Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939
Roger J. Spiller General Editor
U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Press Fort Leavenworth, Kansas 1992
Library of congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Combined arms in battle since 1939 / Roger J. Spiller, general editor.
p.cm.
Includes bibliographical references.
1. Unified operations (Military science) - History - 20 century.
2. United States - History, Military - 20th century. 3. Military history, Modern - 20th century. I. Spiller, Roger J.
U260.C66 1992
355.4'0973'0904 - dc20
92-11472
CIP
Contents
Illustrations |
|
vii |
Introduction |
|
ix |
|
Airborne Operations |
|
1. |
Seizing and Holding the German Bridges at Arnhem,
September 1944
Lieutenant Colonel Robert D. Ramsey III |
1 |
|
Airmobile Operations |
|
2. |
The 1st Cavalry Division's Exploitation of Helicopters
in the Ia Drang Valley
Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame, U.S. Army, Retired |
11 |
|
Amphibious Operations |
|
3. |
Tarawa: The Testing of an Amphibious Doctrine
Dr. Jerold E. Brown |
19 |
|
Antiarmor Operations |
|
4. |
Antiarmor Operations on the Golan Heights, October 1973
Major George E. Knapp |
27 |
|
Attack Helicopter Operations |
|
5. |
Attack Helicopters in Lebanon, 1982
Dr. George W. Gawrych |
35 |
|
Combat Engineering |
|
6. |
Egyptian Engineers in the Crossing Operation of 1973
Dr. George W. Gawrych |
43 |
|
Communications |
|
7. |
Allied Special Operations: Jedburgh Teams, Summer 1944
Dr. Samuel J. Lewis |
51 |
|
Deception |
|
8. |
Deceiving the Enemy in Operation Desert Storm
Dr. Thomas M. Huber |
59 |
|
Decisiveness |
|
9. |
The German Thrust to the English Channel, May 1940
Dr. Gary J. Bjorge |
67 |
|
Defensive Operations |
|
10. |
The Defense of the No Name Line in the Korean War
Major Robert E. Connor |
75 |
|
Discipline |
|
11. |
The Execution of Private Eddie D. Slovik
Dr. Jerold E. Brown |
83 |
|
Doctrine |
|
12. |
Active Defense
Dr. Christopher R. Gabel |
91 |
|
Economy of Force |
|
13. |
Repulsing the North Koreans Along the Naktong, 1950
Dr. William G. Robertson |
97 |
|
Endurance |
|
14. |
The British Triumph of Endurance in the Falkland
Islands War
Major Gary D. Rhay |
105 |
|
Environment |
|
15. |
The 84th Smoke Generator Company's Operations
at the Moselle River, September 1944
Major Terry L. Siems |
113 |
|
Fire Support |
|
16. |
Assessing the Adversary at Dien Bien Phu
Lieutenant Colonel James R. McLean |
121 |
|
Flexibility |
|
17. |
The U.S. Third Army at the Battle of the Bulge, 1944
Dr. Michael D. Pearlman |
131 |
|
Initiative |
|
18. |
The Chance Seizure of the Remagen Bridge Over the Rhine
Major Bruce Alsup |
139 |
|
Innovation |
|
19. |
Close Air Support in World War II: The Roots of the
Tragedy in Operation Cobra
Dr. Michael D. Pearlman |
147 |
|
Logistics |
|
20. |
British Logistics in the Falklands
Lieutenant Colonel Matthew S. Klimow |
155 |
|
Military Operations on Urbanized Terrain |
|
21. |
The 2d Battalion, 26th Infantry, at Aachen, October 1944
Dr. Christopher R. Gabel |
163 |
|
Miracles |
|
22. |
A Platoon's Heroic Stand at Lanzerath
Lieutenant Colonel John R. Finch, U.S. Army, Retired |
171 |
|
Morale |
|
23. |
The Destruction of the 28th Infantry Division in the
Huertgen Forest, November 1944
Lieutenant Colonel Thomas E. Christianson |
181 |
|
Night Operations |
|
24. |
Claiming the Night: Operation Just Cause, 1989-1990
Dr. Thomas M. Huber |
191 |
|
Planning |
|
25. |
Operation Just Cause, December 1989
Dr. Lawrence A. Yates |
197 |
|
Political Factors |
|
26. |
The U.S.-Panama Crisis, 1987-1990
Dr. Lawrence A. Yates |
205 |
|
Reconnaissance |
|
27. |
Fighting on the Upper Seine River, August 1944
Dr. Samuel J. Lewis |
213 |
|
River Crossings |
|
28. |
Crossing the Rapido
Dr. Roger J, Spiller |
221 |
|
Surprise |
|
29. |
The XIX Panzer Corps' Lightning Advance into France,
May 1940
Lieutenant Colonel Edward P. Shanahan |
231 |
|
Teamwork |
|
30. |
Seizing the Critical Bridges at Benouville
Major(P) Neil V. Lamont |
241 |
|
Tenacity |
|
31. |
The 43d Infantry Division's Determined Attack
on the Ipo Dam, 1945
Major George J. Mordica II |
249
|
|
Terrain |
|
32. |
Operation Spark: Breaking Through the Blockade at
Leningrad
Dr. Robert F. Baumann |
259 |
|
Time |
|
33. |
Operation Market-Garden, September 1944
Dr. Gary J. Bjorge |
269 |
|
Training |
|
34. |
The "Truscott Trot": Training for Operation Husky, 1943
Major Stephen D. Coats |
277 |
|
Unity of Command |
|
35. |
The Failure to Achieve Unity of Command in Vietnam
Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame, U.S. Army, Retired |
283 |
|
Weather |
|
36. |
The Influence of Weather on Combined Arms
Operations in Korea, 1950
Dr. Jack J. Gifford |
291 |
Authors
|
|
301
|
|
|
|
1. |
Arnhem, 17-20 September 1944 |
4 |
2. |
The area around LZ X-ray |
14 |
3. |
Betio Islet |
22 |
4. |
Start positions on the Golan front, 6 October 1973 |
28 |
5. |
Einan's axis of advance into Lebanon |
38 |
6. |
The Sinai front (initial dispositions), 6 October 1973 |
44 |
7. |
Operation Desert Storm, 24-25 February 1991 |
63 |
8. |
Germany's offensive against France, May 1940 |
70 |
9. |
Korea, May 1951 |
76
|
10. |
The sector occupied by the 24th Infantry Division,
5 August 1950 |
99 |
11. |
Initial British movements, 26-30 May 1982 |
107 |
12. |
Smoke generator operations at Arnaville,
10-15 September 1944 |
115 |
13. |
Dien Bien Phu, 13 March-8 May 1954 |
128 |
14. |
Battle of the Ardennes, 16-26 December 1944 |
132 |
15. |
The Battle of the Rhineland and crossing of the Rhine River |
141 |
16. |
The area of U.S. VII Corps' advance in Operation Cobra |
151
|
17. |
The advance of the 2d Battalion, 26th Infantry,
into central Aachen, 12-21 October 1944 |
165 |
18. |
The southern flank of the U.S. 99th Infantry Division,
16 December 1944 |
175 |
19. |
The 28th Infantry Division's attack on Schmidt,
2-9 November 1944 |
184 |
20. |
The U.S. Third Army drive to the Seine River |
217 |
21. |
The Rapido River crossings, 20-22 January 1944 |
223 |
22. |
The XIX Panzer Corps' advance, 10-15 May 1940 |
235 |
23. |
The area of the British 6th Airborne Division's assault
on D-day |
242 |
24. |
The attack on Ipo Dam |
251 |
25. |
Breaking the blockade at Leningrad |
261 |
26. |
Troop dispositions in Operation Market-Garden |
274 |
27. |
Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, 27-29 November 1950 |
295
|
|
Figures |
|
1. |
Communications channels for SFHQ |
52 |
In 1927, Lieutenant Colonel George C. Marshall left his faculty
position at the Army War College for a tour of duty as the assistant
commander of the U.S. Army Infantry School at Fort Benning, Georgia.
Marshall was already well known in the U.S. Army. He had been a
student and then an instructor at Fort Leavenworth's Army service
schools-later the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College
while only a lieutenant. He had also served two tours of duty in the
Philippines, and after America's entry into World War I, he rose steadily
through the staff of the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) in France
to become the G3 (Operations) officer of the General Headquarters, AEF.
Immediately after the war, Marshall served as aide-de-camp to General
John J. Pershing, the former commander of the AEF and now chief of
staff of the Army. Although Marshall finished the war as a colonel,
this rank was only temporary; not until 1920 was he to win a regular
promotion to the rank of major.
But when he arrived at Fort Benning, Marshall's thoughts were
on his army's performance in World War I, and what he remembered,
he did not remember fondly. He had been part of an AEF staff that
seemed to specialize in highly elaborate, tightly knit operational plans
that had little or nothing to do with the realities on the front lines,
nothing to do with the actualities of troop handling in ordinary tactical
situations. Marshall thought that the U.S. Army had benefited from
coming into the Great War so late, when the enemy was worn out.
Any professional officer who took pride in how the U.S. Army had
handled itself, Marshall thought, even under such favorable conditions,
was merely deluding himself.
The school that Marshall found at Fort Benning in 1927 was as
self-satisfied as the U.S. Army of which it was a part. The instruction
was stilted; lectures were read to the students. Even then, the students
were provided with highly precise maps of the local terrain, and these,
combined with the near-perfect intelligence on aggressor forces they
were allowed, made tactical problems highly stylized and easily predictable.
Nine years after the conclusion of World War I, the U.S. Army long since
largely demobilized and sliding toward record low budgets
and total strength-was slipping into the time-honored mental and
physical routines of garrison life. There was no threat on the horizon,
none at least the American people wanted to notice, and so there was
no pressing or overt reason for those inside the Army to worry much
about maintaining its warlike proficiency.
But Marshall's knowledge of military history and his soldier's faith
that sometime in the future he would again be called to war drove
him to resist the inertia that was then settling over his army. In his
view, an army's most perishable skills were the ones learned in the
hard school of combat itself, where a soldier's imagination,
inventiveness, practicality, and common sense were of more value than any
amount of school technique learned by rote.
Twelve years after he assumed his duties at the Infantry School,
Marshall would become chief of staff of the United States Army, taking
office on the day German forces invaded Poland, effectively beginning
World War II. Then, the whole Army was his to transform. But in
1927, Marshall's world was confined to Fort Benning. Here, he resolved
he would make a difference. After he arrived, he made his educational
philosophy abundantly clear:
I insist we must get down to the essentials, make clear the real difficulties,
and expunge the bunk, complications, and ponderosities; we
must concentrate on registering in men's minds certain vital
considerations instead of a mass of less important details. We must develop a technique and methods so simple and brief that the citizen officer of
good common sense can readily grasp the idea.
The qualities Marshall demanded of both his faculty and students
at Fort Benning could be developed in a number of ways, most of
them comparatively unorthodox for his time. He decreed that school
lectures would no longer be read to the students; indeed, he refused to
allow instructors to bring their notes to class. For tactical problems,
accurate maps were replaced with out-of-date and incomplete ones. On
occasion, no maps were allowed at all. Throughout, Marshall insisted
his men be schooled to make a decision at the proper time with incomplete
information. He was not interested in producing an officer whose
only accomplishment was technique or, worse yet, one who was
competent in tactical theory but would fail when he tried to execute it. He wanted Fort Benning to give back to the Army quick-thinking, inventive,
and practical soldiers.
Marshall's conception of the successful professional soldier had been
shaped during his time as a student at Fort Leavenworth under the
tutelage of Major (later Major General) John F. Morrison. It had been
Morrison's standard of "tactical simplicity" that Marshall had taken
with him into World War I, and it had been that standard that the
U.S. Army had failed to meet. Both Morrison and, after he joined the
faculty at Leavenworth, Marshall assumed that a thorough knowledge
of military history was essential to the formation of a professional
soldier and was a field of knowledge that was critical to the officer
who meant to meet his obligations to his soldiers, his army, and his
nation. Both men would have agreed that without a knowledge of
military history, an officer could not properly understand his profession.
Taking a page from his old teacher's approach, Marshall's use of
military history at Fort Benning was as practical as it was intense.
Marshall thought that the use of case studies from military history
could be as instructive as any theoretical or fictitious tactical problem.
He was particularly interested in using history to set a problem in
which a student would be forced to analyze a decision taken in the
heat and confusion of battle, and Marshall was fortunate to have
instructors in the Fourth Section (History and Publications) of the
Infantry School who placed before the students just this sort of problem.
Major (later Major General) Edwin F. Harding was the chief of
the school's Fourth Section. Harding conceived of the idea of
commissioning officers who had served in World War I to write a
book full of brief essays on the tactical problems they had encountered, problems that particularly conveyed some lesson for the officer who had only
imagined what combat must be like. Harding was able to call upon
the considerable talents of a young lieutenant (later major general) in
his section, Charles T. ("Buck") Lanham. According to Marshall, it
was Lanham who did the lion's share of the work, both on the original
and subsequent edition. The eventual result was what is now regarded
as a minor classic of literature, Infantry in Battle, first published in
1934 and then substantially revised in 1938.
Not long after he finished his tour at the Infantry School, Marshall
wrote to an old friend about some of the conclusions on military
education he had made as assistant commandant: "Many regard the military history phase of our schooling as entirely theoretical and our
problems in pure tactics as the practical. My experience has almost
led me to an exactly contrary view." Marshall was not reluctant to
put his views in print when he wrote the introduction to Infantry in
Battle. During peacetime, he wrote, "the thinking of an army becomes
increasingly theoretical," and to Marshall's way of thinking, this was
certainly no compliment. The cases in Infantry in Battle were published
as an antidote to this tendency so that reality could replace fantasy
in modern tactical thinking. In this way, military history could be
placed at the service of an army as a professional soldier's laboratory,
a place, unconstrained by peacetime economics, where the soldier could
prepare his imagination for the challenges of combat. It was a place
where experience could be given a voice, where the veteran could speak
to the beginner.
When Infantry in Battle was finally published by the Infantry
Journal Press in 1938, the world was vibrating with military action,
moving toward what in retrospect seems an inevitable global war.
Hitler's Germany had annexed Austria and would dismember Czechoslovakia. The Sino-Japanese War was in full flood. Even while the
Soviet Army's high command was suffering a purge, the army itself
was beginning to build a huge armored and motorized force. Even in
Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain's England, the government was
beginning to stockpile food in the event of war. One year to the day
after Infantry in Battle was published, World War II finally erupted.
During the course of the war, the profession of arms was revolutionized.
No conflict in military history, before or since, has so engulfed
the world's peoples. The geographic scope and the extent to which the
world's governments mobilized for the war overwhelmed military
wisdom. The distance and speed of strategic and operational movements were without precedent and exceeded the imagination of even the most
inventive interwar military commentators. Armies employed their new
weapons in greater harmony and to a deadlier effect than ever before.
Military leaders at all echelons of command struggled to exercise control
over the power their governments had placed in their hands. The
consummating act of the war, the detonation of atomic bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, even called into question the worth of military knowledge itself.
For years after the war, the U.S. Army conducted its affairs as
though military history had been completely overtaken by modern
events. Marshall's vision of military history as a laboratory for the
professional soldier was laid aside. Inside the Army and even beyond,
the prevailing attitude was that military history began anew when the
bombs were dropped on Japan. Military history, it was believed, could
hardly enlighten professional soldiers confronting the demands of mass
warfare and modern weapons. For more than a generation, American
professional soldiers went to war with only the military history they
could learn on their own. Their higher schooling focused on weapons
and techniques, the form rather than the substance of war.
In the meantime, the discipline of military history itself changed.
Once regarded as the special preserve of soldiers, after World War II,
the study of military history took its place in some universities as a
subject worthy of intense and systematic investigation. George Marshall
refused to write his memoirs after the war, but he did not hesitate to
lend himself and his name to the establishment of a foundation that
was intended to encourage and disseminate knowledge of military history.
The military history that grew out of World War II expanded its scope of inquiry: the context in which armies grew and operated
attracted the attention of scholars, in uniform and out, to subjects that before the war only rarely found a readership. The result was not the
forsaking of the kind of military history that Marshall was brought
up on; instead, even more and better "tactical" history made its way
to the professional officer's bookshelf. By the 1970s, U.S. Army officers
were not only reading more military history than ever before, they
were writing more as well. Eventually, military history returned to the
professional officer's curriculum in the Army's institutions of higher
military education and has taken its rightful place as an essential
consideration in the Army's work in training, doctrine, and professional
education.
The U.S. Army Command and General Staff College (CGSC) at
Fort Leavenworth experienced all these changes. By the 1980s, the
Combat Studies Institute (CSI)-a department of military history whose
work would have reminded Marshall of his old Fourth Section at the
Infantry School-had been established as one of CGSC's five academic
departments. From its inception, CSI was intended to be not only a
teaching department but a research institute whose mission was to
engage in original investigations on subjects that had a bearing on
the contemporary concerns of the U.S. Army. Under the aegis of CSI,
a series of Leavenworth Papers and other studies in military history
have been published since 1980. The Army's renewed interest in military
history is manifested in CSI's publishing record: since its establishment,
CSI has researched, written, and published numerous studies in modern
military history, distributing more than 900,000 copies. Its faculty, a
group of uniformed and civilian military historians, has along the way
won an international reputation as one of the most expert collections
of scholars in this field.
In the spring of 1991, the faculty of CSI began a collaborative
project to publish a modern version of Marshall's Infantry in Battle.
The worlds of both the professional soldier and the military historian
had changed enormously since Marshall's book was published. And
yet, it seemed to us, the benefits that awaited the professional soldier
who studied military history were more important than ever. What
Marshall sought from the study of military history was a professional
soldier who was not so entangled in routine and technique that he
forgot the essential nature of military leadership itself: a creative
capacity for invention and innovation under the most trying and unpredictable conditions. It was no accident at all that Marshall's original
book began with a chapter titled "Rules." The chapter's opening lines
deserve to be quoted in full:
The Art of War has no traffic with rules, for the infinitely varied
circumstances and conditions of combat never produce exactly the same
situation twice. Mission, terrain, weather, dispositions, armament,
morale, supply, and comparative strength are variables whose mutations
always combine to form a new tactical pattern. Thus, in battle, each
situation is unique and must be solved on its own merits.
It follows, then, that the leader who would become a competent
tactician must first close his mind to the alluring formulae that well
meaning people offer in the name of victory. To master his difficult
art he must learn to cut to the heart of a situation, recognize its decisive
elements and base his course of action on these. The ability to do this
is not God-given, nor can it be acquired overnight; it is a process of
years. He must realize that training in solving problems of all types,
long practice in making clear, unequivocal decisions, the habit of
concentrating on the question at hand, and an elasticity of mind, are
indispensable requisites for the successful practice of the art of war.
The leader who frantically strives to remember what someone else
did in some slightly similar situation has already set his feet on a
well-traveled road to ruin.
Although Infantry in Battle was the inspiration for this book, we
have not felt obliged to follow strictly the organization of the original.
Marshall's book had twenty-seven chapters. Each of his chapters contained
several "examples," followed by a conclusion meant to articulate
their lessons. Many of the examples were contributed by officers who
were writing about their own experiences in World War I, and this
approach necessarily limited the book to American examples. Similarly,
Marshall's writers focused on infantry tactics because the U.S. Army's
doctrine at the time held that the mission of all the other combat arms
was to advance the work of the infantry. Still less was it possible at
the time to take notice of operations in concert with naval and air
forces. The combined arms revolution still lay ahead, and at a time
when there was no Joint Chiefs of Staff, to have offered chapters on
"joint" operations probably would have struck Marshall, in his damning
phrase, as "entirely theoretical." And although many of those who
contributed to Infantry in Battle fought in a war that allied the forces
of several nations, the book did not address issues that modem soldiers
know as combined operations.
The reader will find other, more subtle changes from the original
in this book. Marshall and his men believed that the requirements of
military leadership changed little over the centuries. Infantry in Battle
could as easily have been written about Greek Hoplites as American
soldiers in World War I. Modern students of military history have come
to understand that the context in which military leadership must operate
has a distinct bearing on how effective that leadership finally is.
Elsewhere in his writings, George Marshall showed that he understood this
principle very well. He was adamant throughout his professional life
that American soldiers needed a different kind of military leadership,
one attuned to the special attributes of a democratic citizenry in a
country whose fundamental reason for existence was the sustenance of
human liberty and dignity. Those attributes have been shaped, in the
first instance, by the nation's own set of experiences, and even as this
is being written, those experiences are in a constant state of motion
and change. Any book that means to take up such questions where
Marshall left off could not avoid incorporating their teachings.
Consequently, Combind Arms in Battle Since 1939 has been written
to reflect its own times, not Marshall's. The thirty-six chapters that
follow have been chosen to reflect changes in the military art since
Marshall's times. Each chapter deals with one case drawn from recent
military history that illustrates and illuminates a problem with which
a modern professional soldier may someday have to contend. Each case
is set in its strategic and operational context, explained in detail, and
briefly analyzed.
The book is intentionally designed to be read piecemeal, a chapter
at a time, in order to make it as broadly useful to professional soldiers
no matter where or in what capacity they are serving-in the field, on
the staff, or in the Army's institutions of higher military education.
Recognizing that some readers may want to know more about a
particular case, we have included a bibliography following each.
The authors of Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 are
all presently faculty members of the Combat Studies Institute. All
the research and writing for this book have been in addition to their
regular teaching, administrative work, and other research projects.
Some of their chapters are derived from secondary works; others are the result of
considerable original research. The final shape of each chapter was
determined over a period of several months, during which the writers
read and commented on their colleagues' work in a series of editorial
meetings. In the end, however, each chapter is the author's own, and
for that reason, his name precedes his work. A general list of the
contributors is at the end of this book. The administrative staff of the
Combat Studies Institute and CSI editors, Marilyn Edwards, Don
Gilmore, and Carolyn Conway, have been of critical importance in the
planning, editing, and publishing of this book. It is a privilege to be
associated with them all.
Roger J. Spiller
George C. Marshall
Professor of Military
History and General Editor,
U.S. Army Command and General
Staff College Press
Fort Leavenworth, Kansas
Seizing and Holding the German Bridges at Arnhem,
September 1944
Lieutenant Colonel Robert D. Ramsey III
On 8 August 1944, the Allies created the First Allied Airborne
Army (FAAA), with lieutenant General Lewis H. Brereton as its commander.
The FAAA was an unprecedented combined organization consisting of
airmen and soldiers from Britain, Poland, and the United States.
Brereton commanded over 50,000 soldiers in the British I Airborne
Corps (the 1st Airborne, 6th Airborne, and 52d [Lowland] Divisions
and 1st Polish Independent Airborne Brigade [commanded by his
deputy, Lieutenant General F. A. M. Browning]) and in Lieutenant
General Matthew B. Ridgway's U.S. XVIII Airborne Corps (the 17th
Airborne, 82d Airborne, and 101st Airborne Divisions). In addition,
Brereton had the U.S. IX Troop Carrier Command with over 1,300
C-47 transport aircraft under Major General Paul L. Williams (along
with the RAF's 38th and 46th Groups-old bombers used as tugs for
gliders-under Air Vice Marshal Leslie Hollinghurst). With a portion
of these forces, Brereton conducted the largest airborne operation of
World War II, Operation Market-Garden.
As the Allies raced across France, the FAAA found itself under
tremendous pressure to participate in the destruction of German forces,
which appeared imminent. Since the FAAA was a pet project of both
General George C. Marshall and Lieutenant General Henry H. ("Hap")
Arnold, General Dwight D. Eisenhower encouraged his subordinates,
as well as Brereton, to develop an imaginative and daring concept for
the use of the FAAA. Accordingly, in its first forty days, the FAAA
considered eighteen separate airborne operations: five were developed
into detailed plans, and three reached the point of execution. The last,
Operation Comet, a reinforced division drop to secure the bridges at
Arnhem, was canceled on 10 September. In fact, Browning threatened
to resign over this risky operation. As the Allies approached the German
border, the opportunities to use the FAAA from its bases in Britain
were steadily diminished.
On 10 September, Brereton received instructions to support Field
Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery's 21st Army Group in its attempt to
flank German defenses by moving north into Holland to cross the
Rhine River. Montgomery proposed that Brereton secure key bridges
along his axis of advance by dropping three and one-half airborne
divisions while Montgomery attacked along that axis with the British
XXX Corps. Market was the airborne operation, Garden the XXX Corps'
advance. That evening, Brereton stated to his commanders and key
staff officers his intention to seize the bridges with "thunderclap
surprise" by using the U.S. 101st Airborne Division in the south from
Eindhoven to Veghel; the U.S. 82d Airborne Division in the center from
Grave to Nijmegen; and the British 1st Airborne Division, with
the Polish Brigade, for the bridges over the Rhine at Arnhem. The plan
called for the XXX Corps to advance the sixty-four miles to Arnhem
in forty-eight hours. Although an operation of this magnitude was
unprecedented in its boldness and complexity, the new, enthusiastic
FAAA staff worked diligently and quickly to execute Market in less than a
week.
With little available time, Brereton made some fundamental decisions.
First, he decided that this operation, unlike all others in the war,
would occur during daylight since moonlight would be nonexistent
during the operation and Brereton's aircrews were not well trained for
night navigation. In addition, weak German air and ground forces in
the area could be better attacked during daylight. Second, Brereton
decided to make only one airlift on D-day, carrying 16,500 of the 35,000
soldiers behind German lines. To facilitate XXX Corps' advance, priority
went to the U.S. 101st Airborne Division, then the U.S. 82d Airborne
Division, and finally the British 1st Airborne Division. After receiving
contradictory advice from his air commanders, Brereton agreed with
Williams that the expected loss rate, estimated at 30 percent, and a
shortage of ground crews to perform maintenance made the use of the
initial lift force for a second lift impossible. In addition, Williams, the
airlift commander, argued that it was important to start each lift with
fresh, fit crews. Williams was naturally concerned with airlift problems,
not the ground commanders' plight. These decisions, along with optimistic
intelligence reports, affected operations at Arnhem.
Major General Roy E. Urquhart, a combat veteran of Sicily and
Italy, was new to the British 1st Airborne Division. His Market-Garden
mission was the most difficult and the most important: to seize and
hold the bridges at Arnhem for forty-eight hours. Allied headquarters
expected German resistance to be disorganized and no larger than
brigade size, with a few armored vehicles. Urquhart's initial concept
was to land his four brigades-two parachute, one airlanding, and the
Polish parachute-close to both ends of the bridges simultaneously,
achieving Brereton's "thunderclap surprise." Unfortunately, intelligence
indicated that enemy flak, as well as terrain unsuitable for drop zones
(DZs) and landing zones (LZs), made that impossible. After a long
discussion with his RAF advisers, Urquhart was forced to choose DZs and LZs north of the Rhine and eight miles west of Arnhem.
Unlike the two U.S. divisions-which put maximum infantry
strength, nine battalions, on the ground with the first lift-Urquhart
believed that it was more important to get artillery and division troops
on the ground early. Consequently, his D-day lift of 145 C-47s and 358
gliders put the 1st Parachute Brigade and most of the 1st Airlanding
Brigade on the ground-less than six battalions, with division troops
and two 75-mm artillery batteries. When the RAF refused to support a
predawn glider coup de main on the bridges, Urquhart decided to use
the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron, his reconnaissance unit,
for that purpose.
Given limited lift assets, Urquhart was forced to plan both for the
immediate seizure of the bridges and for the buildup of his four
brigades. On D-day, the 1st Airlanding Brigade-minus part of a
battalion and other divisional units-would land to secure the DZ and LZ for the D+1 arrivals. The 1st Parachute Brigade would jump and then
advance with three battalions to Arnhem to seize the bridges. On D+1,
the 4th Parachute Brigade, with the remainder of the divisional units,
would arrive. Then, both the 4th Parachute Brigade and 1st Airlanding
Brigade would advance into Arnhem. On D+2, the 1st Polish Airborne
Brigade would jump south of the Rhine, completing the arrival of the
four brigades deemed necessary to take and to hold Arnhem. However,
on D+2, the XXX Corps was scheduled to arrive. The piecemeal arrival
of units over several days at distant DZs, and LZs, shaped Urquhart's
plan.
Sunday, 17 September, was D-day. From 22 airfields throughout
Britain, 1,534 aircraft with 491 gliders carried the 16,500 men of the
FAAA's first lift (see map 1). An intensive flak suppression bombardment
was conducted the night before, as well as prior to, the arrival
of the C-47s. The placement of the troops was almost flawless.
Moreover, aircraft losses were less than 3 percent-well below the projected 30 percent. Urquhart was particularly fortunate. The Germans failed
to hit a single 1st Airborne Division plane or glider. Furthermore, only
twenty-three gliders had aborted. The air force had done an excellent
job getting the men to the proper LZs and DZs, west of Arnhem.
Brereton's decision to make the unprecedented daylight airborne assault
made this the most successful airborne drop of the war.
At 1300, exactly as the XXX Corps advanced, the gliders of the
1st Airlanding Brigade landed with divisional troops. An hour later,
the 1st Parachute Brigade jumped without difficulty. By 1530, the 1st
Airlanding Brigade had secured the DZ for the D+1 drop. The 1st Parachute
Brigade, with the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron leading,
began moving toward Arnhem. As the 1st Parachute Brigade advanced with three battalions abreast-the 1st Parachute Battalion in the north, 3d Parachute Battalion in
the center, and 2d Parachute Battalion along the river road-the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron, with its gun
jeeps, raced ahead on the direct route toward Arnhem.
Map 1.
Unknown to Urquhart, German forces in the Arnhem area were
more numerous and better equipped than expected. The hasty
preparations for the operations, together with the general chaos of the German retreat, made it almost impossible for the Allies to
determine the German strength at Arnhem. Aerial photographs, reports from the Dutch Resistance, and signals intelligence from Ultra provided contradictory
clues. Not only did ad hoc German combat groups exist, but the
remnants of the II SS Panzer Corps were refitting east of Arnhem. The
German reaction to the Allies was swift. By 1700, German armored
reconnaissance vehicles moved toward the DZs. Elements of the 9th
SS Panzer Division-brigade size and with armor-focused on Arnhem,
while elements of the 10th SS Panzer Division moved on Nijmegen to
the south.
A meeting engagement occurred west of Arnhem. The 1st Parachute
Brigade began its fight, not at the bridges as hoped, but en route to
them. With limited mobility and few antiarmor weapons, the 1st and
3d Parachute Battalions, along with the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance
Squadron, were halted before dark. Communications problems led
Urquhart to move forward with the 1st Parachute Brigade during its
advance. When his vehicle was destroyed by indirect fire, he was unable
to return to his headquarters. Attempts by the 1st Parachute Brigade
to fight through the German forces in the dark increased British losses,
some from friendly fire. The chaotic nonlinear fighting, combined with
the aggressive enthusiasm of 1st Parachute Brigade troopers-attacking
without adequate fire support-created heavy casualties, particularly
among leaders. Fortunately, the 2d Parachute Battalion, commanded
by Lieutenant Colonel J. D. Frost, met no resistance. By 2030, the 2d
Parachute Battalion occupied the north end of the main highway bridge
in Arnhem with about 500 men. Two attempts to take the bridge during
the night failed. By dawn of D+1, Frost occupied a strong defensive
position. His only source of help, the remnants of the 1st and 3d
Parachute Battalions, each down to about 100 men, was halted by German hasty defenses west of Arnhem. In less than twenty-four hours, the
1st Parachute Brigade lost its offensive capability. To continue the
advance required fresh troops.
Command and control continued to be a problem on 18 September.
Radios failed to work, both within the division and to higher headquarters.
Only the artillery nets worked with any reliability. What is
more, Urquhart remained cut off from his units on D+1. Crucial
decisions were not made because no one knew the real situation or where
Urquhart was. In Urquhart's absence, the commander of the 1st
Airlanding Brigade acted as the 1st Airborne Division's commander. Bad weather in Britain delayed the arrival of the 4th Parachute Brigade
until 1500. By 1700, after discussing a plan to attack toward Arnhem
and receiving the 7th King's Own Scottish Borderers (KOSB) Battalion
from the 1st Airlanding Brigade, the 4th Parachute Brigade's commander
ordered an advance to the east. Attacking late in the day without surprise, fire support, and knowledge of German intentions, the
4th Parachute Brigade bogged down in the dark, just as the 1st Parachute
Brigade had the day before. Aggressiveness and dash again produced high casualties with minimal results. German indirect fire and
close air support were devastating. By the end of D+1, Frost doggedly
held the bridge at Arnhem against increasingly adverse odds. The 4th
Parachute Brigade had blunted its own advance against a reinforced
German defensive line.
Urquhart reappeared on the morning of D+2 after his combat elements
had been committed. Reinforcement by the 1st Polish Brigade
was canceled because of bad weather. In the afternoon, Urquhart decided
to establish a bridgehead at Oosterbeek, near a ferry site. The 1st Air
landing Brigade (-) and divisional troops occupied the perimeter, joined
by the survivors of the 1st Parachute Brigade. The 4th Parachute
Brigade now was fighting for its life. Conducting a hasty withdrawal
under fire in the daylight, the 7th KOSB lost two-thirds of its strength in
less than one hour. Both the 156th Parachute and 10th Parachute Battalions,
now at 50 percent strength, had about 250 men each. The fighting was severe.
In less than 2 days, the 1st Airborne Division had lost 3,500 out of 5,500 men,
the majority of casualties in the infantry battalions. Few officers or
noncommissioned officers survived unscathed. Urquhart was disappointed
that the XXX Corps had failed to arrive and hoped that its arrival was imminent.
On Wednesday, 20 September, D+3, Urquhart was able to talk directly
with Frost for the first time by using the civilian telephone system. Both received a discouraging, candid appraisal of what each could
expect from the other-basically nothing. Repeatedly attacked, Frost
could hold only for a short time longer. The 2d Parachute Battalion's
gallant fight described by Brigadier General James M. Gavin,
commander of the U.S. 82d Airborne Division, as "the outstanding independent parachute battalion action of the war," would be for naught
if the XXX Corps failed to arrive soon. The arrival of the 4th Parachute
Brigade at Oosterbeek provided Urquhart another shock. It had exhausted
itself in less than thirty-six hours; only about 500 of its infantrymen remained.
The 156th Parachute Battalion was down to two officers and forty-seven men.
Fortunately for the British, the Germans became more cautious as they
probed the perimeter. The best the 1st Airborne Division could do was
to hold and hope that either the XXX Corps or 1st Polish Brigade would arrive soon.
By dawn on D+4, resistance at the Arnhem bridge ceased. The 2d
Parachute Battalion no longer existed. At Oosterbeek, Urquhart
reorganized his defenses, consisting of fewer than 3,000 men, mostly divisional troops. To add to his problems, weather continued to hinder
resupply, and the division ammunition dump exploded from enemy fire.
Just as things were bleakest, two incidents raised the morale of the
1st Airborne Division. First, communication was established with the
64th Medium Field Artillery Regiment at Nijmegen, eleven miles away.
For the first time during the entire fight, friendly fire support was
provided; it kept the Germans at bay. In the afternoon, despite bad
weather and heavy flak, the 1st Polish Brigade jumped south of the
Rhine. Only 2 battalions with about 750 men arrived at the jump site.
Aircraft turned back without dropping the third battalion. The Poles
wanted to cross the river that evening, but no boats arrived. Isolated,
Urquhart sent the following message at 2144: "Our casualties heavy.
Resources stretched utmost. Relief within 24 hours vital." The 1st
Airborne Division was in danger of destruction.
The worst weather of the entire operation occurred on 22 September.
The XXX Corps' reconnaissance units linked up with the Poles and
provided reliable radio relay for the 1st Airborne Division. For the first
time, both Urquhart and the XXX Corps understood each other's situation.
Efforts from 22 to 24 September by the Poles and the Dorsets
from the British 43d Division provided reinforcements: 250 Poles and
400 Dorsets. Finally, on 23 September, close air support became
available in limited numbers. Besides bad weather and the destruction of
the two air control parties' radios early in the fight, the Second Tactical
Air Force (TAF) had been forbidden by the FAAA from flying when
lift or resupply missions were in the air. No one coordinated with the
Second TAF to interdict German reinforcement of the Arnhem area.
As a result, German units moved about with almost complete freedom.
While Allied air support missions were more numerous when weather
permitted, they were too late to help the 1st Airborne Division.
Finally, on 25 September, D+8, Urquhart received permission to
withdraw across the Rhine River while in contact with the enemy-a
delicate and complex operation. As Urquhart made his plan, he drew
on his prewar preparation for a promotion examination that required
him to study the withdrawal from Gallipoli. At 2145, in the midst of a
heavy rainfall and covered by the artillery fire of the XXX Corps, the
1st Airborne Division commenced its withdrawal. By 0230 on D+9, the
last remnants of the 1st Airborne Division-military policemen who
had volunteered to remain behind to ensure that German prisoners of
war did not expose the withdrawal-reached the southern bank of the
Rhine. Market was over for the 1st Airborne Division.
What were the results? Losses were high. Of 10,003 Allied soldiers
and airmen north of the Rhine, only 2,398 were evacuated: 1,741 from
the 1st Airborne Division, 422 glider pilots, 160 Poles, and 75 Dorsets.
The remainder-1,200 killed in action and 6,642 prisoners of war or
missing in action-were lost during the fighting. The 1st Airborne
Division ceased to exist as a fighting unit. Despite Montgomery's claim
that the operation was 90 percent successful for the 1st Airborne Division,
it was a failure. The 1st had not captured the bridges, and the
XXX Corps did not link up in time. Brereton considered the operation
a "brilliant success." Perhaps his focus was on the two U.S. divisions
and the daylight landings rather than the reason all the units were
delivered. The bold, imaginative plan had failed. Without the bridges
over the Rhine, a fifty-mile salient leading nowhere of importance to
the Allies had been created.
Why did the 1st Airborne Division fail? First, Montgomery's plan
for Market-Garden was too ambitious. To expect that the XXX Corps
could advance sixty-four miles along one road in forty-eight hours
assumed almost flawless execution of a complex plan. Friction affects simple plans, but it can act even more disconcertingly on complex ones.
Second, time was in too short supply to prepare adequately for an
operation of this complexity. Important things were left undone.
Intelligence was scanty and inaccurate, especially in regard to German forces, flak density, and DZ and LZ terrain assessments. Liaison with the I
Airborne Corps, XXX Corps, and Second TAF was poor. The general
euphoria and the intense desire to use the FAAA combined to create
this hasty operation. Badly wanted, it was badly executed. Third, while
Brereton's decision to conduct a daylight operation permitted an
accuracy unrealized in previous airborne operations, his decision not to attempt a second lift on D-day was disastrous for the 1st Airborne
Division. Urquhart was forced to fight one brigade against an objective
expected to require four. If no follow-on lifts had been planned, an
attack on D-day with six battalions, instead of three in the 1st Airborne
Brigade, would have been possible. Urquhart was seriously constrained
in his planning options for this operation.
To improve his chances for success, Urquhart could have done some
things differently. First, the DZs and LZs were too far from the objectives.
Faulty intelligence, along with the emphasis on air considerations
rather than ground operations, created this problem. At least the glider
coup de main could have been attempted. Second, command and control
could have been enhanced by greater emphasis on training before the
operation and by Urquhart's remaining in a position to control this
complex operation, particularly through D+I. Regardless of what else
Urquhart could have done, the simple fact remains that the best
airborne forces, when left alone and unassisted for extended periods of
time, do poorly against even remnants of heavy forces.
As Bernard Fall said, "A parachute is merely a means of delivery,
but not a way of fighting."
Bibliography
Blair, Clay. Ridgway's Paratroopers: The American Airborne in World
War II. Garden City, NY: Doubleday and Company, 1985.
MacDonald, Charles Brown. The Siegfried Line Campaign. United
States Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief
of Military History, Department of the Army, 1963.
Powell, Geoffrey. The Devil's Birthday: The Bridges to Arnhem, 1944.
New York: Franklin Watts, 1985.
___. Men at Arnhem. London: Buchan & Enright, 1986.
Ryan, Cornelius. A Bridge Too Far. New York: Simon and Schuster,
1974.
Urquhart, Robert Elliott. Arnhem. New York: W. W. Norton and Co.,
1958.
The 1st Cavalry Division's Exploitation of Helicopters
in the Ia Drang Valley
Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame, U.S. Army, retired
In the late 1950s and early 1960s, a few thoughtful and farsighted
U.S. Army officers began integrating Army aviation into battlefield
maneuver. Rooted in the airborne concepts and techniques of World
War II and driven by advances in helicopter development during and
after the Korean War, military planners created new principles that
combined light infantry, supporting artillery, and aviation to generate
maximum shock power and maneuver on the modern battlefield. These
planners, as part of two boards, reviewed Army aviation requirements
and developed concepts pivotal to the evolution of airmobile operations.
Lieutenant General Gordon B. Rogers chaired the first board, the
Army Aircraft Requirements Review Board. The Rogers Board, formed
in early 1960, reviewed the Army Aircraft Development Plan, discussed
roles and missions of Army aviation, assessed combat surveillance
requirements, and detailed procurement plans. In addition to making
recommendations on observation, surveillance, and transportation
aircraft, the Rogers Board recommended an in-depth study be conducted
to explore the concept and feasibility of air-fighting units. The Rogers
Board also provided essential aviation guidance for development,
procurement, and personnel planning.
On taking office in 1961, Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara
believed that more could and should be done in the areas of Army
aircraft development and the adaptation of airmobile capabilities. In
April 1962, McNamara formed an ad hoc task force to reexamine
aircraft requirements and the role of Army aviation. The U.S. Army
Tactical Mobility Requirements Board, known as the Howze Board after
its president, Lieutenant General Hamilton H. Howze, investigated,
tested, and evaluated the organizational and operational concepts of
airmobility. The board concluded that the "adoption of the Army of
the Airmobile Concept-however imperfectly it may be described and
justified in this report-is necessary and desirable. In some respect the
transition is inevitable, just as was that from animal mobility to
motor."
The board recommended the creation of an air assault division with
459 aircraft as compared to about 100 in a standard division. The new
division, the 11th Air Assault Division, tested the airmobile concept,
and its deployment to Vietnam in September 1965 as the 1st Cavalry
Division (Airmobile) changed the way U.S. forces conducted land warfare.
The use of helicopters for reconnaissance, command and control,
troop transport, attack gunships, aerial rocket artillery, medical
evacuation, and supply was tantamount to a revolution in maneuver.
The 1st Cavalry Division was not the first U.S. combat unit to
fight in an airmobile role. In fact, combat helicopters were used as
early as December 1961. In 1965, a Marine contingent and the Army's
173d Airborne Brigade and 2d Brigade, 1st Infantry Division, were
deployed to Vietnam. Furthermore, while the 1st Cavalry Division was
the first airmobile division, it was not the only division to use airmobile
techniques. Airmobile operations occurred in Vietnam on a daily
basis. That conflict is replete with examples of airmobile operations,
from the smallest-using 2 or 3 helicopters to insert long-range
reconnaissance patrols or Special Forces teams-to multidivisional operations
like Junction City-where over 249 helicopters were used to make 8
battalion-size airmobile assaults. But as author Shelby Stanton maintains,
"No single engagement demonstrated the basic validity of air
assault as strikingly as the 1st Cavalry Division's Ia Drang Valley
Campaign." Now, whole divisions were no longer constrained by the
tyranny of terrain.
In the Ia Drang Valley or Pleiku campaign, the newly arrived 1st
Cavalry Division (Airmobile) used its air assault assets to locate and
battle North Vietnamese Army (NVA) regulars on the Pleiku Plateau
in South Vietnam's central highlands. In this series of engagements,
an NVA regular division met a U.S. Army airmobile division on the
battlefield for the first time.
To facilitate making contact with the enemy, the 1st Cavalry
Division was positioned at An Khe in the central highlands. In the 37-day
campaign, 1st Cavalry helicopters moved infantry battalions twenty-two times and displaced artillery batteries sixty-six times across
distances of up to seventy-five miles. In addition, helicopters transported
troops over difficult terrain and enemy defenses and conducted
raids, reconnaissance, and screening.
The NVA initiated the campaign with a major offensive in the
western plateau of the highlands in Kontum, Pleiku, Binh Dinh, and
Phu Bon Provinces. Three regular NVA regiments under the control of
a division-size field front headquarters were to destroy the Plei Me,
Dak Sut, and Duc Co Special Forces camps and the South Vietnamese'
Le Thanh district headquarters. Finally, the offensive would seize
Pleiku, virtually cutting the south in half. The NVA 32d and 33d
Regiments initiated the action on 19 October with a favorite NVA
"lure and ambush" technique, laying siege to the camp at Plei Me
and waiting to ambush an Army of the Republic of Vietnam relief column.
With the help of 1st Cavalry's artillery and close air support, however,
neither the siege nor the ambush was successful, and the mauled NVA
regiments withdrew west toward Cambodia and their base camps at
the foot of the Chu Pong massif. In pursuit, the U.S. Army committed
its airmobile division.
On orders, elements of the 1st Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division, and
supporting units fanned west toward Cambodia in search of the elusive
enemy. Scout helicopters and gunships searched the terrain, strafing
those small groups of fleeing NVA soldiers they were able to spot. On
1 November, aerial scouts of the 1st Squadron, 9th Cavalry, spotted a
band of enemy soldiers and assaulted them with aerorifle platoons.
After a brief skirmish, the scouts uncovered a fully stocked regimental
hospital. Later that afternoon, aided by gunships from the 1st
Squadron, 9th Cavalry, three rifle platoons at the hospital site held
off an entire NVA battalion for six hours. Using intelligence gathered
at the hospital, the 1st Squadron set several traps two days later,
successfully ambushing elements of the NVA 66th Regiment. Later, during
an NVA counterattack, U.S. units employed aerial rocket artillery for
the first time at night in a close support role.
For the next week, fighting was sporadic. U.S. forces identified and
located the NVA 33d and 66th Regiments, but the 32d's location was
still in doubt. After searching the area for twelve days, the U.S. 1st
Brigade, on 9 November, turned over the search to the 3d Brigade. On
14 November, the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry, spearheaded by elements
of the reconnaissance squadron, searched the area near the Ia Drang
River around the Chu Pong massif, hoping for a possible airmobile
assault against the NVA. The 1st Battalion was supported by sixteen
lift helicopters and fire support from two 105-mm howitzer batteries at
Landing Zone (LZ) Falcon, nine kilometers east of the search area.
However, one battery was not airlifted to LZ Falcon until the morning
of the 14th.
At dawn on 14 November, Lieutenant Colonel Harold G. Moore,
commander of the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry, reconnoitered the eastern
side of the Chu Pong massif in a scout helicopter, looking for likely
landing zones. He chose a clearing at the base of the massif (later
designated LZ X-ray) because it was large enough to land eight to ten
helicopters (see map 2). Moore wanted to airland the first company,
consolidate it, and then land the entire battalion. After returning to
his base camp at Plei Me, Moore briefed his company commanders
and, in keeping with standard airmobile doctrine, arranged for artillery
preparation fires on X-ray to begin twenty minutes before his troops
would touch down. This artillery preparation was to be followed
immediately by a thirty-second aerial rocket artillery barrage. Then,
escort gunships would sweep the landing area with fire seconds before
the troop-carrying Hueys were to land.
Map 2
Moore designated 1030 as the LZ touchdown time for the initial
assault landing. The artillery fires, however, did not begin until 1017,
delayed by the faulty positioning of LZ Falcon's artillery. After thirteen
minutes of artillery preparation, sixteen Hueys loaded with the lead
elements of Moore's battalion headed southwest toward LZ X-ray. As
the transports approached within two kilometers of the landing zone,
aerial rocket artillery pounded the site for thirty seconds, followed by
fire from escort gunships. The helicopters immediately ahead of the
low-level troop carriers flew racetrack patterns on either flank, raking
the landing zone with machine-gun and rocket fire. As helicopters
slowed for touchdown, their door gunners and on-board infantrymen
fired into the grass and trees on X-ray's perimeter.
The helicopters landed the lead element of B Company, 1st Battalion,
7th Cavalry, and, by 1050, were returning to Plei Me for the
remainder of B Company and lead elements of A Company.
Unfortunately, the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry, landed right in the middle of
the NVA staging area for a planned second attack on Plei Me. The
NVA forces were eager to fight. Once consolidated, B Company began
patrolling and came under heavy enemy fire that continued for the
next three days.
Sixteen helicopters in five succeeding lifts airlanded battalion elements
at LZ X-ray. A Company followed B Company unopposed into
the landing zone, and the perimeter expanded. C Company arrived next,
with little opposition, but as the helicopters airlanded D Company, they
took numerous hits. The enemy killed one infantryman before he could
dismount and wounded two helicopter crewmen. Moore radioed the
second flight of eight helicopters to turn back until LZ X-ray could be
stabilized. Supported by artillery, air strikes from the Air Force, and
division gunships, the battalion had airlanded into X-ray by 1500.
According to airmobile doctrine, reserve forces must be able to reinforce
quickly should assaulting units be unknowingly inserted too close
to larger enemy formations. At LZ X-ray, the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry,
faced elements of the NVA 33d and 66th Regiments. But because the
3d Brigade was involved in ongoing search operations and its units
were too widely scattered, only B Company, 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry,
was available to reinforce the 1st Battalion. By 1990 that evening, B
Company had been inserted into LZ X-ray, while the remainder of the
2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, and the 2d Battalion, 5th Cavalry, gathered
at two different landing zones and prepared to reinforce the morning
of the 15th. These units had been held back on 14 November to protect
them from intense enemy fire. Throughout the 14th, 1st Battalion's S3,
in a command and control helicopter, circled over X-ray monitoring
the tactical situation and relaying information to the brigade. At the
same time, the 1st Battalion's artillery and tactical air control liaison
officers directed artillery fire and air strikes on the NVA. Meanwhile,
departing helicopters evacuated casualties from LZ X-ray to LZ Falcon
for treatment and further evacuation. Just before dark, helicopters
resupplied troops with ammunition, rations, medical supplies, and water.
The NVA harassed and probed LZ X-ray's perimeter all night, but
4,000 rounds of artillery fired from LZ Falcon kept the enemy at bay.
After first light on 15 November, the NVA made a desperate bid to
annihilate the Americans. At 0800, the U.S. 2d Battalion, 5th Cavalry,
marched overland from LZ Victor to reinforce the 1st Battalion, 7th
Cavalry, at LZ X-ray. At 0900, A Company, 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry,
airlanded at LZ X-ray and became embroiled in the fight. By 1000,
concentrated U.S. artillery and air strikes blunted the NVA attack, and
only sporadic sniper fire continued. Shortly before noon, the lead elements
of the 2d Battalion, 5th Cavalry, came under heavy enemy automatic weapons fire 800 meters outside of LZ X-ray's perimeter. After
the 2d Battalion quelled that resistance, the fight at X-ray was over,
despite continued sniper fire and several company-size probes during
the night.
