days.”

Frank Bourne was not one of the men to receive the Victoria Cross for the fight at Rorke’s Drift, but he was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal (the nation’s second-highest award).[2]  The medal carried with it an annuity of £10 monthly.  For Bourne and the surviving men of Company B, the Zulu War was over.  In 1880, 2nd Warwickshire departed South Africa for Gibraltar.  The British Army offered Bourne an officer’s commission, but not being wealthy enough to sustain an officer’s position, he turned it down.  He was instead promoted to Quarter Master Sergeant.[3]

At Gibraltar, Frank Bourne married Eliza Mary Fincham and began to raise his family; they eventually had five children.  His battalion eventually ended up in India and Burma but saw minimal action.  In 1890, Bourne was advanced to Honorary Lieutenant and appointed to serve as Adjutant, School of Musketry in Hythe, Southampton.  Bourne remained at this post for many years, eventually retiring as a Major in 1907.

In retirement, Major Frank Bourne DCM assisted Field Marshal Frederick Roberts, 1st Earl Roberts (a much beloved general officer known in the ranks as “Bobs”) with the administration of the National Service League and the National Smallbore Rifle Association.

With the outbreak of World War I in 1914, Major Bourne rejoined the army and was posted as Adjutant, School of Musketry, Dublin.  By the end of the First World War, Bourne had been promoted to lieutenant colonel and awarded the Order of the British Empire (OBE).[4]

One hell of a soldier.  Rest in peace, Colonel Bourne.

Sources:

  1. Find A Grave Memorials (online).
  2. Imperial War Museum, United Kingdom (online).

Endnotes:

[1] According to these records and photographic evidence, Frank Bourne looked nothing like the actor who played him in  the film, Zulu — Nigel Green.

[2] Queen Victoria created the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) in 1854 in recognition of gallantry in the field by “other ranks” of the British Army.  It is the oldest award for gallant conduct ranking only below the Victoria Cross (created in 1857).  In 1993, the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross replaced the DCM, CGM, and DSO.  The CGC is now the second-highest medal for gallantry in combat in the United Kingdom.

[3] During the Napoleonic War, the demand for experienced military officers prompted the British Army to offer battlefield commissions to enlisted men.  However, the system of commissions in those days required officers to purchase their commissions, which to most low-to-middle-class Englishmen, was cost prohibitive.   

[4] Technically, the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire is an order of chivalry in recognition of public service outside civil service, established in 1917 by King George V.