By dawn on 16 November, enemy attacks had run their course.
Still wary of the enemy situation, however, Moore ordered intense firing
on the NVA, which not only netted several NVA snipers but also broke
up a platoon-size enemy attack that was about to begin. By 0930, the
remainder of the 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, arrived at LZ X-ray, and
B Company and the 3d Platoon, A Company, 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry,
moved back to the division base camp for a much-needed rest and
reorganization.
The 2d Battalion, 5th Cavalry, and the remainder of the 2d Battalion,
7th Cavalry, held LZ X-ray for another night and then abandoned it on 17 November to allow B-52s to strike the area. The 2d
Battalion, 5th Cavalry, moved to LZ Columbus, and the 2d Battalion,
7th Cavalry, moved to LZ Albany, both to the east, to be airlifted out.
The move to LZ Columbus went without a hitch, but as the 2d
Battalion, 7th Cavalry, approached LZ Albany, it triggered an NVA ambush that struck the battalion in the flank and split it in half. The
battle disintegrated into skirmishes and hand-to-hand fighting between
splintered groups. The fighting continued until evening when rein
forcements finally were able to reach the scene. The battle continued
throughout the night, inflicting heavy casualties on the Americans. But
as daylight approached, the NVA retreated. With the end of action at
LZ Albany, the Ia Drang Valley campaign ended.
In the Ia Drang campaign, the 1st Cavalry Division annihilated
two regular North Vietnamese Army regiments (which had to be
completely re-formed in Cambodia) and validated the U.S. Army's concept of airmobile warfare. From that point on, airmobility would remain a
major instrument of war employed by the United States and other
countries.
Bibliography
Albright, John, John A. Cash, and Allan W. Sandstrum. "Fight at Ia Drang."
Seven Firefights in Vietnam. Washington, DC: Office of
the Chief of Military History, U.S. Army, 1970.
Coleman, J. D. Pleiku: The Dawn of Helicopter Warfare in Vietnam.
New York: St. Martin's Press, 1988.
Herring, George C. "The 1st Cavalry and the Ia Drang Valley, 18 October-24 November 1965."
America's First Battles, 1775-1965. Edited by Charles E. Heller and William A. Stofft. Lawrence: The University of Kansas Press, 1986.
Pimlott, John. Vietnam, the Decisive Battles. New York: Macmillan,
1990.
Stanton, Shelby L. Anatomy of a Division: The 1st Cav in Vietnam.
Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1987.
Tarawa: The Testing of an Amphibious Doctrine
Dr. Jerold E. Brown
The most difficult of all military operations is an opposed amphibious landing.
The very nature of such a landing assures high risk.
Moving men and equipment across open water and unprotected beaches
in the face of carefully calculated fire is an extremely dangerous proposition.
Furthermore, the defender has the advantage of time and space.
He is more knowledgeable of the terrain on which he is fighting, and
he often has the time to prepare his defenses in considerable depth,
erecting a wide variety of obstacles designed to canalize landing craft
into undesirable landing sites or lethal fire zones. He can also use
elaborate systems of tunnels and trenches to move reserves, redeploy
forces, or respond to other crises in engaging the landing force.
The invasion force, on the other hand, is totally self-contained. It
must carry every conceivable item it will need. It will serve as fire
support base, commissary, evacuation hospital, communications center,
recovery and maintenance depot, and command post until an adequate
beachhead is secured to move those activities ashore. Moreover, the
invasion commander will always have an imperfect knowledge of events
and conditions ashore until the objective is taken. However skillfully
he employs deception or surprise, he will eventually have to tip his
hand to the defender as to when and where the attack will occur.
Historically, therefore, amphibious operations have been attempted only
rarely, and seldom have they been successful. Perhaps the only operation
more difficult than landing on a hostile beach is withdrawing from one.
After the abysmal failure by the British to maintain and exploit
their beachhead at Gallipoli in 1915, many military experts concluded
that modern firepower had made the already difficult task of amphibious
operations impossible. Therefore, European armies, as well as the
U.S. Army, devoted little attention to the problem of amphibious operations
after World War I. The U.S. Marine Corps, however, found itself
in a serious predicament in the years following the war. During the
war, the Marines had served in France with considerable distinction
as regular infantry. Many Army leaders believed that this should be
the continuing role for the Marines. Faced with a parsimonious
Congress and the reduction of capital ships necessitated by the Washington
Naval Treaty, the Navy questioned whether it could continue to maintain
the Marines. What limited manpower and resources the Marines
could muster were used to sustain colonial infantry in Latin American
interventions. Within this milieu, the Marine Corps began to cast about
for a more significant mission.
In 1921, Major Earl H. Ellis wrote a paper that offered a solution
to the Marine Corps' dilemma. Ellis' paper dealt with the problem of
wresting control of bases in the central Pacific in the event of war
with Japan. He suggested that it might be possible, after all, to land
successfully on and seize defended islands. Based on Ellis' proposals,
the Marine Corps began the difficult process of developing a doctrine
to accomplish this objective. Thirteen years later, after numerous exercises,
both in the schoolhouse and with the fleet, the Marine Corps published the
"Tentative Manual of Landing Operations," its protodoctrine for amphibious operations.
Doctrine, however, is merely theory. No matter how soundly it is
based on past experience and solid staff work, there are no guarantees
that it will achieve success. Only under the rigors of combat, with all
its infinite possibilities for mischance and confusion, can doctrine be
thoroughly and definitively tested. Thus, nine years after the appearance
of the "Tentative Manual of Landing Operations," the Marine Corps
was yet to demonstrate the efficacy of its nascent amphibious doctrine.
Although Allied forces in World War II conducted several seaborne
invasions in 1942, none were staged against heavily defended, open
beaches. The first real opportunity to test the Marine doctrine came in
November 1943 at Tarawa atoll in the Gilbert Islands. Composed of
more than a dozen coral atolls 2,000 nautical miles southwest of
Honolulu, the Gilberts stretch 500 nautical miles in an area of the
Pacific 3 degrees north and south of the equator, between 172 and 176
degrees west longitude. The British declared the Gilberts a protectorate
in 1892 and established an administrative headquarters at Tarawa.
Tarawa is a typical Pacific atoll ninety miles north of the equator, a
hook-shaped chain of small islands surrounding a lagoon approximately
eighteen by thirteen miles in size. The westward opening to the lagoon
is protected by a coral reef that lies just beneath the surface of the
Pacific. The highest elevation on Tarawa is fifteen feet above sea level.
The barb in the Tarawa hook is formed by Betio Islet, less than
300 acres of hard-packed coral sand liberally sprinkled with coconut
palms. The island has no distinguishing natural features and would
be of little importance except that an opening through the reef into
Tarawa lagoon lies at its north end. It was probably because of this
access into the relative protection of the lagoon that a British trading
company established a copra station on Betio at the beginning of this
century. To facilitate loading copra onto ocean-going vessels, the British
built a long pier on the lagoon side of the island that reached to the
deep water outside the reef. The long pier was the only significant
structure on Betio when a Japanese task force landed in December
1941, evicted the British manager and his staff, and constructed an
airfield.
By November 1943, the Japanese had turned Betio into a substantial
fortress. About 5,000 naval infantry manned an extensive system
of reinforced concrete blockhouses, coconut-log bunkers (covered by 3
or 4 feet of coral sand), steel pillboxes, and carefully placed gun pitsall
connected by an elaborate network of tunnels and slit trenches. A
score of heavy guns in hardened revetments, including four 8-inch guns
removed from the British naval base at Singapore, commanded virtually
every approach to the island. Rear Admiral Keiji Shibasaki, sent to
Tarawa because of his reputation as a superb tactical commander, was
so confident in his defenses that he remarked that Betio could not be
taken by a million men in a hundred years. He could not have been
more mistaken.
The Tarawa landing was part of Operation Galvanic, conducted
by the V Amphibious Corps under the command of Holland M.
("Howling Mad") Smith. Galvanic called for the 2d Marine Division,
under the command of Major General Julian C. Smith, to land at
Tarawa, while the Army's 27th Infantry Division landed at Makin atoll
to the north and a smaller Marine unit landed at Abemama atoll to
the south. Clearly, however, Tarawa was the most important landing
of the three.
Of the many details to be worked out by the V Corps staff over
the next two months, the most important were on which beach to land
and when to land. Betio is like a lazy triangle lying on its side, three
miles long from west to east and about three-quarters of a mile wide
at the base. The south side of the triangle presented the best landing
beaches. These beaches were closest to the airfield, one of the primary
objectives, and were on the seaward side of the island, closer to where
the invasion fleet would anchor (see map 3). The staff designated these
landing areas Black Beach 1 and Black Beach 2. The narrow base of
the triangle, designated Green Beach, lay close to the opening through
the reef into the lagoon, and landing craft would not have to climb
over a reef to reach this shore. Along the Black and Green Beaches,
the Japanese had constructed extensive obstacles, both above and below
the water line.
Map 3.
That portion of Betio that faced the lagoon was designated Red
Beaches 1, 2, and 3. Not only did the Red Beaches offer some
protection from the open sea, Smith's staff concluded that they were the
least heavily defended. Furthermore, a long pier was on this side of
the island, and it could play a significant role in getting men ashore.
Also, a seawall of coconut logs just above the high-tide line would
provide some protection from small-arms fire to the men who reached
it. The great disadvantage in using the Red Beaches was the precise
navigation required by the small craft in carrying men and equipment
ashore. Each wave of the invasion force would have to pass through
the opening into the lagoon, turn to the starboard (at a predetermined
point) in open water, maintain its position in formation as it approached
the beach, and then mount the reef before proceeding ashore to discharge
troops and cargoes at designated points. Despite these obstacles,
the staff selected the Red Beaches for the landing.
The question of timing was even more problematical than that of
choosing a landing beach. Doctrine called for landings at high tide.
This was necessary so that the landing craft could clear as many
defensive obstacles and land as far up the beach as possible. On a
coral atoll, the landing craft would also have to get over the reef. The
tides at Tarawa atoll are among the most capricious on earth. Without
reliable charts and with little agreement among the intelligence experts,
the staff struggled with the problem. Other factors, however, ultimately
determined the time schedule. Washington was pressing for a quick
offensive victory, and the Tarawa landing would have to coincide with
the other Galvanic landings. Finally, Smith confirmed D-day as 20
November 1943. The tides would not be favorable.
The invasion force, composed of the 2d Marine Division (which
had been training in New Zealand) and most of the support forces
coming from Hawaii, rendezvoused on D-2. Inaccordance with doctrine,
Navy and Marine aircraft had already flown a hundred sorties against
Betio, saturating the island with bombs and strafing anything that
moved. As the fleet approached Betio, its big guns worked over the
island's defenses one last time, especially the area immediately behind
the landing beaches. All reports indicated that nothing was left alive
on Betio. Later analysis showed that about one-third of the defenders
were indeed killed in the preinvasion bombardment, but that still left
all too many Japanese to greet the Marines when they came ashore.
A little after 0800 on Saturday morning, 20 November, three reinforced
amphibious battalions of the 2d Marine Regiment (commanded
by Colonel -David Shoup on board the first wave of landing craft and
amphibious tractors [amtracs]) began moving toward Red Beaches 1,
2, and 3, abandoning the holding pattern they had maintained for more
than four hours. Almost immediately, things went wrong. Many of the
heavy guns on Betio had not been put out of action. They began to
unleash a deadly hail of shrapnel and antiboat rounds into the tightly
packed landing craft as they neared the reef, inflicting the first casualties
on the attackers. The amtracs paused briefly as they reached the
reef, then climbed over it and proceeded toward the beach. The Higgins
boats, however, with a draft of about 4 feet, could not get over the
reef, and they began discharging their cargoes into the water about
600 yards out. Blistering machine-gun and small-arms fire reached out
to meet the Marines, who were unable to return fire as they waded
toward shore laden with arms, ammo, and equipment. The majority of
Marines who died on Tarawa did so as they struggled to reach shore.
Once ashore, confusion persisted. Many of the companies did not
land at their designated points or found themselves inextricably mingled
with other units. One of the three battalion commanders was killed
within a few minutes of hitting the beach, and another panicked under
the severe fire and told his amtrac driver to withdraw toward open
water. The seawall, behind which many Marines initially found some
cover from enemy small-arms fire and where the Navy corpsmen had
set up aid stations, turned out to be a mixed blessing. The amtracs
and tanks that had come ashore were now penned between the beach
and the water, and Japanese fire destroyed or disabled a large number
of them. Thus, the second wave that was to come ashore was delayed,
leaving the men who first reached the beach to struggle on their own.
By late afternoon, the battle had deteriorated into a series of small
unit fights all along the beach. Penetration by the invasion force was
limited to no more than a few hundred yards in most places, and
numerous Japanese strongpoints continued to inflict heavy losses on
the Marines. Colonel Shoup, wounded himself, directed the fight from
a makeshift command post and aid station.
The first night was the hardest time for the men on the beach.
Constantly threatened with counterattacks, snipers, and infiltrators, they
got little or no sleep. Furthermore, many Marines had long since drained
their canteens and emptied their cartridge belts. No more supplies would
come ashore until morning. The wounded suffered greatly. Those that
lay in the aid stations on the beach could only wait for morning and
evacuation; the uncollected wounded could only hope that their buddies
got to them before the enemy did.
Sunday morning, D+1, saw little improvement in the Marines' situation.
The 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, landing on Red Beach 2 a little
after 0630, drew withering fire from almost as many enemy guns as
the troops experienced the previous morning, and once again, the
landing troops suffered heavy casualties in the water. Stiff resistance
continued throughout the day, and the Marines had to destroy each
Japanese strongpoint at a heavy price. Basic infantry weapons, grenades,
flamethrowers, and explosive charges were the tools necessary
for this task. Meanwhile, Navy destroyers cruised back and forth outside
the reef providing fire support with their 5-inch guns. But with less
than fifty yards in some cases between their positions and the Japanese,
the Marines were reluctant to call for fire except when they had no
alternative. Sunday ended with more of Betio in Marine hands, but
the island was not yet secure, and the Marines prepared for another
tense, sleepless night.
As the third morning dawned, the Marines found their position
considerably improved. In the first place, the incoming tide now lifted
the Higgins boats over the reef for the first time and allowed them to
reach the beach before dropping their bow ramps. At midmorning, the
Marines began their final assault on the big reinforced concrete structure
housing Admiral Shibasaki's command post. Finally reaching the
top of the building, they poured gasoline down one of the air vents
and threw a match in after it. Thus ended Shibasaki's command and,
seemingly, the will of many Tarawa defenders to continue resisting.
Large numbers of Japanese began to take their own lives, and the
Marines cleared much of the western portion of the island, pushing
the remaining enemy into the narrow tail of land to the east by late
evening. The battle for Betio was won, but it was not over.
The final act on Tarawa atoll was a series of nerve-racking banzai
attacks that began just after dark on the third night. In each case, a
mob of enemy charged the Marines' position with swords and bayonets.
They came in a frenzy, seeking the final approval of their emperor by
their glorious death. They were met by artillery, machine-gun fire, and
tired Marines with bayonets who, in many cases, were also out of
ammunition. The last attack came about 0400 on Tuesday morning
just seventy-two hours after the first Marines had begun loading into their landing craft.
Military experts and historians have long debated the strategic
importance of Tarawa. Some have argued that wresting Tarawa from
the Japanese was both unnecessary and too costly-1,027 Marine and
Navy dead, 88 missing, and 2,292 wounded. Although the Japanese
had a land-based air capability in the Gilberts, so the argument goes,
they could not reach any major U.S. bases nor could they appreciably
interdict shipping in the central or South Pacific. Furthermore, the
critics maintain, the loss of life on Betio was not at all justified since
the airfield was never used to support subsequent operations in the
advance across the Pacific.
These arguments overlook two essential points. Although the airfield
on Betio did not play a further role in America's war effort, one should
not underestimate the importance land-based aviation held in the early
years of World War II. As late as 1943, most military stategists believed
that only land-based air forces could adequately support offensive
operations. The fighting in the Solomons and New Guinea a year earlier
had seemed to confirm that view. The fast carrier task force, with the
ability to provide offensive support as well as fleet security, was then
only in an early stage of development. Its future was still uncertain,
although its proponents were already proselytizing among the skeptical.
All this considered, the airfield on Betio was a legitimate military
objective in November 1943.
Finally, one must consider the role of Marine Corps amphibious
doctrine in Operation Galvanic. Until the Marines landed on Betio,
amphibious doctrine was just theory. The Marines believed that they
could land on a hostile beach and take their objective, but they had
not yet proved that it could be done. The only way the Marines could
prove the validity of their doctrine was to conduct an actual amphibious
landing under fire and succeed. They did that at Tarawa.
Bibliography
Gregg, Charles T. Tarawa. New York: Stein and Day, 1984.
Isely, Jeter Allen, and Philip Axtell Crowl. The U.S. Marines and
Amphibious War: Its Theory and Its Practice in the Pacific. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1951.
Kane, Robert J. A Brief History of the 2d Marines. Washington, DC:
Historical Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, 1970.
O'Sheel, Patrick. Semper Fidelis: The U.S. Marines in the Pacific,
1942-1945. New York: William Sloane Associates, 1947.
Russ, Martin. Line of Departure: Tarawa. Garden City, NY: Doubleday
& Co., 1975.
Antiarmor Operations on the Golan Heights, October 1973
Major George E. Knapp
The results of the 1973 Arab-Israeli War stimulated much postwar
doctrinal discussion and examination among military analysts about
the future of armor and antiarmor operations. The central issue was
whether the tank could survive on a modern battlefield now dominated
by antitank weapons of the kind used so extensively by the Arabs in
the 1973 war. The postwar debate affected the development of doctrinal
concepts by the United States military in several ways. One result was
that the Army sought to procure a new tank, a new infantry fighting
vehicle, and an antiarmor weapon system that might give common
infantrymen the ability to defeat enemy armor at close, medium, and
long ranges. At the operational level of war, the Army developed and
adopted a doctrine of Active Defense based largely on the perceived
"lessons" of the battle for the Golan Heights, fought in the earliest
days of the 1973 war.
In many ways, the battle for the Golan Heights mirrored the U.S.
Army's image of how it would have to fight a war in Central Europe.
American doctrinaires viewed the all-out assault model of Syria, a Soviet
client, as a reflection of Soviet doctrine. For that reason, the Americans
drew lessons more readily from the battle for the Golan than from the
action on the Suez front, where the Egyptians conducted a deliberate
attack, with limited objectives-a mode of attack considered by some as
uncharacteristic of Soviet doctrine. So, as General Donn A. Starry
admitted in an interview in 1987, the 1973 battle for the Golan Heights
became the model for the U.S. Army's doctrine of Active Defense. This
doctrine integrated concepts of maneuver, firepower, and command and
control, with special emphasis on combined arms tactics. But at its
heart lay the notion that the tank was still the best antitank weapon.
Why was this so? The answer to that question is contained in the
Israel Defense Forces' legendary defense of the Golan Heights in the
war (see map 4).
Map 4.
The topography of the Golan Heights made it critical terrain to
both the Syrians and the Israelis. The Golan dominates the eastern
bank of the Jordan River from the Israeli-Lebanese border in the north
to Lake Tiberias sixty-five kilometers to the south. A force on the Golan
can observe and bring fires onto the entire northern part of Israel. At
its widest point, the Golan is about thirty kilometers from east to west,
so the battle area represents a rough rectangle enclosing about 2,000
square kilometers-the size of Rhode Island. The ancient trade route
from the Mediterranean Sea to Damascus crosses the northern third of
the Golan and is one of the main avenues of approach along which
the Israelis expected a Syrian attack. Farther to the south, another
route crosses the Golan nearly diagonally from the Syrian town of
Nawa in the southeast, through Rafid at the edge of the Israeli occupation
zone, to Banais and Dan in the northwest corner of the Golan
near the Lebanon border. Along the way, several roads lead toward
the west through Kuzabia, Snobar, and Gonen to the Jordan River
bridges. In the far south, a route turns southwest from Rafid and goes
through Juhadar and El Al, to the south of Lake Tiberias. The Israelis
improved the Golan's existing north-south network of trails so that
they could shift their forces more rapidly to meet the potential Syrian
threat. Therefore, the entire Golan was passable for armor, although
trails in the northern third of the area were rough.
Along the 1967 cease-fire line, called the Purple Line, the Israelis
constructed a defensive belt that included an antitank ditch, minefields,
concrete observation posts, and tank-firing positions. Although formidable
in itself, this line was not sufficient to stop a determined Syrian
assault. Three Israeli formations totaling fewer than 3,000 troops
manned the Golan's defenses on 6 October 1973. The Barak Armored
Brigade manned the southern portion of the Purple Line from Rafid to
Kuneitra, while the 7th Armored Brigade occupied that part of the line
north of Kuneitra to the slopes of Mount Hermon. Parts of an infantry
brigade, in squad- and platoon size groups, occupied the scattered strong
points along the Purple Line. Together, these formations fielded fewer
than 200 tanks, including Centurions and some World War II-era Shermans.
The brigade also wielded forty-four pieces of artillery, all self propelled.
The Israelis expected sufficient advanced warning of any Syrian attack,
and the Golan forces' mission was to act as a tripwire and to delay the
Syrian advance until Israeli reserves could mobilize and deploy.
The Syrians, on their part, had constructed three defensive belts,
following the Soviet model. These lay in successive arcs perpendicular
to the road that ran between the Purple Line and Damascus about
forty-five kilometers to the northeast. The first defensive belt was less
than two kilometers from the Purple Line. The second was along the
Sassa ridge, and the third lay roughly between Katana and Kiswe.
The Syrians placed many obsolete tanks and artillery pieces along these
defensive lines, but they also integrated their modern and fully integrated
antiaircraft system into the defenses. This almost proved decisive
during the course of the war. Into these lines, the Syrians and their
allies put five divisions and several separate brigade-size formations.
The Arabs arrayed their offensive forces along the Syrian defensive
belts. In the north, among the Mount Hermon foothills, was a Morroccan
brigade. To its south, the Syrian 7th Infantry Division, reinforced with
an additional armored brigade, stretched to the Kuneitra-Damascus road.
The Syrian 9th Infantry Divison, also reinforced with an additional
armored brigade, covered the center from opposite Kuneitra in the north
almost to Rafid in the south. The Syrian 5th Infantry Division, similarly
reinforced with tanks, lay along the approach to Nawa-Rafid. Behind
these infantry divisions were two Syrian armored divisions in reserve.
The 3d Armored Division lay between Sassa and Katana, in position
to reinforce the northern axis of attack, while the 1st Armored Division,
near Kiswe, prepared to add its strength to the southern most axis. Most
important, these divisions represented the Syrian operational reserve
and were responsible for the defense of Damascus. Additionally, the
Syrians had three independent armored brigades-two infantry brigades
and one mechanized brigade-available for action. During the course
of the war, Syria also was reinforced by an armored division from
Iraq, armored brigades from Saudi Arabia and Jordan, and commando
brigades from the Palestine Liberation Army. The total Syrian-led force
included about 60,000 soldiers, 1,200 tanks, 600 pieces of artillery, and
more than 900 antiaircraft guns and missile launchers.
At 1400 on Saturday, 6 October 1973, the three Syrian infantry
divisions attacked across the Purple Line and into the Golan Heights.
The Syrian operational objective was to retake the Golan, which was
part of the territory it lost to the Israelis in 1967. This meant driving
to the Jordan River and then moving along its extent from the Lebanese
border in the north to Lake Tiberias in the south. Beyond that immediate
objective, the Syrians may have planned to continue their
attack into Galilee, but they expected the United Nations to impose a
cease-fire before that eventuality unfolded. To reach the Jordan River,
the Syrians planned to have their infantry divisions breach the Israeli
antitank ditch, bypass the isolated observation posts, and drive hard
to the west with an overwhelming mass of tanks and armored personnel
carriers. Surprise was a key element in their plan, and they expected to
reach their operational objectives before the Israeli reserves effectively
intervened. It was a remarkable achievement that the Syrians managed to
get their force in its attacking position and start their offensive before the
Israelis could begin their mobilizations. By doing so, the Syrians created
the battle conditions that dominated the first thirty-six hours of the war
and led directly to the armor battle on the Golan.
The Syrian attack was typically Soviet in its execution. It began
with a brief but intense barrage along a broad front by all available
artillery, aircraft, tanks, and mortars and capitalized on Syrian numerical
superiority along the two main routes into the Golan. The Syrian
7th Infantry Division tried to break through north of Kuneitra in order
to seize the upper Jordan River in the vicinity of Gonen. The 5th Infantry
Division followed a similar plan south of Rafid, with the Arik
bridge area as its objective. In the center, the 9th Infantry Division
advanced on a broad front to tie down Israeli forces and cut the northsouth
road from Kuneitra to Rafid. Unlike the other infantry divisions,
the 9th had a limited objective that was really designed to help the
flank divisions get past the main Israeli defenses. The Syrians kept
their armored divisions in reserve ready to exploit success on either
flank, but significantly, not on both flanks. The Syrian plan was for
one of the armored divisions to protect Damascus regardless of any
perceived success on the Golan Heights.
The Syrian attack was characterized by success and failure. In the
way of success, the Syrians achieved surprise and pressed their attacks
against increasingly frantic Israeli defenses. Morever, they massed their
combat power at critical points on the battlefield and pressed their
attacks home. In addition, they thwarted the Israeli Air Force's attempts
to break up their attacking columns. What is more, they identified tactical
opportunities in the Rafid area and committed one of their reserve
armored divisions at the right moment. On the other hand, the Syrians
failed to recognize the magnitude of the operational and tactical surprise
they had achieved, and this central failure led to their ultimate defeat.
They also failed to breach the Israeli defenses north of Kuneitra. Because
they tried to push too many vehicles across the tank defenses without
adequate infantry and artillery support, they lost many tanks and personnel
carriers at the antitank ditches and in the killing zones near the Purple Line.
Furthermore, they failed to employ their artillery rapidly and effectively to
suppress Israeli tank fires and to eliminate Israeli artillery. The Syrians also
failed to properly "mop up" bypassed Israeli positions, which continued to
prevent Syrian supply columns from keeping up with the armored advance.
The Syrians also failed to push sufficient air-defense assets far enough forward
to protect their leading armored columns from Israeli air power. On balance,
the Syrians wasted their operational and tactical advantage, and though they
fought impressively, they squandered the opportunity to win the battle
for the Golan Heights.
If the Syrians failed to capitalize on their initial advantage, it was
in large measure due to the epic defensive battle that the Israelis waged
in those first thirty-six hours. But the ferocity of that defense was
exactly what the Syrian high command had expected. They saw a
determined, well-prepared defense supported by artillery and air power
and sustained by the rapid mobilization of Israeli reserves. Consequently,
the Syrians stayed with their original operational plan and reinforced their
success in the southern Golan while holding their remaining armored
division in reserve before Damascus. This decision seems sound based on
the evidence available to the Syrians at the time. However, had the Syrians
committed both their reserve divisions, they might have broken through on
both axes of advance and reached the Jordan River in strength before the
Israelis reinforced. What might have happened at that point is conjectural,
but it seems likely that the United Nations would have attempted to impose
some sort of ceasefire, ending the war within seventy-two hours and leaving Egypt on the east side of the Suez and Syria again in possession of the Golan Heights.
The battle in the Golan sharply contrasted with the Suez action.
At the Golan, the Syrians forced the outnumbered Israelis into thirty-five
hours of tank gunnery and armored maneuver, but because the
Israeli positions so effectively dominated the Syrian approach routes,
Syrian armored losses were severe. Much of the action by the Israelis
and Syrians seemed modeled after U.S. and Soviet doctrine respectively.
Syrian artillery pounded suspected Israeli positions, forcing Israeli tankers
either to close their hatches and fight with restricted vision or to
expose themselves to shell fragments in order to retain visibility. This
suppression by the Syrians forced the Israeli armor to shift constantly
between positions, but as a rule, the Israeli tankers accepted these risks
and scored many antiarmor hits, suffering greatly as a consequence.
Initially, Israeli tanks scored hits at very long ranges as the Syrians
fought their way across the antiarmor obstacles. Later, as the Syrians
penetrated deeper into the Golan, especially during the first night of
the war, tank engagement ranges were very short-often less than 100
meters.
As the Syrian offensive waned and the Israelis counterattacked into
Syria, the antiarmor balance shifted in favor of the Syrians. Significantly,
this action resembled the earlier engagements on the Suez front,
in which Israeli armor found well-prepared and confident Arab infantry
armed with antitank guided missiles (ATGMs) and rocket-propelled grenades
(RPGs). These troops were covered by surface-to-air missiles (SAMs), held
reasonably secure flanks, and had good terrain to defend. In response to these
defenses, the Israelis determined not to press their attacks deeper toward
Damascus. Possibly, the antiarmor lessons that the Israelis had already
learned on the Suez front played some part in this decision.
If the Syrian infantry had been successful earlier in securing the
Purple Line crossing sites and flushing out the Israeli armor beyond,
then the outcome of the armor and antiarmor battle for the Golan
might have been different. The Syrians decided to lead their assault
with infantry divisions, reinforced with armored brigades and supported
with massive artillery fire, but the Syrian infantry did not achieve its
objectives. The Syrians should have dismounted and crossed the antitank
ditch in swarms so dense that the few Israeli observation posts
would have been overwhelmed and the Israeli armor forced to abandon
its long-prepared firing positions. Instead, the Israeli armor was allowed
to whittle steadily away at the Syrian tanks and personnel carriers. This was
one of the key failures by the Syrians in the first hours of the war.
The Syrians also failed to commit both of their reserve armored
divisions at the critical moment. While it is difficult to fault this
Syrian command decision in light of the ultimate result in this theater
of war, still the Syrians might have achieved a breakthrough in the
north similar to the one they made in the south if they had committed
their reserve divisions within the first thirty-six hours of battle.
In terms of the debate over whose equipment was the best, U.S.
and Soviet equipment received mixed reviews. U.S.-produced tanks
proved vulnerable because of their relatively high profile, exposed
commanders' positions, and inadequate machine guns. At the same time, the high profile allowed U.S.-built tanks to depress their gun tubes
and work from defilade positions better than the low-profile Soviet-built
tanks. Morever, U.S. tanks were easier to drive and less fatiguing to
ride in (but they were more prone to maintenance failures). In addition,
U.S. tanks proved superior in long-range sighting capabilities and accommodated
more communications equipment, which improved fire control.
Soviet-produced tanks proved more difficult to operate and inferior in
both fire control and sighting.
Israeli combat operations proved superior to those of the Syrians
in the areas of gunnery, recovery, sustainment, communications, and
tank-to-tank cooperation. The majority of Syrian hits did not permanently
destroy Israeli tanks, even if the hits penetrated their armor. Gunnery ranges,
especially on the Golan, varied widely from point blank to several kilometers.
Hits were widely distributed over different areas of the tanks, and this suggested
a reevaluation of the relative value of frontal armor. Few tank hits produced
immediate, catastrophic crew kills. Thus, forward recovery and repair were keys
to preserving Israeli tank strength. The Israelis claimed that every one of their
tanks on the Golan was hit at least once by enemy fire. Syrian sustainment
operations suffered from attrition by Israeli artillery, tank fires, air power, and
bypassed infantry positions along the Purple Line. Israeli crew training proved
superior to that of the Syrians in the areas of cooperation among tanks, suppressive
fire, moving by bounds, and use of range cards and prepared positions.
Military experts around the world drew several conclusions about
the nature of antiarmor warfare from the 1973 Arab-Israeli War.
Military authorities believed that the ATGM and its supporting cast of
RPGs and recoilless rifles dominated the armor battles on the Suez
front, although Israeli tanks and aircraft played a large role in defeating
the Egyptian armored reserve. In the Golan Heights area, however, tanks
dominated the armor battle until its latter stages, when Israeli armor
came up against the Syrian defenses before Damascus. Therefore, from
the analyst's point of view, neither the ATGMs nor the tanks themselves
proved to be the decisive antitank weapons. In the United States, this
conclusion fueled the debate that resulted in AirLand Battle doctrine.
That doctrine's emphasis on a balanced force for the modern battlefield
took into consideration the fact that tanks operating alone are, as
Trevor Depuy suggested, "more vulnerable and consequently less valuable,
than when employed as part of a combined arms team."
Bibliography
Cordesman, Anthony H., and Abraham R. Wagner. The Lessons of
Modern War, Vol. I. The Arab-Israeli Conflicts, 1973-1989. Boulder,
CO: Westview Press, 1990.
Depuy, T. N., Elusive Victory: The Arab-Israeli Wars, 1947-1974. Fairfax,
VA: Hero Books, 1984.
Herbert, Paul H. Deciding What Has to Be Done: General William E.
DePuy and the 1976 Edition of FM 100-5, Operations. Leavenworth
Papers no. 16. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute,
U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, 1988.
Insight Team (Sunday Times, London). The Yom Kippur War. Garden
City, NY: Doubleday, 1974.
O'Ballance, Edgar, No Victor, No Vanquished: The Yom Kippur War.
San Rafael, CA: Presidio, Press, 1978.
Attack Helicopters in Lebanon, 1982
Dr. George W. Gawrych
While the Vietnam War saw the evolution of the helicopter from a
troop transport and medical evacuation vehicle to a close air support
weapon, Israel's 1982 invasion of Lebanon witnessed the emergence of
attack helicopters as tank killers. In the 1973 Middle East War, the
Israelis employed helicopters primarily to transport ground troops, evacuate
casualties, and resupply combat units. By 1982, however, both the
Israelis and the Syrians had purchased attack helicopters and were
developing their own particular doctrines for their employment.
The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) became interested in attack helicopters
in the mid-1970s. In 1975, Israel purchased six American-made
AH-1G Cobra helicopters. These Cobras were equipped for close air
support with 7.62-mm machine guns, M-19 grenade launchers, and rocket
pods. In addition, the IDF upgraded the AH-1Gs to "Q" versions with
TOW antitank missiles. Then, in 1978, Israel bought its "first real"
attack helicopters, AH-1S Cobras and Hughes 500 MD Defenders. By
1982, Israel's attack helicopter inventory had expanded to forty-two:
twelve Cobras and thirty Hughes 500 MDs. The attack helicopters
belonged to the Israeli Air Force (IAF).
In 1982, the IDF invaded Lebanon, applying a doctrine that emphasized
attack helicopters in a close air support role. These rotary-winged
craft were to support troop movements through mountainous areas.
Thus, when Israeli tanks or artillery failed to place targets under sufficient
fire, ground forces were to appeal to the IAF for attack helicopters to
help in the close fight. In some cases, attack helicopters were to be attached
to army units for specific operations. Initial Israeli practice in 1982 seemed
to follow this prewar concept.
To some degree, the Syrian Armed Forces (SAF) were prepared to
meet the Israeli helicopter threat. In the 1973 war, both the Egyptians
and the Syrians had based their air defense, in part, on movable antiaircraft
weapons and used portable antiaircraft missiles (previously designed for use
against fixed-wing aircraft) to attack helicopters. In one early engagement,
for example, a Strella SA-7 downed an Israeli Cobra that had responded to
an appeal for close air support.
Between the 1973 and 1982 wars, Syria also invested in attack helicopters.
In 1982, the SAF possessed some sixteen French-made Gazelles (with HOT
missiles) and twelve Soviet-manufactured Mi-24 Hinds (with tubes for the
Sagger AT-3 missile). But unlike the Israelis, the Syrians gained some valuable
combat experience using their attack helicopters in Lebanon before 1982.
In 1976, the SAF moved into Lebanon to quell the Lebanese Civil
War. Over the next seven years, the Syrians maintained a military
presence in the country that often involved armed clashes with Lebanese
warring factions. In some instances, the SAF relied on helicopters for
close air support. But the Syrian high command also expanded their
role. Syrian pilots flew attack helicopters, in pairs or larger formations,
in some interdiction missions. Thus, by the 1982 conflict with Israel,
the Syrians had experimented with a wider concept for the employment
of attack helicopters.
The 1982 war began at 1100 on 6 June as an Israeli-Palestine Liberation
Organization (PLO) struggle. To clear the PLO's military presence from
the border area with Israel, the Israeli cabinet initially approved the IDF's
advance into Lebanon to a depth of forty kilometers. This occupation
would ensure that northern Israel was outside the maximum range of Arab
artillery, resulting in a much-needed respite for its inhabitants.
The Israeli cabinet, in its directive, instructed the IDF to avoid a
war with Syria if at all possible. The Israelis hoped that the Syrians
would stand idly by while the IDF destroyed the PLO's military organization
in southern Lebanon, where the Palestinians had established a ministate outside
the control of the Lebanese central government.
In Lebanon since the outbreak of the Lebanese Civil War in 1976,
Syrian troops were mainly deployed in the Beirut area and the Bekaa
Valley in eastern Lebanon. Any major Israeli thrust north toward Beirut
posed a serious military threat to the Syrian forces deployed forward
in the Bekaa Valley. From the Syrian perspective, the farther north
the Israelis moved up the coastal and central axis in Lebanon, the
more the Syrians would feel their flank exposed and might eventually
regard themselves as threatened with encirclement.
In 1982, the Israeli drive up the central axis west of the Lebanon
Mountains set off a short war with Syria. Here, the main Israeli force
the 162d Armored Division minus a tank brigade-was commanded by
Brigadier General Menachem Einan. One week before the outbreak of
the war, the 162d Armored Division was conducting maneuvers in
southern Israel when Einan received orders to move north. The Israeli
high command decided to await developments on the battlefield before
issuing further orders to Einan.
On 6 June at 1530, or four and one-half hours into the war, Einan
finally learned his mission: to take the central axis and capture the
Besri bridge near the town of Jezzin (see map 5). This action would
protect the flank of the Israeli forces moving along their coastal axis
in the direction of Beirut. A follow-on mission would take Einan farther
north to the Damascus-Beirut highway.
The first engagement between Einan and the Syrians took place
near Jezzin on the night of 7-8 June. Jezzin lies at a critical road
juncture in south-central Lebanon. One road passes through the town
to the southern Bekaa Valley; the other heads north. Israeli control of
Jezzin would pose a direct threat to the Syrians, for the Israelis would
gain access to the Bekaa Valley from the west. Concerned about this
possibility, the Syrian command dispatched the 424th Infantry Battalion
to the town and later reinforced it with a reduced tank battalion and
a commando unit.
As Einan's task force moved past Jezzin at 0100 on 8 June en
route to the Besri bridge, elements of his reduced division came dangerously
close to the Syrian positions. Indeed, an exchange of fire between
the Israelis and the Syrian defenders ensued at the town's outskirts.
Rather than be diverted by a major battle, Einan left a blocking force
and pushed north. The Israeli cabinet, however, now approved a major
assault on Jezzin with other forces for the next morning. Israel and
Syria were entering into a major confrontation.
Early that same morning of 8 June, Einan seized the Besri bridge.
The Israeli high command now ordered a rapid advance to Ain Zhalta,
a town some ten kilometers south of the Damascus-Beirut highway.
While moving to his next destination, Einan suddenly encountered an
unfamiliar weapon, the attack helicopter.
At 1530 on 8 June, his soldiers heard a beating noise overhead,
followed by the swish of two HOT missiles. The third Israeli tank in
the column suffered a hit. Then, the French Gazelle made a second
run, this time setting the same tank ablaze with another hit. The disabled
tank prevented any further advance, since the road it traveled
on was narrow, with a sheer drop on one side and a cliff on the other.
This engagement represented the first strike by an Arab attack
helicopter in an Arab-Israeli conflict. The effect was much like that in
World War I when the Germans first encountered the tank. Israeli
sources have discussed the general panic and shock that struck Israeli
tank crews. The 1973 war had prepared the IDF for the antitank missiles
of Arab infantry but not for those of Arab attack helicopters.
Map 5.
Because they had proved unable to defend themselves, Israeli tank
ers felt vulnerable after this attack. The Gazelle's HOT missile had a
range of more than four kilometers, well beyond that of the turretmounted
machine guns on Israeli tanks. Not expecting such an attack,
Einan's force apparently lacked any portable antiaircraft missiles that
might have equalized the range. Unavoidable confusion and tension
consequently spread among the Israeli tankers. The Israeli Armor Corps
confronted a new nemesis for its first-line tanks.
The effectiveness of the Syrian attack helicopters, however, declined
appreciably after 9 June. On that day, the IAF effectively destroyed
seventeen of the nineteen SAM (surface-to-air missile) batteries in the
Bekaa Valley, thus removing any effective Syrian air umbrella over
eastern Lebanon. This brilliantly executed operation gave the IAF air
supremacy over Lebanon, thereby dramatically increasing the vulnerability
of Syrian Gazelles and Mi-24 Hinds.
Despite Israeli mastery of the air, however, Syrian attack helicopters
continued to conduct operations until 25 June, when the final cease
fire officially ended hostilities between Israel and Syria. Until then,
the Syrians recorded kills employing various tactics that took advantage
of the mountainous terrain of Lebanon. Using terrain masking and
pop-up tactics, the Syrians managed to slow down or stop Israeli advances
along narrow roads or tracks, in some instances inflicting
devastating damage to Israeli vehicles. The Israelis admitted to losing
seven tanks to the Gazelle's HOT missiles, whereas Israeli forces
claimed they downed only twelve Gazelles. (No figures were found for
the Mi-24 Hinds.)
The Israelis retaliated with their own attack helicopters. Taking a
page out of a Syrian manual, the IAF began to fly the AH-1S Cobras
and Hughes 500 MDs on independent search-and-kill missions behind
enemy lines in a specific interdiction role. This step represented a
marked departure from what had been exclusively the domain of IAF
fixed-wing aircraft.
Now, Israeli helicopter pilots, for surprise and shock, used the
mountainous terrain to hide their movements. The Hughes 500 MD, a
relatively light helicopter with four TOW antitank guided missiles, was
especially suited for such employment because of its high agility and
low sound levels. Emulating the Syrians, Israeli pilots masked their
movements, taking advantage of deep gorges, wadis, and mountains
to strike at unsuspecting Syrian targets.
Einan eventually had sweet revenge on the Syrians with Israeli
attack helicopters. At Ain Dara, a village north of Ain Zhalta and
some three kilometers south of the Damascus-Beirut highway, the
Syrians put up stiff resistance. Unable to dislodge the Syrian defenders,
Einan called in several air strikes and tank-killing sorties, the latter
to strike targets not easily accessible to his own tanks and artillery.
Here, Israeli helicopters managed to destroy a number of Syrian tanks.
Eventually, Einan abandoned his frontal attack and bypassed Ain Dara
for a position that also provided a commanding view of the vital high
way linking Beirut with Damascus.
The conclusion of the war between Israel and Syria brought much
discussion in both countries on the future role of the attack helicopter.
In Israel, Major General Israel Tal, known as Mister Armor, came to
regard the helicopter as a key to outflanking and enveloping the enemy
on the armor-saturated battlefield of the Middle East.
Though impressed with the attack helicopter's overall performance,
both the Israelis and the Syrians experienced problems in its employment.
Perhaps the greatest problem was that of friendly fire. The
Israelis suffered relatively high casualties to their ground troops from
attacks by their own helicopters; the Syrians, although silent on this
matter, no doubt experienced the same problem. Israeli pilots had some
difficulty identifying vehicles. A better command, control, and communications
system, as well as more sophisticated identification methods, would have
avoided some mistakes, but not all.
There were other limitations to helicopter use as well. Attack helicopters
were vulnerable to the enemy's air force and air defense. The IDF admitted
to the cancellation of a number of missions owing to heavy concentrations
of SA-7s and other antiaircraft guns, including the ZSU-23-4. For their part,
the SAF faced a difficult challenge employing attack helicopters once the IAF
gained air supremacy over Lebanon on 9 June. Weather conditions were also
an important variable in as sessing the feasibility of an operation. Another limiting
factor was the night: Israel's attack helicopters lacked night-fighting capabilities, which
the IAF only developed after the war. Finally, neither side had enough
attack helicopters to mass for maximum effect.
The war in Lebanon emerged as the formative period for the attack
helicopter in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Both Israel and Syria appreciated
the mobility, flexibility, and lethality provided by attack helicopters.
Each side made high kill claims for their helicopters, perhaps in part
to win support for future development of this new weapon. Thus, current
statistics on helicopter kills in the war are impossible to verify.
Regardless of the dilemma of quantifying kills, the attack helicopter
clearly had a significant impact on the battlefield in the 1982 war.
After the war, Israel and, Syria expanded their inventories, the Syrians
on a much larger scale than the Israelis. Figures for 1989 listed Israel
with forty AH-IS/Q Cobras and forty Hughes 500 MDs versus their
total in 1982 of forty-two helicopters. On the other hand, Syria went
from sixteen to fifty Gazelles and from twelve to fifty Mi-24s during
the same period. The Israelis and Syrians had introduced the attack
helicopter into the 1982 Arab-Israeli War. Nine years later, coalition
forces in Operation Desert Storm integrated attack helicopters into their
scheme of maneuver. By then, some military leaders regarded attack
helicopters as a separate maneuver element that had ushered in the
rotary-wing revolution to warfare.
Bibliography
Cordesman, Anthony H., and Abraham R. Wagner. The Lessons of
Modern War. Vol. I. The Arab-Israeli Conflicts, 1973-1989. Boulder,
CO: Westview Press, 1990.
Dupuy, Trevor Nevitt, and Paul Martell. Flawed Victory: The Arab
Israeli Conflict and the 1982 War in Lebanon. Fairfax, VA: Hero
Books, 1986.
Gabriel, Richard A. Operation Peace for Galilee: The Israeli-PLO War
in Lebanon. New York: Hill and Wang, 1984.
Katz, Samuel M. Israel's Army. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1990.
Schiff, Ze'ev, and Ehud Ya'ari. Israel's Lebanon War. New York: Simon
and Schuster, 1984.
Egyptian Engineers in the Crossing Operation of 1973
Dr. George W. Gawrych
For Egypt to gain any military or political success against Israel
in the 1973 Middle East War depended on the Egyptian Armed Forces
first crossing the Suez Canal, then assaulting the Bar Lev Line, and
finally establishing secure bridgeheads on the eastern bank. These
challenges were essentially an engineering problem, and therefore, the
achievement of the operation is, in many respects, a saga of the perseverance
and ingenuity of the Egyptian Corps of Engineers.
The 1967 Arab-Israeli War had suddenly changed the strategic
situation in the Middle East. Israel occupied the entire Sinai Peninsula,
gaining for the first time a defensible frontier with Egypt along the
Suez Canal. Despite the decisive defeat of its army, however, the
Egyptian regime refused to adopt the posture of a defeated nation.
Consequently, less than a month after the war, hostilities between the
two countries broke out with an artillery duel ushering in a long war
of attrition (1967-70). The Suez Canal now emerged as the new battle
ground of the Arab-Israeli conflict, and Israel eventually found itself
suffering an unacceptable level of casualties defending the canal.
Toward the end of 1968, the Israeli General Staff decided to take
advantage of the natural barrier presented by the Suez Canal and
created fortified positions all along its 160-kilometer length. These concrete
fortifications would help Israel avoid the high casualties caused
by the massive Egyptian artillery fire directed against Israeli troops
on the east bank. In 1969, Israel completed what became known as
the Bar Lev Line, named after then chief of the General Staff, Lieutenant
General Haim Bar Lev.
Designed as early-warning observation posts along the Suez Canal,
the Bar Lev Line also served as an elaborate system of fortifications
to deter the Egyptians from launching a major amphibious operation.
After the conclusion of the war of attrition in 1970, a new Israeli military
leadership closed some fortifications, cutting their total from around
thirty to approximately twenty. Despite this reduction, the Bar Lev
Line still presented a formidable barrier (see map 6). Consequently,
the Egyptian General Staff devoted a great deal of time, effort, and
resources in developing a plan for overcoming the line, and the Egyptian
Corps of Engineers played a key role.
Map 6.
The first major obstacle in the Israeli defenses was the Suez Canal.
Constructed in the desert, the canal is an artificial waterway 180 to
220 meters wide and 16 to 18 meters deep. To prevent sand erosion,
the canal's banks are lined with concrete that rises above the water
line. At high tide, the water flows a meter below the top of the concrete
wall; at low tide, the water runs three meters below the top (four meters
below in the southern part of the canal).
The Israeli General Staff incorporated the Suez Canal into its
defensive plan for the Sinai (called Dovecoat). At the water's edge of
the canal, the Israelis constructed vertical sand ramparts that rose at
an angle of 45 to 65 degrees and to a height of twenty to twenty-five
meters to prevent the Egyptians from landing tanks and heavy equipment
without prior engineering preparations on the east bank. Israeli
military planners expected that the Egyptians would need from twenty-four to forty-eight hours to establish viable bridgeheads.
Behind the forward line of fortifications, Israeli military planners
stationed a single armored brigade responsible for three tactical areas.
Each tactical area contained a tank battalion of forty tanks, whose
primary mission was to move forward and occupy the vacant spaces
between the fortifications in case of an Egyptian attack. Behind these
defensive tactical areas, the Israel Defense Forces positioned two
armored brigades. One was to reinforce the forward armored brigade
while the second prepared to counterattack the Egyptian main effort.
Should the regular armored brigades prove inadequate for defeating
the attacking Egyptian troops, then the Israeli government would
mobilize its reserves. This step involved the implementation of another plan.
To help overcome the Israeli defenders in the Sinai, the Egyptian
General Command in Cairo assigned 6 major tasks to the Corps of
Engineers: to open some 70 passages through the sand barrier; build
10 heavy bridges for tanks and other heavy equipment; construct 5
light bridges, each with a capacity of 4 tons; erect 10 pontoon bridges
for the infantry; operate 50 or so ferries; and pilot close to 1,000 rubber
boats for the initial assaults. Of the six tasks, the first was by far the
most critical.
In fact, the success of the crossing operation hinged on the Egyptians'
ability to breach the earthen embankments before the Israeli
Army could react with sufficient force to repel them. The Egyptians
needed to clear passages seven meters in width. This project alone
would involve 1,500 cubic meters of sand. Even with the attainment of
strategic surprise at the outset of the war, the Egyptian's worst-case
scenario expected Israeli tank companies and battalions to counterattack
within fifteen to thirty minutes-with an armored brigade on the scene
in two hours. The Egyptians could ill afford to expend twenty-four hours
creating breaches in the sand barrier for the passage of armor and
heavy equipment while Israeli reserves raced to the canal.
Breaching methods involving explosives, artillery, and bulldozers
were too costly in time or required near-ideal conditions. For example,
60 men, 600 pounds of explosives, and 1 bulldozer required 5 to 6 hours,
uninterrupted by enemy fire, to clear 1,500 cubic meters of sand. But
getting a bulldozer on the east bank while protecting the congested
landing site from Israeli artillery would be nearly impossible during
the initial hours of the assault phase. Construction of the much-needed
bridges would consequently begin much too late.
The solution to the engineering dilemma proved simple but ingenious:
a water pump. The Corps of Engineers under Major General
Gamal Ali would use high-pressure pumps as water guns to blast open
passages in the sand. While previous pumps for such a project had
been too heavy and depended on electric power, by the end of 1971,
an Egyptian officer suggested a small, light, gasoline-fueled pump as
the answer to the crossing problem. In response, the Egyptian military
purchased 300 British-made pumps and found that 5 pumps could blast
1,500 cubic meters of sand in 3 hours. In 1972, the Corps of Engineers
acquired 150 more-powerful German pumps. Now a combination of two
German and three British pumps cut the time down to only two hours.
The Israelis apparently failed to appreciate the significance of the water
cannon and expected a much longer completion time for any such effort.
The Egyptian Corps of Engineers also participated in the deception
plan to surprise the Israel Defense Forces. The corps, for example, failed
to complete certain projects to give the appearance of unpreparedness
for offensive operations. Meanwhile, the engineers worked to ensure
secrecy in approach areas to the canal and hid troop dispositions. A
sand rampart was constructed on the western side of the canal to
conceal final Egyptian troop movements. To prevent the compromise
of the date and time of the offensive, the Egyptian General Command
told the troops the night before the attack that they were to conduct
an exercise the next day to help the Corps of Engineers strengthen
defensive positions near the Suez Canal.
When the war broke out at 1405 on 6 October 1973, the Egyptian
engineers were poised to perform their numerous assignments. The first
infantry wave began at 1420 and involved approximately 1,000 rubber
boats and 8,000 men. Special boat battalions provided two engineers
for each rubber boat. Once across, the two engineers piloted their boats
back to the west bank, while the infantry scaled the ramparts. At 1430,
an Egyptian soldier raised his national flag on the east bank.
After scaling the ramparts, the Egyptian infantry bypassed strong
points to establish ambush positions for the anticipated Israeli counter
attacks. Meanwhile, combat engineers followed the infantry screen and
began clearing the minefields that the Israelis had placed around and
between the strongpoints. The immediate goal was to establish bridge
heads to a depth of three to five kilometers.
The second assault wave focused on tackling the sand barrier. The
Corps of Engineers had formed some seventy engineer groups specially
tailored for this task. Each group had to breach a single passage.
Working from wooden boats, these engineers attached their hoses to
the water pumps and began attacking the sand obstacle. Many breaches
occurred within two to three hours-according to schedule.
In some areas, however, the engineers experienced unexpected
problems. The Egyptian Third Army, in particular, had difficulty in
its sector in the south. Here, the clay proved resistant to high-water
pressure, and the engineers experienced delays in their breaching
operation. According to one Egyptian source, engineers in the Second
Army erected their bridges and ferries within nine hours, whereas the
Third Army's engineers needed sixteen.
Breaching the sand barrier created mud one meter deep in some
areas. Thus, the engineers had to fix floors for the passage of heavy
vehicles. Among the materials used were wood, rails, stone, sandbags,
steel plates, and metal nets.
Two hours after the initial landings on the east bank, ten bridging
battalions on the west bank descended to the water's edge to place
bridge sections into the water. The Egyptians used the BMP heavy
folding pontoon bridge. This Soviet-made bridge allowed the Egyptians
to shorten the erection time of bridges by a few hours and to repair
damaged bridges more rapidly by simple unit replacement. The use of
the BMP bridge caught the Israelis and many Western armies by
surprise.
Within an hour of their descent, bridging engineers began their
work, while a dummy bridge battalion constructed light bridges to serve
as decoys. The dummies effectively diverted Israeli pilots from the real
bridges. Meanwhile, the other engineers worked frantically to build the
landing sites for fifty or so ferries.
By 0800 on the second day of the war, the Egyptian Corps of
Engineers had made a successful crossing operation. Ten heavy bridges,
two for each of the five infantry divisions involved in the crossing,
were operational, and some 80,000 troops, 500 tanks, and 11,000 vehicles
had crossed the canal-all at a loss of only 170 men. It took some
15,000 engineers organized into 35 battalions to make the crossing possible.
Each engineer battalion had a specialized mission, such as manning
the boats or building bridges. Initially, the majority of the engineers
focused on the actual crossing, working to erect or repair bridges, for
example. Other engineers, however, supported the assaulting commandos
and infantrymen who penetrated to a depth of five kilometers east of
the canal to establish ambushes for counterattacking Israeli armor.
Combat engineers were essential for the establishment and consolidation
of the bridgeheads. Each Egyptian division possessed an engineer
battalion, and they cleared antitank and antipersonnel mines,
relying mainly on either Soviet-made mine probers or mine rollers.
The success of the crossing operation also depended on the detailed
planning and timely transportation of five infantry divisions, each
reinforced with an armored brigade. To get across the canal as fast as
possible, each piece of equipment, bridge, unit, and headquarters moved
according to a fixed timetable and specified destination. To facilitate
efficient movement of these units, the Corps of Engineers constructed
an elaborate road system-some 2,000 kilometers of roads and tracks
to move troops rapidly to the canal with the maximum of protection
and minimum of congestion. Extensive field exercises and rehearsals
removed glitches and limited friction. Military police, in cooperation
with engineers, worked to keep timetables on schedule.
The Egyptian General Staff needed competent leaders in order to
follow such timetables. Egypt had suffered defeat in the 1967 war in
large measure because of poor military leadership. An undisclosed
number of officers had abandoned their troops in battles. A noted
Egyptian writer referred to these officers as "chocolate soldiers," that
is, ones who melt away in the midst of battle. To solve the leadership
problem, the Egyptian General Staff devoted much time and effort in
developing leaders who, by example, gained the confidence and trust
of their men. Officers were expected to command at the front, similar
to their Israeli counterparts.
The Egyptian Corps of Engineers, like the rest of the armed forces,
needed exemplary commanders at the senior level to lead them in battle.
When the Third Army experienced delays in breaching the earthen
embankments, Major General Gamal Ali, the director of the corps,
personally visited the sector. Brigadier General Ahmad Hamdi, commander
of engineers in the Third Army, lost his life on 7 October while actually
directing bridge construction. He represented the type of military leaders
Egypt needed, not just in the engineer corps but in the entire armed forces.
With their successful crossing operation and establishment of
bridgeheads to a depth of twelve to fifteen kilometers in the Sinai, the
Egyptian Armed Forces rightfully etched a place in the annals of
modern military history. Analysts of this feat have tended to focus on
how Egypt achieved strategic deception and surprise, or they have
concentrated on the Egyptian employment of the SAM (surface-to-air
missile) systems and antitank weapons to neutralize the Israeli Air
Force and Armor Corps respectively.
Despite the significance of the above accomplishments, the Egyptian
Armed Forces still faced the obstacles of the Suez Canal and the Bar
Lev Line, and surmounting this challenge was essentially an engineering
problem. The Egyptian Corps of Engineers accomplished its mission
in part because of meticulous planning, elaborate preparations, vigorous
training, and commendable execution according to a set-piece battle
plan. The use of water cannons and the BMP bridges meant that the
Egyptians could establish their bridgeheads before the Israelis could
organize a large-scale counterattack.
Egyptian ingenuity and Soviet weapons thus combined to undermine
Israeli military strategy. The accomplishments by the Egyptian Corps
of Engineers in particular stand as a lesson of what a Third World
army can achieve if its political and military leaders devise a war
strategy that cleverly balances their military's capabilities with those
of their adversary.
Bibliography
Badri, Hasan, et al. The Ramadan War, 1973. New York: Hippocrene
Books, 1978.
Herzog, Chaim. The War of Atonement, October 1973. Boston: Little,
Brown and Co., 1975.
Insight Team (Sunday Times, London). Insight on the Middle East War.
London: A. Deutsch, 1974.
O'Ballance, Edgar. No Victor, No Vanquished: The Yom Kippur War.
San Rafael, CA: Presidio Press, 1978.
Shazly, Saad el. The Crossing of the Suez. San Francisco: American
Mideast Research, 1980.
Allied Special Operations: Jedburgh Teams, Summer 1944
Dr. Samuel J. Lewis
General Dwight D. Eisenhower, commander of the Supreme Head
quarters, Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF), possessed a unique
weapon to assist his invasion of the Continent in June 1944-some
100 three-man special operations teams, code-named Jedburgh. Great
Britain's Special Operations Executive (SOE) and the American Office
of Strategic Services (OSS) formed a combined office in London that
evolved into the Special Forces Headquarters (SFHQ). It was subordinate
to SHAEF's G3 branch. Brigadier (Sir) Colin McV. Gubbins originated
the concept of Jedburgh teams "to raise and arm the civilian
population [in occupied territory] to carry out guerrilla activities against
the enemy's lines of communication." Jedburghs were uniformed volunteers
from France, the United Kingdom, United States, Belgium, and
Holland who were rigorously screened and trained. SFHQ created the
Jedburgh teams in early 1944 at SOE's Milton Hall facility near
Peterborough, some seventy miles north of London. SHAEF and SFHQ
also created special forces detachments (each with about twelve officers
and twenty men) for each army and army group headquarters to coordinate
special operations with the field army.
Communications was vital for coordinating Allied operations behind
German lines. The SOE constructed networks of agents in occupied
France whose main link to London was by radio. The Jedburgh teams
constituted a "strategic reserve" to be sent as needed to known resistance
groups to provide training, weapons, and communications. An
SOE agent would arrange the reception committee for a Jedburgh team.
The SOE agents, Jedburghs, and the special forces detachments all
communicated through SFHQ's two radio stations on the outskirts of
London (see figure 1). The senior British officers who sanctioned the
Jedburgh concept insisted that the special forces detachments would
command and control resistance activity in their army or army group
sector. Yet those same special forces detachments could not contact
the Jedburgh teams or resistance groups directly; they could only do
so indirectly, through SFHQ.
Figure 1.
Some, but not all, Jedburgh teams experienced trouble with their
radio sets-troubles that began during the first training exercises in
England. Frequently, the radios or their crystals were lost during para
chute drops. Also, sometimes faulty packaging caused the radios to
shatter on impact. Other Jedburgh teams, whose radios did function,
frequently observed that no one in London seemed to listen to their
messages.
Major William Colby, who later served as director of the Central
Intelligence Agency, summarized these difficulties in describing his
experiences as leader of Team Bruce. Colby's team departed Harrington
Air Base in England on the night of 14 August 1944 in a black B-24
Liberator named "Slick Chick." Several hours later, the three para
chutists and their numerous packages and containers rained on the
peaceful town of Montargis, France. Since this location was some
twenty miles from the planned drop zone and far too close to German
combat units, the team departed rapidly without its radio and much of
its equipment. Consequently, Team Bruce was unable to contact London
until 17 August, when it used another SOE agent's radio. The team
remained tied to this agent's radio until 28 August when SFHQ finally
provided a replacement set. Colby subsequently observed that SFHQ
provided so little information to his team on Allied operations and
plans that he was forced to seek out the U.S. Third Army headquarters
for guidance. SFHQ's later botched attempts to dispatch C-47 aircraft
to Auxerre led Colby to observe, "The handling of this operation by
the London Headquarters was such as to destroy what faith we had
in it."
Jedburgh Team Basil expressed similar discontent with its radio
messages from London. On 25 August, its radio was destroyed in the
parachute drop, but SFHQ provided a replacement the following day.
The team operated in the Doubs area, assisting agent "Ligne" to
organize and train resistance groups. When its mission concluded, the
team observed that London invariably had verified receiving its messages
"but never [gave] any indication of whether the requests would
be answered. In actual fact they never were. London instead expressed
verbose sympathy for casualties which only wasted our time
deciphering."
Team Ephadrine parachuted into the Savoie Department on the
night of 12 August to coordinate the operations of the French and
Italian resistance forces. The team leader, Lieutenant Lawrence E.
Swank, died as a result of a shooting accident. The second in command,
Lieutenant Louis Donnart, did not criticize the radio set or procedures
but did observe: "We were never kept in the picture of the intentions
of the High Command after D-Day. In consequence, we could not always
direct our activities in the right direction at the proper times." He also
suggested that the Jedburgh teams would have been more effective if
they could have communicated with each other.
Perhaps the most frustrating Jedburgh operation was that of Team
Graham, led by Major (later General) M. G. M. ("Bing") Crosby. It did
not parachute but, rather, landed in the Basses-Alpes in a C-47 early
on 13 August. The team was promised a radio operator. One never
arrived, however, which meant that the team had no communications
whatsoever with SFHQ. Team Graham had only several days to train
its resistance group, which soon expanded to about 250 armed men.
As fate would have it, Team Graham was in the direct path of Task
Force Butler, a mechanized force designed to advance north from the
beaches of southern France. Crosby sought out the lead American unit
and met General Butler on 19 August at Sisteron. Butler's mobile force
was particularly weak in infantry, so one would expect the Americans
to appreciate the assistance of local volunteers familiar with the terrain.
The Americans, however, basically ignored the French Resistance and
its reports on the terrain and location of the enemy. Team Graham
returned from its mission on 25 September 1944.
The experiences of the eleven teams parachuted into northern
France reflect both the strengths and weaknesses of SFHQ's communications.
Team Jacob used a neighboring Special Air Service (SAS)
party's radio from 15 August to 18 September, before the team was
wiped out in the Vosges Mountains. Apparently, the team's radio broke
on landing, as did the replacement radio sent by SFHQ. On the other
hand, Team Aubrey experienced no communications problems during
the nineteen days it operated north of Paris (even though its radio
operator, Sergeant Ivor Hooker, came down with the mumps). The team
provided SFHQ with valuable reports on German airfields and troop
movements in the area. Team Augustus also experienced no communications
difficulties during its operations from 15 to 30 August in the
Aisne Department. On 30 August, the team received a message from
SFHQ to move north and capture several bridges over the Somme River.
Until 30 August, when the German Army caught and killed the three
Jedburghs, the team provided London with valuable reports on German
troop movements.
Team Andrew worked with the CITRONELLE inter-Allied mission
in the Ardennes Forest from 15 August to 8 September, when they
linked up with advancing American ground forces. In the drop, it lost
its radio crystals along with other equipment and hence depended on
the CITRONELLE radio throughout the operation. Following a firefight
with the Germans, the group remained in hiding, low on ammunition,
until the Allied ground forces approached. In similar fashion, Teams
Benjamin and Bernard remained together because one of their radios
was destroyed during the drop. Although able to contact SFHQ, effective
German security drove them into hiding in the Argonne Forest until
the U.S. Third Army arrived.
Team Alfred parachuted into the Oise sector on 24 August 1944, a
mere eight days before American ground forces overran the area. Its
radio worked perfectly, but the team received none of the arms deliveries
it requested. In addition, like Team Augustus, on 30 August, it received
instructions from SFHQ to seize and hold several bridges over the
Somme. This request was as unrealistic for Team Augustus as it was
for Team Alfred. Team Arnold's radio also worked quite well, but to
little avail. Team Arnold landed near Epernay at about 0300 on 25
August, but the U.S. 7th Armored Division arrived on the morning of
28 August.
Team Archibald parachuted into the Nancy area at 0110 on 26
August. The team's radio also broke on landing, but its SOE agent
reported its arrival and requested another. The team had few complaints
regarding communications. Team Stanley, which entered the Haute
Marne Department on 31 August, was pleased with its radio but observed
that SFHQ ignored its messages. The team suggested that, in
the future, teams should have the ability to call for air support. Team
Philip parachuted into the Meurthe-et-Moselle Department early on 1
September. It managed to communicate with London, although its radio
operator became separated from the team. The team was never able to
contact the resistance organizer sent to meet it and ended its mission
in Verdun attempting to obtain weapons from SFHQ to arm French
volunteers. SFHQ provided them no weapons.
The final Jedburghs dispatched in 1944 were the six Dutch-speaking
teams supporting Operation Market-Garden. Team Dudley parachuted
near Overijssel, a mere ten miles from the German border, at 0045 on
12 September. Its radio worked properly, but zealous German security
forces impelled the team to move fifteen times between then and 24
November. On that date, SFHQ directed all personnel in Holland to
break off contact with the resistance and cease broadcasting. The
American Jedburgh managed to exfiltrate, while the two Dutch members
of the team remained behind. Team Edward landed in a glider at 1410
on 17 September near Groesbeek with the British Airborne Corps head
quarters to which it was attached. Team Edward had one of the few
corps radios that worked, and the corps commander used the Jedburgh's
radio to ask SFHQ about the situation in Arnhem. Team Edward later
used the Dutch Resistance's telephone lines to contact the British 1st
Parachute Division in Arnhem. Its mission completed, the team returned
to England on 28 September to be debriefed. Team Daniel II worked
with the U.S. 101st Airborne Division, with whom it dropped on 17 September
near Zon, Holland. Both the team's radios were lost during
the drop, so it was unable to contact SFHQ throughout its mission.
After helping the division a good deal, the team returned to England
on 27 September. Team Claude accompanied the ill-fated British 1st
Parachute Division into the Arnhem airhead on 17 September. The team
lost its radio set during the drop and hence had no communications
with SFHQ. It fought as infantry at the Arnhem bridge. One Jedburgh
managed to exfiltrate back to the Allied lines. Team Clarence accompanied
the U.S. 82d Airborne Division to Groesbeek, Holland. The team
lost its radio in the drop but managed to pass information to Team
Edward via Dutch telephones. The team performed liaison work with
the Dutch Resistance until late September when it returned to London.
From 3 October to the end of the year, Team Stanley II trained and
organized Dutch volunteers into conventional infantry companies in
the Nijmegen area. It did not operate behind enemy lines and had no
communications problems.
These last six Jedburgh operations in Holland differed from those
in France. The Allies could not trust the Dutch Resistance, which had
been infiltrated by the Germans earlier in the war. For the most part,
these Jedburgh teams functioned as miniature special forces detachments,
deploying with their respective divisions and the one corps
headquarters. But here, too, the teams were hostages to unreliable radio
insertions. The teams that attempted to parachute in with their radios
usually lost them during the drop.
While the Jedburgh teams discussed thus far were largely unsuccessful,
several other Jedburgh teams achieved remarkable results. One
of the most successful operations was that of the first Jedburgh team
deployed, Team Hugh, led by Captain (Sir) William Crawshay. It
dropped at 0140 on 6 June south of the Loire River in the Indre
Department, where it worked with the French Resistance for the next
three and one-half months. They assisted SAS Team Bullbasket until
the Germans grew weary of the latter and hunted it down. Throughout
Team Hugh's stay, it arranged for parachute drops of weapons and
equipment while it trained and organized resistance groups. As the
team's ambushes became more effective, the Germans ceased traveling
in small groups and sought security in large columns. Team Bruce
responded by reporting the location of such columns to SFHQ for air
strikes. In early August, SFHQ instructed Crawshay (through a series
of British Broadcasting Corporation blind transmissions) to escalate
sabotage missions. At the same time, the local French Resistance
became worried that the Germans would destroy the valuable Eguzon
power station before retreating. As a result, Team Bruce requested a
large special operations force from SFHQ to save the facility. London
responded by dispatching OSS Operational Group "Patrick." Although
the Germans withdrew without destroying the plant, this was one of
the few instances that SFHQ complied with such a request from a
Jedburgh team. Crawshay desired to bring maximum force to bear on
the German LXIV Corps, which was attempting to march from the
Bay of Biscay back to Germany. Consequently, SFHQ arranged to fly
Crawshay to London in a C-47 (known as a "Dakota operation"), where
he requested larger and more responsive air strikes and the advance
of U.S. Army ground units across the Loire.
While SHAEF provided neither to Crawshay, apparently, SFHQ
treated Team Bruce differently from many other Jedburgh teams. Why
did Team Bruce prove so effective vis-á-vis several of the more troubled
teams? Obviously, the team used its radios more effectively and
efficiently than many other teams. Also, since Team Bruce was the
first team deployed and had the longest unbroken link with SFHQ, it
perhaps received more attention and care from SFHQ. A problem with
the radio nets in general, however, was that they were overworked. In
his study on the six Jedburgh teams deployed to the Finistère Department,
Elliot Rosner demonstrates that while SFHQ received 1,300
messages from the field in June, that number increased to 2,180 in
July and 7,912 in August. SFHQ was simply overwhelmed by the proliferation
of resistance groups and special operations teams across France.
Timing, then, undoubtedly influenced SFHQ's ability to communicate
effectively with Jedburgh teams and resistance groups in the field.
Communications remains inseparably linked to organization and
command and control. Jedburgh communications difficulties were obviously
part of a much larger problem. The generals who approved the
Jedburgh concept did so with the understanding that the special forces
detachments at army and army group headquarters would command
and control the Jedburgh teams. The special forces detachments may
have been successful in performing a number of functions, but they
failed to command and control the special operations forces behind
enemy lines. Special forces detachments, in fact, could only communicate
with Jedburgh teams through SFHQ. The command and control
that did exist, therefore, devolved to SFHQ. Not surprisingly, most of
the communications problems appeared in August, when SFHQ deployed
Colby's team and so many others to the field without a properly organized
scheme for command and control. The later Jedburgh operations
in support of Market-Garden clearly demonstrate, however, that even
the correct organization for command, control, and communications is
of limited value when radios are lost or broken during insertion.
The effectiveness of special operations teams obviously depends on
a myriad of factors too numerous and complex to be addressed here.
The operations of these selected Jedburgh teams in France and Holland
do, however, demonstrate the critical importance of effective communications
in such missions. The first step in acquiring such communications remains
obtaining effective and reliable radios, the lack of which bedeviled so many
of the Jedburgh teams. Communications itself, however, remains inseparably
tied to organization, command and control, and the purpose of those missions.
Special operations teams with effective radios cannot reach maximum efficiency
if the message centers cannot receive and evaluate their message traffic. And,
finally, the headquarters that commands and controls special operations teams must
have the ability to communicate with those teams rapidly.
Bibliography
Bank, Aaron. From OSS to Green Berets: The Birth of Special Forces.
Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1986.
Dreux, William B. No Bridges Blown. Notre Dame, IN: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1971.
Foot, M. R. D. SOE in France: An Account of the Work of the British
Special Operations Executive in France, 1940-1944. History of the
Second World War. London: Her Majesty's Stationery Office, 1966.
Deceiving the Enemy in Operation Desert Storm
Dr. Thomas M. Huber
From 24 to 28 February 1991, coalition forces in Operation Desert
Storm drove the Iraqi Army out of Kuwait, making this operation one
of the most successful campaigns waged in modern times. One of the
reasons for this triumph was General H. Norman Schwarzkopf's skillful
use of deception.
The Chinese classical writer Sun Tzu maintains that all warfare
is based on deception. Schwarzkopf's Central Command (CENTCOM)
headquarters was mindful of this premise in waging the U.S.-Iraqi
struggle. First of all, Schwarzkopf's planners made use of several things
they knew about the enemy. One of these was that Saddam Hussein,
the Iraqi president and commander in chief, had few reconnaissance
resources besides his air force, and even his air reconnaissance assets
were weak. U.S. CENTCOM planners also knew that Saddam's army
was accustomed to fighting set-piece battles employing massed head
on assaults against Iranian forces and so might be disposed to expect
and prepare for such fighting in the future. Thus, CENTCOM strategists
encouraged Saddam to expect a frontal attack by the coalition forces
where he was strongest, along the Kuwaiti-Saudi Arabian border. The
coalition accomplished this by arraying all its forces in a heavy double
line along that front during Operation Desert Shield. Massed assaults,
breaching methods, and the like were also emphasized in CENTCOM
briefings to the press (for Iraqi consumption).
The surprise element in the U.S. attack derived in part from the
Iraqis' failure to recognize the maneuver capabilities of the coalition
forces across the open desert. To attack from the west meant attacking
across the desert, and few Iraqi staff officers believed U.S. forces could
operate freely across that featureless terrain. Schwarzkopf's planners
also took advantage of the limited observation capabilities of the Iraqis
by applying the coalition's superior air power, beginning on 17 January
1991. Coalition air forces systematically destroyed the capabilities of
the Iraqi Air Force, thus making it almost impossible for the Iraqis to
observe the disposition of U.S. and coalition forces. Only after the Iraqi
Air Force was neutralized did the repositioning of coalition assets begin.
On 17 January, several hours after the air campaign had
commenced, Schwarzkopf inaugurated a colossal movement of forces
north westward, away from the Kuwaiti border and along the Iraqi border.
In short, the whole second line of massed troops along the Kuwaiti
border, including the U.S. XVIII Airborne Corps and VII Corps, moved
200 miles to the northwest. This movement began with the redeployment
of the XVIII Airborn Corps from the far right to the far left of the coalition
line, an average distance of 360 miles. A force of light and heavy
elements, the corps moved by air and on the ground to fill the new
west end of the coalition line. To elude Iraqi intelligence, the corps
was held south of Tapline Road. This limited the XVIII Airborne Corps'
tactical intelligence capability, which extended out only about thirty
kilometers, until cross-border operations were authorized in mid
February. Planners also feared that Bedouins in the area might report
troop movements. To minimize this possibility, Saudi Arabian light units
had been sent in beforehand to clear the area of as many Bedouins as possible.
The VII Corps moved deftly from the left of its old position to its
new one, an average distance of 140 miles. It began moving at about
the same time as the XVIII Airborne Corps, placing its 1st Cavalry
Division (transferred from XVIII Corps to VII Corps), the 1st Infantry
Division, and the British 1st Armored Division conspicuously on line.
The VII Corps deliberately left a gap on its left between itself and the
XVIII Airborne Corps to encourage the Iraqis to believe that the coalition
line ended with the VII Corps' position. The VII Corps' other
armored elements, the 1st and 3d Armored Divisions and the 2d
Armored Cavalry Regiment, were moved into line only later in the
deployment, reaching the line on 17 February, where their presence
intentionally surprised the Iraqis.
The VII Corps also achieved surprise through leaving behind an
entire decoy military base south of the Wadi al-Batin, with mock missiles,
fuel dumps, radio traffic, trucks, and tanks, while at the same time
making abundant use of multispectral close combat decoys. This
deception made it harder for the Iraqis to realize that all of VII Corps'
forces were being evacuated to the west. U.S. planners also fielded
special teams along the Kuwaiti border to set up mock headquarters
in the rear of would-be assault axes. These headquarters aired a high
volume of encrypted radio messages so that Iraqi listeners would have
the impression that major forces were operating in the area. In fact,
the headquarters consisted of only a few troops using portable
equipment at otherwise deserted sites.
Between 17 January and 17 February, CENTCOM had secretly
moved most of two full combat corps, totaling 100,000 men and 1,200
tanks, an average distance of 200 miles to the west of the original
line. The logistical aspect of all this was especially significant and
difficult, since Schwarzkopf prudently insisted on positioning enough
food, water, fuel, parts, and ammunition to meet the needs of this force
for sixty days. Three enormous depots were created along the new
northwestern part of the line for this purpose, which required a torrent
of traffic along two-lane Tapline Road, a truck passing along it every
fifteen seconds. Hundreds of thousands of tons were moved along the
road in a flow that moved 24 hours a day for 2 weeks and employed
some 65,000 armored and support vehicles. Traffic of this density would
have been extremely vulnerable to enemy air power-had there been any.
Meanwhile, coalition air bombardments continued to be directed at
targets in Kuwait-not targets to the west-to suggest that Kuwait
would be the object of the main ground attack. Air targets were shifted
west only just prior to the 24 February assaults. Skirmishing along
the Kuwaiti border was also maintained to draw the Iraqi planners'
attention. Similarly, just west of the Kuwaiti border in the VII Corps'
sector, the 1st Cavalry Division and the 1st Infantry Division conducted
counterreconnaissance raids after 9 February.
Further deception was achieved during the last few days before
the coalition attacked. The U.S. 1st Marine Division, previously deployed
opposite the al-Wafra oil fields near the coast of the Persian Gulf,
rapidly moved westward to the bend in the Kuwaiti border. The 2d
Marine Division, which had been stationed east of the 1st, also broke
camp and established new positions farther west. The purpose of these
moves was to allow the Marines to assault into a sector of the Iraqi
fortifications where they were not expected.
An additional dimension of deception activity, besides masking the
stealthy relocation of the XVIII Airborne Corps and parts of the VII
Corps and the westward movement of the 1st and 2d Marine Divisions,
was the coalition's demonstration of amphibious assault capabilities.
As part of this ruse, an impressive amphibious assault task force was
stationed conspicuously off the coast of Kuwait. This fleet was comprised
of forty amphibious landing craft, the largest such force to be
assembled since Inchon. The force contained the most up-to-date,
equipment-laden amphibious ships, as well as aircraft carriers to provide
preparatory air bombardments, close combat support, and helicopter
airlift. Battleships provided offshore artillery support. For movementto the beach, these forces were equipped with new LVTP-7s (landing
vehicle, track, personnel), LCAC (landing craft air cushion) hovercraft,
and CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters, among other things. In short,
this was a powerful and credible force stationed threateningly close to
the Iraqi defenses along the coast.
U.S. CENTCOM regularly made references to the press concerning
the training, capabilities, and presence of the amphibious force in the
Persian Gulf and, later, off the coast of Kuwait. On 1 February,
Newsweek magazine carried a feature article on the planned amphibious
invasion. To keep the idea of a beach assault in the news, large-scale
amphibious rehearsals were conducted, including, notably, the one held
during the last 10 days of January in which 8,000 U.S. Marines landed
on the coast of Oman.
Moreover, in this period before the main campaign began, Navy
SEALs (sea-air-land teams) carried out numerous missions along the
Kuwaiti coast to gather information on the beach gradients and firmness
of the sand, the nature and location of minefields, and the disposition of
enemy forces. Carrier air and naval artillery missions were
also executed throughout the period to support suspicions of a major
coalition amphibious assault.
Coalition forces also conducted other deception measures once the
main ground operations began on 24 February (see map 7). As part of
this deception, the 1st and 2d Marine Divisions, at 0400, attacked the
Iraqis at the east end of the eastern sectors where coalition planners
wanted the Iraqis to think all the assaults would take place. The Marine
divisions moved forward violently before the northwestern parts of the
line became active. The Marines attacked through the first defense line
of minefields, barbed wire, and fire-trench barriers, then struck on into
the second line of defenses, successfully breaching these also. Both divisions
then streamed through the opening into the Iraqi rear in Kuwait.
The object of these assaults was not only to break through and destroy
the Iraqi positions, which they did, but also to fix Iraqi forces and to
confirm, for a time, the Iraqis' assumption that all of the coalition
attacks would occur on the Kuwaiti front. These assaults were apparently
successful in all these objectives.
All the coalition forces vigorously demonstrated against the Iraqi
positions in this sector. Notably, the U.S. 1st Cavalry Division launched
a mock attack against the Iraqi line just west of Wadi al-Batin, the
broad valley that marks the western boundary of Kuwait. The intention,
again, was to confirm for the Iraqis that the main axis of attack would
be at the west end of the Kuwaiti border, not farther west in the desert.
This attack also sealed Iraqi forces in the Kuwaiti elbow so they could
not attack the XVIII Airborne Corps and VII Corps' three logistics
depots after the assault began. At the easternmost extremity of the
line, the 5th Marine Expeditionary Brigade came ashore at Saudi ports
to serve as a reserve behind the Saudi forces attacking the Iraqi lines
adjacent to the coast.
Map 7.
To the northwest, airmobile forces of the XVIII Airborne Corps air
assaulted deep into Iraq, establishing forward staging areas. The French
6th Light Armored Division secured the Salmon airstrip. On the following
day, the 101st Airborne Division blocked Highway 8. According
to the original plan, the VII Corps was supposed to delay its advance
for a day while the Iraqi forces were drawn into battle in the vicinity
of Kuwait. Coalition forces, however, were so successful that the delay
was unnecessary and Schwarzkopf ordered the VII Corps to advance
earlier than planned, on the afternoon of 24 February. When Iraqi
strategists finally realized that the major assault sector was in the
northwest, they could do little in defense.
So that Iraqi commanders would continue to anticipate an amphibious
attack, U.S. amphibious support vessels along the coast remained
positioned as if threatening to attack, and the battleships Missouri and
Wisconsin and carrier-based aircraft continued bombardments. The
object was to fix the six Iraqi infantry divisions deployed along the
shoreline, and this was achieved. Iraqi strategists made no early effort
to withdraw their forces from the coastal defense works, with the
consequence that those forces were rapidly pinned against the coast by
the 1st and 2d Marine Divisions, which had broken through the lines
in the south.
All in all, the deception measures implemented by the U.S. forces
were extremely successful. Iraqi forces initially developed fortifications
along the 150-mile southern border of Kuwait and along the 100-mile
long coastline. Between August 1990 and February 1991, the Iraqis only
extended their lines another fifty miles farther westward along the
Iraqi-Saudi border. Many Iraqi heavy guns in Kuwait City were later
found to be mounted pointing out to sea and incapable of being easily
moved to face an inland enemy, like the guns at Singapore during
World War II.
After the ground campaign began at 0400 on 24 February, Iraqi
forces remained in their positions, crammed into a 200-mile-long wedge
along the southern border and eastward shoreline of Kuwait. The
thousands of men and guns arrayed along the Kuwaiti coast were
wasted once the campaign began. At the same time, the XVIII Airborne
Corps and VII Corps, attacking across a 200-mile front on the Iraqi
Saudi border, were almost unopposed. In short, hundreds of thousands
of Iraqi troops were enveloped in the trap sprung by the VII Corps.
All of this was possible because of the efficiency of CENTCOM's deception
plan. Today's AirLand Battle doctrine mandates reliance on force multipliers
such as technology, mobility, and deception. The experiences of Desert
Storm exemplify that deception is crucially effective as a force multiplier.
Large-scale deception was especially difficult in Desert Storm
because of the omnipresence of the electronic media and its reporting
capability. On the other hand, the media often emphasized U.S.
capabilities and provided their estimate of U.S. intentions. Since troop
movements can be reported instantaneously, the achievement of deception
poses unprecedented challenges for modern commanders. Schwarzkopf
overcame this challenge by feeding information to the news-hungry
journalists about activity along the east end of the Kuwaiti border,
not the west end, and about a possible amphibious assault. The early
engagement of Iraqi forces and U.S. Marines at the eastern village of
Kafji also may have accidentally served Schwarzkopf's purpose of
focusing media attention on the east. Schwarzkopf did not give false
information; he merely gave a misleading emphasis to true information.
Deception during Desert Storm also was achieved at the presidential
level by President George Bush, who consistently gave the impression
to the Iraqis that political realities obliged him to send U.S. forces
into Kuwait rather than across Iraq's borders-despite the obvious
military advantages of avoiding a direct attack into Kuwait. Using
deception, Bush shrewdly exploited the political environment to make
the militarily implausible appear plausible.
Although the coalition forces used deception in innovative ways,
some forms of deception were not utilized. The coalition found it difficult
to deceive the Iraqis as to the order of battle or the time of the attack.
This was because the order of battle was accessible to the Iraqis
through the press, and the timing of the attack was known almost
exactly because it followed so closely on the United Nations-mandated
deadline for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait. The Iraqis were misled
mainly about the location of the attacks. But in most cases, it is
advantageous for an enemy to be mistaken also about the composition
of fighting forces and the time and place of their attack.
Also, security for the deception plan was not perfect. A lap-top
computer containing details of the plan was stolen from the car trunk
of an assistant to the British joint commander for the Persian Gulf.
The computer disappeared while the car was parked at Acton in west
London and was returned anonymously to the Ministry of Defense three
weeks later. There is no evidence that the plan reached the Iraqis, but
it is clear that the security surrounding the plan was imperfect.
Despite these shortcomings, however, Operation Desert Storm was
uniquely successful, in large part because its skillful deception plan
allowed the CENTCOM commander to strike the enemy where he
was unprepared and bring overwhelming force to bear on the decisive
point of the battlefield.
Bibliography
"Deceptions Gave Allies Fast Victory." Washington Post (28 February
1991).
"The 100-Hour War." Army Times (11 March 1991).
"To the Shores of Kuwait," Newsweek (11 February 1991).
"Schwarzkopf: Strategy Behind Desert Storm." Washington Post (28
February 1991).
"Stolen Computer Contained Gulf Deception Plan." The Times (13
March 1991).
The German Thrust to the English Channel, May 1940
Dr. Gary J. Bjorge
Decisiveness is the quality of character that keeps a commander
focused on achieving his mission. A decisive commander has the
determination and strength of will to push his forces to make a greater effort. On the offense, he seeks to maintain forward momentum
built by earlier successes; when on the defense, he strives to regain the
initiative. Essentially, the decisive commander exploits opportunities to inflict the greatest possible damage on the enemy and gain the greatest
possible advantage for his side.
Many examples can be cited to illustrate the importance of decisiveness
in planning and in fighting on the battlefield. Few campaigns do
this better than the German invasion of France and the Low Countries
in May 1940. In this campaign, decisive commanders shaped the planning
process and, by pressing the fight, made a great contribution to
victory. Interestingly, this campaign also shows how vacillation and
indecision can hamper operations and diminish the fruits of victory.
In late September 1939, following the joint German-Soviet conquest
of Poland, Hitler turned his attention westward toward France and
Great Britain, the two nations that had declared war on Germany
following its invasion of Poland. On 27 September, in a move that surprised his military commanders, Hitler announced his desire to launch
an autumn offensive against France through the Low Countries. On 9
October, he issued a directive ordering the German Army's General
Staff to develop a campaign plan.
The General Staff responded on 19 October with Fall Gelb (Plan
Yellow), which envisioned a large offensive through the Netherlands
and central Belgium to the sea. The main effort was to be launched
on the northern wing by Army Group B, a massive 43-division force
that included most of the armored and mechanized divisions in the
army. In the center, opposite Luxembourg, the twenty-two, divisions of
Army Group A were to move forward and cover the southern flank of
Army Group B as it advanced. On the southern wing, opposite the
Maginot Line, Army Group C's eighteen infantry divisions were to
defend the Siegfried Line. The objective of the campaign was to provide
a broad protective zone for the Ruhr industrial area while establishing
favorable conditions for air and sea operations against Great Britain
and land operations against France.
Fall Gelb bore similarities to the famous Schlieffen Plan of 1914,
but it was much less ambitious. The Schlieffen Plan had envisioned
the German Army moving in a great are through Belgium and northern
France to take Paris and finally crush the entire French Army against
the Swiss frontier. Fall Gelb sought only a partial victory. Senior
German Army commanders had no hope of achieving strategic surprise
and assumed that the strong defenses and natural obstacles in the
area to be crossed and the relatively even force ratios between the two
sides made it impossible to defeat the Allies decisively in a single campaign.
After this initial campaign, another would have to follow.
When Army Group A's chief of staff, General Erich von Manstein,
first read Fall Gelb, he was appalled. He feared that such an offensive
would inevitably lead to a stalemate. He doubted that Army Group B
could maintain a rapid pace of advance because it would be attacking
large forces manning strong defensive positions. Furthermore, he felt
that Army Group A lacked the strength to prevent the Allies from
establishing a defensive front from the end of the Maginot Line to the
lower Somme River. Also, Manstein was not convinced that the 23
August 1939 Nazi-Soviet Pact had completely eliminated the Soviet
threat to Germany. He was against a plan that risked the German
Army's offensive capability for hope of only a limited victory.
Manstein thought it better to shift the main effort from Army Group
B to Army Group A and send a massive armored force westward
through the Ardennes region to cut off and destroy all Allied forces
expected to be in Belgium. Manstein believed that such a sichelschnitt
(cut of the sickle) maneuver could achieve strategic surprise, favorably
shift the balance of forces in the west, and make it impossible for the
French to organize a strong defense for the rest of their country. This
potentially decisive operation justified the risks involved.
Army Group A's commander, General Gerd von Rundstedt, agreed
with Manstein and, on 31 October, forwarded a proposal of Manstein's
concept to the General Staff. Despite Manstein and Rundstedt's
continued agitation for the proposal, the General Staff remained unresponsive. In late January 1940, the Army High Command (to free itself of
Manstein's challenges of the General Staff plan) appointed him
commander of a newly forming infantry corps. It looked unlikely that
Manstein's plan would be accepted. But on 17 February, Manstein and
other new corps commanders were called to Berlin to meet with Hitler.
After lunch, Hitler invited Manstein into his study and asked him what
he thought about the upcoming offensive on the Western Front.
Manstein forcefully expressed his ideas, and Hitler agreed with his
analysis. Three days later, an operation order embodying Manstein's
ideas was issued. His persistence had at last been rewarded.
Manstein gave the German Army a plan that might lead to a decisive
victory in the west; General Heinz Guderian turned that possibility into
a battlefield reality. After Hitler decided to shift the main effort
of the offensive to Army Group A, its size was increased to some
forty-five divisions assigned to three armies. On the right wing was
the Fourth Army under General Gunther von Kluge, in the center was
the Twelfth Army under General Wilhelm List, and on the left wing
was the Sixteenth Army under General Ernst Busch. The bulk of
German armor was attached to the Twelfth Army under the control of
a newly created panzer group commanded by General Ewald von Kleist.
Of the three panzer corps in Kleist's panzer group, one was Guderian's
XIX Panzer Corps, with three armored divisions, the 1st, 2d, and 10th.
Guderian's mission in the offensive was to lead the advance through
the Ardennes to Sedan and force a crossing of the Meuse River. Because
of Guderian's decisive leadership, his corps accomplished this and much more.
In the 1920s, Guderian had become interested in tanks and, by the
end of the decade, was one of the German Army's foremost tank
experts. He believed that massed armor, properly supported by the other
arms, would play the decisive role on future battlefields. By 1935, he
was convinced that this role should include deep penetrations into the
enemy rear to disrupt lines of communication and command and control
networks. Guderian, however, had difficulty creating the armored force
necessary to execute this vision of warfare because there were many
high-ranking skeptics within the army, resources were scarce, and the
Versailles Treaty had placed limitations on German rearmament. Hitler,
however, changed the situation. He was fascinated by tanks and
supported the growth of German armored forces. During the war against
Poland, armored forces were not concentrated for mass, deep attacks.
Nonetheless, they fought effectively and proved their value. Now, in
May 1940, these forces were massed in the greatest concentration of
tanks yet seen. The attack through the Ardennes to the sea was to
give Guderian the opportunity to put his theories of mobile warfare
into practice.
The German offensive began early on the morning of 10 May (see
map 8). At 0530, Guderian crossed the Luxembourg frontier with
elements of the 1st Panzer Division. He was extremely confident in the ability of his officers and men and had no doubt that his corps could
push all the way to the English Channel. He had complete faith in
his three division commanders, all of whom shared his belief that once
armored formations had broken into the clear in the enemy's rear, they
should continue to advance as far as possible. He hoped that his
superiors would give him the freedom to do just that.
Map 8.
Guderian's first challenge from his superiors came on the first night
of the offensive, when the panzer group headquarters, in response to a
report that French cavalry was moving up from the south, ordered the
10th Panzer Division to change its direction to meet the threat. Since
Guderian wished to maximize the forces available to him at Sedan, he
immediately asked that the orders be canceled. The panzer group
headquarters finally did so, and the 10th Panzer Division resumed its
westward movement. No French cavalry appeared.
By the evening of 12 May, elements of the 1st and 10th Panzer
Divisions had captured Sedan, and preparations were under way to
attack across the Meuse River. This attack was successfully carried
out on 13 May, and by the next afternoon, German forces were fighting
some ten miles west of Sedan. On 15 May, Guderian kept his forces
fighting in an effort to break completely through the French defenses,
but that night, he received orders to halt. Guderian was furious. Halting
the advance might give the enemy time to regroup and would diminish
the advantage his forces had gained through surprise. To cancel this
order, Guderian contacted the panzer group's chief of staff and then
talked to Kleist himself. During their heated discussion, Guderian told
Kleist that his action could result in a repeat of the 1914 "Miracle of
the Marne," where the French had hastily organized a defense and
ended Germany's chances for a quick victory. Finally, Kleist relented
and granted Guderian permission to resume his advance for another
twenty-four hours in order to clear space for the advancing infantry
corps that would be holding the bridgehead.
The fighting to cross the Meuse and expand the bridgehead had
been heavy and had taken its toll on German forces. When Guderian
visited his forward units on the morning of 16 May, fatigue showed
on the faces of his officers and men. This concerned Guderian, because
he had learned on the previous day from a captured French document
that the French were becoming desperate in their effort to stop his
advance. Now was the time to keep the pressure on. To encourage his
men, Guderian assembled his companies and told them what was on
his mind. He read them the captured message; explained its significance;
expressed his appreciation for what they had accomplished to date;
and told them that if they continued to push forward, they would soon
be in the clear. This action had the desired effect, for his men advanced
with renewed vigor. With French resistance slackening, the lead units
advanced over forty miles before nightfall.
Guderian thought such rapid advances should be armor's role in
war, but his actions were too daring for some of his superiors, especially
Hitler. Guderian felt he should exploit emerging French battlefield
weaknesses. Hitler, however, was becoming increasingly fearful of a
French attack from the south and wanted Kleist to wait for the infantry
to catch up with his panzer units. Kleist had tried to rein in Guderian
with his order on the night of 15 May, only to see him advance forty
miles on 16 May. In the early morning hours of 17 May, Kleist ordered
Guderian to stop his advance immediately and to meet him at
Guderian's airstrip at 0700. When the two generals met, Kleist berated
Guderian for disobeying orders; Guderian responded by asking to be
relieved of command. Kleist agreed and ordered Guderian to transfer
his command to the most senior general in his corps. After Guderian
returned to his corps headquarters, he sent a message to Rundstedt
saying that he would be handing his command over to General Rudolph
Veiel and would then fly to the army group headquarters to make a
full report. Almost immediately, he received a reply asking him to wait
there until List arrived. List arrived early in the afternoon and
explained that the order to stop the advance had come from the Army
High Command and had to be obeyed. He did, however, authorize a
"reconnaissance in force," under the condition that the corps headquarters
not move. List also told Guderian that he could not give up his command.
After List left, Guderian immediately set his reconnaissance in force
in motion. To keep the Army High Command from monitoring his
movements, he left his corps headquarters in place and had wire laid
between it and his advanced headquarters. Around 0900 on 18 May,
the 2d Panzer Division reached St. Quentin on the Somme River. To
its left, the 1st Panzer Division was moving toward Peronne. By the
evening of 19 May, the XIX Corps was on the Cambrai-Peronne line.
During the night of 19-20 May, Guderian regained his freedom of
movement and was authorized to attack Amiens. He assigned this
mission to the 1st Panzer Division and ordered the 2d Panzer Division
to push on to Abbeville and the sea. On the morning of 20 May,
Guderian observed the attack on Amiens. The city fell quickly, and
after a brief tour of the area, Guderian went north to join the 2d Panzer
Division at Albert. There, the division commander reported that he was
nearly out of fuel and proposed stopping for the day. Guderian
disagreed, ordered a redistribution of fuel, and continued the advance. As a result, elements of the 2d Panzer Division reached Abbeville (sixty
miles away) by 1900, and during the night, a battalion reached the
coast. This marked the end of the drive across France. In only ten
days, Guderian's corps had moved from Germany to the English
Channel and had cut all lines of communication between France and the Allied armies in Belgium. His decisive leadership had contributed to a
rapid, decisive victory.
Having overcome French resistance and the nervousness of superiors,
Guderian now sought to destroy the Allied armies. His plan after
reaching the coast was to turn north and rapidly capture the Channel
ports. The 2d Panzer Division was to capture Boulogne, the 1st Division
Calais, and the 10th Division Dunkirk. These events, however, did not
materialize. First, Guderian wasted a day (21 May) waiting for orders
from above. Next, the 10th Panzer Division was temporarily detached
from his command and placed in panzer group reserve. Still, by 24
May, Guderian's corps had taken Boulogne, surrounded Calais, and
was approaching Dunkirk. Then, suddenly, Hitler issued his famous
order that stopped the advance of German ground forces outside
Dunkirk and left the destruction of Allied forces cornered there to the
Luftwaffe. Guderian was stunned, but he obeyed.
Map 9.
The Luftwaffe, however, failed to destroy the Allied armies, and
by the time German ground attacks resumed three days later, the Allies
had organized a strong defense. From 28 May to 4 June, when Dunkirk
fell, 226,000 British and 112,000 French and Belgian soldiers were
evacuated to England, despite German efforts to stop them. The result
could still be considered a German victory. As Churchill put it, "Wars
are not won by evacuations." However, to Guderian, the successful
evacuation of Allied troops was a great German failure brought on by
indecision and confusion. He always regretted that this opportunity
for a decisive victory had been lost.
Bibliography
Guderian, Heinz. Panzer Leader. Washington, DC: Zenger Publishing
Co., 1979.
Horne, Alistair. To Lose a Battle: France, 1940. Boston: Little, Brown
and Co., 1969.
Macksey, Kenneth. Guderian: Creator of the Blitzkrieg. New York: Stein
and Day, 1976.
Manstein, Erich von. Lost Victories. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1982.
Perrett, Bryan. A History of the Blitzkrieg. New York: Stein and Day, 1983.
Rothbrust, Florian K. Guderian's XIXth Panzer Corps and the Battle
of France: Breakthrough in the Ardennes, May 1940. New York:
Praeger,1990.
The Defense of the No Name Line in the Korean War
Major Robert E. Connor
The defense of the No Name Line (see map 9) during the second
phase of the Communist Chinese Forces (CCF) Spring Offensive in
the Korean War vividly demonstrates how the purposes of the defense
can be successfully achieved when resourceful and resolute senior
commanders insist on high standards of preparation from subordinate
leaders, commanders, and staffs at every level. The conduct of the
defense by the U.S. X Corps and the 2d Infantry Division in Korea
from 16 through 22 May 1951 is a study in the imaginative use of
reserves and the combat power of combined arms. In this operation,
UN forces reversed a nearly disastrous situation by employing a strong defense.
By May 1951, the Korean War was in its eleventh month. Much
had happened. MacArthur's masterful turning movement at Inchon
(15-25 September 1950) had broken the ring forged around Pusan by
the North Korean People's Army (NKPA) after its invasion of South
Korea in June 1950. Advancing north, UN forces subsequently closed
on the Yalu River. But on 25 November 1950, the CCF intervened.
In the face of this devastating reversal, UN forces evacuated North
Korea entirely and withdrew to a line (named "Line B") running from
the Imjin River across the 38th Parallel to the east coast and went
over to the defense. The third CCF offensive in January retook Seoul,
but a UN counteroffensive (Operation Ripper) succeeded in nearly
restoring the line along the 38th Parallel once more.
On 22 April, the CCF initiated the first phase of its Spring Offensive,
with the main effort exerted on the U.S. Eighth Army above Seoul.
After desperate fighting, the enemy thrust was blunted, and the UN
defensive line restored. The CCF's attempt on General James A. Van
Fleet's left convinced the new Eighth Army commander that this would
continue to be his area of highest risk. He therefore weighted the defensive
line on his left by placing the U.S. I and IX Corps there.
CCF intentions during the first two weeks in May 1951 remained
vague. Reconnaissance aircraft caught glimpses of massive troop move
ments, but the purpose of these concentrations remained inconclusive
and obscure to the Eighth Army G2. Nevertheless, activity by the
Communist forces fit a pattern that preceded other CCF offensives. By
10 May, the G2, Lieutenant Colonel James Tarkenton, reported that
an all-out CCF offensive aimed at Seoul was imminent. The continuing
shift of CCF forces to the east had convinced Tarkenton and Van Fleet
that the enemy's main effort would seek to rupture the seam between
the U.S. I and IX Corps in the 24th Infantry Division area. Based on
this analysis, Van Fleet canceled his planned "Detonate" offensive and
prepared to defend against an estimated Chinese force of perhaps twelve
or thirteen divisions in the CCF-NKPA's main effort and an additional
six to ten divisions in a secondary effort in the east. All considerations
of what is today called METT-T (mission, enemy, terrain, troops, and
time available) seemed to favor this assessment. The terrain was especially
favorable for a Chinese attack. The probable invasion area had
good road networks and offered a close approach to Seoul.
The problem with this assessment was that the CCF was a force
completely unlike the UN forces facing it. The CCF was essentially an
all-light infantry formation with few supporting branches and negligible
logistical support. This was made apparent by the inability of the
Chinese to sustain its previous offensives. The CCF moved by stealth
and attacked at night on foot-always on foot. Thus, the treacherous
terrain in eastern Korea posed no insurmountable obstacle to the CCF.
In fact, the terrain provided the Chinese a profitable avenue for exploitation.
Moreover, it was defended by only four Republic of Korea (ROK) divisions.
The CCF's plan was both audacious and grandiose. The CCF's
intent was to annihilate the U.S. X Corps by overrunning two ROK
corps in the east, thus coming in behind the U.S. 2d Infantry Division
and rolling up the U.S. X Corps. This accomplished, the CCF would
make a dash to Wonju, cut west below the Man River, and then advance
either to Suwon, completely enveloping Seoul, or strike south to Pusan.
This wishful Chinese scenario, however, was not seriously considered
by the Eighth Army planners.
Anchoring the U.S. X Corps line in the east was the U.S. 2d Infantry
Division. It was oriented northwest on the No Name Line and disposed west to east as follows: the 9th Infantry (tied in with the 1st
Marine Division); the 38th Infantry (plus the Dutch Battalion); and
Task Force Zebra (armor and infantry)-farthest east adjoining the ROK
5th Division. The 23d Infantry was in corps reserve.
When intelligence in the days immediately before the Chinese attack
suggested a massive easterly movement by the CCF, the 2d Infantry
Division made frenzied preparations. The division distributed operation
plans to units dealing with an exhaustive list of contingencies. In
addition, soldiers stretched mile after mile of barrier wire in front of division defensive positions. Engineers also placed numerous and carefully sited
minefields. The division gave the greatest emphasis to powerful artillery
support. Included in this formidable array of firepower were the
division's four organic battalions, further buttressed by the self-propelled
howitzers of X Corps' artillery. Artillery planners considered all possible
exigencies, had vast amounts of ordnance stockpiled, and employed all
guns with great care.
The defensive preparation insisted on by Lieutenant Colonel Wallace
Hanes of the 3d Battalion, 38th Infantry-located on Hill 800 near the
center of the line-was exemplary. Hanes demanded that his commanders
and troops attend assiduously to all aspects of defensive preparation,
especially to individual fighting positions. Troops dug deep,
erecting sufficient overhead cover to offer protection from artillery bursts.
If the enemy overran Hanes' positions, he intended to call in artillery
(armed with proximity fuses) on his own lines, thus catching the enemy
in the open while his men lay safe in their holes. This intention sparked
a new wave of enthusiasm in the 3d Battalion's digging efforts.
A special combat outpost line (named "Roger Line") was established
4,000 yards forward of the No Name Line and manned by elements of
the 38th Infantry. This regiment sent out seemingly endless patrols
that experienced little enemy contact. When contact was made, the
CCF-NKPA soldiers invariably turned and fled. The commander of the
2d Infantry Division, Major General Clark R. Ruffner, desperate to fix
the enemy's position, ordered the 9th Infantry minus its third battalion
(in division reserve) to move forward of the Roger Line. Task Force
Zebra, holding the division's right flank, also sent armor patrols forward
to make enemy contact. Neither attempts were successful. As the middle
of May neared, however, Communist force density and resistance increased.
The 2d Infantry Division sent out company-size and larger
"power patrols" to deal with these concentrations.
The expected CCF attack began early on the evening of 16 May
against the U.S. X Corps and ROK I and III Corps. The point of
attack shocked the UN forces. Expecting an all-out attack against Seoul,
Van Fleet was amazed when reports came to him of a massive attack
(some fifteen CCF and five NKPA divisions) developing far to the east
in rugged, untraveled terrain.
Within a few hours, most of the ROK regiments deployed to the
right of the U.S. 2d Infantry Division disintegrated. As the hours
passed, the situation in the ROK sector became disastrous. American
advisers to the ROK units were left stranded to fend for themselves;
most were killed or captured. In all, some 40,000 ROK soldiers were
involved in this largest rout of the Korean War.
The vacancy left by the routed South Koreans exposed the U.S. 2d
Infantry Division's entire right flank. Since the 2d Division was attacking
to the northeast, an enormous enemy force now confronted its rear.
(At the same time, the 2d became the right wing of the UN line.)
Six CCF divisions struck the 2d Infantry Division on 16 May, Task
Force Zebra (the 1st and 2d Battalions of the 38th Infantry) initially
being the hardest hit. The 1st and 2d Battalions called for fire support
and immediately received an awesome response. As the hours wore on,
these artillery barrages ultimately broke the back of the CCF attacks
in this sector.
After the initial attacks on the night of 16 May, Ruffner realized
that his right flank was vulnerable. Calling up his reserves, he
reinforced Task Force Zebra with the French Battalion and the 72d Tank Battalion. The next morning, he got the 2d and 3d Battalions of the
23d Infantry from corps reserve as well.
The night of the 17th was very hard for the men of Task Force
Zebra, especially those in the 38th Infantry. But despite repeated CCF
attacks, the task force stubbornly held its positions, inflicting heavy
casualties on the Chinese infantry. On Zebra's left, where the 38th
Infantry was posted, the 2d Battalion of the 38th was mauled on the
outpost line. This unit caught the brunt of the massed CCF attacks.
The Chinese swarmed over the U.S. companies and isolated and overran
Company E of the 2d Battalion. The battalion's commander asked to
be pulled back from the outpost line to save his unit from annihilation.
Permission was granted, and the Dutch Battalion was called up from
the reserve to bolster the now-reinforced No Name Line.
At dawn on 17 May, fanatical CCF attacks continued in the 1st
Battalion, 38th Infantry's sector. To relieve the beleaguered battalion
on Hill 1051, the Dutch Battalion mounted a counterattack and was
badly-mangled by the Chinese.
That same morning, at X Corps headquarters, Van Fleet conferred
with Lieutenant General Edward M. Almond, and they assessed the
situation. Although the 2d Infantry Division was fighting valiantly and
the artillery was responding magnificently, the situation was critical.
The 2d's right was completely exposed, and units on the front were so
engaged as to make any shift to reinforce the right impossible. Almond
expressed fears that the X Corps' and possibly the Eighth Army's rear
areas were in jeopardy. He insisted that he needed all the Eighth
Army's reserves for the emergency on his right, where he would deploy
them by regiment to deny the enemy that flank. Van Fleet, still unconvinced that this was the enemy's main effort, released only the 15th
Infantry from army reserve, along with one artillery battalion, to aid
Almond. Before releasing the entire 3d Infantry Division and extra
artillery, Van Fleet wanted to wait a day or two to be absolutely sure
Seoul was safe.
Van Fleet was determined to reverse this dangerous situation. He
insisted that it would do no good to fall back anywhere along the
line; in fact, he ordered that under no circumstances should any
commander make such a decision. Approval to fall back would rest with
each unit's next higher commander, and only if a battalion-size or larger
unit became combat ineffective could such a decision be justified. The
idea was to defend with such tenacity and vigor as to inflict intolerable
losses on the CCF and to go over to the offense as soon as possible.
On the morning of 18 May, however, it became painfully clear that
the 2d Infantry Division could no longer hold the No Name Line above
the town of Hangye. Hence, Almond authorized a fallback to a new
line farther south, one running more directly east to west. This caused
a reshuffling of units in order to get the battered 38th Infantry some
relief. The 15th Infantry, when it arrived, would be positioned to support
two ROK divisions brought up to extend the line farther to the right.
Both the 23d and the 38th Infantries had veritable gauntlets to
run in their withdrawal routes to the new line. As the 38th moved
back, it was surrounded by overwhelming Chinese forces on three sides.
The indomitable fighting spirit of the U.S. infantrymen was bolstered
throughout the retrograde movement by the skillful use of tactical air
support, armor support (the 72d Tank Battalion), and artillery. These
vital assets notwithstanding, both units suffered heavy casualties.
This withdrawal did not include the 3d Battalion, 38th Infantry.
Deeply ensconced in its bunkers on Hill 800, the 3d, after suffering
some earlier, temporary reversals, had broken up several CCF attacks
on the night of the 18th by going underground into its carefully prepared
positions and then calling in concentrations of artillery fire with
proximity fuses. In fact, when told to withdraw in order to straighten
up the now-modified No Name Line, the 3d's commander complained bitterly.
By 19 May, the reorganized line of the 2d Infantry Division was
holding firm. Leading elements of the 3d Infantry Division, ready to
fight, were arriving at their prearranged positions after traveling halfway
across Korea. By now, any lingering doubts about the enemy's
main thrust had evaporated. The 2d Infantry Division had been cruelly
tested, but the courage of its soldiers, coupled with outstanding air
and artillery support and the new reserve units, ensured its ability to
hold the modified No Name Line.
Now, Van Fleet believed, was the time to turn on the CCF. The
Chinese had been on the offensive for two and one-half days. They
had gained twenty or more miles against the ROK units on the right
and ten against the 2d Infantry Division. If past experience held true,
the CCF was overextended; its culminating point had been reached. If
X Corps mounted a counterattack to the northeast, tens of thousands
of CCF troops would be cut off and destroyed. The I and IX Corps
would also advance to drive the enemy north. Almond agreed with the
plan but insisted that after he let the CCF go a little deeper, he would
need the 187th Airborne Regiment as shock troops to begin his thrust
north. On 20 May, this new plan, "Detonate," was initiated by a I
and IX Corps advance. Effective air sorties and artillery concentrations
stabilized the situation in the X Corps sector. On 23 May, X Corps
began its counteroffensive, but because of diplomatic considerations, it
fell short of Van Fleet's desired objectives. Nonetheless, the tide had
turned. UN forces were now in a more favorable position for future
peace talks (which ultimately led to a cessation of hostilities).
The steadfastness of X Corps and, in particular, the 2d Infantry
Division had allowed the UN Command the time necessary to assess
the enemy's intentions correctly and force him to exhaust his resources
before his objective had been realized. A lesson to be drawn from the
American experience in May 1951 is that even in the face of disaster,
a resolute, energetic defense-skillfully directed and supported-can turn
the tide in favor of the defender.
To achieve victory in battle, it is imperative to gain and retain
the initiative. Once initiative is lost, for whatever reason, it must be
regained quickly. The command in Korea never lost sight of that reality.
Even when in a defensive posture, UN forces continuously and aggressively
searched for an opportunity to regain the offensive. The action
of 16-22 May 1951 demonstrates that a defense, properly conducted,
sometimes can force an enemy to reach its culminating point short of
its objective. This situation can serve as a springboard for offensive
action by friendly forces.
Bibliography
Appleman, Roy Edgar. Ridgway Duels for Korea. College Station: Texas
A&M; University Press, 1990.
Blair, Clay. The Forgotten War: America in Korea, 1950-1953. New
York: Times Books, 1987.
Fehrenbach, T. R. This Kind of War: A Study in Unpreparedness. New
York: Macmillan, 1963.
Gugeler, Russell A. Combat Actions in Korea. Army Historical Series.
Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 1970.
Hermes, Walter. Truce Tent and Fighting Front. United States Army
in the Korean War. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military
History, United States Army, 1966.
Munroe, Clark C., and Joseph R. May. The Second United States Infantry
Division in Korea, 1950-1951. Tokyo: Toppan Printing Co., 1951.
The Execution of Private Eddie D. Slovik
Dr. Jerold E. Brown
Discipline is essential in every military organization. An undisciplined army is merely
a mob. Without discipline, the cohesion that welds individual soldiers into units and makes them behave in certain
ways in the face of impending danger disintegrates. With that disintegration, officers lose control, their orders are wholesalely disregarded, and they become indistinguishable from their troops and are swept
along in a relentless tide. Each soldier seeks to salvage his own life
and possessions without regard for his comrades or the consequences
of his actions. The collapse of discipline can be infectious, spreading
at first from man to man, then to adjacent platoons and companies,
and eventually to an entire army. Thus, the ability to enforce discipline
in the face of the enemy is of vital importance to military commanders at all levels.
Throughout history, armies have employed a variety of tools,
including the threat of death, to instill discipline in their ranks.
Officers and soldiers alike have found cowardice especially repugnant
not only because it undermined the qualities of manliness and honor
that have always been an integral part of the military ethic but
because it threatened the well-being and safety of entire organizations.
Therefore, commanders have dealt quickly and harshly with those
individuals who deserted or shirked their duty under hazardous conditions.
In the Roman legions, cohorts that broke during battle or failed to
press the attack vigorously suffered decimation-the execution of every
tenth man. In medieval armies, cowards and traitors were treated alike:
judgment was summary, execution swift. Although civil jurisprudence
in Western nations progressed substantially by the twentieth century,
modern armies still dispensed severe and certain punishment for
desertion, much as their predecessors had, with one exception-the United States.
From the end of the American Civil War until World War II, no
American soldier was executed for cowardice or desertion, even during
wartime. This period included twenty-five years of internecine conflict
on the frontier with the Indians, the Spanish-American War, the Philippine-American War, World War I, and a number of interventions
and expeditions in Latin America. Until World War II, the U.S. Army
punished deserters with imprisonment, fines, loss of pay and benefits,
and dishonorable discharge.
The eighty-year hiatus, however, came to an end on 31 January
1945 when a firing squad shot Private Eddie D. Slovik to death. Thus,
Slovik-twice a deserter, unrepentant, and spurning an offer by the
division judge advocate to drop all charges if he would return to his
unit-acquired the distinction of being the only American soldier in
this century to suffer death for cowardice. Slovik's execution not only
broke the unofficial ban on such executions but also opened a heated
and continuing debate about how the U.S. military should impose
discipline in the future. The Slovik case illustrates the problems and pitfalls
of instilling discipline in a citizen army under fire. The issue is one
that concerns every officer and noncommissioned officer (NCO)
responsible for leading and motivating men in battle.
Whatever disciplinary system an army may have, it must always
begin with the raw material society provides it. Eddie Slovik was
perhaps not typical of the World War II draftee, but he was not all
that atypical either. Born and raised in Detroit, Slovik was the product
of an unhappy childhood. He dropped out of school at age fifteen,
repeatedly ran afoul of the law over the next seven years, and served
time in several Michigan penal institutions. Slovik evidently learned
the lessons of the street and prison yard well: never put into the system
more than you have to and always push the rules as far as you dare.
(He would later rely on this spurious wisdom during his tenure in the
109th Regimental Stockade in France.) After being released from prison
in April 1942, Slovik met Antoinette Wisniewski and married her in
November 1942. In the meantime, his local Selective Service board had
classified him 4-F-unfit for military service. Thus, the next year was
the best of Slovik's short life: he had an attractive young wife; he was
steadily employed, and his wartime wages were good; and he did not
have to worry about the draft.
In November 1943, Slovik's seemingly idyllic world was shattered
when his draft board reclassified him I-A and ordered him to report
for military training in January 1944. William Bradford Huie, author
of The Execution of Private Slovik, would raise the question as to the
fairness of the decision to reclassify, then draft, Eddie Slovik. But the
focus of the draft was not fairness. Rather it was a system designed
to mobilize manpower efficiently. Only then, to the extent possible, was
it meant to be equitable.
That the United States had the legal power to induct Slovik into
military service and subject him to military discipline cannot be
questioned. Slovik was physically fit, although he may not have been
psychologically or emotionally fit. World War II was creating ever
greater demands for manpower, and the big push in Europe had not
yet begun. The Army had already lowered its physical qualification
standards to meet the demand for ground force replacements. If Slovik
was marginally fit, so were many thousands of other draftees in 1944.
Thus were the demands of the war.
Huie also questions the humanity of the replacement system. To
be sure, an individual replacement system creates problems, for it will
always be impersonal. Individual soldiers will not deploy with those
buddies and NCOs they trained with, and even the training itself may
be less than thorough. The replacement has yet to learn what soldiering
is all about. In fact, most of his military survival skills will be
acquired on the job. Nevertheless, after seventeen-later reduced to
thirteen-weeks of training, he should understand what is expected of
him; he should know his duty. The unit the replacement goes to may
know little and care less about him, but he is expected to pick up his
load and carry it. He will be nameless and faceless, the new guy, the
"cherry," or just plain "newbee." Whether and how long he lives will
depend, to a substantial degree, on luck.
This was clearly the situation for Slovik when he arrived at Omaha
Beach on 20 August 1944 and was assigned to G Company, 109th
Infantry, 28th Infantry Division. The 28th had arrived in France just
one month before Slovik joined it. Yet the division had already seen
substantial fighting, had suffered heavy casualties, and had one
commanding general relieved and a second killed in action. The 28th
continued to fight across France, Belgium, and Germany, participating
in some of the fiercest battles of the European war. The prospect of
serving in such a unit was not a happy one to a young replacement
lonely, homesick, lacking self-confidence, and looking for a way out.
Over the next forty-five days, Slovik served with his unit for less
than forty-eight hours. During that time, Slovik absented himself
twice. The first time he was "lost" (for forty days), after which he
voluntarily returned to G Company. Within twenty-four hours, however,
just as the division was preparing to attack the Westwall, Slovik left
the unit a second time. On the morning of 9 October, he voluntarily
surrendered to a detachment of the 112th Infantry and submitted a
written confession of his desertion. He further stated that he would
desert again if sent back to his own unit. He apparently believed that
the worst that could befall him would be imprisonment (and physical
safety) in the stockade.
Following a brief investigation, Slovik was charged with desertion
under Article 58 of the Articles of War and court-martialed on
11 November 1944. Colonel Guy Williams, the division finance officer,
presided over a nine-member panel that found Slovik guilty after a
short deliberation, Although Slovik pleaded not guilty, he presented no
evidence in his own behalf; he apparently believed that he would be
incarcerated and that would be the end of it. Under Article 43, a
sentence of death required "the concurrence of all the members of the
said court-martial." Having obtained that unanimity, Colonel Williams
sentenced Slovik to death.
Between 11 November and his execution, several significant events
occurred. A number of high-ranking officers reviewed the court-martial
record and acted on Slovik's conviction. In addition, Major General
Norman D. Cota, commanding general of the 28th Division, conferred
with the division judge advocate and approved the sentence. Furthermore,
Slovik petitioned General Dwight D. Eisenhower for clemency.
At Eisenhower's headquarters, a staff of lawyers, including Brigadier
General E. C. McNeil, the Army's foremost legal authority, reviewed
the case in detail and advised Eisenhower to confirm the sentence.
At this time, the German Army counterattacked in the Ardennes,
breaking through the Allied lines along a sixty-mile front and
penetrating as far west as Celles, more than fifty miles from its starting point.
Allied casualties mounted into the tens of thousands, and some units
reported large numbers of men leaving their posts and fleeing to the
rear. Although heavy fighting and superior Allied materiel broke the
German offensive far short of its objective, the battle convinced Allied
leaders that the war was not yet won and that stern measures would
be necessary to spur the troops on to final victory. Clearly with the
gravity of the situation in mind, Eisenhower confirmed Slovik's
sentence on 23 December. If he had been searching for an example of
how he intended to deal with serious breaches of discipline, Eisenhower
could not have found a more timely case. On 23 January, Eisenhower
signed a second document ordering the execution. A twelve-man firing
squad carried out the sentence a few minutes after 1000 on 31 January
1945.
William Bradford Huie's The Execution of Private Slovik defines
the debate over Slovik's fate. In addition to questions about the
fairness of Slovik's draft classification and the replacement system,
Huie is highly critical of the United States' prosecution of the war,
which, according to Huie, was far more costly in lives than perhaps
necessary. He further challenges the Army for singling out Slovik for
execution when the sentences for all other convicted and condemned
deserters were eventually commuted and they were freed. Was Slovik
the most flagrant case of desertion? Why was Slovik's sentence not
appealed to the president? Did it serve any purpose to make an
example of Slovik? Finally, was the treatment Slovik received at the
hands of the U.S. Army just? What Huie does not address is the role
of discipline in maintaining effective combat units.
To all the questions he raises (and a number of others), Huie
concludes that the Army handled the entire Slovik affair rather badly.
He repeated this position in 1963 when he angrily responded to
remarks made by President Eisenhower (the first and only time the
former president spoke publicly about the case) in a nationally televised
interview. Huie is clearly sympathetic toward Slovik; Slovik was really
a victim rather that the master of his own fate.
In June 1977, issues raised by Slovik's execution again surfaced
when David M. Eichhorn, a rabbi who had served as an Army chaplain
in France in 1945, stepped forward with alleged information on
how Slovik had been selected for execution. Testifying before the Board
for the Correction of Military Records, Rabbi Eichhorn told six
candidates for execution being given psychological examinations at
Eisenhower's insistence. Slovik was the only one given psychological
"clearance". Thus, Slovik was selected for execution, from Eichhorn's
perspective, by a rather capricious and unjustifiable method. Eichhorn's
account, however, was based on heresay and speculation. Eichhorn had
never met Slovik, Eisenhower, or any of the other principal players in
the drama and had no documentation or corroboration. His testimony
served only to muddle the issue further rather than to clarify it.
More poignant than Eichhorn's revelation - and more disturbing for those
concerned with military crime and punishment- was a mea culpa
article by Benedict B. Kimmelman, published in the September-October
1987 issue of American Heritage. In November 1944, Captain Kimmelman,
a dentist by profession, was detailed to seve on Slovik's
court-martial. Like the other division staff officers sitting on the panel,
he had never seen combat. This was not an unusual situation, most
court-martial panels in combat theaters are composed of staff officers.
For obvious reasons, officers in forward combat units cannot be pulled
back just for court-martial duty. Since justice and maintenance of
discipline demand swift action, officers behind the lines nearly always
deal with alleged miscreants. Thus, Kimmelman found himself sitting
in judgement of Eddie Slovik. He first had voted for Slovik's conviction,
then for his execution.
Subsequent experience, however, caused Kimmelman to have a
change of heart, and he regretted the decision that led to Slovik's
death. After Slovik's court-martial, the German Army captured
Kimmelman and a number of other 28th Division staff officers when the
Germans overran the small town of Wiltz a few days after launching
the Ardennes offensive. These few days under fire and the next six
months in a prisoner-of-war camp in Germany convinced Kimmelman
that, given the chance to do it over, he would not vote the death
penalty for Slovik. When Kimmelman learned that Slovik had actually
been executed, he railed at the injustice and became a harsh critic of
the military justice system. "[Slovik] got a fair trial under the circumstances,
but in retrospect, the circumstances were not fair," he wrote.
What would have made the circumstances fair? "I came to believe
front-line offenses ought to be judged only by front-line personnel,"
Kimmelman asserted. The validity of Kimmelman's conclusion and his
own pangs of conscience notwithstanding, it is not at all clear that
Slovik would have been judged any differently by a panel of combat
veterans.
The nature of the public debate has considerably skewed the basic
issue in the Slovik case. That debate has focused on the use of the
most extreme punishment for an individual who did nothing more than
refuse to engage the enemy. Every published article has noted that
Slovik was "the only American soldier shot for desertion" in World
War II. That other men may have died because Slovik refused to
perform his assigned duty is an issue never raised. After all, that is
an imponderable on which one can merely speculate. Nor has Slovik's
responsibility been an issue for discussion. In the final analysis,
however, Private Eddie Slovik was solely responsible for his own fate.
He was guilty by his own admission, he violated the military justice
system, and he paid a price for his crime.
That brings us back to the basic dilemma confronting those
military commanders concerned with maintaining order and motivating
men to stand in the face of great hazard. War is a risky and
dangerous business. Few men willingly and cheerfully place themselves
in harm's way. Armies have historically imposed strict and certain
discipline to compel men to do what they are not otherwise inclined to
do. As the Slovik case clearly demonstrates, that may not be a realistic
or desirable course of action in the future. Whether it is possible to
motivate men in battle effectively without resorting to the severest
disciplinary tools will remain one of the enduring challenges of leadership
in the army of a constitutional democracy.
Bibliography
Eisenhower, David. Eisenhower at War, 1943-1945. New York: Random
House, 1986.
Huie, William Bradford. The Execution of Private Slovik: The Hitherto
Secret Story of the Only American Soldier Since 1864 to Be Shot
for Desertion. New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce, 1954.
Kimmelman Benedict B. "The Execution of Privat Slovik." American
Heritage (September-October 1987).
Tillotson, Lee S. The Article of War. Harrisburg, PA: The Military
Services Publishing Co., 1944.
Active Defense
Dr. Christopher R. Gabel
Doctrine is the collective body of thinking and writing that describes
how a military organization expects to fight. It identifies the mission,
assesses the enemy's capabilities, and suggests how the assets available
should be orchestrated and employed to attain the desired ends. An
effective doctrine addresses all three levels of warfare-the strategic,
operational, and tactical-and links them together. Doctrine supports
strategy by assuring that military operations will further national goals.
Basic doctrinal decisions at the strategic level-such as choosing the
offense or defense, limited or total war, lightning war or protracted
conflict-then filter down to the operational level. At this level, doctrine
facilitates the structuring of campaigns that will accomplish strategic
goals. It assures that useful battles are fought and at a reasonable
cost. At the tactical level, doctrine seeks to assure that those battles
are victories by describing how the arms and services should be organized
effectively on the battlefield. At all levels, doctrine must be realistic, asking only the possible of one's forces and addressing real-world
threats and objectives. It must be consistent, displaying a continuity
of purpose at the strategic, operational, and tactical levels. Finally, it
must be accepted by those who put it into effect. The dictionary definition
of the word "doctrine," after all, includes the phrase "system of belief."
Creating doctrine in wartime is empirically easy to do-the process
of trial and error will eventually produce a workable doctrine if defeat
can be deferred long enough for the right answers to emerge. It is
much more desirable, however, to create the soundest possible doctrine
in peacetime. The challenge here is that of predicting what the next
war will be like when it finally arrives. Whether formulated in peace
or war, doctrine should always be flexible, and the military organization
that frames it should always be prepared to modify it when circumstances
demand. Changes in national policy, shifting balances of power, and deployment
of new technology should always trigger a reassessment of doctrine.
Just such a situation confronted the U.S. Army in 1973. The
demands of the Vietnam conflict had forced the Army to defer modernization
for nearly a decade. The war also produced an antimilitary
sentiment in American society that was reflected in declining
appropriations and in the elimination of conscription. This meant that the Army
was not just outdated but also impoverished in terms of men and resources.
These and other problems contributed to a crisis in morale
and discipline. The Army lacked a sense of mission and lacked confidence in itself.
General William E. DePuy, who became the first commander of
the Army's new Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC) in 1973,
took it upon himself to establish a new doctrine for the Army. In the
past, the Army's written doctrine had always lagged behind practice,
being more a codification of "the way things are" than a description
of "the way things should be." (For example, to find the Army's doctrine
for World War II, you should look to the 1944 edition of FM 100-5, not
the 1939 version.) DePuy undertook to reverse that process and use
the medium of published doctrine to force change upon the Army. His
efforts culminated in the publication of an entirely new FM 100-5 in
1976. The Army called the new doctrine the "Active Defense."
Active Defense embraced major changes at the strategic, operational,
and tactical levels. The national strategy that Active Defense served
was the Nixon Doctrine, a post-Vietnam restructuring of national
security that identified the Soviet threat in Europe as the most dangerous
challenge to American interests. The Warsaw Pact had utilized the
Vietnam decade to upgrade its forces significantly, both qualitatively
and quantitatively. U.S. forces in Europe, by contrast, had declined in
effectiveness in response to the demands of the Vietnam War. DePuy,
who always insisted on facing reality squarely, insisted that the disparity
of forces in Europe mandated a new defensive doctrine for American forces.
Within this context of the strategic defensive, Active Defense had
as its key operational element the concept of the "first battle." Traditional
American operational art, as manifested in the two world wars,
was predicated upon the numerical superiority of American manpower
and materiel. Such superiority had been the product of a massive and
time-consuming process of national mobilization. DePuy recognized that
the forward positioning of U.S. forces and the tempo of modern warfare
precluded the luxury of losing the early campaigns of the next war
while national mobilization got under way. Moreover, the heavily
outnumbered U.S. forces in Europe would lack the strength to mount a
defense in operational depth, hence the need to fight forward: there
could be no trading of space for time. Thus, DePuy insisted that the
first battle had to be a victory and that it be fought at or near the
forward line of troops.
The "first battle" concept obviously placed enormous demands on
tactical execution, and it is at the tactical level that Active Defense
had the most to say. DePuy, a tactical commander in both World War
II and Vietnam, was concerned that the Vietnam conflict had produced
a generation of officers whose tactical expertise was inappropriate to
the European scenario. Vietnam had been largely an infantry war in
which airmobility and an overreliance on firepower had dulled the
Army's appreciation for the use of terrain. Moreover, American tacticians
had grown used to unchallenged air supremacy. The circumstances
in any European war, DePuy felt, would make Vietnam-style tactics
inapplicable.
Heightening his concern was the vast increase in battlefield lethality
that became dramatically evident in the course of the 1973 Arab-Israeli
War. This conflict showed that tank guns had become thirteen times
more lethal, round for round, than, they had been in World War II.
Coupled with this was the unexpected lethality of precision-guided
antitank missiles. The armored forces involved suffered a staggering 50
percent loss rate in only two weeks of combat. Equally worrisome was
the ability of Soviet-designed antiaircraft systems to challenge Israeli
air superiority over the battlefield. From this conflict, DePuy deduced
that successful armies of the future would have to combine arms more
effectively; demonstrate higher levels of tactical skill, leadership, and
morale; and be able to concentrate forces rapidly at decisive points.
Working from this baseline, DePuy made the tank-antitank battle
the central element of Active Defense tactics. He believed the tank was
the decisive element in ground warfare but recognized that the tank
could not fight alone on the modern battlefield. Hence the need for an
all-branches combined arms effort, with tactical air power becoming a
full member of the team. From the German Army, DePuy borrowed
the panzergrenadier concept-infantry transported in, and often fighting
from, armored personnel carriers whose main function was the elimination
of enemy antitank weapons and obstacles. Artillery's key task
was to suppress the overwatch weapons that would cover enemy attacks.
Tanks and other antitank weapons had the central mission of destroying
enemy armor by shooting first and shooting effectively.
Indeed, the terms "fire superiority" and "suppression" were the keys
by which U.S. forces were to defeat a numerically superior and technologically
equal foe. Active Defense spelled out in detail the way friendly
forces were to use the terrain to protect themselves from enemy fire
while using their own weapons to maximum effectiveness. Ultimately,
tactical success depended on the force ratios brought to bear. DePuy
estimated that a successful defense required a 1-to-3 ratio of friendly
to enemy forces, whereas a successful attack on the modern battlefield
demanded a 6-to-1 superiority. (Not surprisingly, Active Defense
admonished commanders to attack only when the rewards to be won clearly
outweighed the risks.) Given the numerical inferiority of friendly forces,
a chief requirement for successful combat would be the concentration
of combat elements at the critical place and time. Such timely concentration
of forces depended on sound intelligence using high-technology sensors to
locate enemy concentrations, an aggressive covering
force to disclose enemy strength and intentions, high mobility of all
assets, and the willingness to take risks elsewhere in order to mass at
the decisive point. Under Active Defense doctrine, there was no reserve
in the traditional sense; instead, any force not confronting the enemy's
main effort was considered to be a reserve of sorts.
In addition to elaborating the actual tactics in considerable detail,
Active Defense doctrine redefined the functions of the different echelons
of command. The job of the corps and division commanders was to
provide the appropriate force ratios at the decisive point on the battlefield.
Brigade and battalion commanders formed combined arms teams
out of the forces provided to them and conducted the fight, taking
care to maximize firepower and utilize maneuver to the best effect
among preselected battle positions. Company, troop, and battery commanders
were responsible for defeating the enemy without unprofitably
expending their own scarce resources. Everybody's mission was to "fight
outnumbered and win."
When Active Defense became official Army doctrine with the publication of
the 1976 version of FM 100-5, DePuy believed that he had
established Army doctrine for years, if not decades, to come. Much to
his surprise and disappointment, the Army as an institution rather
quickly rejected it. Part of the Army's discontent focused on the actual
content of the written doctrine itself. Critics charged that Active Defense
was a doctrine based on weapons systems, not soldiers. DePuy's FM
100-5 contained an entire chapter on weapons but devoted less than a
page to leadership. Others asserted that the doctrine overstressed defense
at the expense of offense. The U.S. Army's tradition of offensive warfare
could not and should not be swept aside, said the critics. They also
pointed out that, even in a strategically defensive scenario, offensive
operations and tactics are necessary to securing victory (as opposed to
preventing defeat).
Other voices questioned DePuy's assessment of Soviet operational
and tactical art. Specifically, they pointed out that the Soviets attacked
with forces echeloned in depth, whereas DePuy's Active Defense focused
almost exclusively on the immediate "close-in" battle. Put another way,
Active Defense did not offer guidance to corps and higher commanders
on how to wage their battle at the operational level of war.
Finally, critics questioned the preoccupation with Europe that permeated
Active Defense. Although the NATO-Warsaw Pact confrontation
was the Army's top priority, it was also the least likely contingency.
The most likely next war would come outside of Europe, where Active
Defense would be of little use, leaving the Army to fight without a
doctrine.
Thus, in assessing the doctrine of Active Defense with respect to
the three levels of war, one can say that it addressed strategic requirements
admirably, but it neglected the operational level. At the tactical
level, the Army was unconvinced that Active Defense could produce
victory.
This last concern points to an entirely separate arena in which
Active Defense failed as a doctrine. Doctrine should be an agreed-upon
body of thought based on the general consensus of the army that uses
it. Instead, Active Defense was largely the product of one man's mind,
was actually written by a small circle of men handpicked by DePuy,
and was then imposed upon the Army without dialogue or debate.
Although it is commonplace in military circles to disparage the practice
of decision making by committee, in the field of doctrine writing, consensus
is essential. DePuy's Active Defense is a case study in the drawbacks of
generalizing from one's own experience. No individual, no matter how
perceptive, can hope to encompass and understand every aspect of war,
which is, after all, one of mankind's most chaotic activities.
Active Defense also exemplifies one of two diametrically opposed
philosophies regarding the purpose of doctrine. In 1974, prior to DePuy's
taking on the task of writing the doctrine himself, Major General John
H. Cushman, commanding general of the Combined Arms Center, produced
a draft of FM 100-5 that DePuy rejected. Cushman believed that
written doctrine should be descriptive rather than prescriptive. His
version of doctrine was an exposition of what usually works in war, designed to guide the judgment of field commanders whose ingenuity and
imagination would actually determine the actions taken on the battlefield.
DePuy, by contrast, believed that doctrine should prescribe the
"right way" to do things. Active Defense prescribed concrete techniques,
not general principles. Ultimately, the Army found DePuy's doctrine to
be inflexible, restrictive, and out of keeping with the traditions of an
officer corps to whom initiative is a highly prized attribute.
The publication of a new version of FM 100-5 in 1982 marked the
end of Active Defense as an official doctrine. The new doctrine, AirLand
Battle, was very much a product of Active Defense, notwithstanding
the dramatic differences in philosophy and content that separate the
two. General Donn A. Starry, who succeeded DePuy as commander of
TRADOC in 1977, had been a major contributor to the formulation of
Active Defense, but his experience as a corps commander in Europe
(1976-77) led him to recognize the validity of the many criticisms
leveled against it. Under his leadership, TRADOC addressed those
criticisms and, in the process, created AirLand Battle. To cope with enemy
follow-on echelons, AirLand Battle deepened the battlefield in space
and time and returned the offensive to its place of primacy in American
doctrine. In answer to those who criticized Active Defense for ignoring
the human dimension of battle, Starry made leadership, morale, and
initiative key concepts in AirLand Battle. Finally, having come to
recognize the limitations of rigid, prescriptive doctrine, Starry caused
AirLand Battle to be written in the Cushman mode-as a guide to
judgment, not a formula to be obeyed.
Thus, the doctrine of Active Defense, although ultimately rejected,
served the Army well. It forced the Army to face unpleasant realities
about modern warfare and to seek realistic solutions. One result of
this was an upsurge in realistic training and in unit readiness. Moreover,
the process of creating Active Defense doctrine caused the Army
to forge closer ties with an important ally, West Germany, and with
the U.S. Air Force's Tactical Air Command. (Indeed, the term "airland
battle" had its origins in DePuy's FM 100-5.) And even in its
death throes, Active Defense educated the Army by making it read its
own doctrine: never before had so many officers debated the fundamental
issues surrounding the Army's approach to warfare. Finally,
although his doctrine of Active Defense proved ephemeral, DePuy
established the precedent of using published doctrine to actively integrate
and, when necessary, alter every aspect of the Army's activity. Future
historians may well mark this as one of the great watersheds in the
institutional history of the U.S. Army.
Bibliography
Herbert, Paul H. Deciding What Has to Be Done: General William E.
DePuy and the 1976 Edition of FM 100-5, Operations. Leavenworth
Papers no. 16. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute,
U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, 1988.
Romjue, John L. From Active Defense to AirLand Battle: The Development
of Army Doctrine, 1973-1982. TRADOC Historical Monograph
Series. Fort Monroe, VA: Historical Office, U.S. Army Training and
Doctrine Command, 1984.
Repulsing the North Koreans Along the Naktong, 1950
Dr. William G. Robertson
In July 1950, the United States committed ground combat troops
to South Korea in an effort to halt a North Korean invasion across
the 38th Parallel. Initially, those American troops consisted of the 24th
Infantry Division, which had been part of the four-division force garrisoning
Japan. Understrength, undertrained, and underequipped, the 24th
Infantry Division was ill-suited to be thrust into heavy combat in
mountainous terrain in midsummer. The results were predictable, In a
series of disasters from 5 July to 22 July-Osan, Chonan, Chonui,
Choch'iwon, Kum River, and Taejon-the division was'routed from
suecessive defensive positions. By the time the 1st Cavalry Division
relieved the 24th, the latter had withdrawn more than 100 miles, and
its strength had declined to 8,660. Thirty percent of the division had
become casualties, including more than 2,400 missing in action, and
copious amounts of equipment had been lost. Among the losses was
the division's commander, Major General William F. Dean, who was
taken prisoner at Taejon. Major General John H. Church replaced the
missing Dean on 23 July.
As the North Koreans continued their drive southward down the
Korean peninsula, the 24th Infantry Division once again entered
combat, but with no better results than before. Finally, on 1 August,
Lieutenant General Walton H. Walker, Eighth Army commander,
ordered all U.S. and Republic of Korea (ROK) forces to withdraw
behind the Naktong River. This maneuver shortened Walker's front
while utilizing the natural barrier of the Naktong to shield the major
port of Pusan. Previously, U.S. and ROK divisions had operated
independently, with their flanks unprotected, a situation the North Koreans exploited regularly. Now, for the first time, the ground held by U.S.
and ROK units had decreased to the point that a more or less
continuous line could be formed. The resulting Pusan Perimeter ran northward approximately 100 miles from the Korea Strait, then eastward 50
miles to the Sea of Japan. Three U.S. divisions held the western side
of the perimeter, while ROK forces extended the line eastward. Forced
to use all available troops, Walker assigned the battered 24th Division
to the middle of the American line.
The sector of the Pusan Perimeter occupied by the 24th Division
extended from the junction of the Nam and Naktong Rivers northward
along the Naktong to the vicinity of the village of Hyonp'ung. The
distance from the Nam to Hyonp'ung by air was twenty-two miles,
but via the twisting course of the Naktong, it was thirty-four miles.
Flowing through a valley averaging 1,000 meters in width, the Naktong
was wide but shallow, with the water depth varying from 1 to 3 meters.
All man-made crossings had been obliterated within the division sector,
but the low water levels in the summer of 1950 had created numerous
places where foot traffic, but not vehicles, could cross unimpeded. Both
sides of the river valley were delineated by hills averaging 200 meters
in height, with occasional peaks reaching 300 meters. Only at the far
northern end of the sector, where a 409-meter hill stood on the east
bank, was the terrain on one side of the valley dominated by that on
the other. Elsewhere, the only notable difference between the valley
walls was that more gullies led down to the river on the eastern side
than on the western. All of the hills were bare except for occasional
clumps of grass and scrub pine.
With a division strength on 5 August of only 12,368 soldiers
(including 486 men attached and 2,000 ROK troops), Church clearly
did not have enough force to man his 34-mile defensive trace strongly
at all points. He therefore resorted to the principle of economy of force.
The 1949 edition of Field Manual 100-5, Field Service Regulations,
Operations, describes economy of force as follows: "The principle of
economy of force is a corollary to the principle of mass. In order to
concentrate superior combat strength in one place, economy of force
must be exercised in other places." Obviously, Church would have to
hold some segments of his long line thinly in order to concentrate
significant combat power in more critical areas. Church believed the
northern sector of his line would be harder to defend than the southern,
primarily because of its inadequate road net. Assuming that the North
Koreans would reach the same conclusion, he created a defensive
scheme that relied on strong reserves to counterattack and repulse
penetrations of his lightly held front lines. Within that general framework,
Church concentrated much of his strength on his center and
right. By the evening of 5 August 1950, all elements of the 24th
Infantry Division were in their assigned positions along the Naktong
(see map 10).
Complying with the economy-of-force principle, Church spread his
units most thinly on the division's left (southern) flank. There, the 34th
Infantry guarded twenty-three kilometers of river frontage from the
Nam-Naktong confluence northward. Accounting for much of the 34th's
frontage was a prominent bulge in the center of the regimental line
where the Naktong made a wide loop to the west before resuming its
southward course. The resulting salient, approximately five kilometers
deep and six kilometers wide at the base, was known as the Naktong
Bulge. Because the division still retained its peacetime organizational
structure of two battalions per regiment, the 34th's commander covered
his front with one battalion and kept the other in reserve as a
counterattack force. These dispositions ensured that the frontline
battalion's three companies would be responsible for enormous frontages; for example, one company would defend a line 11.5 kilometers long.
Map 10.
The entire regimental position was supported by two artillery batteries
and an engineer company.
Church concentrated most of the division's strength on his center
and right. North of the 34th Infantry lay the sector of the 21st
Infantry, Church's best U.S. unit. Without a significant salient, this
sector was markedly smaller-only twelve kilometers in length. It did,
however, contain several potential crossing sites, as well as the division
headquarters, eight miles to its rear. Like his neighbor to the south,
the 21st's commander placed one battalion in line and held the second
in reserve. Attached to the 21st was the 14th Engineer (Combat)
Battalion, while two artillery batteries provided support. On the 21st's
right was a thirty-kilometer sector held by the ROK 17th Regiment,
which was temporarily attached to the division. The 17th, Church's
largest unit and highly regarded by its American allies, was also
supported by two artillery batteries. The division reserve, which was
concentrated behind the center of the division's line, consisted of the
two-battalion 19th Infantry, part of the 3d Engineer (Combat) Battalion,
and fragments of the division's reconnaissance and tank companies.
Well before dawn on the morning of 6 August, the North Korean
4th Division attacked across the Naktong into the 24th Infantry
Division's sector. Although all three frontline regiments were struck,
North Korean activity on the division's center and right was localized
and relatively insignificant. In contrast, on the division's left center,
the North Koreans penetrated to the base of the salient in the 34th
Infantry sector. Church had guessed wrong; the enemy had attacked
the weakest company of the weakest regiment of Eighth Army's
weakest division. When the initial counterattack by the 34th Infantry's
reserve battalion failed, Church was forced to commit both battalions
of his reserve regiment, the 19th. Neither battalion obtained its ultimate
objectives, but the regiment's final position within a mile of the river
at least established a firm shoulder on the northern flank of the enemy
bridgehead. Still, twelve kilometers of river frontage lay open to enemy
exploitation under cover of darkness. Now that the North Koreans had
committed themselves, Church clearly would have to revise his defensive plan.
Complicating Church's problem was Eighth Army's decision to
move the ROK 17th Regiment elsewhere in the Pusan Perimeter.
Planned for 6 August, this movement was delayed twenty-four hours
by the North Korean attack, but it could be postponed no longer. Thus,
amid a major counterattack by his already depleted division, Church
had to find additional units to guard nearly thirty kilometers of front.
Again, Church employed economy-of-force means. Believing the North
Korean main effort to be in the Naktong Bulge and hoping that the
enemy had little additional strength to trouble him elsewhere, Church
reversed his previous troop distribution scheme. Now, it was the
division's center and right that must be held thinly while troops
massed for the counterattack effort on the division left. Accordingly,
Church created Task Force Hyzer-composed of Lieutenant Colonel
Peter C. Hyzer's 3d Engineer (Combat) Battalion augmented by the
24th Reconnaissance Company-to replace the ROK 17th Regiment on
the division's right on 7 August.
For the next three days, the bulk of the 24th Infantry Division's
combat elements mounted a series of counterattacks to reduce the
salient created by the North Korean penetration. Aiding the division's
own 19th and 34th Infantry regiments in these counterattacks were
two battalions of the 9th Infantry, which had been attached to the
24th from the 2d Infantry Division. Initially separate, the counterattacks
were eventually coordinated by the assistant division commander,
Brigadier General Pearson Menoher. In spite of Menoher's best
efforts, the counterattacks failed to erase the enemy penetration.
Instead, the North Koreans retained the initiative and drove through
a gap in the 24th Division's line toward Church's headquarters at
Ch'angnyong and the division's main supply route (MSR) to Miryang.
In response, Church moved the division headquarters fifteen miles
eastward to Kyungyo. He also thinned the forces on the division's center and right even further, transferring one battalion from the 21st
Infantry and the 24th Reconnaissance Company from Task Force
Hyzer. Both units joined the counterattack force. Finally, late on 10
August, Church created an ad hoc formation, Task Force Hill, to
control all counterattacking units.
Named for Colonel John G. Hill, commander of the 9th Infantry,
Task Force Hill commenced operations on the morning of 11 August.
That day, the 24th Division's counterattacks again were unsuccessful.
Meanwhile, North Korean elements seized the division's MSR and cut
all land communication forward from the division command post. In
response, Church ordered Task Force Hill to cease offensive operations.
Next, he further weakened his right Rank by withdrawing an engineer
company from the 21st Infantry's sector to aid in reopening the MSR.
The engineers joined the 24th Reconnaissance Company in a drive
toward Kyun'gyo from the west. Finally, Church created Task Force
Hafeman, a conglomeration of headquarters and support detachments.
This new formation stood between the division headquarters and the
North Koreans. Again, Church had employed the economy-of-force
principle in making his dispositions. Hoping that his center and right could
be safely screened by a mere handful of troops, he concentrated his
division's efforts on the threat to his MSR.
Late on the evening of 11 August, Church received information
that the North Koreans were becoming more active on his right. By
the next morning, approximately 900 enemy troops had crossed the
Naktong just beyond the division's right flank in the vicinity of
Hyonp'ung. With his MSR still blocked, Church continued to use the
bulk of his forces to clear the road. At the same time, he calculated
that Task Force Hyzer and the remaining battalion of the 21st Infantry
could hold their positions to the north. Every reinforcement Church
received, including several battalions from the 2d and 25th Infantry
Divisions, was committed to stabilizing the situation on the division's
left-center. By 13 August, this massive effort had reopened the division's
MSR and permitted the resumption of the original counterattack to
regain the Naktong line. Unfortunately, at the same time, Eighth Army
extended the 24th Division's sector northward, to include the Hyonp'ung
penetration, without providing the division additional resources.
On 14 August, Task Force Hill resumed its counterattacks. That
day, the 24th Division received 289 replacements, the first significant
quantity since the beginning of the battle. In response to the North
Korean crossing near Hyonp'ung, Church sent the replacements to the
21st Infantry units still in place along the river. He also directed Task
Force Hyzer to patrol aggressively in an effort to mask the division's
weakness on its right. Even with most of the division's strength assigned
to it. Task Force Hill was unable to drive the North Koreans
back across the Naktong, and its counterattacks stalled on 15 August.
To assist the 24th Division, Eighth Army now offered Church the
temporary use of the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade. With this promise
of major augmentation, Church believed he could spare a few more
troops for his right flank. Accordingly, he sent a battalion of the 23d
Infantry north to relieve Task Force Hyzer from its position in the
line. This battalion began to probe North Korean positions on Hill 409
near Hyonp'ung on 16 August.
Using the Marines as a spearhead, the 24th Infantry Division counterattacked
again on 17 August to restore its original defensive trace along
the east bank of the Naktong River. While the counterattack progressed
in the left-center of the division sector, one battalion of the 21st Infantry,
the 3d Engineer (Combat) Battalion, and a battalion of the 23d
Infantry held the remainder of the division's front. Near Hyonp'ung,
the battalion from the 23d aggressively continued its probe of the North
Korean positions on Hill 409. These probes revealed that part of the
North Korean 10th Division remained east of the Naktong but was
making no effort to expand its small bridgehead. The enemy's quiescence
permitted Church to remain focused on the 24th Division's left.
After severe fighting, Church's forces on the evening of 19 August
successfully ejected the North Koreans from the now-famous salient,
thus ending the First Battle of the Naktong Bulge. The 1st Provisional
Marine Brigade left the sector the next day, and the 24th Division
was relieved by the 2d Division on 24 August.
Economy-of-force operations require commanders with limited forces
to assess their situation, prioritize their tasks, and accept prudent risks
at points other than their main effort. During the First Battle of the
Naktong Bulge, Church made such assessments daily. When the North
Korean attack showed his initial dispositions to be inadequate, he
quickly redistributed his forces. For the remainder of the battle, the
24th Infantry Division concentrated its strength on the division's
leftcenter and counterattacked to regain lost ground. At all times, Church
manned the 24th's right with the absolute minimum of force he believed
he could prudently spare from the action on the left. Indeed, as the
location of the North Korean main effort became obvious, Church shifted
additional units from his right to the counterattack axis. Only when
the flow of reinforcements significantly increased his overall strength
did Church direct some of the new assets to his center and right.
Eventually, after much hard fighting, the 24th Division's original
position along the Naktong River was restored. By doing so much with so little, Major General John H. Church and the 24th Infantry Division
provide a perfect example of economy-of-force operations.
Bibliography
Appleman, Roy Edgar. South to the Naktong, North to the Yalu, June-Nouember 1950. United States Army in the Korean War. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, United States Army, 1961.
Blair, Clay. The Forgotten War: America in Korea, 1950-1953. New
York: Times Books, 1987.
Gugeler, Russell A. Combat Actions in Korea. Army Historical Series.
Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, U.S. Army, 1970.
Robertson, William Glenn. Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950. Leavenworth Papers no. 13.
Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute, U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, 1985.
The British Triumph of Endurance in the Falkland
Islands War
Major Gary D. Rhay
Combat is often a struggle of men against the environment as much
as it is men against men. In military operations, the soldier's ability
to function adequately even when deprived of creature comforts and
sleep often determines the efficiency and success of operations. Thus,
maintaining a high level of physical endurance is essential in sustaining
combat operations. The British campaign against the Argentines in
the Falkland Islands in 1982 provides a good example of how the physical
endurance of soldiers affects the outcome of battles.
The Falkland Islands had been a point of contention between the
British and Argentines since England occupied the islands in 1833.
After recurrent failures in negotiations, on 2 April 1982, the Argentines
moved to resolve the conflict by invading the Falklands and capturing
the small garrison of British Royal Marines in control of the islands.
Three days later, in rapid response, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher
ordered a British naval task force to retake the Falklands. On 21 May
1982, the British invaded.
Located some 480 miles northeast of Cape Horn, at 52 degrees latitude,
the Falkland Islands are remote and generally inhospitable, stormy
in winter and barren in summer. Generally speaking, the temperatures
during the British campaign were numbingly cold, and most soldiers
wore up to seven layers of clothing. Sometimes, however, the temperature
rose to just above freezing. These occasional warm periods, according to the British, increased the likelihood of the soldiers incurring
exposure injuries. Both the British and the Argentines considered the
weather conditions in the Falklands appalling. The rain often swept
fiercely across the bleak, treeless landscape, cutting through waterproof
clothing and inundating the soldiers' trenches.
In addition to bad weather, the rugged Falklands' terrain-described
as the worst possible terrain through which to stage a forced march-
affected the soldiers' ability to function, compelling them to trudge
through rocky valleys and hills as well as peat bogs. Stony stretches of jagged granite often ran for miles. When encountered, rivers and
streams had to be waded. Moving on foot was unbelievably hard. In
one case, British soldiers took two and one-half hours to cover four
kilometers in bringing supplies forward. The soldiers, soaked by mist
and sweat, stumbled through boggy heather and clambered over 100
yard-wide stone runs to haul ammunition and supplies up the slopes
before returning immediately to gather more. Because of the terrain
and cold, misty weather, the marching pace dropped to half speed.
From the start, both sides in the conflict attempted to limit the
mobility of their adversary. The British sought to reduce the Argentine
garrison's mobility by destroying as many of their helicopters as possible.
The Argentines, on their part, sank the Atlantic Conveyor, a
British transport that carried vital supplies and helicopters. This left
the British only eleven lift helicopters for all troop, equipment, and
logistical movement ashore.
To regain their offensive mobility, the British realized that they
would have to move out of the beachhead on foot. So began the famous
"yomp" or forced cross-country march by the 3 Commando Brigade.
Since the soldiers' packs weighed up to 120 pounds, the men strapped
them on while still seated and then had to be helped to their feet by
their comrades. Once underway, their route took them up and down
hills; along rocky valleys; and through stone runs, peat bogs, and rivers.
The blizzards and freezing temperatures along the fifty-mile trek were
punctuated by brief firefights.
On 27 May, the 3 Para (3d Battalion, the Parachute Regiment) left
its beachhead perimeter at Port San Carlos and marched continuously
for twenty-four hours. The paratroops, having spent a bitterly cold night
in the open without sleeping bags (which caused fourteen paratroops
to be evacuated due to exposure), wearily stumbled into Teal Inlet on
the 28th. They had covered the twenty miles of trackless terrain in
thirty-three hours (see map 11).
Also on 27 May, the 45 Commando Battalion, Royal Marines, moved
out on the first phase of its march, a thirteen-hour stint that covered
fourteen miles. The boggy terrain-some of the most harrowing on the
island-was covered with numerous lumps and tufts of grass that
appeared to be designed to turn ankles. Most of the marines maintained
their good humor and marched stoically through the bleak night.
At 0200, they bedded down, only to be drenched in their sleeping
bags by torrential rain before dawn. On the second morning, without
respite, they left their heavy haversacks and marched into Douglas
settlement to join the 3 Para at Teal Inlet. The march was not without
cost: the men were wet and exhausted, and most had cold, blistered,
and injured feet. From Teal Inlet, the 3 Commando Brigade was poised
to advance on the main Argentine positions at Stanley.
Map 11.
During this first phase of 3 Commando Brigade's movement, the 2
Para (2d Battalion, the Parachute Regiment) attacked Goose Green. The
bulk of 2 Para's warm clothing was still on board the transports,
unavailable to the men. Laden with ammunition and sagging at their
knees, the soldiers of the 2 Para staged forward up the Sussex Mountains.
It was a long, hard climb with slippery footing, and some men,
overbalanced by their heavy packs, fell to the ground like beached
turtles until they could be helped to their feet by their comrades.
Once established on the Sussex Mountains, 2 Para patrols moved
toward Goose Green. A platoon-size force moved by helicopter to within
two kilometers of Camilla Creek House. From there, it took four hours
to cover the remaining two kilometers-a testament to the difficulty of
the terrain. Because of lack of support, the platoon withdrew after three
days, short of food and suffering from injured feet and exhaustion.
Two days later, the 2 Para moved forward to an assembly area in
the vicinity of Camilla Creek House-an arduous march across difficult
country. No vehicles and only limited helicopter lifts were available to
support the operation. Because of the situation, the 2 Para would travel
as lightly as possible, Soldiers would carry ammunition, two water bottles,
food for two days, weapons, and a minimal number of radios.
Some companies even left their entrenching tools behind. At least two
platoons, which rejoined the battalion en route from patrolling, fought
without helmets, which they left behind to lighten their loads.
The paratroops carried two 81-mm mortars and ammunition, three
Milan guided-missile launchers, seventeen missiles, and six light
machine guns. The Royal Artillery, Royal Navy, and air strikes would
provide the bulk of the fire support.
The weather was moderate for the Falklands as the 2 Para traveled
south to Camilla Creek House. As darkness settled, the 2 Para began
to close its ranks. Moving down the road in the darkness, the men
became torpid, their heads bowed and backs aching. When the soldiers
halted, they gratefully sank to the ground and leaned back on their
packs to ease the strain on their shoulders. At each stop, men dozed
and had to be awakened. Weighted down with medical supplies and
equipment, the medical section tried desperately to keep pace with the
battalion. Captain Hughes, a medical officer who had gone without
sleep for two days while attending patients on the Sussex Mountains,
fell and suffered a hairline fracture in his ankle. Hughes walked through
the rest of the campaign with a badly swollen ankle, only accepting
treatment three weeks later after the campaign ended.
Other support troops experienced similar problems. The forward air
controller fell and twisted his ankle but was carried forward by the
battalion's support company and evacuated the next day. The Blowpipe
antiaircraft missile sections also struggled forward, encumbered by their
launchers and missiles.
Many of the marchers later noted that one of the worst things
about their trek was the psychological pressure of not knowing how
much farther they had to go. The men staggered on through the night,
the sweat chilling their backs and the cold seeping up from the road.
They pushed on, confident that they would eventually arrive at their
destination.
Finally, Camilla Creek House loomed ahead, the dark silhouettes
of the buildings standing out on the landscape. The lead company
cleared the buildings, and the battalion closed in. Although the
Argentines had apparently left in some haste due to British artillery fire,
the battalion commander decided to risk occupying the buildings and
suffering the same fate. Staying warm was worth the gamble. After
establishing blocking positions on the approaches, the companies
eventually jammed themselves into the large farmhouse and outbuildings.
As soldiers commonly do, they adopted some amazing sleeping positions.
The staff section crammed into a coal shed, their bodies huddled
against the walls, their feet sprawled to the center. One squad occupied
a lavatory, while another crowded into a pantry. Not everyone rested.
Two patrols moved forward to observe the enemy positions in the vicinity of Goose Green.
At dawn, the patrols had excellent observation of several enemy
positions that were invaluable for planning the attack. Eventually,
however, the Argentines observed the exposed British positions and
forced them to withdraw under fire. At first light, the British commander
realized that Camilla Creek House was in a hollow, hidden
from the Argentines' view. It seemed an ideal place for the battalion
to hide before attacking the next night.
Around noon, however, the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC)
reported that "a parachute battalion is poised and ready to assault
Darwin and Goose Green." The commander was incredulous, and as
everyone fumed, the battalion was ordered to disperse and find available
cover. The battalion had to abandon what was an obvious target.
The BBC, patrols, and air strikes had now thoroughly alerted the
Argentines, and any British movement in the open was suicidal. The
rest of the day, the battalion remained on the bleak landscape, without
its heavier equipment and warm clothing, left behind on the Sussex
Mountains. Fortunately, some paratroops carried small individual heating units to warm their rations and tea. It was a long day as the
British waited for darkness to continue the attack.
At nightfall, orders were given, and the battalion redeployed in
the darkness. Meanwhile, helicopters moved equipment from the caches
on the Sussex Mountains to Camilla Creek House. As in most operations,
not all military equipment went forward. As a result, only three
of the support company's machine-gun tripods were shipped.
The battalion's fire support team moved forward at 2300: the Milan
platoon (three launchers), the machine-gun platoon (three guns with
tripods and equipment and three without), snipers, assault engineers
(as ammunition carriers), and the naval gunfire control team. Only
the marine Blowpipe section was brought forward. The Royal Artillery
gunners, unable to keep up with the battalion, were left at Camilla
Creek House to protect the artillery deploying there. By 0200, the fire
support team had arrived in position across the bay from the Argentine
artillery positions. After the British settled into their positions by 0230,
the team called for Royal Navy gunfire on enemy artillery.
One company and the reconnaissance platoon spent the night reconnoitering
routes and securing the battalion's start lines. The going was
difficult. The streams on the maps turned out to be at the bottoms of
steep ravines. At 0220, the assault companies began their march on
Goose Green. Because of the ravines, their approach was as difficult
as the reconnaissance, and men were forced to move in single file.
The attack on Goose Green began three and one-half hours before
dawn. The men encountered no mines or barbed wire, and the first
engagements with the Argentines were uniformly successful. Because
the 2-inch mortars had been left on the Sussex Mountains (due to the
weight involved), the battlefield was left unilluminated.
In the dark night, the H.M.S. Arrow could provide only a limited
number of flare rounds, and the fighting rapidly became confused as
the paratroops encountered scattered enemy positions. Then, the Arrow's
only gun jammed and even that support ceased. As casualties mounted,
evacuation operations commenced. Enemy fire hampered this slow and
painful process. As there were no stretchers, the casualties were laid
on ponchos and carried hammocklike, which was exhausting to the carriers.
As first light broke over the battlefield, 2 Para's attack began to
bog down as the Argentines brought the paratroops under intense fire.
Daylight seemed to bring the enemy renewed confidence, and the Argentines
increased their indirect fire. Lack of ammunition soon became a
problem for the pinned-down British units. To alleviate this, stretcher
bearers going forward carried loads of ammunition, which gave them
no time to rest.
The deadlock was broken shortly after noon when the British battalion
commander was killed while assaulting an enemy trench. The
outrage generated by his death, along with skillful action by the battalion's
second in command, helped the British paratroops regain the
initiative and capture Darwin. The wind was now blowing at fifty to
sixty knots across the battlefield, dramatically affecting the accuracy
of the 105-mm howitzers, so the British ceased their fire. As evening
approached, the 2 Para closed in on Goose Green from two sides.
Darkness was settling in when the British observed Argentine helicopters
landing to the south of Goose Green to disembark troops. The
British drove these Argentines off by artillery fire. The injection of
fresh Argentine troops just as the 2 Para was feeling the deleterious
effects of the long and arduous battle could have been disastrous. The
battalion had left the Sussex Mountains forty hours earlier and had
been fighting heavily for the last twelve hours, all with little sleep.
The soldiers had almost run out of ammunition and energy, so the
decision was made to consolidate, reorganize, and wait for morning.
Through the long, shadowy night, the paratroops huddled in their
positions, cold and clammy, unable even to take off their soaked boots
to put on dry socks. In the rear were still many wounded to be evacuated.
In the forward area, the wounded, cold and wet, suffered in the
darkness. Snow began to fall, and the firing fell off.
During the night, the battalion prepared to attack Goose Green.
The new battalion commander, Major Keeble, was confident his unit
could storm the settlement in the morning. The complete discomfort
that he and his men were experiencing ensured that they would let
nothing stand between them and proper cover. As it happened, the
Argentines surrendered the following day, on 29 May, without renewing
combat. For its part, the 2 Para sorely needed a respite to allow the
men to dry out and recover.
The Falklands campaign is replete with examples of British endurance in
combat, from Harrier jump-jet pilots flying nearly round-the
clock sorties to foot soldiers "yomping" the seventy-plus miles from
San Carlos to Stanley. It is a testament to the endurance of British
soldiers that they carried 120-pound loads to Goose Green and were
still capable of conducting violent combat operations.
British soldiers met all the privations with an extraordinary capacity
for pain and discomfort. Many spent seventeen days in the open in
the dirty, wet, and cold environment. It is a measure of the soldiers
involved that despite the abysmal weather, terrain, fatigue, and fear
they incurred that they went on to accomplish their mission.
Training was one of the keys to the success of the British Royal
Marines of the 3 Commando Brigade. The marines and paratroops were
well trained in conditions similar to those in the Falklands, which
allowed them to endure hardships on the island. Additionally, they
took every opportunity on the voyage to the South Atlantic Ocean to
train physically for the campaign ahead, conducting runs around the
promenade deck of the S.S. Canberra, among other physical activities.
The second key to the British success was the confidence the men had
in their leaders who, by example, endured the same privations as their
men. Morale was the final key to British success: while things went
wrong and supplies and equipment were not brought forward, the soldiers'
spirits never flagged and were excellent throughout the operation.
Bibliography
Frost, John. 2 Para Falklands: The Battalion at War. London: Buchan
& Enright, 1983.
Thompson, Julian. No Picnic: 3 Commando Brigade in the South Atlantic,
1982. London: Leo Cooper in association with Seckler & Warburg Ltd., 1985.
Vaux, Nick. March to the South Atlantic: 42 Commando, Royal Marines,
in the Falkland War. London: Buchan & Enright, 1986.
The 84th Smoke Generator Company's Operations at the
Moselle River, September 1944
Major Terry L. Siems
In the early morning of 10 September 1944, men of the 10th Infantry,
23d Armored Infantry Battalion, began crossing the Moselle River.
Within seventy-two hours, they had established a bridgehead and crossing
site and had routed the Germans from the terrain that dominated the site.
One of the keys to their success was reinforcement, and the key to
this reinforcement was bridges. But as long as the Germans manning
the casemate artillery at Fort Driant observed activity on the Moselle
River from the high ground above the west bank and the German
guns on the east bank roved freely within range of the river, the
responsibility for erecting a bridge and retaining it would rest on an
untested U.S. company's ability to produce a smoke environment that
would conceal the engineers' bridge-building activities and the assault
force's advance.
A month before the Moselle crossing, the U.S. Third Army, commanded
by Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr., had become operational.
Shortly thereafter, it began its rapid march across France. By
the late summer of 1944, the German Army pursued by Patton was in
a desperate condition. Much of its equipment had been abandoned,
morale was low, and replacements and supplies were nonexistent. In
August, however, Patton's lead units began to outrun their supplies of
oil, gasoline, and ammunition. Eventually, due to a lack of supplies,
the Third Army halted east of the Meuse River. This delay lasted for
nearly a week while supplies caught up with the army. When the
advance resumed on 6 September, the Third Army found that the
Germans had caught their second wind and were no longer in full retreat. In fact, they had developed excellent defensive positions behind the
Moselle River and were prepared to contest every inch of ground and
counterattack to recover any lost ground.
On resuming his advance, Patton was to seize crossing sites over
the Moselle. Since the Germans commanded the high ground above
the eastern bank of the river, Patton planned to use a new technique,
a large forward smoke screen, to hide his assault and bridging operation.
The 84th Smoke Generator Company, which had been attached
to the 5th Division on 6 September, was selected for the job. The 84th
was under the operational control of the 1103d Engineer Combat Group,
which was to construct the bridges (supervised by the 5th Division's
chemical officer). The 84th was to cover the site with smoke on the
morning of the 10th so assault troops could cross the Moselle. To
achieve surprise in the attack, no artillery preparation would be conducted.
Screening assault and bridging sites with smoke was a new experience
for many U.S. troops since members of such special units were
usually assigned to transportation, guard, or security duties. Thus, after
the Normandy invasion, only four of twelve smoke generator companies
assigned to the European Theater of Operations (ETO) were available
for forward-area smoke operations, and only two of these remained
operational. Like most of the other smoke generator units in the ETO,
the 84th had only trained for rear-area antiaircraft missions and not
for assault support. Moreover, its units had never operated in the front
under continuous heavy fire. In addition, the 5th Division, the assault
force at Arnaville, had never been supported by a smoke generator
unit in a river crossing. Furthermore, the engineers from the 1103d,
who would build the bridge, had never done so under the cover of a
large-area smoke screen. This would be the first smoke operation of its
kind in the ETO. (Prior to this operation, however, smoke screens had
been used successfully in North Africa and in the Italian campaign.)
In September 1944, at the proposed crossing site at Arnaville in
the narrow valley of the Moselle, a canal, river, and railroad roughly
paralleled each other in a belt about 400 to 500 yards wide (see map
12). East of the river was a flat strip of land 1,000 yards wide, beyond
which the terrain rose to hills occupied by the Germans. A small creek,
the Rupt de Mad, flowed under the railroad and canal and emptied
into the Moselle. The roads running north and south on both sides of
the Moselle marked the boundary line between the flat land and the
beginning hills. On clear days, the Germans could observe five or six
miles down the river toward Metz and three to four miles up the river
valley, which included the Arnaville area and selected crossing sites.
In a meteorological study of the area, the 5th Division's chemical
officer, with the aid of air force and artillery reports and local resident
interviews, determined that the prevailing winds were westerly and of
low velocity. Accordingly, the division chemical officer and the 84th's
commander placed the smoke generators on a line behind Hill 303,
some 2,300 yards west of the crossing site. In this way, the prevailing
winds would carry the smoke to the crossing site, covering U.S. troops
and the flat terrain east of the river.
Map12.
Because the wind was not expected
to shift during the course of the operation, no attempt was made to
place generators near the crossing site itself. (This proved to be a serious
mistake.) Another reason for not placing the generators near the
crossing site was the 84th's lack of experience under fire. The commanders
felt that the protection of Hill 303 would provide cover for the smoke
generator operators from artillery and small-arms fire and help to steady
them as they set up their equipment. To further ensure that the smoke
generator company was protected, observation posts were established
on Hills 303 and 331. The 5th Division's chemical officer, who was at
the crossing site, maintained contact with these observation posts by
radio. Meanwhile, the engineers had tactical control of the smoke
operations. During the night of 9-10 September, the 84th moved into
position 1.
The 84th was equipped with the new mobile M-2 mechanical smoke
generator. When World War II began, the United States had a limited
capability in smoke generation. Shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor,
the United States organized smoke generator units to aid in the defense
of the Panama Canal; the locks at Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan; and
aircraft plants on the West Coast. The first smoke generator developed
was the M-1 or ESSO model, which remained in the United States
and Panama. The major drawback to this generator was its size: it
weighed 3,000 pounds and expended 100 gallons of fog oil per hour. In
contrast, the M-2, a mobile generator, weighed only 172 pounds and
drew its fog oil from an external supply source, usually a 53-gallon
drum. Also, the M-2 consumed only fifty gallons of fog oil per hour
and could generate smoke in one minute-compared to three to five
minutes for the ESSO. The fog oil used was a petroleum distillate.
The smoke produced from fog oil resembled natural fog and was extraordinarily
enduring, frequently extending five or more miles downwind.
Moreover, it could obscure targets during day or night. In addition, to
supplement the M-2's smoke screen, the 84th had M-1 and M-4 smoke
pots available.
The fog oil needed for the M-2s was located in the Third Army
depot at Troyes, 180 miles to the rear. Since the 84th did not have
enough organic transportation, the 5th Division's quartermaster trucks
hauled the fog oil to the 84th's supply area, located four miles to the
rear of Hill 303. Company trucks then carried the fog oil forward to
the generators. Forty-eight generators were available for the operation,
and the twelve at position 1 were scheduled to begin producing smoke
at 0600 on 10 September.
The combat operation began on schedule, with the crossing site
well covered with smoke. After crossing the river, the 1st and 2d
Battalions, 10th Infantry, advanced to their hilltop objectives. The advance
went well until the winds shifted from the west to the north-northeast
at 1000. Now, the Germans had a clear view of the bridge site. Fortunately,
the engineers had not yet moved their bridging equipment to
the riverbank. During the time that the site had been covered by smoke,
the 2d Battalion had crossed the river, wounded men had been evacuated,
and new supplies had been pushed forward. But with the smoke
gone, the German artillery now had complete command of this exposed area.
In an attempt to reestablish the smoke screen and again conceal
troop movements, four generators were moved near the river, behind
an abandoned railroad embankment (position 2). By noon, smoke from
the new generator site once again covered the bridgehead. Now, operations
by the 84th became confused and the smoke generators low on
oil. The assistant division commander and the division chemical officer
searched for leaders of the 84th Smoke Generator Company. The 84th's
commander could not be found, and the executive officer was on the
far side of the river searching for new positions. Meanwhile, the company
had abandoned position 1, leaving its oil and equipment behind.
Finally, the 84th's first sergeant was found and was able to organize
part of the company to move the oil, generators, and spare parts forward
to the new positions. The company commander appeared in the
late afternoon and was promptly relieved.
In order to maintain the smoke screen regardless of the wind's
direction, the 84th established several new positions. One of these,
position 3, paralleled the Arnaville-Noveant road and was augmented by a
jeep-mounted generator that moved along the road to fill in gaps in
the smoke screen. During the night, crews took eight generators across
the river to position 4, which was ready for operation on 11 September.
Two emergency positions, 5 and 6, were located south of Arnaville but
were never needed for the operation.
On 11 September, the generator crews in position 3 began producing
smoke, and for several hours, crossing activities on the bridgehead
proceeded without German interference. Meanwhile, several large pieces
of bridging equipment had been hauled to the river, and construction
was about to begin. At around 0900, an engineer officer-who probably
was influenced by the lack of enemy fire-ordered the smoke generators
turned off, since they hampered the engineers' operations. When the
smoke cleared, the Germans promptly destroyed some of the heavy
equipment and disrupted the bridging operations. Smoke was soon
reestablished. Fearing that the Germans had been able to pinpoint the
original crossing site during the lull in the smoke screen, the engineers
moved the crossing site 300 yards downstream. Now, the control of
smoke operations was taken from the engineers and returned to the
division chemical officer and the 5th Division commander.
Subsequently, a great debate ensued on whether to continue using
a smoke screen. The engineer commander felt that too much emphasis
had been given to smoke. Besides, the smoke interfered with the men
working on the bridgehead. The 5th Division commander, in contrast,
maintained that a smoke screen should be continued, citing the damage
the Germans had inflicted on the bridgehead on 11 September. Late
on 14 September, the engineers completed the bridge at the southern
site, and the following day, U.S. combat battalions captured the dominating
hill in the area. This site was secured at the cost of 725 casualties
in the 10th Infantry, 13 killed and 100 wounded in the 1103d Engineer
Combat Group, and 2 killed and 7 wounded in the 84th Smoke Generator Company.
The bridge was finally secured, but the need for smoke continued.
The Germans still had dominating positions at Fort Driant and near
Metz. On 21 September, the 161st Smoke Generator Company relieved
the 84th and continued to produce smoke at the bridge site until 25
September when XX Corps decided that smoke was no longer required.
Once the smoke cleared, the Germans promptly destroyed the treadway
bridge and damaged the pontoon structure, which stopped all traffic.
The 84th returned to establish a smoke screen.
The operations of the 84th Smoke Generator Company at the Moselle
River demonstrate that smoke can be used effectively in assault and
bridging operations, and many lessons can be learned from this operation.
From the beginning of its operation, the 84th was plagued with
logistical problems. While the 84th had sufficient trucks to transport
supplies in its immediate area of operations, it lacked organic transportation
and had problems transporting men, equipment, fuel, and
supplies from the rear area. Commanders at Arnaville solved these
problems in the short term, but in the future, logistics problems should
be addressed in the planning phase of operations.
Another lesson learned in this bridging operation was that smoke
generators must be placed close to crossing sites, and plans must be
developed for their resupply. In addition, definite control of large-area
smoke screening must be established early in an operation. At the
beginning of the Arnaville operation, the engineers controlled the smoke,
which seemed logical. However, when the engineers lifted the smoke
screen and the Germans rained down destruction on the engineers and
assault troops, control reverted to the division commander. In future
operations, smoke generator units should be controlled at the division
level from the outset, where the full scope of the battle is better understood.
In such operations, changes of wind direction also must be accounted
for, because when wind directions change unexpectedly, the
results may have disastrous effects on unprepared soldiers. Maintaining
accurately placed smoke screens was difficult at the Moselle, and
redundancy should have been planned as part of the operation.
In addition, the men of the 84th should have been given proper
combat training to prepare them for this operation. Historically, smoke
generator companies had operated only in the rear areas. Thus, the
84th's generator operators were not trained to function in the dangerous
and unpredictable environment of the front. Also, generator operators
became fatigued because only one operator was assigned to each generator.
The 84th should have had more operators. Additionally, more
support personnel should have been attached to the division to repair
damaged and faulty generators.
The use of smoke in the assault and bridging operation at Arnaville
was its first employment in the ETO, and it was a success. Clearly, in
future wars, generating smoke to conceal operations should be used to
manipulate the environment to gain advantages over the enemy.
Bibliography
Cole, Hugh Marshall. The Lorraine Campaign. United States Army in
World War II. Washington, DC: Historical Division, United States
Army, 1950.
Kleber, Brooks E., and Dale Birdsell. The Chemical Warfare Service:
Chemicals in Combat. United States Army in World War II. Washington, DC:
Office of the Chief of Military History, U.S. Army, 1966.
MacDonald, Charles Brown, and Sidney T. Mathews. Three Battles:
Arnaville, Altuzzo, and Schmidt. United States Army in World War
II Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, Department of the Army, 1952.
Pritchard, Paul W. Smoke Generator Operations in the Mediterranean
and European Theaters of Operation. Chemical Corps Historical
Studies. Washington, DC: Historical Section Office of the Chief of
the Chemical Corps, U.S. Army, 1948.
Assessing the Adversary at Dien Bien Phu
Lieutenant Colonel James R. McLean
The village complex of Dien Bien Phu lies in the center of a large
valley in northwestern Vietnam approximately 180 miles from Hanoi.
This rich, fertile valley is some 12 miles long and 8 miles wide and is
completely surrounded by tall, jungly mountains whose peaks rise to
over 3,000 feet in many places. By 1953, the village had served as an
administrative center for the Vietnamese government for over seventy
years, being an important marketplace for two important local cash
crops-rice and opium. An important regional crossroads, it sat on
Provincial Road 41, the major north-south highway in the area, and
controlled Vietnamese access to Laos, only eight miles to the west.
It was at Dien Bien Phu in November 1953 that French colonial
forces threw down the gauntlet to the Vietminh, challenging them to
engage in a great battle that would determine the outcome of the long
and bitter Indochina war. Neither side dreamed that within six months
the French would suffer such a crushing defeat there that they would
sue for peace a day after the village fell.
The war between the French and the Communist Vietminh was in
its seventh year when General Henri Navarre arrived in Indochina in
May 1953 as the new theater commander. In the aftermath of World
War II, French energies were devoted to reconstructing their nation,
creating a new domestic political consensus, and coping with the threat
of Soviet expansion in Europe. France's global strategic goal was to
return to its prewar status as a major colonial power, but the French
had very limited resources available for this purpose. Although Indochina
was one of the most important regions where French military
forces were deployed in the early 1950s, Europe still remained their
main interest. Thus, Navarre's mission was to defeat the Vietminh
insurgency and restore French political prestige and influence in the
area-but to do so with limited men and materiel.
Opposing the French were Vietnamese Communist nationalists
under the leadership of Ho Chi Minh. Ho had organized the Vietminh
to oppose Japanese occupation forces during World War II and continued
to lead them against France when that country attempted to
reestablish colonial rule in 1946. His goal was to create a unified,
independent Vietnam under his leadership. The senior Vietminh commander
was Vo Nguyen Giap, a former history teacher and long-time
supporter of Ho Chi Minh. With the cessation of hostilities in Korea,
the Chinese Communists were able to provide increasing military
assistance and hardware to their allies to the south. Given this new
level of aid, Ho and Giap sought to go on the offensive against the
French and drive them from Indochina.
In the summer of 1953, Navarre had 189,000 troops in Indochina:
54,000 French soldiers, 20,000 Legionnaires (many of whom were
German or Eastern European), 30,000 North Africans (Algerians and
Moroccans), 10,000 air force and 5,000 navy personnel, and 70,000
members of the Vietnamese National Army. Most of these were needed
to man garrisons throughout Indochina, particularly along a chain of
defensive positions in the Red River delta called the De Lattre Line.
The Vietminh, with 6 divisions and 3 independent regiments, had at
least 80,000 well-trained first-echelon soldiers, along with a large body
of second-echelon militia available for regional conflicts and activity.
These, in turn, were backed by large portions of the peasant population
whose support the Vietminh had already won.
Navarre's long-term plan for defeating the Vietminh envisioned
limited offensive operations by his regulars to keep Giap's forces
occupied while the French rebuilt the Vietnamese National Army in
1954. Then, in 1955, he would mount a general offensive to destroy Ho
Chi Minh's People's Army of Vietnam (PAVN). Prior to Navarre's
arrival in country, the French had achieved some success against the
Vietminh by creating forward operating bases behind enemy lines. An
airhead, seized by an airborne insertion, would be rapidly expanded
by airlifting in artillery, engineer, and support elements, as well as
regular infantry units to replace the paratroopers. The French then
would conduct limited local offensive actions disrupting the Vietminh
rear and causing PAVN units to attack their positions in force. Next,
the French would use the inherent strength of the defense and their
superiority in firepower, both artillery and air support, to inflict heavy
losses on their opponents. When this was accomplished, the operation
would terminate, and the entire French contingent would be withdrawn by air.
The key to this kind of operation was to choose a provocative site,
man it with sufficient forces to prompt the enemy to attack (and thus
accept an attrition battle), and then retain the ability to withdraw the
force when necessary. The French had employed these successful tactics
before Navarre's appearance. Navarre now intended to intensify these
tactics and expand their scope. In the autumn of 1953, Navarre selected
Dien Bien Phu as the centerpiece for his plan to engage the Vietminh
in northern Vietnam.
On 20 November, elements of the 1st Airborne Battle Group jumped
into Dien Bien Phu. Within two weeks, nearly 5,000 French troops were
in the valley, improving two airstrips and building defensive positions.
Navarre's trap was set. The bait was six battalions of airborne infantry,
the cream of the French Army in Indochina.
Ho and Giap carefully analyzed the situation before accepting battle.
They determined that the French strength was in fire support, both
artillery and air power, and that the French weakness lay in their
extended and vulnerable lines of communication (LOCs). The Vietminh
leaders also considered their own position and identified their strengths
as their skilled infantry and the support of the people. Their weaknesses
were their lack of firepower and their inability to sustain large-scale
conventional operations. Therefore, the Vietminh leaders decided that
victory at Dien Bien Phu would depend on their ability to reduce the
effectiveness of French fire support and to sever the enemy's lines of
supply while, at the same time, reinforcing their own firepower and
protecting their own LOCs. Less than a week after the first French
paratroopers jumped into Dien Bien Phu, Giap ordered four divisions
to converge on the valley, to arrive no later than the end of December:
the Vietminh had accepted the challenge.
The French military's analysis of the centers of gravity for the
Dien Bien Phu campaign was fatally flawed by its overestimation of
French capabilities and its underestimation of the Vietminh's. Like Ho
and Giap, the French realized that the keys to success or failure would
be logistics and fire support. The French fully respected the prowess
of the PAVN infantry but felt confident that superior French air and
artillery support would more than offset any numerical advantage the
Vietminh might muster. Furthermore, the French believed that the
Vietminh could neither mass nor sustain the forces necessary to overcome
the garrison at Dien Bien Phu, and if they attempted to, French
air power would smash their LOCs and pound their assembly areas. A
combination of offensive maneuver and artillery and air support would
prevent the Vietminh from interdicting French aerial resupply operations
at the two airfields in the valley.
Navarre and his operational commander in northern Vietnam,
Major General René Cogny, felt that the French Air Force would be
able to locate and cut any Vietminh supply routes into Dien Bien Phu.
However, during the operation, the French flew hundreds of reconnaissance
and battlefield air interdiction sorties against the enemy
LOCs and were not effective. Expert use of camouflage, movement at
night and during periods of limited visibility, use of redundant routes,
creation of extensive engineer repair systems to build and quickly repair
the elaborate road network, the use of more than 500 21/2-ton trucks
given by the Chinese, and the mobilization of tens of thousands of
peasants to provide manual labor and to carry thousands of tons of
supplies all helped defeat French efforts to cut the supply lines
sustaining the Vietminh army.
The French also grossly underestimated the fire support capabilities
of their opponents. Colonel Charles Piroth, the commander of all French
artillery at Dien Bien Phu, insisted that the Vietminh could bring
neither large quantities of artillery nor the amount of ammunition
necessary to sustain effective operations into the area over the
extremely rugged terrain. He was wrong on both accounts. The French
felt that Giap's forces could field only 40 to 60 artillery pieces with
fewer than 25,000 rounds of ammunition. In fact, Giap brought well
over 200 guns to bear during the battle and fired over 350,000 rounds.
Because the French had dismissed the Vietminh artillery threat, they
did not adequately prepare their positions to withstand the heavy
artillery bombardments that characterized the battle. Accurate, concentrated
Vietminh fires and the lack of French overhead cover and deep
bunkers especially over critical airfield installations and artillery gun
pits, contributed to heavy French losses early in the campaign.
In addition to their other miscalculations, the French overestimated
their ability to locate and destroy any artillery the Vietminh brought
to bear. Piroth repeatedly boasted to high-ranking civilian and military
officials who visited the valley in the months before Giap's attack that
his counterbattery fires would destroy any Vietminh gun that fired three
rounds. Furthermore, several times, he turned down offers to have more
artillery sent to the valley, claiming that he already had more than
he could use. He based his claims on the belief that the firing of enemy
guns could easily be spotted-either directly from ground observation
posts or from light observation aircraft that were permanently stationed
at Dien Bien Phu-since the weapons would be emplaced on the forward
slopes of the surrounding hills. In reality, the hills were too far away
for direct observation. Moreover, the Vietminh had learned valuable
lessons from their Chinese advisers on how to protect key installations
and supply routes from air interdiction. Camouflage was used expertly
to hide positions, while dummy positions drew French efforts away
from actual locations. Also, some units were moved nightly to lessen
the chance of detection. The PAVN forces emplaced their artillery pieces
individually, often digging them deeply into hillsides so that they were
impervious to all but direct hits.
In contrast to the French, the Vietminh realistically appraised
centers of gravity for both sides. Three of the divisions Giap sent to
Dien Bien Phu were elite infantry units built on the Western model of
three regiments of three battalions each. Although each PAVN battalion
possessed more riflemen, machine guns, and heavy mortars than its
French counterpart, French overall superiority in artillery and air
support more than made up the difference in firepower. But by 1953,
the Vietminh had created a unit designed to redress this inequity-the
351st Heavy Division. Modeled after the Soviet artillery division that
had time and again provided massive firepower to smash through
German defenses during World War II, the 351st consisted of engineer,
mortar, rocket, antiaircraft, and field artillery battalions and was
manned by the bulk of PAVN soldiers trained in these skills. The
351st's impact at Dien Bien Phu was enormous.
Giap deployed the assets of the 351st Division to protect his
LOCs-his weakest link-and to counter the French superiority in fire
support. His deployment of nearly 100,000 troops to this remote and
inhospitable location and their sustainment during six months of
intense siege warfare was a herculean task. To protect their LOCs, the
Vietminh placed antiaircraft artillery (AAA) elements at every choke
point the French could attack from the air. These "flak corridors" took
such a toll on French fighter-bombers that the pilots were forced to
change their tactics by flying faster and dropping their, ordnance at
higher altitudes, both of which significantly decreased the effectiveness
of the French air campaign. Almost every airplane that flew against
the Vietminh LOCs was damaged to some extent, and the French
simply did not have the equipment, spare parts, and maintenance personnel
to repair or replace them all. Consequently, as early as 26
December 1953, French air commanders diverted attack aircraft to fly
flak-suppression missions. Yet despite the maximum efforts of the
French air arms-both air force and navy-at interdiction, supplies
continued to flow in sufficient quantities to sustain Vietminh combat operations.
The Vietminh did not employ their AAA in a defensive role only.
They also used it offensively to attack the French center of gravity,
the tenuous aerial resupply system at Dien Bien Phu. The Vietminh
quickly surrounded the French with a ring of antiaircraft guns, mortars,
and artillery, which they continued to strengthen as more weapons
arrived in the battle zone. Consequently, it became increasingly difficult
for the French to approach the valley by air due to the concentrated
AAA fires. Once the Vietminh began their assaults and forced the
French back, the PAVN leaders immediately ordered their 37-mm and
.50-caliber AAA guns even closer to the airfield. This ring of AAA
hindered French resupply efforts and helped protect the massed infantry
divisions and support troops from the French Air Forces' napalm and
bombing runs, thus further degrading French fire support effectiveness.
Giap and his planners did not forget the airfield itself and made
denial of its use by the French a primary objective for both ground
maneuver and indirect fires. PAVN mortars and artillery interdicted
airfield operations early by targeting the control tower, radio beacon
system, aircraft repair and refueling facilities, observation planes and
fighter-bombers parked on the flight line, and the airstrip itself. From
December 1953 through March 1954, fewer and fewer aircraft landed
at Dien Bien Phu. When Giap at last attacked on 13 March 1954, the
PAVN artillery effectively shut down the airfield. Resupply then had
to be accomplished by parachute. Initially, the French C-47s dropped
their cargo in daylight at 2,500 feet, but as Vietminh AAA gunnery
improved and they brought their guns closer to the drop zones, the
drop altitude rose first to 6,500 feet and then later to 8,500 feet.
Naturally, the accuracy of the drops decreased precipitously, as did
the percentage of tonnage actually recovered by the French. Distribution
of those items the French did recover was made extremely difficult
because the enemy could sweep the drop zones and French positions
with fire at will.
Once the battle was joined, both sides used their fire support assets
to great effect. The French had built their defense around a series of
mutually supporting defensive positions with interlocking fields of fire
designed to protect the main airfield in the center of the valley. Each
of the artillery pieces had already fired at a number of critical targets,
and the Vietminh suffered heavy casualties whenever they stormed a
French position. The French gunners and mortarmen were highly
trained professionals, possessed the finest equipment in the theater,
and were as confident as their leaders that their fires would quickly
smash the Vietminh artillery and infantry.
Yet the fire support advantage went to the Vietminh. Before the
fighting began, Giap wrote in the PAVN training manual drafted
specifically for Dien Bien Phu that the Vietminh needed a minimum
3-to-1 superiority in infantry and at least parity in artillery in order to
defeat the French. He had surpassed these ratios when he initiated
his offensive on the evening of 13 March 1954. Nearly three and
one-half infantry divisions plus the 351st Heavy Division ringed the French garrison in the valley. A total of 49,000 combatants (and a further
10,000 added as replacements later in the siege) opposed the French
colonial troops, which although reinforced to 12 battalions still
numbered only 13,200, of which no more than 7,000 were first-line
soldiers. Of particular importance was how Giap planned to employ
his artillery. He knew that he lacked the trained observers, fire direction
personnel, cannoneers, and sophisticated signal equipment necessary
to operate in the traditional Western mode using indirect fires. However,
he held dominant high ground only a few kilometers from his enemy's
front lines. Given these factors, Giap came up with an innovative solution
to provide accurate and timely fire support. He positioned all his
artillery pieces on the forward slopes of the hills so that they looked
directly down on the French, and he instructed his artillerymen to fire
every piece independently, if need be, by sighting down the tubes of
howitzers or by using the direct-lay technique for mortars. This practice
helped compensate for the inexperience of many of his men in the use
of proper siting techniques. While Giap sacrificed the ability to lift,
shift, and mass fires rapidly, he made the most of his assets. Each
artillery piece was responsible for a limited sector and was prepared
to fire on key targets within its zone. When incorporated into Giap's
carefully planned and coordinated attacks, the effects of the Vietminh
fires were devastating.
Giap delayed launching his assault on Dien Bien Phu until he had
adequate stockpiles of ammunition of all types, his troops were
sufficiently trained, and the monsoon season had arrived. The valley of Dien Bien Phu received more rain-almost five feet-than nearly any
other valley in northern Indochina during the six-month monsoon
season. Giap counted on the heavy rains and low cloud cover to hamper
French air support and aerial resupply during this most critical phase
of the operation.
At 1700 on 13 March 1954, the Vietminh struck (see map 13).
Concentrated barrages laid down by 105-mm and 75-mm howitzers and
120-mm mortars crashed onto the airfield and strongpoint Beatrice with
pinpoint accuracy. While some of the PAVN artillery fired on the
French infantry positions in support of the assaulting Vietminh, entire
batteries that had remained hidden from French detection rained
destruction on the open gun pits of the French artillery. Within eight
hours, the control tower and radio beacon were destroyed, and airfield
operations were effectively shut down. Of the light observation aircraft
and fighter-bombers assigned to the airfield for local air support and
artillery spotting, only two managed to take off and fly to Hanoi. The
rest were destroyed on the ground, thus eliminating much of the French
counterbattery potential. By the evening of 15 March, two more French
strongpoints, Anne Marie and Gabrielle, had been overrun.
The French were stunned. They had considered Gabrielle to be the
strongest of all their fortifications at Dien Bien Phu. Colonel Piroth,
the confident one-armed artillery commander, could not believe what
had transpired in the previous forty-eight hours. His crews had taken
terrible losses in their open gun pits. He had lost two of his 105-mm
howitzers, a quarter of his 155-mm howitzers, and a third of his
120-mm mortars to PAVN artillery, and he had fired over 25 percent
of his total 105-mm ammunition. As far as he could tell, his cannoneers
had had only negligible effects on the Vietminh artillery. He fell into
despair and went from one command post to another under heavy fire
to apologize for the failure of his command. With tears in his eyes, he
said: "I am completely dishonored. I have guaranteed ... that the enemy
artillery couldn't touch us-but now we are going to lose the battle.
I'm leaving." Later, Piroth went into his dugout and laid down on his
cot. Pulling the pin from a hand grenade with his teeth, he held the
explosive charge to his chest and committed suicide.
Map 13.
The siege of Dien Bien Phu lasted another fifty-three days. The
outcome, however, was clear once the Vietminh had closed the airfield
and had revealed the amount and power of their fire support. The
French appealed desperately to the United States for immediate massive
air support, to include tactical nuclear weapons-but to no avail. On 7
May 1954, the exhausted French stopped fighting, and the victorious
PAVN troops swarmed over the last French positions. On the next
day in Geneva, France's foreign minister asked for a cessation of
hostilities in Indochina, a prelude to coming to terms with the Vietminh.
The victory at Dien Bien Phu belonged to Vo Nguyen Giap and was
due, in no small part, to his keen analysis of the centers of gravity
for both sides and to his brilliant employment of fire support assets to
achieve military success.
Bibliography
Davidson, Phillip B. Vietnam at War: The History, 1946-1975. Novato,
CA: Presidio Press, 1988.
Fall, Bernard B. Hell in a Very Small Place: The Siege of Dien Bien
Phu. Philadelphia, PA: J. B. Lippincott, 1967.
O'Ballance, Edgar. The Indo-China War, 1945-1954: A Study in Guerilla
Warfare. London: Faber and Faber, 1964.
Roy, Jules. The Battle of Dien Bien Phu. Translated from the French
by Robert Baldick. New York: Harper & Row, 1965.
Vo, Nguyen Giap. Dien Bien Phu. Hanoi: Foreign Languages Publishing
House, 1964.
The U.S. Third Army at the Battle of the Bulge, 1944
Dr. Michael D. Pearlman
On 15 December 1944, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander, Allied Expeditionary Force, gave Field Marshal Bernard
L. Montgomery, commander in chief, British 21st Army Group, permission
"to hop over to England" to spend Christmas with his son. Meanwhile, intelligence reports on the German Army were identifying more
than normal amounts of railroad movement by the enemy, signs of
engineers with bridging equipment, and requests for aerial reconnaissance
around the Ardennes Forest. Nonetheless, the Allied high command remained confident that the Germans were doing nothing truly
significant. On his part, Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley, commander
of the U.S. 12th Army Group, expected just a local "spoiling"
or a "diversionary attack" by the Germans and went off to visit
Eisenhower for a game of whist.
At dawn the next day, 16 December, two German panzer armies-
almost 500,000 men, over 2,000 tanks, and almost 2,000 planes-
launched an attack on the U.S. VIII Corps and the right wing of the
V Corp at rest in front of the Ardennes Forest. This onslaught,
according to Adolf Hitler's plan, would split the British and the
American forces in the European Theater of Operations (ETO); isolate
the British and Canadians in the north; and open a corridor to
Antwerp, the principal Allied port in northwestern Europe (see map
14). Hitler told his subordinates that a great victory on the Western
Front would "bring down this artificial coalition with a crash."
The Allies were shocked. "No Goddamned fool would do it," said
Bradley's G2 (assistant chief of staff for military intelligence). Not
everyone, however, was completely astonished. In August 1944, when
Eisenhower's own G2 was writing that "the end of the war in Europe
[is] within sight," the G2 of the U.S. Third Army, Colonel Oscar W.
Koch, remained cautious and alert. According to Koch, the withdrawal
of the Wehrmacht from Normandy "had not been a rout or [a] mass
collapse." He warned that the Germans would "wage a last-ditch
struggle in the field at all costs."
Map 14.
In the succeeding months from August to mid-December, Koch kept
his eyes on quiet sectors adjacent to the U.S. Third Army. He and its
commander, Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr., recognized that
inactivity can foreshadow an enemy assault. Because the Germans were
not under attack in front of the Ardennes Forest, it was the very place
where they might choose to build up their strength. Koch, at a staff
meeting on 9 December, specifically said that the Germans might be
concentrating their combat power opposite the VIII Corps at the
Ardennes.
Koch's boss, Patton, had no interest in heading north toward the
VIII Corps, since Germany, his objective, was due east. For months,
he had been planning "to go through the Siegfried Line [Germany's
border fortifications] like shit through a goose." Nonetheless, after
Koch's briefing on 9 December, he tasked his staff members to "be in
a position to meet whatever happens." Thereafter, they began to survey
the road net and bridges leading from Third Army's sector north to the Ardennes.
Patton, despite his own premonitions and plans, initially underestimated
the strength of the German offensive launched on the 16th. He
had been angry and embarrassed that elements of the First Army, to
his north, and the 6th Army Group, to his south, had already reached
Germany before his own troops. (They "made a monkey of me," he
complained.) Now that he had finally battered his way through the
defended towns of the province of Lorraine and the forts of the Maginot
Line, he wished to move in only one direction, straight across the Saar
River into enemy territory. Nonetheless, on 18 December, after Bradley
showed him the extent and size of the German penetrations in the
Ardennes, Patton responded that he would send one of his four army
corps north within twenty-four hours. That contingent (III Corps) had
been a planning cell removed from direct contact with the enemy. Now
Patton would transfer three divisions to its command, approximately
50,000 men, to contain the German onslaught on the southern shoulder
of the bulge. Meanwhile, Patton also planned to send another corps,
an additional 50,000 men, northeast to cut the enemy salient at its
base and trap the Germans, preventing their escape.
Not the least of Patton's many contributions during this operation
(which Americans would call the Battle of the Bulge) was his style of
leadership and his manner of command. Patton, according to Bradley,
"naturally radiated unbound confidence and dogged determination." It
was now his outspoken conviction that Germany's surprise attack was
not a defeat for the Anglo-American coalition but, instead, a great
opportunity for the Allied armies. In mid-August, the Allies had failed
to destroy the entire German Seventh Army in France when they
allowed as many as 240,000 enemy soldiers to escape through the
Argentan-Falaise gap in Normandy. After that, supply shortages
(especially gasoline fuel), constant rain, and stubborn German resistance on broken terrain dramatically limited mobility. It took Patton's Third
Army sixteen miserable weeks to fight its way across Lorraine (approximately seventy-five miles wide). Now, in December, as the
Germans moved out from behind their fortifications, exposing their
combat assets and logistical tail, a brand new chance at a decisive
victory existed-if the Allies were fast, daring, and aggressive. (Bradley
later called it "a 'Falaise Gap' on a far grander scale. But this time
we would have to act with much greater speed and boldness" than the
Allies had done in August.)
On 19 December, the Allied high command met to plan its response
to the German attack. Eisenhower tried to dispel the sense of gloom
by saying that "the present situation is to be regarded as one of
opportunity for us and not of disaster." Patton did him one better.
"Hell, let's have the guts to let the bastards go all the way to Paris,
then we'll really cut them off and chew them up."
"When can you start?" Eisenhower asked, ignoring Patton's more
ambitious plan.
"As soon as you're through with me," Patton responded.
When Eisenhower demanded a more specific time, Patton replied,
"The morning of December 21st [thirty-six hours hence], with three
divisions."
"Don't be fatuous, George. If you try to go that early, you'll go
piecemeal. You will start on the twenty-second and I want your initial
blow to be a strong one."
Between 19 and 23 December, in winter storms, the line and staff
of the U.S. Third Army relocated 50 to 150 miles north. On unfamiliar
roads and quagmires (after five weeks of steady rain from November
to December), they deployed 133,178 motor vehicles; a new network of
depots and dumps for 62,000 tons of supplies; 20,000 miles of field wire
for a new communications network; numerous field and evacuation
hospitals; and thousands of new terrain maps for troops entering a
brand new sector. "It was," said a syndicated newspaper correspondent
then serving on Patton's staff, "all wrought quietly and efficiently by
a teamwork without parallel in the ETO, a teamwork rooted deeply in
great know-how, in great confidence in itself and its Commander, and
in great fighting spirit."
Patton, however, was not satisfied just moving his army north.
His comment about letting the Germans go to Paris was only half in
jest. If he had the authority, he would have let the Germans drive
another fifty miles west and then cut the base of their salient.
Eisenhower, having other responsibilities, could not be quite this daring.
He already had committed the only strategic reserves he had, the U.S.
82d and 101st Airborne Divisions, to hold the transportation hubs and
bottlenecks at the northern and southern shoulders of the German bulge.
The 82d, at St. Vith, was in the First Army's area of operations. The
101st, at Bastogne, was Patton's responsibility. Meanwhile, Hitler
declared that his panzer armies "would crush everything in their path."
Patton, always looking to strike a decisive blow that could end the
war then and there, would have preferred to bypass Bastogne and head
straight for St. Vith, where he could rope off and destroy the entire
German salient. Eisenhower, however, insisted that the 101st be rescued,
although many of those cocky paratroopers later claimed that they were
doing quite well on their own. (One said, "So they got us surrounded
again, the poor bastards!") Whether the airborne divisions needed help
or not, Patton, under orders, dispatched the 4th Armored Division, his
favorite division, to relieve Bastogne.
What Patton was to the operational art of war, the 4th Armored
Division was to tactics: the U.S. Army's most skillful practitioner of
flexibility, initiative, and agility. "Speed, speed. Obsessiveness with
speed permeated our lives," recalled a division sergeant; "no one even
had to tell us; there were no orders from Patton to move faster." The
4th was one of only two divisions in the ETO to win a Presidential
Unit Citation, the other one being the 101st Airborne Division, largely
for its own exploits at Bastogne.
Unfortunately, between September and December 1944, in the battles
of attrition in Lorraine, the 4th Armored Division's dash and spirit
had become its liability. Patton said of its commander, Major General
John S. Wood, "Unquestionably, in a rapid moving advance, he is the
greatest division commander I have ever seen, but when things get
sticky he is inclined to worry too much, which keeps him from sleeping
and runs him down, and makes it difficult to control his operations."
Twenty days before sending the division toward Bastogne, Patton
relieved Wood for general insubordination. ("I hate to do this as he is
one of my best friends but war is war.") Admittedly, Wood was guilty
of crossing unit boundaries and phase lines ("such lines meant little
to me [he said], and I went where the going [was] good"). Wood by
passed objectives that he thought unimportant and vocally protested
the way his corps commander used tanks-as if they were fire support
for infantry rather than weapons for exploitation and maneuver. By
late December, the slow and methodical Lorraine campaign was over.
For Bastogne, Patton once again needed the 4th Division, whose military
pride was "deep envelopment by armor."
Under Wood's tutelage, the division had developed an extremely
flexible form of command and control that today is called "mission
type orders." "Due to the swift movement of events" between July and
September, "it was necessary," according to 4th Armored Division
personnel, to "permit a latitude of decision to staff officers and subordinate
commanders that at first appeared radical. On closer examination,
however, the advantage of this system became apparent. It
permitted the officer on the spot ... to make a decision quickly and
take action when it was most needed and when it would do the most
good."
This flexibility was necessary during the 4th Division's passage to
Bastogne, 150 miles north. The lead unit of its relief column was the
37th Tank Battalion, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Creighton W.
Abrams, a future Army chief of staff (1972-74). In World War II,
Abrams won two Distinguished Service Crosses, two Silver Stars, a
Bronze Star, and an accolade from Patton: "I'm supposed to be the
best tank commander in the Army, but I have a peer-Abe Abrams."
Although Time magazine called the 37th Tank Battalion "a fearsome
weapon of destruction," it was far from being at its best in late
December 1944. When dispatched to Bastogne, it was short 230 men
and 34 tanks-one-half of its organic firepower. It might never have
arrived near Bastogne at all without close air support from the XIX
Tactical Air Command and its P-47 Thunderbolt fighter-bombers, each
plane armed with eight .50-caliber machine guns, rockets, and bombs
to suppress German tanks and artillery.
The Army Air Forces (AAF) in World War II took great pride in
flexibility, its capstone manual claiming that "the inherent flexibility
of air power is its greatest asset. This flexibility," it continued, "makes
it possible to employ the whole weight of the available air power
against selected areas in turn." At the beginning of the war, the AAF
had virtually no capability for accurate and effective close air support.
By 1944, however, it had developed and fielded the best fighter-bombers
(P-47s) in any arsenal. It had also perfected a surface-to-air communications
system that enabled tanks and planes to maneuver together,
identifying targets of opportunity for one another as they appeared
without warning on the battlefield. This, by comparison, was a far
more flexible system of close air support than any the Germans had
ever fielded, the Luftwaffe being used in prearranged missions for prepared
breakthroughs on static enemy positions.
The 4th Armored Division, despite close air support, was still out
gunned on the ground by the time it arrived within striking distance
of Bastogne, but the Americans maneuvered their weapons with greater
rapidity. Therefore, Abrams' immediate superior decided to skirt heavily
defended enemy positions by taking secondary roads-a more time
consuming but less-direct procedure. Abrams was about to proceed as
directed when he observed C-47 aircraft dropping supplies on Bastogne.
Convinced that American troops there were in desperate straits, he
immediately changed his approach plan to the direct route (forgetting,
however, to inform his commanding officer). After the first tanks of
the battalion fought their way into the outskirts of Bastogne on 25
December-the day after Patton said they would arrive-Abrams
received a radio inquiry from his superior: the colonel asked him to
consider a breakthrough attempt and linkup with the paratroopers that
night.
One would have liked to end the story of the Battle of the Bulge
with the linkup at Bastogne. The airborne troops' resistance and their
relief by U.S. armor was surely one of the great exploits in the history
of the U.S. Army. Unfortunately, as Patton recognized from the beginning
of the entire operation, Bastogne was just a road junction at the
waist of the bulge. As such, it should not have become the ultimate
Allied objective. Instead, the decisive point of the campaign should have
been a linkup from the north and the south somewhere at the base of
the German salient. There, the Allied armies could trap all the Germans
they had not killed or captured. However, the Allied high command,
especially Montgomery, chose a more cautious but less-rewarding plan
pushing the Germans out of the bulge back into Germany.
Patton thought this plan made no sense: "If you get a monkey in
the jungle hanging by his tail, it is easier to get him by cutting off
his tail than kicking him in the face." Nonetheless, Patton did not get
his way and was not allowed to begin his drive into the base of the
bulge until 18 January. By that time, most of the Germans had escaped.
To be sure, the Bulge was a victory. The Allies killed or captured
at least 100,000 Germans and destroyed 800 tanks and 1,000 planes.
In the words of the German Army's official historian, the Ardennes
offensive of 1944 "broke the backbone of the western front." Still, most
of the German soldiers and approximately half their equipment slipped
through the noose that Patton would have tied around their neck if
the entire Allied force had been as flexible as his command.
The Army's capstone manual, FM 100-5, Operations (1986), says
the following about flexibility:
The commander must foresee developments as far as possible. However,
he must also expect uncertainties and be ready to exploit opportunities....
The defender must be agile enough to counter or evade the
attacker's blow, then strike back effectively.... Reserves prepare to
move anywhere in sector and make counterattack plans to cover all
likely contingencies. Once the attacker has been controlled, the defender
can operate against his exposed flanks and his rear.
At the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, the U.S. Army fought
one of the greatest battles in its history. It did not, however, completely
fulfill the high standards its doctrine now sets for itself. It blocked the
enemy's main avenues of attack and rushed reserves into the critical
sector, but it did not act quickly against the enemy's exposed rear areas.
Bibliography
Blumenson, Martin. Patton: The Man Behind the Legend, 1885-1945.
New York: Morrow, 1985.
Bradley, Omar Nelson, and Clay Blair. A General's Life: An Auto
biography. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983.
Farago, Ladislas. Patton: Ordeal and Triumph. New York: L Obolensky,
1963.
Franke, Nat, and Larry Smith. Patton's Best: An Informal History of
the 4th Armored Division. New York: Hawthorn Books, 1978.
MacDonald, Charles Brown. A Time for Trumpets: The Untold Story
of the Battle of the Bulge. New York: Morrow, 1985.
The Chance Seizure of the Remagen Bridge Over the Rhine
Major Bruce Alsup
In the Allied advance across Germany in March 1945, Brigadier
General William M. Hoge was faced with a soul-searching decision.
The 9th Armored Division headquarters, under Major General John W.
Leonard, had directed him to push south rapidly and link up with the
Third Army's 4th Armored Division. But as Hoge prepared to go south,
he recognized an opportunity to seize a standing bridge over the Rhine
River-an opening through the enemy's homeland defensive barrier. For
Hoge to concentrate his forces on seizing and holding the bridge instead
of driving south, however, would be a deliberate violation of orders.
Furthermore, the Germans could be expected to blow up this bridge,
as they had all the other bridges in the Allied armies' path of advance.
While success could excuse Hoge's violation of orders, failure could
result in his court-martial and disgrace. Demonstrating initiative, Hoge
made his decision: he ordered his forces to seize the Ludendorff Bridge
at Remagen.
The May 1986 edition of Field Manual 100-5, Operations, defines
initiative as "setting or changing the terms of battle by action." The
Army encourages commanders at all levels to use initiative. For a subordinate
commander, employing initiative requires a willingness and
ability to act independently within the framework of his senior commander's
intent. Thus, a subordinate commander must be audacious
and willing to take risks when exploiting battlefield opportunities. These
risks, however, must be taken with a clear understanding of the senior
commander's intent and the battlefield situation.
On the senior commander's part, he must establish a command
atmosphere that allows subordinate commanders to take risks, that is,
a climate in which the execution of plans is decentralized and where
flexibility exists for subordinate commanders to exploit opportunities.
Once enemy vulnerabilities have been discovered or created by subordinate
commanders, however, a senior commander must be able to alter
his operational plans to exploit the situation.
Opportunities to demonstrate these sorts of initiative were rife in
1944. The fortunes of the German and the Allied forces had shifted
radically. After the successful invasion at Normandy and breakout from
the beachhead, the Allies pushed the Germans back to the Westwall
(Siegfried Line), the German border defensive fortifications. With the
end of the war seemingly in sight, the Supreme Headquarters, Allied
Expeditionary Force (SHAEF), continued planning for the final offensive
to destroy Hitler's Third Reich, an attack that would punch through
the Westwall and cross the Rhine into Germany's heartland.
General Dwight D. Eisenhower planned to assault Germany on a
broad front, with multiple axes driving into the German homeland.
The Allied forces would launch two major thrusts into Germany: one
north of the Ardennes to seize the Ruhr industrial region and the other
south of the Ardennes, a secondary effort, to assist the main drive
and eliminate the lesser Saar industrial area. The earlier German
counteroffensive through the lightly defended Ardennes Forest in
December 1944-the Battle of the Bulge-momentarily had dominated
the Allies' planning. Once this attack stalled, however, the final offensive resumed.
According to Eisenhower's plan, the Allies would advance to the
Rhine in stages and then push the Germans west of the river, prevent
ing them from making another surprise attack in a weak sector. With
the river as a buffer, the Allies could safely conduct a strategic
economy-of-force mission in the south while supporting a major effort
by Field Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery's 21st Army Group in the north.
As part of this operation, on 3 March, the 12th Army Group
commander, Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley, ordered his subordinates,
Lieutenant General Courtney H. Hodges, the First Army commander,
and Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr., the Third Army
commander, to clear the Rhineland north of the Moselle River (see map
15). The enveloping thrusts of Operation Lumberjack would create a
pocket of trapped Germans in the northern reaches of the Eifel. In
this two-phase campaign, Hodges was to close on the Rhine between
Düsseldorf and Cologne, with Major General J. Lawton Collins' VII
Corps protecting the right flank of Lieutenant General William H.
Simpson's Ninth Army as it advanced to the Rhine in the north.
Meanwhile, Patton was to prepare bridgeheads across the Kyll River.
Then, with Ninth Army safely at the Rhine, Hodges was to turn the
VII Corps toward Cologne and strike swiftly with the whole army to
the southeast. The First Army would join Patton's columns as they
stabbed toward the Rhine in the vicinity of Koblenz.
Map 15.
As the attack progressed, Collins' VII Corps met heavy resistance,
while Major General John Millikin's III Corps moved rapidly against
light opposition. Between 2 to 5 March, the tactical situation resulted
in a series of boundary changes that oriented the III Corps farther
southeast toward the Ahr River. In response, on 6 March, Millikin
shifted all his divisions' objectives to the southeast-the 1st Division
to Bonn; the 9th Division to Bad Godesberg; the 9th Armored Division's
CCB (Combat Command B) to Remagen and CCA along the Ahr from
Sinzig to Bad Neuenahr; and the 78th Division to Ahrweiler.
By the night of 6 March, the 9th Armored Division (-), led by CCA,
reached a position less than two miles from the Ahr. Hoge's CCB, to
the north, reached Stadt Meckenheim, located only eight miles from
the Rhine River and the objective at Remagen. The next morning, CCA
crossed the Ahr River at Bad Neuenahr against heavy German resistance.
Closing the Ahr valley cut the withdrawal route for the Germans'
LXVII Corps. By this time, Patton's forces were closing in the southern
half of the pincer. The Eifel pocket was almost closed. As changes in
the plans for the III Corps and First Army filtered down each echelon
of command, Hoge reoriented the lead task forces toward CCB's new
objectives.
On the morning of 7 March, while the 9th Armored Division (-)
and CCA crossed the Ahr, Hoge's CCB pushed southeastward in two
columns: one to cross the Ahr near its confluence with the Rhine and
another column toward the small town of Remagen. Then, the force
rapidly would push south along the west bank of the Rhine to link
with the lead elements of Patton's army.
The task force leading the column headed for Remagen was commanded
by Lieutenant Colonel Leonard Engeman and was built around
the 27th Armored Infantry Battalion and the 14th Tank Battalion (-).
A Company, 27th Battalion, reinforced by a platoon from A Company,
14th Tank Battalion, spearheaded Task Force Engeman's advance
toward Remagen and met weak, sporadic German resistance. By noon,
it entered the woods on the high ground just west of the town.
Just before 1300, First Lieutenant Karl H. Timmerman, the new
commander of A Company, responded excitedly to a call from his
company's lead platoon. As Timmerman's jeep rounded a sharp curve
in the road, he looked through a clearing in the heavy woods. Below
him, within a panoramic view of the Rhine, was the town of Remagen.
Just beyond it, silhouetted against the sky, was the Ludendorff Bridge,
still standing and spanning the Rhine.
From that moment on, the situation developed rapidly. Timmerman
called for armor support and mortars to attack the retreating Germans
on the bridge. This call attracted the attention of Engeman, who arrived
at Timmerman's vantage point minutes later, along with Major Deevers,
the commander of the infantry battalion. Engeman directed Deevers to
begin planning the attack on the town. Soon afterward, Major Ben
Cothran, Hoge's operations officer, arrived. He assessed the situation
and immediately called Hoge, who arrived a few minutes past 1300.
Hoge quickly grasped the situation, then raged at the delay in
taking Remagen. His display of anger produced the desired results:
Engeman issued a rapid directive to the assault company commander,
who moved out to execute the orders quickly. Satisfied with the new
sense of urgency, Hoge quietly remarked to Engeman, "It would be
nice to get that bridge too while we're at it."
While Engeman directed his forces in seizing the town, Hoge care
fully considered his response to the immediate situation. His orders
were to orient his forces to cross the Ahr River and then to proceed
south and link up with the 4th Division of Patton's Third Army. Since
Hoge's force was the lead element of the First Army and III Corps,
Bradley held him responsible for that linkup. Hoge understood Bradley's
intent to complete the encirclement of German forces in the Eifel pocket.
If Hoge's command failed to complete its part of that operation and
the Germans found a way to escape, then Operation Lumberjack would fail.
However, Hoge did not intend to ignore an intact bridge over the
Rhine River, Germany's historically impenetrable defensive barrier.
Seizing such a bridge would be a windfall worth the gamble. A successful
capture of the bridge might excuse a direct violation of his
orders, but what was his likelihood of success?
Although the possibility of capturing a bridge had been discussed
at every echelon of command, no one expected the methodical Germans
to leave any intact. In the opening days of Operation Lumberjack, the
Ninth Army had made two concerted attempts to seize bridges over
the Rhine near Cologne. Both attempts were nearly successful, but the
Germans finally managed to destroy the bridges-one in the face of
U.S. forces, the other as American soldiers crossed it. In both instances,
the responsible U.S. commanders had failed, which resulted in the loss
of American lives and the deflection of resources from the main effort.
In Hoge's case, he reasoned that his losses would be limited if his
gamble failed. He might lose a platoon if the Germans blew up the
bridge and cut off the first men who crossed. But what would be his
commanders' response if he failed to take the bridge? Would they find
his gamble reasonable?
While the possibility of taking a Rhine bridge had been discussed
within the III Corps and 9th Division, the corps' G3 had confirmed
that the 9th Division's objective was still the Ahr River, not the Rhine.
Neither the 9th Division's nor CCB's field orders had even mentioned
taking the bridge at Remagen, although Leonard, the 9th Division
commander, had briefly hinted at that possibility to the CCB
commander.
Weighing the potential outcomes, costs, and results of both success
and failure, Hoge made his decision: he ordered Engeman to seize the
bridge. Engeman's task force responded immediately. While
Timmerman's company worked through the town and across the bridge,
Hoge faced another dilemma: how much of his force could he push
across the river to hold the bridge against German counterattacks?
As Hoge deliberated, he received two messages that placed him in
a quandary. He received orders from the 9th Division's operations center
to divert as much strength as possible from Remagen and reinforce
the bridgehead over the Ahr River at Sinzig. Meanwhile, Engeman
informed him that Timmerman's company had seized the bridge and
had disabled the detonation system. The Germans' attempt to blow up
the bridge had failed. Nonetheless, the hold on the east side of the
river was tenuous; additional forces were needed immediately to safe
guard the bridgehead.
While one message reinforced his earlier concerns about following
orders, the other supported his earlier decision to take the bridge. But
should he hold the bridge, disregarding his orders to drive south? For
the second time, he decided that seizing and holding the bridge was
critical. He ordered Engeman to use all the forces in the area to hold
the bridgehead. Then, Hoge returned to his command post at Biersdorff
to report his actions to Leonard, the 9th Armored Division commander.
The news that CCB had seized the Ludendorff Bridge moved rapidly
up the echelons of command-with varied reactions. Leonard was
pleased but waited for permission from III Corps before allocating forces
to reinforce the Remagen bridgehead. At the III Corps' command post,
Colonel James H. Phillips, the corps' chief of staff (in command in
Millikin's absence), ordered Leonard to exploit the bridgehead as far
as possible with his available forces. Even though Millikin was out
with the 78th Division, Phillips was certain what his response would
be. While Phillips called Millikin, the corps' operations officer called
the First Army. Hodges, the First Army commander, and Brigadier
General Truman C. Thorson, the First Army W, pushed the decision
one level higher to Bradley, the 12th Army Group commander.
Bradley's initial excitement was dulled by the SHAEF operations
officer, Major General Harold R. Bull, who asserted that taking the
bridge at Remagen did not "fit into the plan." Consequently, Bradley
referred the decision to Eisenhower. Ike's response was: "To hell with
the planners. Sure, go on, Brad, and I'll give you everything we've got
to hold that bridgehead." That evening, the First Army relieved the
III Corps of the mission to push south and directed it to reinforce the
bridgehead at Remagen.
During the next two weeks, the III Corps expanded the bridgehead
at Remagen with five divisions. In reaction, the Germans conducted
numerous piecemeal counterattacks but were unable to dislodge the U.S.
forces. Earlier, German forces had massed in the north to thwart
Montgomery's assault in the Ruhr area. While some of these forces
were sent south to meet the Remagen threat, most remained in the
north. With First Army's bridgehead at Remagen and another one
established by Third Army at Oppenheim, Eisenhower decided to make
the 12th Army Group's advance the main thrust into Germany.
Thus, Hoge's initiative had a significant impact on the war. He
demonstrated exemplary willingness to act independently within the
framework of his higher commanders' intent and took risks to exploit
opportunities arising on the battlefield. While Hoge's commander,
Leonard, appeared supportive-as did senior commanders up the chain
of command-each echelon commander was cautious, seeking permission
from the next higher headquarters. Hoge made his decision promptly,
when it had to be made. The hesitation by commanders in the higher
headquarters raises questions about the quality of their initiative.
An analysis of reliefs in command and the combat operations of
12th Army Group and First Army before they crossed into Germany
indicates that the command climate discouraged initiative by subordinate
commanders. Bradley explained his policy on command relief
"each commander must always assume total responsibility ... if his
commanders fail him in the attack, then he must relieve them or be
relieved himself." In the indecisive grinding through the hedgerows of
France, Bradley fired four division commanders, three brigadier generals,
and many regimental and battalion commanders. When he left
First Army to command the 12th Army Group, that attitude concerning
dismissals remained in First Army and moved higher with him.
Hodges, on his part, "expected his officers to adhere strictly to
orders and procedures and to carry out their missions. He had almost
no tolerance for concerns, complaints, bad news, [or] extra questions."
Hodges fired four division and two corps commanders, including
Millikin, the III Corps commander at Remagen. In this command
environment, First Army generals showed themselves competent but
were overly cautious.
Thus, for Hoge, the decision at Remagen involved significant risk
taking. Considering the command environment in First Army, if he
had failed to seize the bridge before the Germans destroyed it, he risked
being relieved of command. However, by succeeding, Hoge altered the
course of the war in western Europe and demonstrated the decisive
importance of initiative on the battlefield.
Bibliography
Bolger, Daniel P. "Zero Defects: Command Climate in First US Army,
1944-1945." Military Review 66 (May 1991).
Bradley, Omar Nelson. A Soldier's Story. New York: Holt, 1951.
Hechler, Ken. The Bridge at Remagen. New York: Ballentine Books,
1957.
MacDonald, Charles Brown. The Last Offensive. United States Army
in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military
History, U.S. Army, 1973.
Pogue, Forrest C. The Supreme Command. United States Army in World
War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History,
Department of the Army, 1954.
Close Air Support in World War II: The Roots of the
Tragedy in Operation Cobra
Dr. Michael D. Pearlman
Necessity is the mother of innovation, and there is no greater
national necessity than war. Moreover, nothing is more unpredictable
and confusing than combat. Consequently, the best one can hope from
preparedness in peacetime is a doctrine and force structure that has to
make only minor adjustments in war. The adjustment time-when in
novations are desperately necessary-costs every nation casualties. In
the Pacific in 1943, the U.S. Marine Corps, which had been preparing
for amphibious invasions since the 1920s, had to make its fire support
more precise and responsive after Tarawa. In Europe, in 1944, the U.S.
Army Air Corps had to make far greater adjustments to execute close
air support, a mission it never wanted.
Between World Wars I and II, the U.S. Army Air Service or Air
Corps (as it became known in 1926) had one overwhelming ambition:
to gain institutional autonomy as an independent service separate from
the ground forces. The Air Service-Air Corps felt that it had been victimized
more than most other branches of the Army during the long reign
of retrenchment in military spending between 1920 and 1938. During
this period, the War Department generally chose to preserve manpower
rather than spend its meager resources on research, development, and
fielding new equipment. This priority was good for the Infantry branch
but bad for technology-intensive mechanized forces. It was downright
dangerous for aviation. In the 1920s and 1930s, one airman died in a
peacetime accident for every 12,800 miles flown.
U.S. Army flyers, consequently, believed that aviation's health and
their own physical survival depended on the creation of a completely
independent service in charge of its own budget and appropriations.
But for that to happen, the Air Service would need independent missions
under its own command and control, not that of ground commanders.
The missions and responsibilities that met that criterion were, number
one, that of obtaining air supremacy: the battle for control of the skies.
Another mission that met the criterion was strategic bombing: "the
progressive dislocation and destruction of the [enemy's] military, industrial,
and economic system" in the heartland of enemy territory.
The Air Service also wanted the mission of battlefield air interdiction:
hitting supply bases and transportation assets approximately seventy
five kilometers behind enemy lines. The Air Service's least-sought
mission was close air support, in which aviation would act as flying
artillery under the control of ground commanders.
In the 1930s, the theory of strategic bombing directly affected the
Air Corps' capabilities. Since doctrine underscored the invincibility of
the heavy bomber ("the bomber will always get through"), that is what
was funded and what came out of the factories in 1937. At that time,
the Air Corps fielded its first seven B-17s, which could fly at 232 miles
per hour with a range of 2,100 miles. Meanwhile, the Air Corps meagerly
funded tactical aircraft and consistently changed its requirements for
tactical air power. Different people demanded different capabilities,
depending on their priorities: local air defense, long-range bomber escort,
or battlefield interdiction. In these confusing circumstances, the Air
Corps did not develop the capabilities to perform close air support.
And because they did not have the immediate capability for that mission,
airmen said that the mission could not be done. They claimed
that targets at the battle front were too widely dispersed and usually
dug in to protect airmen from enemy artillery. Far behind the front,
targets were larger, softer, and out in the open, which made them more
vulnerable to the imprecise, high-altitude bombers whose main targets
were large factories and cities. As late as mid-1943, the capstone manual
of the U.S. Army Air Corps declared: "in the zones of contact, missions
against hostile forces are most difficult to control, are most expensive,
and are, in general, least effective.... Only at critical times are contact
zone [battlefield] missions profitable."
Doctrine was one thing; necessity was another. Whatever American
airmen may have wanted to do, war made unforeseen demands on
their time and their resources, especially once Germany showed the
importance of close air support to the ground battle. Because Germany
was a land power in the midst of Central Europe, ground considerations
predominated. Thus, the Luftwaffe did not have the same wide options
as non-Continental air forces-the British Royal Air Force and the U.S.
Army Air Corps. Although German flyers also considered close air support
their last priority, Germany's wars against Poland, France, and
Russia would be determined on the ground. Consequently, Germany
had developed the Stuka dive-bomber in the late 1930s. By contrast,
as late as April 1942, U.S. Army doctrine did not even mention dive
bombers. Furthermore, Army pilots (as opposed to their Navy counter
parts) were not training for the mission as late as 1943.
In the German invasion of France (1940), Stukas shattered the will
and the nerve of numerous French soldiers at the front who had never
seen anything like them and had no idea how to respond. However,
the U.S. Army, which observed the battle for France, did have time to
learn and adapt. A month after the Battle of France ended, Major
General Henry ("Hap") Arnold, the commanding general of the U.S.
Army Air Corps, reconsidered his responsibilities. He previously had
praised Japan for "not assigning her air force to operate against front
line trenches." He now ordered the creation of two dive-bomber groups
and accelerated research, development, and production of airplanes
dedicated to that specific mission. By mid-1944, American airfields were
receiving the most robust and well-armed fighter-bombers in the world:
P-38 Lightnings and P-47 Thunderbolts. Too frequently, however, the
Army and the U.S. Army Air Forces (AAF) still had to use what they
had on hand: P-40s (modified fighters that had not been effective in
air-to-air combat) and B-17s.
Arnold-a strategic bomber man first, last, and always-was wise
enough to realize that if the AAF only fielded four-engine heavy bomb
ers, then many of those planes would probably be diverted to close air
support. That chain of events would not benefit the nation, the AAF,
or the Infantry. At the least, it might be overkill: an instance where a
very expensive asset was used where a less costly capability would
suffice. At worst, heavy bombers, which would saturate a general area,
could kill a lot of friendly troops by inaccurate bombing short of the
enemy target. This is exactly what happened during Operation Cobra
in Normandy on 25 July 1944.
Within two weeks of the Allied landing in France on 6 June 1944,
progress toward Paris had virtually ground to a halt. Preinvasion
planners had been so worried and concerned with the initial lodgment
that they had not paid sufficient attention to exploitation after they
got ashore. The Allies now were stuck in what they called "hedgerow
territory." General Omar N. Bradley, commander of the U.S. First Army,
described the terrain where he fought:
The hedgerows formed a natural line of defense more formidable than
any even Rommel could have contrived. For centuries the broad, rich
flatlands had been divided and subdivided into tiny pastures whose
earthen walls had grown into ramparts. Often the height and thickness
of a tank, these hedgerows were crowned with a thorny growth of trees
and brambles. Their roots had bound the packed earth as steel mesh
reinforces concrete.... To advance from pasture to pasture it became
necessary for us to break a path in the face of savage and well
concealed enemy fire.... [General J. Lawton] Collins called it no less
formidable than the jungles of Guadalcanal.
The stalemate on this terrain reminded Allied officers of World War
I trench warfare. Then, the Allies had hoped that massive artillery
bombardments could restore maneuver by suppressing enemy fire. This
was not successful in 1916, but what other options did the Allies have?
Now in 1944, they again proposed bombardment, this time from airplanes,
not just artillery tubes.
Air Chief Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, commander of the Allied
Expeditionary Air Forces, became the primary advocate of carpet bombing,
a tactic rarely used before Operation Cobra. The principle was to
cover selected terrain with bombs like one covers floors with carpets,
saturating the entire area. The area selected in July 1944 was a plot
of ground five miles wide and one mile deep (see map 16). Crawling
with Germans, the area blocked the march route of the U.S. VII Corps.
After the Allies saturated this rectangle with 50,000 bombs, the ground
forces would spring through it and drive deep into the enemy rear.
That, anyway, was the plan.
Once the plan was made, all that was needed was precise execution.
Nothing, however, is less precise than war. This is particularly true of
joint operations. Frequently, ground force and air force commanders
know little about each other's capabilities and requirements, unless joint
operations, like close air support, have a high priority in their institutions,
doctrines, and training. This was not the case in Britain or the United
States before the war. The results, unfortunately, were apparent in the
execution of Operation Cobra.
Bradley, befitting a former commandant of the Infantry School at
Fort Benning, wanted his assault troops in the operation ready to attack
as soon as possible after the bombing. If they dispersed, dug in, and
waited, they would be safe from friendly fire from the air. They would
not, however, be safe from the Germans, who would crawl out of their
holes and reestablish their positions before American soldiers got
through their lines. Thus, maneuver should be simultaneous with fire:
a basic principle at Fort Benning.
The U.S. Eighth Air Force commanders, whose primary experience
had been bombing cities and industrial sites, understood much better
the imprecision of their weapon, the heavy bomber, than their Army
colleagues. Consequently, the air commanders wanted ground forces to
withdraw at least 3,000 yards from their current positions, giving them
some protection from bombs falling short of the targets. However,
according to Bradley, that fallback might defeat the purpose of the
bombing-which was to allow Bradley's troops to spring across enemy
strongpoints. The result, finally, was a compromise that satisfied neither
side. Troops withdrew 1,250 yards.
Map 16.
Another issue causing great disagreement was the direction of the
air approach: should it be perpendicular or parallel to U.S. ground
forces? Perpendicular meant that the bombers would fly from north to
south, over their own troops. Parallel meant they would go west to east,
thereby not flying over friendly forces and therefore avoiding a
deadly bombing error.
Ironically, the Army and the Air Corps switched roles on the issue
of caution. Bradley, though he wanted his soldiers out of their trenches
and near the bombing site as quickly as possible, insisted that the
AAF take the parallel approach to reduce deaths from bombing errors.
Meanwhile, the AAF maintained that the parallel approach was technically
impossible. All 1,500 bombers could not fly in 1 hour down a
corridor 1 mile wide-the physical dimension of the area to be bombed.
Unfortunately, the Army and the AAF did not communicate clearly
with each other on this issue. Airmen apparently voiced their opinions
to Bradley-but not as vigorously as when they spoke among them
selves. On this occasion, their good manners and their deference to a
senior officer led to more misunderstanding. On 24 July, to quote General
Bradley, "the planes flew a course perpendicular to our lines rather
than parallel to it as I had been assured they would. I have seldom
been so angry. It was duplicity-a shocking breach of good faith."
To add to the confusion, AAF planners believed that they had
clearly explained the problem to Bradley. Bradley, however, wanted
maximum tonnage dropped in the minimum time to increase the shock
that might benumb the Germans. Because this was impossible on the
parallel approach, Bradley led the airmen to believe, in their own words,
that "he had decided to accept the additional risk of perpendicular
bombing."
One suspects that both sides were telling the truth, at least as
they experienced it. They did not, however, understand each other, although
they spoke the same native language and served the same cause,
and many had graduated from the same institution-the U.S. Military
Academy. Before the war, however, they had different doctrines and
different priorities. War should be the last place where servicemen learn
to communicate.
Another basic problem in Operation Cobra had to do with air-to
ground visibility. On 24 July, the scheduled day of the attack, heavy
clouds covered the target. This made precision bombing virtually impossible.
But before Leigh-Mallory decided to postpone the operation, 317
heavy bombers were in flight. The exact damage to the Germans on
this day is not known. Twenty-five Americans, however, were killed
and 131 wounded by the bombing.
The next day, after the cloud cover dissipated, the full Allied air
armada went into action: almost 1,500 heavy bombers (B-17s and B-24s)
dropping 4,400 tons of ordnance. When this much firepower is con
centrated in a small space and one hour of time, an air force inevitably
will create its own visibility problem in the dust clouds and smoke
emanated by its ordnance. In Operation Cobra, this haze obscured the
road that was supposed to be the bomb line demarcating friendly forces
from the foe. Consequently, some 75 planes dropped their bombs short
of the target, causing 601 American casualties, 111 of them killed.
One of the dead was Lieutenant General Leslie J. McNair-the
highest-ranking American casualty in the European theater. During
maneuvers before the war, he had sharply criticized the quality of air
support, and he had remained an outspoken opponent of an independent
air corps, largely because it would deprive the Army of effective fire
support from its own air assets. His own death helped prove his case
that air-ground operations needed much improvement.
The Germans, who were subject to far greater ordnance, suffered
only marginally more casualties than the Americans: 700 dead, wounded,
or missing. They had anticipated the bombing and had dug in for
protection. American troops, out in the open and ready to move, were
far more exposed.
Cobra did, however, degrade important German units, especially
the Panzer Lehr Division that stood directly in the path of the U.S.
VII Corps. Before the bombing, the German division had been in continuous
combat for forty-five days without resupply or refitting. Hence,
it only had about 2,200 combat soldiers and 45 working armored vehicles
when the bombing began. Cobra may have provided the blow that
broke the proverbial camel's back. It did not kill many men and many
tanks, but it did wreck numerous motor vehicles, including antitank
assets. Even more important, it destroyed the communication wires that
gave the Germans most of their command and control. This meant
that the Germans could not react effectively to U.S. maneuver units
(especially armor) that went back into action on 26 July. German artillery
fire, for example, now had to be preplanned. Forward observers
had lost their links to German firepower. By 27 July, two days after
the bombing, General Bradley assessed the battlefield and concluded
that the enemy's defenses had now been penetrated. The next day, he
wrote to General Eisenhower: "This operation could not have been the
success it has been without such close cooperation of the Air.... The
bombardment which we gave them [on 25 July] was apparently highly
successful even though we did suffer many casualties ourselves."
Although most of Cobra's air power consisted of heavy bombers,
P-47 fighter-bombers, built for close air support and long-range bomber
escorts, also saw action. Unlike the heavier bombers, they could and
did safely attack enemy targets barely 100 meters in front of American
troops. In the last week of July, the fighter-bombers in the U.S. VII
Corps' area of operations destroyed or damaged over 500 enemy assault
guns and tanks. Despite the deadly confusion of Operation Cobra, the
armed forces of the United States had still developed the most effective
system of close air support seen in all of World War II.
The correct weapons-P-47s and P-51s-now entered the European
theater in mass. Furthermore, soldiers and airmen in the field devised
doctrine, techniques, and equipment for rapid and effective ground-to
air and air-to-ground communication. After the war and long after
Cobra, one former tank commander recalled how "reconnaissance pickup
of [enemy] resistance was immediately radioed to TAC [tactical air
command]. Invariably [TAC] would wipe out the enemy for us; from
Rennes to Vannes he never missed. The planes were mainly Thunder
bolts and Mustangs, gorgeous things to look at information-all the
more gorgeous in that they were seldom more than two hundred yards
in front of us." The Army and the AAF had improved a great deal in
the short time after Cobra.
The U.S. Army Air Corps entered World War II without doctrine,
capabilities, and training for close air support. Consequently, the Air
Corps' commanders and the Army's ground commanders had to innovate
during wartime. Operation Cobra, where 136 soldiers were killed by
friendly fire, demonstrated the danger of learning while fighting. While
close air support was both effective and relatively safe by the end of
World War II, tragedy occurred at Operation Cobra when innovation
took place during the rapid tempo of combat.
Bibliography
Blumenson, Martin. Breakout and Pursuit. United States Army in World
War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History,
Department of the Army, 1961.
Cooling, B. Franklin, ed. Case Studies in the Development of Close
Air Support. Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, U.S.
Air Force, 1990.
Futrell, Robert Frank. Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinking in the
United States Air Force. Vol. 1. 1907-1960. Reprint. Maxwell Air
Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1989.
Sullivan, John J. "The Botched Air Support of Operation Cobra."
Parameters 8 (March 1988).
British Logistics in the Falklands
Lieutenant Colonel Matthew S. Klimow
For much of the world, the Falkland Islands War appeared to be
a folly unfolding in slow motion. A modern army struggled to move
itself 8,000 miles aboard luxury cruise ships to engage a Third World
enemy described as "disinterested, inept, and dozy." The improbable
spark that inflamed hostilities was the arrival of an Argentine scrap
metal salvage team at a long-deserted whaling station on a desolate
island near Antarctica under British sovereignty. Yet when British and
Argentine forces finally collided, the fighting was furious and the out
come often in doubt.
The battle for the Falklands in 1982 was a proving ground for
advanced technology and a classic study in projecting power over
extended lines of communication. The war in the Falklands provides,
commanders a number of insights into modern combined arms operations
at the tactical and operational levels of war. Great Britain's tenuous
logistical operations were particularly revealing in the context
of a rapid deployment operation into an undeveloped area. In this
setting, the link between logistics and operations was close and mortal.
When commanders and planners ignored sound logistical concepts for
operational expediency, the price was paid in lives and the margin of
victory made all the more slim.
From the outset, political considerations influenced military planning.
When the Argentine Army seized the Falkland Islands on 2 April 1982,
British politicians demanded the immediate deployment of their
forces and a conclusive victory. However, no contingency plans existed
for such an action, and the Royal Navy and Air Force had virtually
no strategic lift capability. Thus, military planners requisitioned over
50 merchant ships, pillaged 500,000 tons of NATO supplies, and
developed a forward staging area-all within a week's span.
Decisions made in the first days of the Falkland crisis had repercussions
on logistics that lasted throughout the war, beginning perhaps
with British alert procedures. Shortly after Argentina's invasion, Brigadier
Julian Thompson, commander of the 3 Commando Brigade, Royal
Marines, was told that his unit would deploy. He was forbidden, however,
to divulge that information or to make preparations. This bow to
secrecy created a delay in moving critical supplies to the debarkation
port and left the unit with only three days to move.
Further complicating matters, the British armed forces were so,
pressured to put to sea that they had no time to combat load ships.
Ideally, a logistics plan is based on a mission analysis, the maneuver
plan, and the organization for combat. Ships then can be loaded so
fighting units and their equipment and supplies hit the beach together
and in sequence. Sound combat loading also ensures that men and
materiel are "cross-loaded" among the various convoy vessels to lessen
the impact caused by the loss of a single ship. Logisticians and commanders
embarking for the Falklands failed to provide for any of these requirements.
British planners were not ignorant of these principles. Political
necessity simply overrode sound military procedures. Tons of stocks
were loaded onto ships before the full scope of the mission was clear
and the ground combat units selected. Unlabeled and unmanifested
crates of spare parts and equipment were rushed aboard vessels. More
over, critical items, even when properly marked, were often placed in
the bottom of ships' holds, making it extremely difficult to find or
recover them before marines and soldiers were to storm the beach.
While interservice cooperation generally went well, problems did
arise. The navy loaded ships with required supplies without considering
the ground forces' needs. In addition, some ship captains refused to let
army officers inspect their cargo holds to learn the location of key
pieces of equipment. The ground force logisticians gained a degree of
authority over the placement of cargo much too late. Recognizing that
the jumbled cargo had to be organized before battle, strategic planners
selected Ascension Island (located half-way to the Falklands) as a
restowing and staging area.
The 3 Commando Brigade was the logical choice for the ground
force, since it was structured to move by sea at a moment's notice
with all its classes of supply stored aboard ships. Additionally, its 3,500
commandos had trained extensively in Norway, an advantage since
the harsh antarctic winter was approaching. However, since more
infantry was needed to mount an offensive, two army parachute battalions
were added to the marine brigade. Days later, planners also
decided to send the British Army's 5th Infantry Brigade. Once ashore,
overall command would be established under Major General Jeremy
Moore of the Royal Marines.
The logistics regiment of the 3 Commando Brigade provided service
support. The regiment's five squadrons-medical, transport, workshop,
ordnance, and headquarters -were a mix of marines, soldiers, and
sailors, all skilled in their specialty and also commando qualified.
Unlike the relatively self-contained marines, the 5th Infantry Brigade
had no organic support regiment. Consequently, the commando
logistics regiment had to support 9,000 combat troops-three times its
normal requirement. Planners further exacerbated the regiment's problem
by ordering it to leave behind one-half of its men and one-third of
its equipment to provide more room on the ships for combat and combat
support units. Some additional logistics troops were eventually sent,
but only after an ordnance officer bluffed a ship's loadmaster into
believing that his ordnance unit was a provisional infantry company
needed for beachhead defense.
As the odd armada of naval vessels, merchant ships, ferries, and
luxury liners set sail, planning for the land war began in earnest. The
politicians demanded a quick victory, and the Royal Navy believed
one was necessary, for the vicious South Atlantic weather would so
damage the ships that the navy would be unable to sustain operations
for more than a few weeks. Furthermore, logisticians had brought
enough supplies to keep the task force at sea for three months but
had prepared for only thirty days of supplies to sustain troops in
combat. With an 8,000-mile logistical pipeline and worsening weather,
little could be done for the land forces if they became bogged down in
prolonged fighting.
Since the 3 Commando Brigade departed several days before the
5th Infantry Brigade, initial ground operations were planned by
Thompson and his staff aboard the H.M.S, Fearless. Only a handful
of officers had the expertise to plan an amphibious operation, and few
outside this circle of naval and marine officers understood the complexity
of the task. Thus, lack of experience showed up in logistical
preparation and execution. With the brigade scattered among eleven
ships and radio silence in effect, parallel planning was almost impossible.
The staff of the logistics regiment, aboard R.F.A. Sir Lancelot, wrote
its service support plan without precise knowledge of the operational concept.
The logistics staff clearly realized that Stanley, the island's only
port, would not be attacked immediately. Therefore, the sustainment
effort for ground combat would be a logistics-over-the-shore (LOTS)
operation: ships would have to anchor offshore and unload their cargo
onto a limited number of small logistics landing ships and helicopters
that would then ferry supplies to the beach. Once on land, the cargo
would have to be off-loaded primarily by hand due to the limited
number of forklifts and other heavy equipment. During LOTS operations,
air superiority was crucial since both ships and supply dumps
on the beach were extremely vulnerable to attack.
Land transport consisted of foot soldiers carrying back-breaking
loads. Since trafficability on the Falklands was abysmal and there were
only twelve miles of roads, military planners thought that wheeled and
tracked vehicles would be useless. Accordingly, only a handful of
vehicles were shipped from England, and few were capable of all-terrain
movement. Most were brought not for mobility but because the
vehicle-mounted communications systems and other specialized equipment
could not be manpacked. Fortunately, the marines brought Volvo
BV 202 tracked vehicles that they had used in Norway. Although
designed for use in snow, these vehicles became the logistics workhorses
that hauled supplies and artillery over Falkland peat bogs.
While the British relied heavily on ships for strategic transport,
helicopters became the lifeblood of tactical logistics. But again, the
merchant ships could carry only a limited number of helicopters.
Weather, untrained crews, incompatible communications systems, and
lack of experience in helicopter resupply made fighting, in the words
of Brigadier Julian Thompson, "no picnic."
Ships stopping at Ascension Island (4,000 miles from Great Britain)
provided logisticians a chance to rectify some of the mistakes made in
the frenzied initial stowage of stores and equipment. After the armada
set sail, logisticians inventoried each ship and devised a restowing plan
to combat load each ship as much as possible. Even though maintain
ing unit integrity was important, some units became dispersed because
all the men would not fit on the same ships from which they would
launch their amphibious assault. Therefore, a separate plan for "cross
decking" was developed. This called for ferrying men and supplies to
other ships to join their units just hours before the launch on D-day.
Complicated by the lack of a port facility, the restowing process
took twelve days. Additionally, all work ceased each night as ships
slipped out of Ascension's harbor to avoid being trapped by submarines
or destroyed by Argentine frogmen. Other problems made the Ascension
operation a logistician's nightmare. For instance, tons of supplies
requested by the invasion forces piled up on the island. Royal Navy
logisticians refused to allow army supply teams to assist them in
marrying up men and materiel. As a result, when supplies arrived
addressed to a unit, the naval logistics team had no idea which ship
or ships the unit was on. In addition, many crates came to Ascension
Island bearing only a stock number, making it impossible for the navy
supply people to determine what type of marine or army outfit would
need the materiel. In this way, key items were lost, including special
ammunition and weapons sent for a special forces unit.
The use of helicopters and landing craft in the restowing process
also severely restricted unit rehearsals for the amphibious assault. This
was especially critical to the army units, for they lacked training in
amphibious operations. In a few days, heavily laden soldiers would
have to board their landing craft in darkness on the roughest seas in
the world.
D-day was scheduled for 21 May with the 3 Commando Brigade,
outnumbered by the Argentines 2 to 1, set to go ashore by helicopter
and landing craft. British air superiority, once considered likely, became
a false hope. Consequently, the cross-decking plan was changed to
reflect the expected loss of at least one ship to the Argentine air attack.
On 19 May, the transfer of men and equipment began amid twenty
foot seas. The cross-decking operations were not without cost: twenty
two troops died when a helicopter ditched into the South Atlantic.
Nonetheless, the landing went well as marines and soldiers quickly
secured the beachhead. But Argentine fighters bombed and strafed ships
and troops, necessitating a major change in plans. Because the ground
logistical effort depended on helicopter resupply, a minimum of air
parity was needed before the 3 Commando Brigade could advance. For
five days, while British infantry dug in, Harriers whittled away at the
Argentine Air Force.
Ground forces also needed the pause to build up the brigade support
area, since it was impossible to move troops forward without a secure
logistical base to sustain them. Original plans called for keeping most
of the supplies afloat on ships anchored close to shore. The intensity
of air attacks forced the navy to drop supplies and then seek the protection
of the carrier battle group at sea. Many ships departed before vital
personnel and supplies were off-loaded. For example, the Canberra,
under intense air attack, was forced to sail off before the brigade's
field hospital and surgical support team were unloaded. In many cases,
ground forces were left in short supply of ammunition, batteries, and rations.
Supplies were moved at night in blackout conditions, with little
but human muscle to move heavy cargo. Because the navy continued
to cross-deck cargo at sea, incoming ships did not carry what the
marines expected. To alleviate this problem, commando logistics officers
examined the holds of the ships to determine what should be sent ashore.
Meanwhile, pressure mounted for the British to take offensive
action. On 26 May, the 2 Para (2d Battalion, the Parachute Regiment)
was ordered to take Goose Green. Soldiers carried more than 100 pounds
during their advance. With each step, the crust of the bogs gave way,
forcing them to trudge through a slurry of ice water and mud. Night
movement averaged one kilometer an hour, prompting troops to dub
their torturous march "yomping." The chaotic supply system left para
troopers without tents, dry clothes, or sufficient rations in the freezing
weather. But more important, ammunition would be in short supply.
As the 2 Para engaged Argentine soldiers in ferocious fighting,
resupply grew tenuous. Helicopters supporting the fight were some
times diverted to move critical supplies from ship to shore. Helicopter
fuel ran short. Although bulk fuel was plentiful, it was difficult to get
ashore for distribution because no one was trained in fuel management;
the logistics regiment's petrol troop was a reserve unit and did not
mobilize for the war.
The lack of dedicated helicopters also frustrated ground commanders.
Throughout the war helicopters remained under the control
of the amphibious task group commander (a navy commodore) and
were never transferred to the land force commander, Major General
Jeremy Moore. Because of this situation, the navy often diverted helicopters
from their ground mission. Also, ground troops could not communicate
with the helicopter pilots without mobile air operations teams, which
were in short supply. Getting the right helicopter with the proper cargo
to the correct landing zone was often a matter of luck.
No single event hurt the logistics effort more than the loss of the
Atlantic Conveyor to an Argentine Exocet missile. All the British
heavy-lift assets (CH-47C Chinook helicopters) and several medium-lift
helicopters were aboard that one ship. Fortunately, one of the Chinooks
escaped and became the workhorse of the British logistical effort. Also
lost on the ship was tentage for 4,500 men and a great number of
cargo nets. Without cargo netting, cargo had to be stowed inside helicopters,
which increased loading time and allowed less to be carried.
Compounding that problem was the lack of soldiers trained in loading
cargo and utility helicopters.
On 29 May, the 2 Para finally secured Goose Green-but not with
out significant casualties, including the death of its battalion commander.
Again, the helicopter was the primary asset for evacuating the wounded.
Despite snowy whiteouts and marauding Argentine attack
planes, evacuation pilots courageously took to the air. The wounded,
including numerous trench-foot cases, were initially sent to a field
dressing station in the brigade support area and, within six hours,
transferred aboard the Uganda, a makeshift hospital ship. The survival
rate of the wounded was 90 percent. Marine bandsmen, trained as
stretcher-bearers and in first aid, were crucial to the medical evacuation process.
During an after-action review, the acting commander of the 2 Para
implemented immediate changes in combat service support procedures.
First, he established a separate administrative-logistics net for radio
transmissions. Second, at the expense of combat power, he created a
35-man platoon to be used exclusively for ammunition resupply and
stretcher-bearing. Although the Goose Green attack had been Britain's
primary effort, 2 Para's dwindling ammunition stocks had not been
replenished. Also, the paratroopers lacked facilities for casualty evacuation.
In addition, at the height of the fighting, mortarmen ran out of
rounds, and artillery support had to be curtailed. Later analysis showed
that the planning rates for ammunition expenditure were unrealistic.
The 2 Para used four times its daily allotment of small-arms ammunition
and five times its allocation for 105-mm howitzers and 81-mm mortars.
Part of the problem in supporting the Goose Green operation was
a devastating Argentine air attack on the brigade support area, which
destroyed 500 mortar and artillery shells. More than bad luck was
involved. In the fight for limited shipboard space, key air defense artillery
assets had been left behind. The British had not adequately protected a
vulnerable area. As Thompson, commander of the 3 Commando
Brigade noted after the war, the strike against the logistics base was
far more damaging than any other enemy action.
The 5th Infantry Brigade's arrival in the Falklands further strained
the British logistical effort. The soldiers who landed on 2 June could
not locate equipment that was hastily stowed. Moreover, the 5th had
only two ordnance companies to ease the distribution problem. Without
forklifts, troops formed human chains to bring ashore supplies and
establish a forward brigade maintenance area. Furthermore, fuel pods
were left behind, and 5,000 jerricans were brought in empty, the result
of peacetime shipping restrictions.
Further hampering British supply efforts was the inadequacy of
their air defense. When the brigade's logistics ship, Sir Galahad,
dropped anchor, it was in view of an Argentine outpost. As LOTS
operations began, Argentine A4s flew in with devastating results.
Troops on Sir Galahad had been ordered to remain on board until
fuel, ammunition, and stores had been removed. This error in judgment
led to the loss of 43 soldiers killed and 200 wounded.
The 5th Infantry Brigade learned from 2 Para's logistical experience.
Thus, it delayed its attack on Stanley until sufficient stocks of
ammunition were established. Moreover, after the 5th fought fiercely
to gain its initial objectives, the commanding officer of its logistics
regiment recommended that it pause to replenish ammunition before
beginning the final assault. The brigade commander agreed, even
though it meant losing the unit's momentum. In the twenty-four hours
that followed, artillery shells were rushed forward. When the fighting
resumed, the British dropped 6,000 105-mm rounds on the Argentine
defenders and secured the final British objectives. Balancing the speed
of the operation with the resupply effort paid off.
The British experience in the Falkland Islands reveals the importance
of the proper combat loading and cross-loading of ships, the need
to identify parts and supplies accurately in the logistical pipeline, the
desirability of cross-training personnel, the necessity for a dedicated
logistics communications net, and the requirement for protecting logistics
bases. On a more general level, the war teaches the importance of
balancing the conduct of operations with a suitable level of logistical
support. Units can only maximize their combat effectivenesss by main
taining an adequate resupply network. To feel the tempo of battle, it
is sometimes necessary to take its pulse along the lines of supply. The
trade-offs between logistics and operations often dictate the margin of victory.
Bibliography
Frost, John. 2 Para Falklands: The Battalion at War. London: Buchan
and Enright Publishers, 1983.
Hastings, Max, and Simon Jenkins. The Battle for the Falklands. New
York: W. W. Norton and Co., 1983.
Middlebrook, Martin. Task Force: The Falklands War, 1982, revised ed.
London: Penguin Books, 1987.
Thompson, Julian. The Lifeblood of War: Logistics in Armed Conflict.
London: Brassey's, 1991.
___. No Picnic: 3 Commando Brigade in the South Atlantic, 1982.
London: Leo Cooper, 1985.
The 2d Battalion, 26th Infantry, at Aachen, October 1944
Dr. Christopher R. Gabel
Throughout history, terrain has shaped the conduct of military
operations. Traditionally, generals have been concerned with water
courses, elevations, depressions, and vegetation in the planning and
conduct of battle. With the coming of the industrial age, a new terrain
feature-the modern city-became important in the waging of war.
In ancient times, a city's military significance resided in its fortifications
and its garrison. If these could be overcome, a city ceased to
be a military impediment. In modern times, however, an urban area
can constitute a major military obstacle. A modern city might be large
enough to block a strategic avenue of approach into an enemy's land.
Also, its population poses major logistical, administrative, and security
problems for the invader. Tactically, a city's closely packed buildings,
basements, alleyways, and sewer systems offer cover, concealment, and
ready-made defensive positions to the defenders. Masonry buildings
tend to muffle the blast effect of the attacker's artillery, and when
destroyed, these buildings choke the streets with rubble and broken
glass. Offensive movement through urban terrain is further hindered
by the canalizing effect of man-made terrain such as roadways,
embankments, and cuts.
Generally, a modern city magnifies the power of the defender and
robs the attacker of his advantages in firepower and mobility. A city
can ingest an invading army, paralyze it for weeks on end, and grind
it down to a state of ineffectiveness. The German city of Aachen,
population 165,000, posed just such a threat to the U.S. First Army in
the autumn of 1944.
The First Army reached the German border near Aachen early in
September after a rapid seven-week advance across France and
Belgium. At this point in the war, the First Army was an experienced,
highly respected fighting force, but it had overextended its lines of
communication. Its transportation requirements had far exceeded preinvasion
planning and were being met only through the efforts of the
improvised "Red Ball Express." Units were depleted through the
exhaustion of men and materiel. Frontages had become overextended.
Moreover, when the First Army entered Germany, it immediately
encountered the Westwall, known to the Allies as the Siegfried Line.
The Westwall was essentially a giant antitank barrier consisting of
obstacles and pillboxes covering Germany's entire western border. Two
separate belts of the Westwall protected the Aachen gateway, testimony
to the importance of the region. Fortunately for the First Army, many
of the German troops that were to defend the Westwall around Aachen
had been cut off and captured in Belgium before they could reach their
new positions. Even so, the Westwall constituted a significant combat
multiplier for the second-rate forces that were pressed into the defense
of Aachen.
When the First Army arrived at the German border on 10 September,
the Germans expected an immediate assault on Aachen and
deployed their meager forces accordingly. Instead, Lieutenant General
Courtney H. Hodges chose to attack the Westwall just south of the
city, hoping to break through the border defenses before logistical short
falls brought his operations to a halt. From 13 to 15 September, elements
of the 3d Armored and 9th Infantry Divisions penetrated the
Westwall and, in the process, outflanked Aachen to the south. But they
were unable to press their advantage. The First Army then stood down
for three weeks to reorganize and build up strength for a deliberate
attack on Aachen itself.
On 8 October, Hodges undertook the encirclement of Aachen, with
the 30th Infantry Division of XIX Corps attacking from the north and
the 1st Infantry Division of VII Corps from the south. German
resistance was stiff and progress slow, prompting Hodges to begin the
reduction of Aachen before the encirclement was complete. A surrender
ultimatum delivered to the German garrison in Aachen on 10 October
brought no response: Hitler had designated Aachen as a "fortress,"
meaning it was to be held to the last man.
The task of reducing Aachen fell to Major General Clarence R.
Huebner's 1st Infantry Division, a veteran of the Tunisia, Sicily, and
Normandy campaigns. Since the 1st Division was also responsible for
the southern jaw of the Aachen encirclement, only one regiment, the
26th Infantry, could be spared for the assault on the city (see map
17). The 26th, under Colonel John F. R. Seitz, had only two of its
three battalions on hand. It would face a numerically superior foe:
some 5,000 Germans, commanded by Colonel Gerhard Wilck, garrisoned
the city. (The 1st Division's G2 estimated the defenders at only 3,500.)
Adding to his complications, Seitz was ordered not to become inextricably
involved inside Aachen while the encirclement battle raged. One
circumstance working in the Americans' favor was the relatively low
quality of German forces in the garrison, which included overage
conscripts, converted navy and air force personnel, and city police.
Map 17.
In an attempt to secure a degree of surprise, Huebner elected to
attack Aachen from the east rather than from the south, where the
26th Infantry currently occupied lines. Major General J. Lawton Collins
provided a corps asset, the 1106th Engineer Combat Group, to man
the lines vacated by the 26th. The engineer force consisted of two
engineer combat battalions and elements of two bridge companies and
was reinforced by an antitank company and a mortar company. Its
mission was defensive.
The 26th Infantry's plan of attack called for sending one battalion,
the 3d, north of Aachen to capture the high ground commanding the
area, while the 2d Battalion cleared the center of the city. Lieutenant
Colonel Derrill M. Daniel, commander of the 2d, organized his battalion
into three hard-hitting company task forces. Each rifle company was
reinforced with three tanks or tank destroyers (tanklike weapons),
which allowed company commanders to supply one to each platoon;
two 57-mm antitank guns; two bazooka teams to augment the three
bazookas organic to each company; a flamethrower; and two heavy
machine guns. Daniel also obtained one self-propelled 155-mm gun to
augment his firepower. Since his frontage would be two to three times
that recommended by doctrine for urban fighting, all three companies
would have to participate in the assault; there could be no battalion
reserve. On the positive side, intelligence gatherers provided him with
maps of Aachen. Furthermore, at least seventy-four batteries of corps
and division artillery were in the Aachen sector, giving the Americans
a significant edge in overall firepower.
For two days prior to the 26th Infantry's assault, artillery and air
power pounded the defenders of Aachen with 160 tons of bombs and
10,000 rounds of artillery. The 1106th Engineers contributed to the
preparation by packing a trolley car with explosives (dubbed the
"V-13") and rolling it down railroad tracks into the city's center.
Apparently, because of the stout masonry construction of the city's
buildings, the preparatory fires had little impact on the Aachen garrison.
Nonetheless, the infantry assault proceeded on 13 October as planned.
The 2d Battalion's line of departure lay along a railroad embankment
fifteen to thirty feet high that bounded Aachen to the east. At
H-hour (0930), all the infantrymen threw hand grenades over the
embankment and scrambled across, firing all weapons. It took thirty
minutes for the Germans to recover and begin returning fire. Mean
while, two tanks succeeded in passing over the embankment, followed
by the rest of the battalion's vehicles, which drove right through a
railroad station that was located under the tracks within the embankment itself.
The 2d Battalion deployed with F Company on the right, where it
tied in with 3d Battalion; E Company in the center; and G Company
on the left, its flank resting on the railroad embankment south of town.
Each company zone was roughly three blocks wide, meaning that each
platoon within the company worked a separate street. As the battalion
advanced, every building was assumed to be a German defensive position
until proven otherwise. No German, whether soldier or civilian,
was allowed to remain in the battalion's rear. Every room of every
building was thoroughly searched before the attack continued to the
next. Even the sewer manholes were blocked up to prevent enemy infiltration.
To maintain positive control over his companies and prevent
flanks from opening up, Daniel used a "measle system"-city maps on
which every intersection and all key buildings were numbered. The
companies operated within specified zones and halted periodically at
checkpoints designated by battalion to establish positive liaison with
flank units. In sum, speed counted for less than thoroughness; it took
Daniel's battalion nine days to clear downtown Aachen.
Equally noteworthy was the battalion's effective use of firepower,
which was in keeping with Daniel's slogan, "Knock 'em all down."
His principle was to keep up a continuous stream of fire from every
available weapon, ranging from rifle to medium artillery. The division
and corps artillery had remained south of Aachen when the assault
forces moved to their jump-off points east of the city, misleading the
enemy as to the Americans' intended axis of advance and permitting
the artillery to shoot parallel to the front of the assault troops. This
eliminated the danger of "short" rounds falling on friendly troops and
allowed the infantry units to call down fire very close to their own
positions. By shelling German lines of communication, Daniel isolated
objectives. He also used artillery to drive defenders out of the upper
floors of specific buildings. Direct fire from tanks, tank destroyers,
antitank guns, and machine guns also chased the enemy away from
his firing positions. Machine guns commanded the streets along the
axis of advance, ready to cut down any evacuating Germans. Daniel's
infantry stayed out of the streets whenever possible, preferring to move
from building to building by blowing holes in walls. Ideally, by the
time the infantry closed in on a given strongpoint, the Germans would
have been driven down into the cellars. Grenades and, if necessary,
flamethrowers and demolition charges finished the job.
Knowing the effectiveness of German antitank weapons, the
Americans were especially cautious in employing their valuable armor.
Generally, tanks and tank destroyers stayed on the side streets (perpendicular
to the axis of advance) and nosed cautiously around corners to
fire. They would generally shoot one building ahead of the infantry
advance until an entire block was cleared, then advance to the next side street.
Obviously, this method of combat required high expenditures of
ammunition. Daniel established a battalion ammunition dump to ensure
the steady supply of munitions. Evacuating the wounded also posed
special problems, because the rubble and glass in the streets quickly
ruined the tires of wheeled vehicles. Therefore, tracked utility vehicles
known an weasels were pressed into duty for casualty evacuation.
Several incidents called for special ingenuity on the part of the 2d
Battalion. Early on 15 October, G Company encountered fire coming
from a massive three-story air-raid shelter constructed of concrete fifteen
feet thick. Infantrymen quickly drove the German defenders inside
and fired on the doors with machine guns. Through an interpreter, the
G Company commander issued an ultimatum, which the defenders
ignored. At that juncture, a flamethrower was brought forward. When
the flamethrower failed to ignite, the company commander lighted it
with a match. After one squirt of flame at a baffle-covered door, the
defenders gave up. Two hundred soldiers and about 1,000 civilians
emerged from the gigantic shelter.
Later that day, the Germans counterattacked G Company with a
tank-infantry force and penetrated the U.S. line to a depth of several
blocks. The penetration was quickly sealed off and eliminated. This
counterattack was one of the few German offensive actions inside
Aachen during the U.S. advance.
On 16 October, U.S. troops spotted what appeared to be a pillbox
several blocks ahead of the battle line on the street that served as the
boundary between E and G Companies. Since none of the company
weapons could destroy it, Daniel decided to employ his precious
155-mm gun. To do so safely, he concocted a rather unique combined
arms effort. While one tank destroyer knocked holes in a building at
the foot of the street in question, creating a field of fire for the
155-mm gun, other tanks and tank destroyers fired into the cross streets
to keep roving German armor at bay. Meanwhile, riflemen cleared the
nearby houses of German infantry. When all was safe, the 155-mm
gun fired some twelve rounds into the pillbox and into the intersections
along the street. The "pillbox" proved to be a camouflaged tank, which
was utterly destroyed. Another German tank was destroyed by one of
the 155-mm gun's random shots into the cross streets. After his capture,
the German commander of Aachen was said to have denounced such
use of a large weapon as being "barbarous."
Two days later, G Company made further "barbarous" use of the
155-mm gun. Despite the Americans' care in clearing all buildings, on
18 October, they came under rifle fire from the rear. After two hours
of searching, they found that the shots were coming from a church
steeple that had not been secured. Tank and tank destroyer fire had
no effect on the steeple, which, it was later discovered, had been
reinforced with concrete. One shot from the 155-mm gun brought down
the entire structure.
As the 2d Battalion advanced through Aachen, its already wide
frontages extended even farther. Fortunately, the encirclement battle
east of Aachen was won on 16 October, freeing up forces to aid in the
city's reduction. C Company from the 1st Battalion, 26th Infantry,
joined the assault on 18 October, taking a sector on the battalion's
right flank. A battalion from the 28th Division, the 2d Battalion, 110th
Infantry, joined Daniel's force on 19 October, occupying a gap between
G Company and the engineers south of the city. As welcome as these
reinforcements were, the battle in Aachen was already winding down.
German resistance became less determined as the defenders realized
that they were encircled and had been abandoned by their high command.
On 21 October, Daniel's force reached the railroad embankment
that marked the western edge of central Aachen. Daniel staged another
embankment assault (like that employed on 13 October to enter the city)
and secured the far side of the obstacle. Meanwhile, just to the north
of the interbattalion boundary, elements of the 3d Battalion prepared
to destroy a bunker with their attached 155-mm gun. Unknown to them,
one of the inhabitants of the bunker was Colonel Wilck, the garrison
commander. When Wilck recognized his predicament, he radioed a
message to his high command and announced his determination to
fight to the end; he then promptly surrendered.
For all practical purposes, this marked the end of the battle for
Aachen. The operation netted a total of 5,600 German prisoners and
cost the 26th Infantry 498 casualties from all causes. Daniel's 2d
Battalion and attached units lost less than 100 casualties. By the end
of the battle, U.S. forces had destroyed 80 percent of the buildings in Aachen.
Doubtless, the capture of Aachen would have been much more difficult
had the defending German forces been of higher quality. Even
so, the U.S. forces involved must be credited with fighting skillfully
and intelligently. Through their masterful use of firepower, careful
control measures, and sound tactics, the Americans defeated a numerically
superior opponent who enjoyed all of the advantages of defending
in urban terrain. As the first German city captured by the Allies in
World War II, Aachen represented a milestone in the destruction of
Hitler's Third Reich.
Bibliography
MacDonald, Charles Brown. The Siegfried Line Campaign. United
States Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief
of Military History, Department of the Army, 1963.
Werstein, Irving. The Battle of Aachen. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell
Company, 1962.
Whiting, Charles. Bloody Aachen. London: Leo Cooper, Ltd., 1976.
A Platoon's Heroic Stand at Lanzerath
Lieutenant Colonel John R. Finch, U.S. Army, Retired*
*This study was originally written under the general topic "Tenacity." Major George
J. Mordica II contributed the introductory and concluding paragraphs and some other
passages in the present essay.
A miracle by definition is "an accomplishment or occurrence so
outstanding or unusual as to seem beyond human capability or
endeavor." In military history, miracles are not common, but they do
occur, and the events effecting a miracle are magnified by the life
and-death struggle surrounding the event. In the book Infantry in
Battle, a chapter on miracles details episodes it claims meet that
definition. In the process of effecting miracles, the author says,
"resolute action by a few determined men is often decisive." This
description aptly applies to the heroic defense conducted by the Intelligence
and Reconnaissance (I&R;) Platoon of the 394th Infantry, 99th
Infantry Division, on 16 December 1944.
The 99th Infantry Division arrived in the European theater in early
November 1944. Since it lacked combat experience, it was assigned to
the Ardennes defensive sector on 9 November in an area that seemed
unlikely to attract a major German attack. After a month of aggressive
patrolling actions and significant improvement of its defensive positions,
the division was committed to its first offensive action a supporting
attack. The 99th attacked while also defending approximately a twenty-mile
front, which was nearly double the recommended distance for a division
defense. Compounding its problems, the 99th was without adequate
reserves, since the men who ordinarily would have composed its reserve were
engaged as a task force in supporting the attack. From this vulnerable
offensive-defensive posture the, division was struck by the lead elements
of the German Sixth Panzer Army on 16 December 1944-at the beginning
of the German Ardennes counteroffensive.
Outnumbered in men, artillery, and armored vehicles in some
sectors by five to one, in others by as much as eighteen to one, the
division's tenacious defense was instrumental in the successful delay
and diversion of major elements of six German divisions: the 1st and
12th SS Panzer Divisions; 3d Parachute Division; and 12th, 277th, and
326th Volksgrenadier Divisions. Over the first five days of the German
attack, the 99th Division, in conjunction with the magnificent defensive
accomplishments of the veteran 2d Infantry Division, were able to
disrupt the synchronization of the Sixth Panzer Army. Initially, the
99th accomplished this disruption by denying the Germans access to
key roads and then holding successfully the northern shoulder of the
salient (an encounter that would be known as the Battle of the Bulge).
The Sixth Panzer Army, commanded by General Sepp Dietrich, had
the primary effort, which was to drive 100 miles through the Ardennes
to the objective at Antwerp. To accomplish this mission, Dietrich had
a strict timetable: on the first day, penetrate and break out; the second
day, get mobile units past the restricted terrain in the 99th Division's
rear; the third day (by evening), reach the Meuse River; and the fourth
day, secure a bridgehead and cross the river. Although Dietrich's
schedule was ambitious, earlier in the summer of 1940, Erwin Rommel's
7th Panzer Division had attacked through the Ardennes and handily
reached the Meuse by nightfall of the third day.
Dietrich described his mission in more simplistic and humorous
terms:
All Hitler wants me to do is to cross a river, capture Brussels, and
then go on and take Antwerp! and all this in the worst time of the
year through the Ardennes where the snow is waist deep and there
isn't room to deploy four tanks abreast let alone armored divisions!
Where it doesn't get light until eight and it's dark again at four and
with reformed divisions made up chiefly of kids and sick old men-and at Christmas!
Dietrich's weakest units were the reorganized and still inexperienced
3d Parachute Division and the understrength volksgrenadier
divisions. Moreover, these units would be forced to attack without
supporting artillery battalions. In addition, many of Dietrich's other
units lacked sufficient numbers of experienced officers and noncommissioned
officers. As events showed, these weaknesses were to have
serious ramifications for the Sixth Panzer Army's timetable.
Terrain and weather also affected the Germans' advance through
the Ardennes. The broken and heavily forested terrain, in conjunction
with the heavy fogs and precipitation, reduced ground visibility in
many places to fifteen to twenty yards and provided excellent cover
and concealment for American defenders and assembling assault formations.
Furthermore, off-road movement was extremely difficult in the
snow, which was up to one foot in depth. Because of the restrictive
terrain, most traffic was channeled into the east-west roads.
By 14 November, the 99th Division had occupied its twenty-mile
sector of the line, with its 395th Infantry in the north, 393d Infantry
in the center, and 394th Infantry in the south. All battalions and
companies were on line except the 3d Battalion, 394th Infantry, which
was held in division reserve (on the boundary with the VIII Corps in
the vicinity of the Losheim gap).
All the 99th's battalions held defensive fronts of 2,500 to 3,000
yards-instead of the 800 yards prescribed by doctrine. Consequently,
the many gaps in the front line could only be covered by patrols. The
99th's position, although heavily protected by log-covered entrenchments
and foxholes, could best be described as a woefully weak outpost
line-key terrain that featured many short, steep hills covered by dense
forest and thick underbrush.
With only two battalions under his command, the U.S. 394th
Infantry's commander, apprehensive about the route leading through
the town of Lanzerath, positioned his understrength regimental I&R;
Platoon (eighteen men) just northwest of Lanzerath, mainly to give
warning of enemy attacks from that area (which was the responsibility
of VIII Corps and its 14th Cavalry Group).
It was fortunate for the 99th Division that the 394th's commander
took this precaution, for in this small quadrangle, the critical battle
on the northern shoulder of the bulge began on the morning of 16
December. The German Sixth Panzer Army, which was designated the
main effort in the counteroffensive, attacked along the main roads
through the 394th's sparsely defended sector.
In early December, the U.S. V Corps moved the veteran 2d Infantry
Division into the rear area of the 99th Division at Camp Elsenborn.
This was in preparation for an attack through a two-mile-wide sector
in the center of the supporting 99th Division's line, with the objective
of capturing the Roer River dams. The seizure of the dams was necessary
to provide security for a planned U.S. crossing of the Roer River
by units of the First Army. Because of the importance that the
Germans placed on the dams, with their critical defensive ability to
control the flow and depth of the Roer River, the First Army and V
Corps anticipated that the Germans might launch a spoiling attack to
disrupt the U.S. 2d and 99th Division's own drive.
As night fell on 15 December, U.S. situation maps showed Sixth
Panzer Army units clustered around the city of Cologne and thus no
immediate threat to the 2d and 99th's drive (over thirty miles to the
southwest). The horrendous error of this assessment was made apparent
at 0525 on Saturday, 16 December, when what is claimed to have been
the heaviest two-hour barrage ever delivered in World War II fell on
the American front lines. One assaulting German corps was supported
with up to twenty-three battalions of artillery and rocket launchers.
This unexpectedly heavy barrage, assumed by most in the 99th to
be merely a diversion against the 2d Division's attack, was followed
by German infantry attacks at 0800, approximately one hour after the
barrage ceased. This appeared to be the spoiling attack that had been
predicted. Considering that intelligence reports had located only two
German horse-drawn artillery pieces opposite one of the U.S. battalions,
one executive officer was certainly within his rights in saying, "they
[the Germans] sure must be working those two horses to death!"
While uncertainty reigned in the 99th Division's command structure
because of the severing of wire communications by this barrage, the
initial fighting quickly turned into a series of small-unit actions.
Significantly, one of these actions involved the I&R; Platoon of the
394th Infantry. The tenacious defense by this platoon would have a
major impact on the course of the German offensive on the northern
part of the front. The following detailed account provides a view of
the miracle performed by these few determined men against seemingly
insurmountable odds.
The I&R; Platoon was located at the edge of a heavily wooded area
to the west and north of the village of Lanzerath. To the west of the
platoon, approximately 800 to 1,000 yards, was the right flank of the
1st Battalion, 394th Infantry, at Losheimergraben (see map 18).
Approximately 400 yards to the right of the platoon along the southern
edge of Lanzerath were 4 towed guns of the 820th Tank Destroyer
Battalion and reconnaissance troops of the 14th Cavalry Group, which
guarded the VIII Corps' boundary.
The tiny village of Lanzerath (ten houses) was situated about 200
to 250 yards to the right front of the platoon. The village was on
sloping terrain, with a draw to its east. The location of the I&R;
Platoon, on high ground, thus gave it a perfect view of the terrain to
its left, right, and front. The mission of the platoon, commanded by
First Lieutenant Lyle J. Bouck Jr., was to maintain contact with the
14th Cavalry elements and provide a warning to the 394th in case of
any unusual activity. To accomplish this mission, Bouck, on 10 December,
had chosen to occupy a position that had been previously constructed by
a battalion of the 4th Infantry Division and that was approximately one-half
mile outside the 99th Division's sector boundary. Although unorthodox, it
was well that he dug in across the corps boundary.
Since entering the front line in November, the I&R; Platoon had
managed to acquire a surplus of unauthorized weapons and ammunition.
Instead of just M1 rifles, platoon members had equipped themselves with
Browning automatic rifles, large quantities of hand grenades and ammunition,
and a light (.30-caliber) machine gun and a heavy (.50-caliber)
machine gun mounted on a jeep. These weapons gave the I&R;
Platoon a sustained firepower capability.
Map 18.
Under Bouck's guidance, the platoon's hilltop position was
improved to withstand artillery, mortar, and small-arms fire. The fox
holes were enlarged so that two men could stand on the ground and
their line of vision would be level with the slit openings for their
weapons. The sides and tops of the foxholes were covered with four- or
five-inch logs, with mud and dirt wedged between the logs as a sealer
against the cold. In addition, the two-man positions were sited to provide
overlapping fire and were impervious to anything but a direct hit. The
machine-gun jeep was placed in a defilade position, allowing it to sweep
the field in front of the village. The snow on 13 and 15 December covered
these defensive positions, camouflaging them so they blended with the terrain.
In the early morning of 16 December, the platoon's position came
under heavy artillery fire as the German offensive's rolling barrage
passed to the west. As a result, Bouck's telephone line to the regiment
was severed, but by SCR-300 radio, he was ordered to hold his position.
Within Lanzerath, the unsupported tank destroyers of the 14th Cavalry
pulled out and moved to the rear. The single I&R; Platoon, guarding a
potentially vital road on a corps boundary, was alone. Soon afterward,
Bouck spotted a long column approaching Lanzerath from the east.
His calls for artillery fire on the exposed enemy column were not
approved because of higher regimental priorities. Consequently, Bouck
decided to wait in his undiscovered position until the main body of
the German column was within range. Approximately 100 Germans
passed the platoon ambush point and marched north toward the cross
roads at Losheimergraben. By their uniforms, Bouck recognized the
enemy as paratroopers, and as the seemingly endless column halted,
he decided to open fire on what appeared to be a command group of
officers. Just then, a blonde teenage girl ran out into the road, shouted
something in German, and hurried off. As the Americans held their
fire to avoid hitting the girl, the Germans dived into a roadside ditch,
and a sharp skirmish ensued. Bouck had lost an excellent opportunity
for an ambush at a range of 100 yards from covered and concealed
positions -ruined by the "friction of war" in the form of an unexpected
warning from a child.
When the initial shooting died down, at least a battalion of the
German 3d Parachute Division's 9th Regiment regrouped to attack
Bouck's position. The tactical inexperience of the German leaders
(members of the Luftwaffe) caused them to order unsupported frontal
attacks across open ground and up the hill. Their men charged, wave
after wave, firing their weapons as they advanced. They made it as
far as a barbed-wire fence strung across an open field directly in front
of the American foxholes. Bouck's men had zeroed their automatic
weapons on this fence and were able to stop the attack just by pulling
their triggers.
The disorganized Germans regrouped and attacked again at midday
and a third time later in the afternoon. Each time, the Americans'
murderous interlocking fire halted them at the fence. The paratroopers
did not maneuver or even call for support from mortars or artillery.
By late afternoon, with the Americans running out of ammunition and
their radio destroyed, a fourth attack, supported by two assault guns,
finally overwhelmed the I&R; Platoon. Of the eighteen Americans who
participated in the defense, two were killed in action, and most of the
rest were wounded. In return, they had inflicted an estimated 500
German casualties, many of them killed, and stalled the German attack
for nearly a full day, aiding the U.S. 99th Division's defense of its
vulnerable right flank. Although Bouck and his men had no way of
knowing it, their refusal to retreat or surrender blocked one of the
roads earmarked for the main German drive. Although, for various
reasons, it took nearly thirty-seven years for the I&R; Platoon to be
recognized, the miracle at Lanzerath would finally go down in history
as one of the most valorous and pivotal actions of the Battle of the Bulge.
Because of a loss of radio communications, Major General Walter
E. Lauer, the 99th Infantry Division's commander, had no way of
knowing the fate of Bouck's unit. No one in the 99th knew that the
I&R; Platoon had protected the south flank of the 394th Infantry
against a powerful initial attack that might well have destroyed the
regimental position if it had been delivered in the early morning and
that the platoon had helped delay the penetration by German tanks of
the 1st SS Panzer Division for a crucial eighteen hours.
Yet, unfortunately for the 99th, at approximately 0100 on the 17th,
one of the youngest regimental commanders in the German Army, a
29-year-old German Waffen SS lieutenant colonel, rudely awakened the
Americans to the true nature of the enemy attack by leading his panzer
regiment of 30 King Tigers and 72 medium tanks (some of which were
equipped with the then-revolutionary infrared night-vision system), 80
half-tracks, and approximately 4,000 men in a daring penetration along
the now-exposed boundary of the V and VIII Corps. This man,
Lieutenant Colonel Joachim Peiper, commanded the 1st SS Panzer
Regiment, the lead assault element of the 1st SS Panzer Division that
spearheaded Dietrich's entire Sixth Panzer Army. But on 16 December,
Peiper's timetable had been upset by the stiff American resistance
along his main route through Losheimergraben and Hunningen and
by the horrendous traffic jams of the 3d Parachute and 12th Volksgrenadier
Divisions as they backed up before destroyed roads and
bridges. Peiper finally reached Losheim at 1930, where he was blocked
again by another destroyed bridge overpass. Peiper quickly diverted
his units south toward Lanzerath in the 3d Parachute Division's sector.
Arriving in Lanzerath shortly before midnight (after losing ten vehicles
in an unavoidable crossing of an old German minefield), he discovered
a much-battered 9th Parachute Regiment. The paratroopers were still
recovering from their earlier encounter with and capture of the surviving
members of the 394th's I&R; Platoon.
Peiper briefly and bitterly reflected that if the 12th Volksgrenadier
Division or the 3d Parachute Division had punched through the
Americans at 0700, as expected, his tanks at that moment might have
been astride the Meuse River. But the assault troops had failed, the
roads had become clogged, and German engineers were slow in repairing
bridges. So, the spearhead of the Sixth Panzer Army was still at
Lanzerath and falling dangerously behind its timetable.
Extremely heavy fighting would continue through 21 December,
especially at Butgenbach and by the 2d Division in the area of the
villages of Rocherath-Krinkelt-where at one point the units were so
intermixed that one 2d Division battalion commander had men from
sixteen different companies of both divisions fighting under him.
Lauer's troops and the men of the 2d Division were so thoroughly
entangled that the 99th temporarily ceased to exist as an integral force,
and so, on the evening of 18 December, Major General Leonard T.
Gerow (V Corps) appointed Major General Walter M. Robertson as
temporary commander of the 99th Division with Lauer as his deputy.
By the evening of 19 December, the 99th and 2d Divisions had successfully
completed their multiple rearward passages through lines to
Elsenborn. There, in conjunction with the 1st and 9th Infantry Divisions
and massed corps artillery, they ensured the complete failure of
the Sixth Panzer Army's mission.
By the end of December, the 99th had lost approximately 1,400
men killed and missing and another 1,600 wounded. Like the 2d Division,
it could only defend a regimental frontage on Elsenborn ridge.
Companies of 187 men had been reduced to 30 to 60 men, and battalions
of 825 men came back to Elsenborn with strengths of only 160
to 200. Because of greatly overextended defensive positions, the 99th
Division's center and right flank had received the full initial onslaught
of the Sixth Panzer Army. The 99th slowed down the German on
slaught on the first day and diverted it on the second day, allowing
the 2d Division the time to reorient its defenses and the 1st Infantry
Division the opportunity to provide vital reinforcements.
In a postbattle analysis of this brief but violent action, the 99th
and its attached units were credited with over 4,000 enemy killed in
action and 60 armored vehicles destroyed. They had assisted in the
decimation of the 12th SS Panzer and 3d Parachute Divisions, as well
as the 12th, 277th, and 326th Volksgrenadier Divisions. Following an
attack by the reconstituted division on 30 January 1945, the 99th
continued the war and became the first infantry division in the First
Army to reach and cross the Rhine at Remagen. The 99th finished the
war with Patton's Third Army on the Austrian border and was
inactivated on 27 September 1945.
Thirty-six years later, on 25 October 1981-following a book by
John Eisenhower mentioning the exploits of the I&R; Platoon at
Lanzerath and an expose by columnist Jack Anderson and subsequent
congressional and presidential interest-the eighteen men of the I&R;
Platoon were awarded a Presidential Unit Citation, four Distinguished
Service Crosses, five Silver Stars, and ten Bronze Stars with V devices,
thereby becoming the most heavily decorated platoon for a single
action in World War II.
The I&R; Platoon's action exemplifies the determination of the
American soldier and what he can do when properly prepared, motivated,
and led. The action at Lanzerath had a much greater impact
on Peiper's command than Bouck could have ever imagined (only 800
of Peiper's 5,800 men returned to the German lines), but that in itself
is what made the defense by the platoon in Lanzerath a miracle.
Bibliography
Cavanagh, William C. C. Krinkelt-Rocherath: The Battle for the Twin
Villages. Norwell, MA: The Christopher Publishing House, 1986.
Cole, Hugh Marshall. The Ardennes: Battle of the Bulge. United States
Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of
Military History, Department of the Army, 1965.
Eisenhower, John S. D. The Bitter Woods: The Dramatic Story, Told
at All Echelons, From Supreme Command to Squad Leader, of the
Crisis That Shook the Western Coalition-Hitler's Surprise Ardennes
Offensive. New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1969.
Lauer, Walter E. Battle Babies: The Story of the 99th Infantry Division
in World War II. Nashville, TN: The Battery Press, 1988.
MacDonald, Charles Brown. A Time for Trumpets: The Untold Story
of the Battle of the Bulge. New York: William Morrow and
Company, 1985.
The Destruction of the 28th Infantry Division in the
Huertgen Forest, November 1944
Lieutenant Colonel Thomas E. Christianson
The Greek mercenary Xenophon noted the importance of morale in
deciding battle when he wrote in the fourth century B.C.: "Neither
numbers nor strength bring victory in war; but whichever army goes
into battle stronger in soul. Their enemies generally cannot withstand
them." Likewise, Napoleon's maxim, "morale makes up three quarters
of the game; the balance of manpower accounts only for the remaining
quarter," remains an axiom in military leadership training. Perceptive
commanders throughout history have recognized that high morale is a
prerequisite to victory.
Conversely, low morale contributes to the failure of military
operations. Soldiers suffering from low morale lack motivation, are
more susceptible to fear and panic, and can become psychiatric
casualties. When low morale is widespread and severe within a military
organization, defeat is likely. This was the case of the 28th Infantry
Division when it faced determined German resistance in the Huertgen
Forest in November 1944.
Earlier in 1944, morale among American soldiers had been high
as they pushed German defenders from the hedgerows of Normandy
to the German border. Sweeping ever eastward, the GIs advanced with
confidence, limited only by U.S. logistical efforts. Rumor had it that,
with luck, the war would end before Christmas. Men of the 28th Infantry
Division were veterans of this success and, in recognition of their
courage and combat effectiveness, proudly wore the blazing red key
stone that the Germans respectfully called the Bloody Bucket. On 11
September, 28th Division patrols crossed the Our River, and on the
13th, the remainder of the division marched into Germany, the first
U.S. unit to enter the German heartland in force. Here, they honed
their skills in destroying pillboxes and fortifications along Hitler's
famed Westwall. On 1 October, in need of supply and reinforcements,
they moved to the rear for rest and recovery. Many of the soldiers
went to Paris on leave, while others remained behind to train
replacements for the next breakthrough, which many thought would
spell ultimate victory for the Allies.
On 26 October, the rested 28th Division moved forward and
replaced the 9th Division in the Huertgen Forest. This dense area of
firs and other evergreens has steep ridges with occasional open
plateaus and farming hamlets that break up the vast tangle of thick
green forest. Throughout this area, the German Todt organization had
constructed a system of concrete pillboxes and log and earth bunkers.
These positions, with interlocking fields of fire, were augmented with
booby-trapped concertina wire and minefields designed to restrict all
movement.
The U.S. First Army commander, Lieutenant General Courtney H.
Hodges, wanted to eliminate the Huertgen Forest as a threat before
resuming a general offensive. Both he and the VII Corps commander,
Major General J. Lawton ("Lightning Joe") Collins, were World War I
veterans of the Meuse-Argonne campaign. They believed that the
Huertgen Forest posed a threat as a concealed assembly and counter
attack position, just as the Argonne had in October 1918. If U.S. forces
could break through the forest to the crossroads in the hamlet of
Schmidt, however, they would then control the highest ridge and thus
facilitate the attack onto the Monschau plain, to the Ruhr, and beyond
to the Rhine.
What appeared so simple, however, proved impossible for the
soldiers of the 9th Infantry Division, who had been assigned the
mission in late September. After a month of desperate fighting, they
had gained only 3,000 yards and suffered 4,500 casualties. The
Germans had fought with uncommon tenacity, and their morale rose
as they frustrated the 9th Division's attacks. Wehrmacht soldiers were
now on German soil, fighting for their homeland and families. Success
reinforced the Germans' will to fight and hold. The frequently poor
weather and the lush forest growth in the Huertgen also provided
respite for the German defenders from the constant Allied air attacks
that normally accompanied Allied ground action.
As the soldiers of the 28th prepared to relieve the 9th, they were
encouraged by intelligence reports indicating a hard-pressed German
defense. One report to the 109th Infantry suggested that "the West
Wall was manned with battered remnants of German forces" and that
"the Germeter-Huertgen area is thinly held and consists of a series of
field fortifications rather than deliberate defenses."
But all the favorable intelligence reports in the world could not
blot out the haggard faces of 9th Division soldiers as the GIs from
the 28th moved forward in relief. Morale of the men of the 28th plummeted
from the moment they entered the tangled fir forest. The forest
bore the scars of war: the record of the bitter contest waged by the
9th was all about in the form of abandoned helmets, gas masks,
blood-soaked field jackets, and loose mines. Water-filled shell holes were
everywhere. Even worse, the bodies of German and American soldiers,
entangled in the sucking troughs of mud and unclaimed by graves
registration units, punctuated this grotesque, gloomy landscape. The
28th's veterans knew that staff intelligence experts often under
estimated the enemy in order to justify a proposed course of action.
Soldiers who had expected an easy victory were shocked by the hard
reality that severe fighting lay ahead.
Weather also contributed to unit demoralization. Within days,
hundreds of soldiers suffered from the damp cold that matched so well
the dark, gloomy forest. In their water-filled foxholes and tents,
hundreds developed respiratory diseases-from colds to walking pneumonia.
Immersion foot (trench foot) cases swelled the sick call roles.
Moreover, the sick, shivering soldiers lacked adequate winter clothing.
The division reported a shortage of 9,000 overshoes. (Ironically, the
footwear arrived just as the 28th withdrew from the Huertgen fighting.)
In this depressing atmosphere, soldiers prepared to attack what they
now knew to be a resolute enemy. Weather forecasters offered little
consolation. Along with the cold, damp weather, they promised occasional
snow and freezing temperatures. The effect on morale was predictable.
While the soldiers in the 28th huddled in their foxholes battling
the elements, plans for seizing Schmidt continued. Major General
Leonard Gerow, the V Corps commander, whose penchant for micro-management
was well known, specified the missions for each of the three regiments of Major
General Norman D. Cota's 28th Division. The 109th Infantry would attack
north toward the village of Huertgen and block any counterattack along
the division's left flank (see map 19). (In October, German counterattacks
along this axis had been successful against the 9th Division.) Gerow
directed the 110th Infantry to strike south from Germeter through
the forest and pillbox defense line to form a corridor in the woods
near Simonskall. This corridor would provide a more secure
and trafficable main supply route into Schmidt. Only one regiment,
the 112th, was to take Schmidt, the actual objective. The 112th
would first assault Vossenack, then move down a dirt trail to
the Kall River, cross it, proceed up the ridge to Kommer
scheidt, and finally arrive at Schmidt. Gerow had told Cota that the
main First Army drive would commence on 5 November. However,
when the weather prompted cancellation of this main effort, Hodges,
the First Army commander, saw no reason why the 28th Division
should not attack as planned on 2 November. The perceived meddling
by Gerow, and now the sure knowledge that no other attack would
occur along the whole front, certainly affected Cota's morale and that
of his staff. Confidence in the operation slipped.
Map 19.
Following an artillery barrage, soldiers of the 109th Infantry
stumbled forward on the cold, misty morning of 2 November. Command
and control in the dense forest became an immediate problem. To make
matters worse, unit maps were inaccurate. Many infantrymen, unsure
of their positions, ceased attacking and simply dug in. Portions of one
battalion actually fought their way through to the objective overlooking
Huertgen. But they had little time to savor their success, as repeated
German counterattacks along their flanks hindered their efforts to
consolidate gains. German patrols roamed freely in their rear, and
continued enemy infiltration prompted the Americans to fall back to
their original positions.
Another battalion moving across more open terrain struck an extensive
minefield. Their attack ground to a quick halt as soldier after
soldier exploded mines. German machine guns and mortars frustrated
the engineers' efforts to clear the minefield. Meanwhile, medics watched
helplessly as dead and wounded soldiers lay stranded on the cold, wet
field. Many of the wounded would freeze to death before morning.
The dark forest, cold weather, rain, and constant sniping by an
unseen enemy caused a massive sense of isolation in the soldiers.
Many no longer knew what their mission was. Huddled in wet foxholes
that offered no protection from the tree bursts of German artillery, the
men of the 109th fought to survive.
This pattern of battle for the 109th continued until 6 November,
when members of the 4th Division's 12th Infantry relieved them.
Repeated attacks and counterattacks, all at close quarters, exacted a
U.S. casualty rate of more than 50 percent. Completely demoralized,
the 109th moved back to its assembly area at Germeter through a
driving rain that changed to sleet, then snow. The 109th's hopes for
prolonged rest were shattered by new orders. The 109th was needed to
assist its sister regiments, the 110th and 112th, both tottering perilously
on the edge of total destruction.
Farther south, the 110th Infantry's initial attack against the pillbox
defense belt near Raffelsbrand and its drive along the Kall River
toward Simonskall stopped almost as soon as it started. German
machine-gun fire from log bunkers and pillboxes, along with mines
and booby-trapped concertina wire, combined to stop the 110th in its
tracks. As with the 109th, units became disoriented. Communications
in the dense forests and ridges was spotty at best. Soldiers, already
weakened by the weather conditions, felt isolated and forgotten. Their
sense of mission, other than to survive, evaporated. On 3 November,
Cota ordered another assault by the 110th that proved even more costly.
One company returned with less than forty-five soldiers, and in some
battalions, all company-grade officers were killed or wounded. Cota, determined
to succeed, ordered his division's reserve battalion to assist. Prompting Cota's
decision was the supposed success of the 112th Infantry, which had taken
Schmidt on 3 November. (Cota would later regret his decision.)
On the morning of 2 November, Colonel Carl L. Peterson's 112th
Infantry struck east of Germeter. Two battalions were quickly stalled
in the woods under circumstances similar to those experienced by the
109th and 110th. The 2d Battalion of the 112th, however, proceeded on
schedule and, with the assistance of some attached tanks, controlled
the important village of Vossenack by midafternoon. Grateful troops
dug in along the northeastern ridge just beyond the village. Peterson
decided to withdraw from the woods and then attack the next day
southeast from Vossenack down the Kall gorge.
Peterson's attack on 3 November brought almost incredible success.
The soldiers passed through Kommerscheidt and controlled the division
objective by nightfall. Unbelievably, German soldiers were captured
drunk, playing cards, and eating. At least for a short time, the
credence of G2 staffers who talked about weak German Army, Navy,
and Luftwaffe remnants increased. The cold, weary U.S. troops dug in
only superficially and threw some antitank mines out along the
enemy's major axis of approach without camouflaging or burying them.
They were too tired, and after all, they had accomplished their mission.
Cota received congratulations from his superiors and, despite the tremendous
casualties suffered by the 109th and 110th, said he felt like "a little Napoleon."
Congratulations for Cota's victory, however, were premature. Coincidentally,
at the time of the initial attack on 2 November, Field Marshal Walter Model
and his major subordinate commanders were conducting a map exercise
near Cologne. News of the U.S. attack brought quick action. Model
ordered his generals at the map exercise to engage the Americans
in a real operation. He issued orders for portions of the veteran
116th Panzer Division from Huertgen to attack the U.S. forces.
When the German Seventh Army commander, General Erich Branden
berger, returned to his unit on 3 November, he learned of the U.S.
capture of Schmidt. He decided to withdraw the tanks from Huertgen
and reroute them to counterattack in the Schmidt-Kommerscheidt
sector. Additionally, elements of the German 89th Division and the
1055th Regiment, scheduled to move out of the area, were told to
remain and support the counterattack. Unknown to the unsuspecting
Americans, major enemy forces were now poised and ready to attack.
Following a brief artillery barrage, the Germans launched a coordinated
armor and infantry attack on the dazed U.S. 112th Infantry.
The German tanks seemed impervious to bazooka fire and easily by
passed the shoddy minefield the U.S. troops had prepared the evening
before. The Germans seemed to attack from all directions, and the
confused GIs called for artillery and air support that always came too
late or not at all. U.S. air support could not distinguish friend from
foe and therefore was ineffective. The troops-cut off without communications
and suffering mounting casualties-felt completely isolated.
Rumors spread that orders to withdraw were imminent. Fear quickly
led to panic. An infantryman in Kommerscheidt commented on the
situation in Schmidt: "The next thing we knew, about four columns of
ragged, scattered, disorganized infantrymen streamed back ... in low
morale. We managed to stop some but most streamed back to the
rear." One company fled southwest into the woods even deeper into
enemy territory. Most were killed, wounded, or captured. Soldiers in
Kommerscheidt made frantic attempts to stop the demoralized mob,
and some 200 eventually joined the Kommerscheidt defense. Those who
were not killed, wounded, or captured crossed the Kall River, not
stopping until they reached Vossenack or Germeter.
Although Cota continued to order the 112th to retake Schmidt
(including sending a task force to assist it), the 112th spent the next
two days trying to hold Kommerscheidt. The American soldiers fought
desperately, supported by a small force of tanks led by First Lieutenant
Raymond E. Fleig. Casualties increased, and the weather got worse.
Also, Cota had already committed his reserve to the 110th's sector of
operations. Ammunition, food, and other provisions were in short
supply. Furthermore, the only available main supply route, the Kall
trail, was difficult to negotiate. Night after night, the Germans remined
it. The trail was littered with broken-down tanks, jeeps, thrown treads,
and other military equipment that never made it to Kommerscheidt
where it was needed. Engineers sent to improve the trail suffered high
casualties from tree-burst artillery and eventually acted more as a
security force than an engineer unit. An aid station was set up along
the trail where artillery bombardment and German patrols were
frequent. Again, troops along the trail felt isolated, out of touch with
their mission and chain of command. Foxholes provided no shelter from
tree bursts, only a place for water to collect.
The soldiers of the 2d Battalion, 112th Infantry, on the Vossenack
ridge were not immune to the looming catastrophe. Following their
easy victory of 2 November, the Germans subjected them to three days
of incessant artillery attack. Under direct German observation from
the Brandenberg-Bergstein ridge, the troops suffered severe casualties.
The Germans seemed intent on destroying the U.S. positions one by
one. Their nerves shattered, U.S. soldiers cried that they could take it
no longer. The battalion commander sat in the church at Vossenack
crying pitifully, his adjutant forced to command.
Finally, on the morning of 6 November, the men panicked. The
dawn was uncommonly peaceful, but then, as daylight increased, an
artillery barrage thundered upon them. Small groups of men fled what
they thought was a sure, meaningless death. Panic in the demoralized
group was contagious. Abandoning their positions and equipment,
others joined in the race to the rear, thinking that someone had
ordered a retreat. Most fled all the way to Germeter. Those soldiers
finally formed a line at the Vossenack church. Subsequently, remaining
the Germans who occupied the former U.S. positions were driven out
but only after a tough fight with an engineer task force Cota had
formed that night to reestablish control of Vossenack.
Along with the precarious situation at Kommerscheidt and the wild
rout of the men at Vossenack, the situation along the lifeline between
U.S. forces, the Kall trail, also deteriorated. Early on the morning of 6
November, the Germans cut the trail and effectively isolated the bedraggled
troops at Kommerscheidt. The Germans placed a guard at the
U.S. aid station (which held U.S. medical supplies and needed food)
and patrolled and remined the trail. Firefights, measured in feet, between
American and German soldiers were common. Although a task
force led by Lieutenant Colonel Richard W. Ripple of the 707th Tank
Battalion managed to punch through to Kommerscheidt on 6 November,
the Americans only controlled the trail for hours. Ripple's force was
not strong enough to make a difference. Still intent on retaking Schmidt,
Cota ordered his assistant division commander, Brigadier General
George A. Davis, to lead another task force toward the village. He
ordered the 109th Infantry, already battered at Huertgen, to secure the
Kall trail. The 109th entered the dark forest only to get lost and end
up miles away from the trail, to the rear of the 110th Infantry.
The pocket of encircled Americans at Kommerscheidt continued to
withstand repeated artillery fire and infantry probes. They were short
of ammunition and food, and their foxholes were filled with water that
froze each night. Completely demoralized, isolated, hungry, and wet,
they finally broke before a combined armor and infantry assault on 7
November. Dazed men ran wildly to the rear, refusing to take orders.
The Germans claimed 260 prisoners. Those weary American defenders
who held on waited for inevitable death or capture.
Cota's relentless obsession with taking Schmidt persisted. Peterson,
commander of the 112th Infantry, received a message (which Cota later
denied sending) to report back to division headquarters. Accompanied
by a two-man escort, he tried to circumvent German patrols to get
there. Engineers later found him near the trail, wounded twice, his
escort dead. When Peterson reported to headquarters, Cota accused him
of deserting his men; then Cota fainted.
The Kall trail lost, Cota finally accepted this situation realistically.
Perhaps Peterson's trip back to headquarters had not been in vain.
On 8 November, the survivors at Kommerscheidt tried their best to
organize a breakout. Their trip down the gorge, across the river, and
to Vossenack or Germeter was a disaster. One company reported back
to Germeter with only 81 men out of its original 193. Scattered groups
were picked off or captured by the Germans. Fortunately, the Germans
allowed the wounded and litter bearers to use the Kall trail. Cota's
message "fight your way out" was late-too late for the men already
poking through the forest trying to avoid the ever-present German
patrols. For most of the 6,184 casualties (dead, wounded, or captured)
of the 28th Division, the battle for Schmidt was over.
The 28th Infantry Division's experience in the Huertgen Forest was
not unique. Five other divisions suffered a combined total of 23,000
casualties (killed, wounded, or missing) in the forest, with 8,000 battle
exhaustion and disease cases added to that list. Major General James
M. Gavin called the tragedy of the Huertgen Forest the "American
Passchendaele"-a fitting epitaph for the 28th Division.
Certainly, one of the ingredients in the recipe for the 28th Division's
disaster was low morale. The horrific weather conditions, fatigue, constant
artillery bombardment, and the almost diabolical nature of the
dark forest all contributed to the demoralization of the 28th's infantrymen.
The isolation felt by the troops and junior leaders and their
sure knowledge that their superiors were ignorant about the true battle
field conditions caused soldiers to experience low morale. Their isolation
in the face of constant danger made them fearful and vulnerable to
panic. Even battalion commanders became psychiatric casualties. Men
believed rumors, gave up, or fled to the rear. Few, then, would disagree
with Ardant du Picq's claim that, in the last analysis, success in battle
is a matter of morale. The destruction of the 28th Infantry Division
bears solemn testimony to du Picq's analysis.
Bibliography
Currey, Cecil B. Follow Me and Die: The Destruction of an American
Division in World War II. New York: Military Heritage Press, 1984.
MacDonald, Charles B. The Battle of the Huertgen Forest. New York:
Jove Publications, 1963.
___. The Siegfried Line Campaign. United States Army in World
War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History,
Department of the Army, 1963.
___. Three Battles: Arnaville, Altuzzo, and Schmidt. United
States Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief
of Military History, Department of the Army, 1952.
Richardson, Frank M. Fighting Spirit: A Study of Psychological Factors
in War. New York: Crane, Russak, and Co., 1978.
Claiming the Night: Operation Just Cause, 1989-1990
Dr. Thomas M. Huber
The last decade has witnessed more frequent employment of night
operations by U.S. armed forces than in the past. With the introduction
of sophisticated night-vision devices, fighting after dark has become a
standard part of the American way of war. As senior U.S. officers
proclaimed during Operation Just Cause, the U.S. invasion of Panama
in December 1989, "We own the night."
It was not always this way. George Washington's crossing of the
Delaware and raid on Trenton was one of the few night operations
conducted by the Continental Army. During the Civil War, what night
operations were undertaken by large units usually ended in confusion.
In World War I, massed firepower achieved a new relative dominance
over maneuver. This altered environment increased the importance of
night movement, which helped neutralize the overwhelming effects of
the new firepower. At the same time, however, new technology, such
as searchlights and illumination shells, mitigated the advantages of
darkness, and night operations by Western forces continued to have a
limited role.
In World War II, both German and Japanese armed forces resorted
to extensive night maneuvers and sometimes attacks (especially by the
Japanese) as a means of overcoming superior Allied air power, which
could observe and disrupt daylight troop movements deep in Axis rear
areas. The Soviets, for their part, developed the most elaborate night
operations. To frustrate superior German firepower, especially the
superior German air power early in the war, the Soviets adhered to a
philosophy of continuous operations. By early 1945, they were employing
front-size forces continuously, day and night, to surprise, infiltrate,
exploit, and envelop obstinate German positions.
U.S. forces, who usually enjoyed the advantages of superior air
power and artillery, generally avoided night operations. Night was still
a constraining element, and night operations were restricted to special
circumstances and objectives. For example, during the night preceding
the 6 June 1944 dawn landings at Normandy, paratroops secured key
points in the interior, Navy underwater demolition teams cleared
beaches, Special Operations Executive resistance teams secured bridges
and the like, and air and naval forces conducted preparatory bombardments.
Still, all of this activity supported the main assault, which was by day.
In the 104th Infantry Division's "Directive for Night Attacks," prepared
at the European Theater of Operations headquarters in 1944, night
operations were deemed useful mainly for moving troops secretly,
crossing open terrain with a minimum of exposure to enemy fire, and
achieving surprise in the attack. According to the 104th's directive,
night attacks were to be used only for special purposes, such as to
surprise an unprepared enemy, exploit a successful daylight attack, gain
terrain for further offensive operations, or avoid excessive losses from
daylight attack "in seizing important limited objectives."
Communist expertise in night operations in Vietnam should have
made a lasting impression on the U.S. military were it not for a con
certed effort to purge that war from institutional memory while re
focusing on the high-tech battlefield of Europe. Consequently, it was
not until the 1980s that the U.S. infantry's nighttime practices were
fundamentally transformed. This was, in part, a response to the tech
nological breakthroughs in night-vision devices, especially light
gathering goggles and scopes and thermal-imaging equipment. U.S.
superiority in firepower in past conflicts allowed U.S. forces "to own
the day"; by the late 1970s and early 1980s, superior night-vision
equipment made it possible for U.S. forces to dominate the night.
The new orientation toward the night is captured in Field Circular
90-1 (FC 90-1), Night Operations, issued in 1985 by the Combined Arms
Combat Developments Activity at Fort Leavenworth. Although FC 90-1
is "aimed primarily at the ... maneuver battalion task force," it also
introduces the idea of continuous operations:
Increasing mechanization of land combat forces and rapidly developing
technology enable effective movement and engagement at night to
unprecedented ranges. Since armies now have the potential to fight
without let-up, combat operations can continue around the clock at
daylight intensities.
FC 90-1 also indicates the likelihood that regional powers around the
world, some possibly hostile toward the United States, are likely to
emphasize night training and night operations to counter superior U.S.
firepower. I Therefore, U.S. forces must prepare to engage and operate
at night in order to deprive adversaries of an easy advantage. At the
same time, the field circular prescribes increased use of the full range
of night-vision equipment, goggles, sights, and scopes.
The U.S. Army's acceptance of night action is apparent in its
operations conducted in the late 1980s, including Operation Just Cause,
the invasion of Panama in December 1989 to depose the dictator
General Manuel Antonio Noriega, restore democratic government, and
protect American civilians in the country. The invasion was launched
at 0045, in the depth of night. Traditionally, U.S. attacks have been
launched at dawn, but U.S. planners, from the beginning of their
planning efforts in February 1988, departed from tradition to claim
the night.
The planners of Just Cause found the night advantageous for several
reasons. For one thing, a dramatic new technology in night devices
was available for combat troops and pilots. At the same time, the
objectives of the mission indicated that a night operation would be
appropriate. The target of the invasion was the Panamanian Defense
Forces (PDF) and their leader, Noriega. The Panamanian people were
not considered the enemy, so another aim of the operation was to avoid
or minimize civilian casualties.
The mission of promptly defeating PDF units scattered in and
around the Panama Canal put a premium on surprise. So, too, did the
goal of capturing Noriega. A night assault would greatly enhance surprise.
Moreover, in the urban areas that would become the battlefield
for some of the assaults, fewer civilians would be on the streets in the
deep night hours, thus reducing the risks of collateral damage. At
Torrijos International Airport, a key D-day objective near Panama City,
only one civilian flight was scheduled after midnight. Since there was
no way to warn civilian airliners out of harm's way without revealing
the intention to invade, choosing an hour when only one flight was
scheduled to arrive was the only feasible way to lessen the risk of
disaster.
Operation Just Cause called for many missions to be conducted
simultaneously. Thus, many night-assault objectives (more than twenty
major ones) were pursued at the same time. More than 26,000 U.S.
military personnel, 13,000 already in Panama, the rest deployed from
the United States, would participate in Just Cause under the operational
control of Joint Task Force South, commanded by Lieutenant General
Carl Stiner, also commander of the XVIII Airborne Corps. Most of
these forces would be engaged in offensive operations at H-hour, originally
scheduled for 0100. Given the scope of the plan and the number
of units involved, coordination and command and control would have
been difficult under daytime conditions. Since the operations would take
place at night, airspace management and the delineation of clear
boundaries between units had to be given special emphasis. Because
several of the operations would involve fighting in built-up, urban areas
at night, the specter of massive confusion and the greater possibility
for friendly fire incidents existed.
Several maneuver task forces (TFs) were formed to implement these
objectives. TF Bayonet, for example, was to secure the Comandancia
(headquarters of the PDF), neighboring Fort Amador, the Pacific
entrance to the Panama Canal, and various objectives in Panama City.
TF Pacific was responsible for the suburban areas along the coast west
of Panama City, including the Torrijos International Airport. TF Semper
Fi's mission was to seize the Bridge of the Americas over the canal
(to prevent PDF reinforcements from the south) and secure Howard
Air Force Base, a U.S. facility. TF Atlantic operated in the interior
and on the Atlantic side of the isthmus.
U.S. forces achieved virtually all of their daytime objectives by the
end of the first day. These actions were not all trouble free, however.
To prevent Noriega's escaping Panama City by plane, members of the
Navy SEALs (sea-air-land teams) were dispatched by water before day
break to secure the Paitilla airport where the general's Lear jet was
kept. On reaching the airport, the twenty SEALs faced immediate sniper
fire, losing four killed and eight wounded. Nonetheless, within hours,
they secured the airport and destroyed Noriega's plane. An AC-130
Spectre was to have covered their operation with night sensors and
could have either spotted and neutralized the enemy or alerted the
SEALs to their location. The SEALs used several radio frequencies to
contact the AC-130 but were unsuccessful. It is not clear whether the
SEALs' radio had been water-damaged in transit or if the AC-130 could
not receive the signal. In any case, the high-tech night-vision equipment
on the AC-130 was useless because of a field communications failure.
The U.S. forces also conducted parachute assaults on both the
Torrijos International Airport and the nearby Tocumen airport used
by the PDF. TF Pacific subelements, TF Red-Tango, and TF Red-Romeo
performed these operations expeditiously and were followed in by several
battalions of the 82d Airborne Division. On the night of 19 December,
an ice storm at Fort Bragg-Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina, delayed
the departure of transports carrying the 82d, and since each plane
took off only after the time-consuming process of having its wings
deiced, the division did not arrive at Torrijos airport either together or
on time. Strung out in the skies from the United States to Panama,
the planes could not coordinate easily. Consequently, several craft
strayed off course and failed to drop the troops and their equipment
on the designated landing areas, not readily visible in the predawn
hours. Some troops and armored equipment landed in marshes and
fifteen-foot-high grass. These misfortunes greatly complicated nighttime
command and control problems and the expeditious execution of the
mission.
Whether U.S. units moved to their objectives by air or land, once
they arrived, they frequently called in aviation assets for preparatory
fires and close air support. Assets included AH-1 Cobras, AH-6s,
AH-64 Apache attack helicopters, and AC-130 Spectre gunships, all of
which could hit distant targets at night. Many of the flight crews and
gunners had trained extensively at night, some half of their training
flights being in darkness. The AC-130 Spectres, which were especially
impressive, boasted 20-mm cannon, 7.62-mm Gatling guns, and 105-mm
howitzers and could fire at 6 point or area targets independently with
17,000 rounds per minute. The Spectres had sophisticated thermal and
television observation devices that allowed them to pick out individuals
or formations of troops on the ground as well as friendly and enemy
weapons systems. To assist AC-130 gunners with target identification,
friendly troops wore glint tape clearly visible to the plane's sensitive
night devices. Having Apaches, Cobras, and Spectres overhead, with
their amazing capabilities for night operations, greatly increased the
fire support available for surprise attacks at night.
To spot targets, pilots relied heavily on the Aviation Night-Vision
Imaging System 6 (ANVIS-6), which was essential to target enemy
troops, but not civilians, in the urban terrain where much of the
fighting occurred. The night fire-support aspects of the operation would
not have been possible without the new night-device technology. More
over, the ANVIS-6s also aided aerial navigation in an important way.
In the early hours of the assault, more than 100 aircraft were in the
air at the same time within 20 miles of Howard Air Force Base and
operated without incident.
Even the best of systems, however, cannot completely remove the
fog of war from the battlefield. In the intense fighting around the
Comandancia, an AC-130 was told to engage an enemy target. Unfortunately,
in switching from one night-vision device to another, the gunner
acquired the wrong target and proceeded to fire on a friendly
M113 armored personnel carrier. A second M113 within the same
platoon met a similar fate. Although no Americans were killed in this
incident, the large number wounded by this friendly fire rendered the
platoon virtually ineffective.
U.S. pilots were not the only American personnel to take advantage
of night-vision devices. The PVS-7B and other less-advanced types of
night-vision goggles (NVGs) were crucial for infantry troops in Just
Cause. This was the first U.S. operation where such devices were widely
distributed (each squad having several), which made it easier for the
troops to move on course and with confidence at night. The NVGs,
however, had some drawbacks in combat. One platoon leader in the
battle for the Comandancia recalled that the NVGs limited depth perception
and blocked peripheral vision. Troops in a heated firefight with
tracers, grenades, and hostile soldiers seemingly all around them often
removed their NVGs to restore peripheral vision. In addition, the bulky
goggles can also interfere with the conventional sighting of rifles,
although according to some observers, rifle sights were often not used
by troops in the operation anyway. Instead, to remain aware of the
whole threat, the troops fired while looking over the sights. Muzzle
flashes and tracers revealed the enemy without the goggles. Fires
started by shells or carelessness, or any other light source, made the
goggles inoperative. Though the goggles exhibited some limitations for
use under fire, they remained, nonetheless, a critical element in night
fighting.
Despite the normal problems encountered in combat, Just Cause
was a successful campaign in which night operations were essential
in achieving U.S. objectives with minimal casualties on both sides and
within the civilian population. As part of the operation, the United
States moved a corps-size force to Panama in the dead of night against
more than twenty different targets. Almost all of these forces were
inserted by helicopter or air-dropped into the combat zone, and aircraft
provided both transport and immediate fire support. Careful planning
and training were necessary to ensure success, as has always been
true of night operations in the past. The new night-vision devices,
employed in the air and on the ground, played a crucial role in this
achievement. Operation Just Cause marked a major turning point in
night doctrine, inaugurating a new era in which continuous day and
night operations have become a reality for U.S. forces.
Bibliography
Briggs, Clarence E. Operation Just Cause, Panama, December 1989: A
Soldier's Eyewitness Account. Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1990.
Donnelly, Thomas, Margaret Roth, and Caleb Baker. Operation Just
Cause: The Storming of Panama. New York: Lexington Books, 1991.
Hughes, David. "Night Invasion of Panama Required Special Operations
Aircraft, Training." Aviation Week and Space Technology (19 February 1990).
Operation Just Cause, December 1989
Dr. Lawrence A. Yates
The defense of the Panama Canal has been a mission of the U.S.
military since the waterway's completion in 1914. Under the Carter-
Torrijos treaties of 1978, defense of the canal also became the legal
rationale for the continued presence of U.S. forces in Panama under
the commander in chief, U.S. Southern Command (CINCSO,
SOUTHCOM), a unified command activated in 1963 and headquartered
at Quarry Heights, Panama, overlooking Panama City. Every two years,
SOUTHCOM updates its operations plan (OPLAN) for the defense of
the canal. In mid-1987, the existing plan, CINCSO OPLAN 6000-86,
postulated either combined operations with the friendly Panamanian
Defense Forces (PDF) or, in the event the PDF remained neutral in
the face of a threat to the canal, joint U.S. operations. What the plan
did not anticipate was a threat to the canal from the Panamanian
military itself. Yet from June 1987 on the prospects of a hostile PDF
move against strategic U.S. interests in Panama could not be disregarded.
That month, General Manuel Antonio Noriega, the commander of
the PDF, cashiered one of his colonels, who retaliated by accusing the
general of drug trafficking, electoral fraud, and murder. In the resulting
furor, groups opposed to Noriega's role as the military strongman
behind Panama's civilian government organized demonstrations in the
streets of the capital. The internal crisis escalated into a Noriega-U.S.
confrontation after two federal grand juries in Florida indicted the
general on drug-related charges in early February 1988. By that time,
relations between SOUTHCOM and the PDF had deteriorated dramatically,
as the latter engaged in a campaign of harassing American
servicemen and their dependents and intruding onto U.S. installations
in Panama. As the crisis worsened, it became prudent for U.S. officials
to reexamine OPLAN 6000-86 for the defense of the canal.
The plan was already the subject of the mandatory two-year review.
Under regular planning procedures, however, SOUTHCOM would not
publish a new OPLAN for several months. This timetable was hardly
acceptable as mounting tensions between U.S. forces in Panama and
the PDF raised the possibility of imminent hostilities. After taking
several initiatives on his own to modify the existing plan, General
Frederick Woerner, CINCSO, received authorization from the chairman
of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), Admiral William Crowe, on 28
February 1988 to undertake crisis action planning. Planners now had
less than a week to create an entirely new plan, one that targeted the
PDF as a hostile element and primary threat to the security of the
canal. SOUTHCOM submitted a first draft of its effort to the JCS on
4 March 1988.
The new plan, code-named Elaborate Maze, was labeled an operations
order (OPORD) because many planners believed it would be executed
immediately. While drawing heavily from the key facilities list,
force structure, and command measures contained in the existing plan,
Elaborate Maze put forward a four-phased concept of operations against
a hostile PDF. The first three phases involved the defense of American
lives and property and the augmentation of U.S. forces stationed in
Panama. The fourth phase envisaged offensive operations in which
special operations and conventional forces would seize critical sites in
the canal area and neutralize the PDF on the scene. The plan called
for special operations forces to accomplish their D-day mission in a
matter of hours, after which they would turn over their positions to
conventional units. On order, conventional forces would also conduct a
noncombatant evacuation operation. The JCS approved Elaborate Maze
for further refinement and, with Woerner's endorsement, directed that
a fifth phase addressing law and order and reconstitution issues be
added to the plan. SOUTHCOM complied with a revised OPORD dated
18 March.
From its inception, Elaborate Maze drew upon the assets of each
service. Special operations forces would include Navy SEALs (sea-air
land teams) and Army Rangers, Special Forces, and an element from
Delta Force. U.S. Army South (USARSO) would provide the majority
of the conventional forces from units stationed in Panama, including
the 193d Infantry Brigade, an aviation battalion, a field artillery battery,
and the Military Police Command. The Air Force would provide
air support from its Panama-based inventory of A-7s, helicopters, and
AC-130 gunships, while the Military Airlift Command would transport
U.S.-based Army units, primarily a brigade from the 7th Infantry Division
(Light), into Panama for augmentation or operations. The Navy
had a few assets in Panama that could be used for special operations
and coastal patrols. In addition, planners discussed the employment of
a carrier battle group either for a show of force or to conduct sea
interdiction and close air support. The Marine Corps had security forces
stationed at the U.S. naval station in Panama, and a Marine rifle
company had entered the country in early April as a part of Washing Planning
ton's security enhancement buildup. If needed, a Marine expeditionary
brigade could deploy as well. Planners also raised the prospect of using
the Marines for amphibious assaults on targets outside the canal area.
Jurisdictional objections raised by the Navy eventually caused crisis
planners to drop the carrier group from the emerging order of battle.
As a result, any large-scale action against the PDF would still be a
joint undertaking, but one dominated by Army forces.
CINCSO's Elaborate Maze provided theater-level guidance. Working
out the details of supporting tactical plans fell initially to officers from
the U.S. Special Operations Command South, augmented by a planning
cell from the United States. On 23 March, Woerner activated the Joint
Special Operations Task Force (JSOTF) at Hurlburt Field, Florida, for
further special operations planning.
Taking another page from OPLAN 6000-86, Elaborate Maze called
for a second joint task force, Joint Task Force (JTF)-Panama, to be
responsible for conventional planning and operations. Woerner, however,
was reluctant to activate the headquarters because the PDF, which
had been read into parts of the old plan, might misread the move as
a sign hostilities were imminent and react rashly, thus pushing the
crisis closer to war. USARSO set up a small planning cell in which a
handful of majors and captains labored throughout March to write a
supporting conventional plan for Elaborate Maze. The need for
additional planning assets and a headquarters to manage the crisis on a
day-to-day basis, however, finally convinced Woerner to activate JTF
Panama on 9 April.
During March and April, as planners continued to refine Elaborate
Maze, the National Command Authority deployed two groups of security
enhancement troops to Panama to protect U.S. lives and property. While
some of these forces appeared on the force structure list of Elaborate
Maze, the JCS emphasized that their deployment did not constitute
the execution of the plan. Addressing the plan itself, the JCS sought
to simplify Elaborate Maze by directing Woerner to break it down into
four separate plans: one plan, Elder Statesman (later renamed Post
Time), would incorporate the first three phases of Elaborate Maze for
troop augmentation and defensive operations; a second plan, Klondike
Key, would address the noncombatant evacuation operation; a third
plan, Blue Spoon, offensive operations; and the fourth plan, Krystal
Ball (later renamed Blind Logic), the law-and-order phase. The new
OPORDs would compose the Prayer Book plans; the code name Elaborate
Maze would be dropped. On 9 May, the JCS approved the Prayer
Book drafts "for further execution planning."
Of the Prayer Book series of plans, Blind Logic (for civil-military
operations during and after hostilities with the PDF) was the most
sensitive. To minimize the possibility of leaks, Woerner, under orders
from the JCS, did not inform the U.S. Embassy in Panama of the
plan, nor did he pass it to any subordinate headquarters. In the short
term, compartmentalization made good sense. Should Blue Spoon be
executed, however, the lack of coordination between planners of civil
military and combat operations created the potential for enormous
confusion.
The Prayer Book series of plans represented Woerner's reasoned
approach to the crisis, an approach backed by Crowe in Washington.
Working with minimal and at times, conflicting political guidance from
the White House, Woerner and Crowe hoped to avoid overt U.S. military
intervention to topple Noriega. Woerner agreed with Washington that
Noriega had to go, but he thought that end could be achieved without
resorting to hostilities. Should the Prayer Book be executed, however,
Woerner planned to use the gradual buildup of U.S. forces in Panama
called for under the Post Time OPORD to exert psychological pressure
on Noriega's subordinates, who conceivably would divest themselves
of the dictator rather than place their institution and personal well
being at risk in a war with the United States. Woerner and Crowe
dismissed contemptuously as "looney tunes" and the "Rambo option"
the impetuous arguments emanating from the State Department in
March and April 1988 to mount a surgical strike that would "snatch"
Noriega or, alternatively, a U.S. invasion of the country. Americans in
Panama were too vulnerable to PDF retaliation even if these operations
succeeded, and U.S. interests in the region, Woerner believed, would
not be served by the actual use of U.S. combat power. Also, as Crowe
convinced President Ronald Reagan, American boys should not be sent
to die for a cause over which few Panamanians were willing to sacrifice
their lives.
The crisis eased somewhat in late spring, and talk of any kind of
surgical strike or large-scale U.S. military action against Panama
waned. The situation was still volatile, however, and staff officers in
Panama worried that, should the plans be executed, SOUTHCOM and
JTF-Panama would not have the physical, military, and manpower
assets to manage a major contingency. Woerner came to share this
concern and, in June, had Major General Marc Cisneros, his operations
director, discuss with XVIII Airborne Corps representatives the possibility
that, in the event of hostilities, the corps might have to assume
the role of the joint task force in charge of operations. The issue hung
in abeyance until November, when in response to a Woerner initiative,
Lieutenant General Thomas Kelly, the J3, JCS, designated the XVIII
Airborne Corps the executive agent for planning and, at some undetermined
point in the execution of the Prayer Book series of plans, the
JTF to conduct operations against the PDF. Three months later at
Fort Bragg, North Carolina, in a coordinating session with planners
from JTF-Panama and other organizations, the corps reviewed the
Prayer Book plans and assumed its role as executive agent for further
planning.
The involvement of the corps created a potential conflict of interest,
since the corps commander, Lieutenant General Carl Stiner, and several
of his staff shared strong reservations concerning Woerner's concept
of a gradual buildup. In keeping with the corps' modus operandi, they
preferred a concept of operations that emphasized the rapid use of
overwhelming force to achieve the stated objectives. At this point in
the crisis, however, their job was to write a supporting plan for
Woerner, not to change the existing concept. So as one planner at Fort
Bragg later commented, "We saluted the flag" and got on with the
work.
The lull in the crisis ended with the Panamanian presidential elections
in May 1989 and Noriega's violent response to the defeat of his
candidate. President George Bush responded by deploying 1,900 additional
U.S. troops to Panama during Operation Nimrod Dancer. These
troops would protect American lives and assert U.S. treaty rights in
Panama. The president did not say what U.S. planners knew to be
true: that the units deployed represented a partial execution of the
buildup called for under the Post Time plan. It was also during the
election crisis that the XVIII Airborne Corps began rotating planners
in and out of Panama on a continuous basis and began to fashion a
plan at Fort Bragg more in line with the corps' concept of a contingency
operation. The chances that the new concept would win acceptance
in Washington and Panama increased when it was announced
in midsummer that Woerner would retire in September.
The corps' focus was on revising Blue Spoon, the OPORD for
offensive operations. After extensive coordination with their appropriate
counterparts in Panama and throughout the United States, corps
planners, some of them graduates of the School for Advanced Military
Studies at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, produced JTF-South OPORD
90-1 by mid-September. The plan never received formal approval, as it
was soon overtaken by events in Panama. On 30 September 1989,
General Maxwell Thurman took command of SOUTHCOM. Three days
later, dissident elements of the PDF tried to oust Noriega, but the coup
failed. The new CINCSO came under fire for not doing more to assist
the coup plotters. Critics also charged that the U.S. military in Panama
had no plan for responding to a PDF coup attempt against Noriega,
even though months earlier President Bush had publicly encouraged
PDF officers to remove their boss. In reality, Blue Spoon fragmentary
orders for in-country U.S. forces to respond to a fast-breaking crisis
could have been executed to ensure the coup's success. But the problem,
Thurman argued against his critics, was that the coup was ill-led, ill-planned,
and poorly executed and would not have improved the position
of the United States or the prospects for democracy in Panama had it
succeeded.
Two days after the 3 October debacle, Thurman met in Panama
with key U.S. military personnel dealing with the crisis. He proclaimed
Stiner, the XVIII Airborne Corps commander, his "warfighter" and
called for a new plan. The principal planners left for Fort Bragg that
night and, over the succeeding days, reworked the draft Blue Spoon
OPORD once again. They made adjustments to reflect the new PDF
order of battle as it emerged after the coup attempt and to give greater
emphasis to such PDF facilities as Rio Hato and Fort Cimarron, from
which units loyal to Noriega had come to his rescue. Within days of
the meeting at SOUTHCOM, planners finished JTF-South OPORD
90-2. The plan was briefed to the JCS on 3 November and published
the same day.
In some respects, the contents of 90-2 revealed the evolutionary
course of the planning process. The original target list remained virtually
intact, although other targets were added and the priority and
means of engaging certain targets changed in the wake of the coup
attempt. H-hour still stood as 0100 to take advantage of U.S. capabilities
in night operations and to minimize collateral damage. The biggest
change in the force structure was to reverse the roles of the 82d Air
borne Division and the 7th Infantry Division (Light). The 82d, a Corps
asset, would become a part of the initial combat force, while elements
of the 7th would serve as a follow-on force, instead of vice versa as
called for in the original Blue Spoon plan. At Thurman's insistence,
JSOTF would not operate independently under him but would come
under the operational control of JTF-South (that is, the XVIII Airborne
Corps together with JTF-Panama staff assets), a significant enhancement
of unity of command.
The new plan, however, also represented a significant change in
concept that reflected differences in personality between Woerner and
Thurman and in the perspective of Panama-based and U.S.-based
commanders and staffs. Instead of Woerner's plan for a gradual buildup
of forces designed to compel a "Panamanian solution" to the crisis,
the XVIII Airborne Corps and Thurman preferred to employ surprise
and overwhelming force to strike critical points in Panama simultaneously
in a full-scale U.S. invasion. Noriega and the entire PDF, not
just PDF units in the canal area, were to be neutralized. Finally,
Thurman indicated that military action in Panama would be conducted
as a campaign, since the government of Panama would have to be
unseated and reconstituted. Backed by appendixes, fragmentary orders,
and supporting plans, 90-2 called for what was then the biggest U.S.
military operation since Vietnam, as 27,000 military personnel from
all 4 services stood trained and ready to attack 24 targets simultaneously;
provide reinforcements, combat support, and combat service support; and
conduct stability operations designed to "restore" democracy to Panama.
Although planners had reviewed the entire Prayer Book series of
plans, the emphasis of their labor was clearly on Blue Spoon and
combat operations. Post Time, which called for the augmentation of
U.S. forces in Panama, had been implemented in part during the 1988
and 1989 troop buildups. Also, Thurman had secretly inserted Sheridan
armored vehicles and Apache helicopters into the country in November.
Klondike Key, the evacuation plan, lay moribund. During the election
crisis the previous May and June, SOUTHCOM had brought many
U.S. dependents onto military installations and had returned others to
the States. Thousands of American citizens, however, continued to live
in Panama proper, especially in and around Panama City. But under
the revised concept of operations, a noncombatant evacuation operation
to extract them while trying to launch a surprise attack and sustain
subsequent military operations seemed fanciful. Blind Logic, the plan
to restore law and order in Panama and reconstitute its government,
received little attention until early December when SOUTHCOM finally
sent the document to JTF-Panama for review. By then, Blind Logic
was outdated, especially in the way it complicated command and control
relationships by giving a civil-military operations task force, not
JFT-South (the XVIII Airborne Corps), the responsibility for executing
the plan. Just Cause overtook last-minute efforts by SOUTHCOM and
JTF-Panama to update Blind Logic.
Less than twenty-four hours after the PDF killed a U.S. Marine in
Panama City, President Bush, on Sunday, 17 December 1989, ordered
the execution of Blue Spoon, which was quickly renamed Just Cause.
H-hour would be 0100 Wednesday, 20 December. During the interval,
commanders and staffs concentrated on going over the plan's execution
checklists and making last-minute adjustments. Tuesday night, as
H-hour drew near, an ice storm at Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina,
from which the 82d was scheduled to deploy, threatened to ground or
delay the troop transports. To this and other unforeseen problems, the
planners, now operators, adapted, as a steady stream of fragmentary
orders emanated from JTF-South headquarters throughout the operation.
As a military operation, Just Cause was highly successful. U.S.
combined arms generally worked together effectively to neutralize the
PDF with minimum force and with less collateral damage than anticipated.
As U.S. troops began securing their targets on the first day,
the JCS issued an order to commence Promote Liberty, the new name
for the Blind Logic phase of the operation. Here, the planners' preoccupation
with Blue Spoon resulted in serious lapses in command, control,
and coordination. Almost to a man, the planners conceded that they
could have devoted more time to Blind Logic and its integration into
the planning for combat operations. Victory in combat was, to be sure,
essential to the success of Promote Liberty. But if Promote Liberty
failed to attain its goals, the combat operations and the American and
Panamanian lives lost therein would be largely in vain.
The overall success of the U.S. intervention in Panama can be
attributed in part to the fact that the United States had predeployed
forces in the target country. Those troops stationed in Panama year
round had been augmented by U.S.-based forces well before hostilities
began. Success also rested on the nearly two years planners had to
develop and refine a concept of operations, force structure, target lists,
rules of engagement, joint communications electronic operating instructions,
and so forth. There was also time to accommodate major revisions
to the plan, such as replacing Woerner's concept of operations
with those of the XVIII Airborne Corps and Thurman. One can only
speculate on what would have happened had U.S. military operations
against Panama commenced in March 1988 after (as in the case of
Grenada) only several days of frantic planning. These special conditions
should not, however, detract from the primary reason for success:
the efforts of those officers who brought their experience and talent to
bear in crafting a plan of operations that brought a swift and commendable
victory to U.S. combined arms.
Bibliography
Donnelly, Thomas, Margaret Roth, and Caleb Baker. Operation Just
Cause: The Invasion of Panama. New York: Lexington Books, 1991.
Woodward, Bob. The Commanders. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1991.
Yates, Lawrence A. "Just Cause-Before and After: The Story of
JTF-Panama." Military Review 71 (October 1991).
The U.S.-Panama Crisis, 1987-1990
Dr. Lawrence A. Yates
The 1990 edition of U.S. Army Field Manual 100-20, Low Intensity
Conflict, states emphatically that in low-intensity conflict (LIC)
operations, "political [considerations] drive military decisions at every level
from the strategic to the tactical." Commanders and staff officers, the
manual instructs, "must adopt courses of action which legally support
those [considerations] even if the courses of action appear to be
unorthodox or outside what traditional doctrine had contemplated."
While doctrine emphasizing the dominance of political considerations
in low-intensity conflicts is relatively recent, the phenomenon itself has
a long history. The U.S. experience in the twentieth century alone accounts
for several examples: the Philippine-American War at the turn
of the century; the landing of forces at Veracruz during the Mexican
Revolution; the Sandino affair in Nicaragua in the 1920s; post-World
War II counterinsurgency efforts in Greece, the Philippines, Vietnam,
and El Salvador; and contingency operations in Lebanon, the Dominican
Republic, Cambodia, Grenada, Libya, and Panama. In each example,
political as much as, or more than, military necessity determined missions
and objectives for the U.S. forces involved. The last case, Panama,
is especially illuminating. Over a period of two years, a crisis in U.S.
Panamanian relations passed through several phases in which the
actions of U.S. forces stationed in Panama were driven predominantly
by political considerations that required commanders to adopt unorthodox
courses of action. Commanders who were already acclimated to
the LIC environment best understood the constraints political-military
interactions placed on them. Commanders wedded to the tradition of
military officers being left alone to make decisions once political leaders
have decided to employ armed force to achieve political objectives experienced
difficulty, even some mental agony, as they were forced to adapt to a very
untraditional situation.
The first phase of the Panama crisis began in the summer of 1987.
In June, General Manuel Antonio Noriega, commander of the Panamanian
Defense Forces (PDF), fired his erstwhile heir apparent, Colonel
Roberto Diaz Herrera, who retaliated by accusing the general of drug
trafficking, election fraud, and murder. The allegations led to a series
of demonstrations against Panama's ostensibly democratic government
(one run, in fact, by Noriega and his cohorts). The course of the demonstrations
ebbed and flowed depending on the amount of violence Noriega
sanctioned in controlling or suppressing them. Yet as the new year
arrived, demonstrators were still taking to the streets.
Washington's response during this phase was hesitant. The Reagan
administration, cognizant of U.S. interests in and around Panama,
preferred retaining the status quo, but as the domestic crisis in Panama
deepened, Reagan's advisers could not ignore the drug trafficking
charges and the demonstrations against Noriega. Neither could Congress.
And neither could Elliott Abrams, assistant secretary of state
for inter-American affairs, who was looking for a fresh issue following
the failure of his Contra policies in Nicaragua. The result of this attentiveness
was a series of sanctions designed to show U.S. dissatisfaction
with the situation, but not enough to precipitate a rupture in U.S.
Panamanian relations. The sanctions played into Noriega's hands as
he tried to rally nationalist support by blaming Washington for his
country's instability. By the end of January 1988, relations between
Washington and Panama City were severely strained.
No one was more aware of the strain than General Frederick
Woerner, the new commander in chief of the U.S. Southern Command
(SOUTHCOM). As the crisis unfolded, Woerner asserted that U.S.
interests in Panama and throughout Latin American could best be served
by avoiding a confrontation with Noriega and the PDF. Woerner
detested Noriega but maintained that through the exercise of normal
relations with the PDF, U.S. armed forces could exert an exemplary
influence, thus persuading their Panamanian counterparts to exert less
leverage on the political life of the country. (A Panamanian government
free of military influence was, in Woerner's opinion, an unrealistic wish,
given the country's history and traditions.)
By early 1988, the politically motivated sanctions emanating from
Washington and a Senate initiative to cancel combined U.S.-PDF
maneuvers had all but dashed Woerner's hopes for normal relations
between the two military organizations, the headquarters of which were
located within sight of one another. The Reagan administration had
curtailed most official contacts between U.S. officers and the PDF, and
friction had replaced cooperation as U.S. servicemen in Panama and
their dependents experienced increased harassment, especially from the
PDF's police branch. The cordiality that had once characterized normal
relations seemed irretrievable.
In February 1988, Noriega's indictment by two federal grand juries
in Florida opened the second phase in the crisis. Noriega stepped up
his anti-American rhetoric, engineered the ouster of the Panamanian
president (after the president had tried to fire him), and survived a
coup attempt in mid-March. He continued to crack down on the opposition,
while refusing to relinquish power. Noriega's intransigence and
the threat he posed to U.S. interests in Panama compelled Abrams,
among others, to recommend military intervention. Woerner and Admiral
William Crowe, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, regarded this
extreme proposal-dubbed the "Rambo option"-as unnecessary and
unwise. Reagan did prohibit further meetings between Woerner and
Noriega, but after Crowe argued that American boys should not be
sent into combat for something for which few Panamanians were willing
to die, the president rejected military intervention and sanctioned diplomacy
in an effort to negotiate Noriega from office. After some promising
signals, the negotiations faltered and collapsed in late May. At that
point, the White House was on record as wanting Noriega ousted, but
no one cared to push the issue. With the presidential campaign approaching,
Woerner received word from Washington to avoid any provocations
lest Vice President George Bush's chances for election to the
presidency be jeopardized. Woerner later described his orders as "based
blatantly on partisan politics and no other single consideration." After
Bush's election in November, SOUTHCOM was told to contain the crisis
prior to the president-elect's inauguration. Once Bush entered the White
House, word reached Woerner that U.S. quiescence should be extended
through Panama's elections, scheduled for May 1989.
The shifting political signals from Washington had their impact
in Panama, as the U.S. military there entered what one colonel labeled
"the Twilight Zone." U.S. forces found themselves legally stationed in
a country with whose government and military establishment the United
States was no longer on friendly terms but with whom a state of hostilities
did not exist. On 28 February, Crowe authorized Wberner to
draw up contingency plans for hostilities with the PDF, but few senior
military leaders in Panama believed Noriega would be so foolish as to
provoke full-scale U.S. intervention. The vague guidance Woerner
received from Washington as to missions and timetables concerning the
plans reinforced the perception that hostilities were not imminent.
Crowe, however, did authorize the augmentation of U.S. troops in Panama
in order to cope with the rising tide of crime against U.S. personnel
and property and the increasing threat to vulnerable U.S. facilities.
The units sent in March and April included a Marine rifle company
and Marine expeditionary brigade headquarters, aviation assets from
the 7th Infantry Division (Light), and several military police battalions
with a brigade headquarters. However sanguine U.S. commanders were
about the unlikelihood of hostilities, many of the American troops sta
tioned in Panama and others entering the country to enhance security
were convinced war was imminent.
But U.S. units in Panama were placed on anything but a war footing.
In executing the security-enhancement mission, the U.S. military
adopted peacetime rules of engagement (ROE) that placed tight con
straints on the use of deadly force. The ROE were most restrictive for
troops guarding those U.S. facilities that the PDF began probing in
April on an almost nightly basis. When a guard spotted armed intruders
on U.S. property, he had to issue a verbal warning before any other
defensive action could be taken. Operational constraints prohibited the
guard from putting a round of ammunition in the chamber of his weapon
until he detected hostile intent on the part of the intruders. There
were also strict rules for the employment of weapons systems. A vast
combined arms arsenal existed in Panama, and a platoon leader or
company commander engaged in a firefight in defense of U.S. property
could expect support not just from weapons organic to his unit but
from field artillery, combat helicopters, AC-130 gunships, Navy small
boats, and a host of other systems. Whether he would get the support
he requested depended more on politically motivated decisions than on
military necessity.
On 12 April 1988, the Marines at the Arraijan Tank Farm, a fuel
depot on the Pacific side of Panama, engaged in a serious firefight
with unidentified armed intruders. The Marine company commander
charged with securing the tank farm used illumination rounds, fired
his company's mortars, and called for Cobra helicopters. Alarmed by
the intensity of the fighting, senior U.S. commanders denied the latter
request, moved to police the battlefield in such a way as to downplay
the incident, and instituted even tighter controls over weapons systems
whose employment might cause collateral damage and intensify the
crisis. Determined to prevent another tragedy like Beirut, the Marines
were furious, charging that the ROE and operational constraints seemed
to place security forces at undue risk.
Indeed, for many officers and enlisted men in Panama, it seemed
as though the command groups both at SOUTHCOM and at Joint
Task Force-Panama, an organization Woerner had activated to manage
the crisis on a day-to-day basis, were more concerned with avoiding
an incident with the PDF than they were with safeguarding their own
troops and their dependents from increasing PDF violence and harass
ment. It is true that Woerner and several of his subordinate commanders
considered war inadvisable. But the Reagan and Bush administrations,
for largely political reasons, regarded it as unacceptable. Even if
Woerner had desired to retaliate for PDF provocations, he could not
have done so, given his instructions to avoid provocations, and still
remained in command. So Woerner relied on strict ROE, operational
constraints, the discipline of U.S. troops, and Noriega's good sense to
keep the situation under control and U.S. troops out of harm's way. In
part, then, political imperatives dictated the passive posture of U.S.
troops in Panama into the spring of 1989.
The crisis entered a third phase following the Panamanian election
in early May 1989. The violence in the wake of Noriega's annulment
of the elections caused President Bush, under Operation Nimrod Dancer,
to send 1,900 additional troops to Panama, including a Marine light
armored infantry company with LAVs, a battalion with M113s from
the 5th Infantry Division (Mechanized), and a brigade headquarters
with a battalion from the 7th Infantry Division (Light). As the troops
arrived in Panama, Bush declared that the United States would begin
to assert its rights under the canal treaties, rights that Noriega and
the PDF had been violating with near impunity since the onset of the
crisis. Washington's guidance to Woerner was simple but tricky: be
tough and assertive-but do not start a war.
Many soldiers who deployed during Nimrod Dancer thought they
were getting into a war. Instead, they encountered a situation in which
the ubiquitous civilian population was by and large friendly, the PDF
began assuming a lower profile, and the assertion of treaty rights
entailed not combat operations but shows of force and resolve under
taken in risky but hardly battle conditions. To commanders and units
who had trained force on force without constraints in the controlled
environment of the National Training Center or the Joint Readiness
Training Center, the mission received from Washington via SOUTHCOM
appeared unorthodox, bogus, vague, confusing, and, for those who could
not readily adapt, frustrating. Compounding this feeling was the attitude
of U.S. forces stationed in Panama who, having lived with the crisis
for two years, went about their business without the visible sense of
urgency the constantly vigilant newcomers brought with them. Commented
one newcomer caustically, "It's difficult to lean forward in the
foxhole when everybody around you is going to the golf course."
In its first concerted effort to assert its treaty rights, the United
States moved armed convoys from one side of the isthmus to the other.
But before the first convoys set forth in late May, commanders and
staffs had to determine and master the appropriate ROE, rules of con
frontation, and operational and legal constraints. Doing so required
long hours 'of brainstorming seemingly countless scenarios, learning
the letter of the law under the canal treaties, and then preparing the
unit conducting the convoy (a squad or platoon) for all imaginable
contingencies. One brigade commander concluded that he had to rely
more on his staff judge advocate than his S3 (operations and training
officer) in preparing for these movements. As for the squad or platoon
leader at the head of the convoy, he had to memorize and be prepared
to initiate a list of gradually escalating actions should the PDF interfere
with his convoy. He also had to be sure to document any confrontation
and be able to provide visual proof to his superiors and ultimately to
Washington that any firefight that occurred was the fault of the PDF
and not U.S. troops. In many ways, from Operation Nimrod Dancer
on, the crisis took on the aspects of a "camcord war," with each side
using videotaping for propaganda and documentation.
The detailed and painstaking planning and consideration that went
into the convoy movements also appeared in other military activities,
from patrolling to joint training events designed to rehearse the
contingency plans. Again, the goal was to be assertive but restrained, with
the emphasis on restraint derived from Washington's desire to make
its point without resorting to hostilities. After a short time in Panama,
an infantry commander concluded to his surprise that he would be
delighted to trade some of his riflemen for military police, for whom
restraint was routine. The downside in employing restraint was that
ROE and operational constraints almost guaranteed that if something
did go wrong in a confrontation, an American soldier was almost certain
to be the first casualty. Throughout the summer and fall of 1989, U.S.
troops in Panama racheted up their activities against the PDF, but
despite a series of unintentional close calls, neither side slipped over
the line separating confrontation from actual hostilities.
In early October, a small group of PDF officers mounted an abortive
coup against Noriega. In its aftermath, the White House, acting on
the advice of General Colin Powell, the new chairman of the JCS, and
General Maxwell Thurman, the new commander in chief of SOUTHCOM,
decided that the political objectives of U.S. policy in Panama could
not be achieved solely by ousting Noriega while leaving the PDF intact
but required the restoration of a civilian democratic government in the
country. After members of the PDF shot and killed a U.S. Marine
lieutenant on 16 December, President Bush implemented this policy by
force, ordering the invasion of Panama. Political guidance and military
missions were now in sync: the United States aimed to neutralize the
PDF, bring Noriega to justice, restore law and order to Panama, and
help reconstitute the Panamanian government and economy. Still, political
considerations influenced to some degree the conduct of combat
operations. Because the Panamanian people were not the enemy,
discriminate fire, constraints or prohibitions against the employment of
certain weapons, and the use of proportional force were emphasized in
order to minimize collateral damage and make the task of re-forming
the government and economy less onerous. Because of a decision made
early in the intervention to use the rank and file of the old PDF as a
cadre for a new Panamanian security force, U.S. forces received orders
to use deadly force only when necessary, a stricture hardly in keeping
part, then, political imperatives dictated the passive posture of U.S.
troops in Panama into the spring of 1989.
The crisis entered a third phase following the Panamanian election
in early May 1989. The violence in the wake of Noriega's annulment
of the elections caused President Bush, under Operation Nimrod Dancer,
to send 1,900 additional troops to Panama, including a Marine light
armored infantry company with LAV's, a battalion with M113s from
the 5th Infantry Division (Mechanized), ans a brigade headquarters
with a battalion from the 7th Infantry Division (Light). As the troops
arrived in Panama, Bush declared that the United States would begin
to assert its rights under the canal treaties, rights that Noriega and
the PDF had been violating with near impunity since the onset of the
crisis. Washington's guidance to Woerner was simple but tricky: be
tough and assertive - but do not start a war.
Many soldiers who deployed during Nimrod Dancer thought they
were getting into a war. Instead, they encountered a situation in which
the ubiquitous civilian population was by and large friendly, the PDF
began assuming a lower profile, and the assertion of treaty rights
entailed not combat operations but shows of force and resolve under
taken in risky but hardly battle conditions. To commanders and units
who had trained force on force without constraints in the controlled
environment of the National Training Center or the Joint Readiness
Training Center, the mission received from Washington via SOUTHCOM
appeared unorthodox, bogus, vague, confusing, and, for those who could
mot readily adapt, frustrating. Compounding this feeling was the attitude of
U.S. forces stationed in Panama who, having lived with the crisis
for two years, went about their business without the visible sense of
urgency the constantly vigilant newcomers brought with them. Commented
one newcomer caustically, "It's difficult to lean forward in the
foxhole when everybody around you is going to the golf course."
In its first concerted efforts to assert its treaty rights, the United
States moved armed convoys from one side of the isthmus to the other.
But before the first convoys set forth in late May, commanders and
staffs had to determine and master the appropriate ROE, rules of
confrontation, and operational and legal constriants. Doing so required
long hours of brainstorming seemingly countless scenarios, learning
the letter of the law under the canal treaties, and then preparing the
unit conducting the convoy (a squad or platoon) for all imaginable
contingencies. One brigade commander concluded that he had to rely
more on his staff judge advocate than his S3 (operations and training
officer) in preparing for these movements. As for the squad or platoon
leader at the head of the convoy, he had to memorize and be prepared
to initiate a list of gradually escalating actions should the PDF interfere
with the U.S. military's traditional emphasis on overwhelming the
enemy through firepower.
The day after Operation Just Cause began, Powell authorized the
execution of stability operations in Panama. Code-named Promote Liberty,
these politically oriented efforts to restore law and order and reconstitute
the government of Panama did not take place in a military
vacuum but occurred simultaneously with combat operations and became
inextricably enmeshed with them. For many combat units, this meant
being a warrior one day, operating under one set of ROE, and
performing a constabulary function the next, under a radically different
set of ROE. In an extreme example, units that had been fighting the
PDF one day could find themselves walking combined patrols with
their erstwhile enemy the next. Units assigned to Panama City could
find themselves working off of different ROE as they moved from one
part of the capital to another. For many combat troops, the rapid
transformation from warriors to policemen and the need to work from a
variety of ROE, depending on time and place, came as a difficult adjustment,
necessitated by political considerations, for which few had been adequately trained or prepared.
The overall conduct of the U.S. military throughout all phases of
the Panama crisis from 1987 to 1990 was remarkable for its restraint,
flexibility, and adaptability. Troops not experienced or adequately trained
in political-military operations, particularly at the lower end of the conflict
spectrum, learned the lesson of political dominance as, willingly
or begrudgingly, they molded their actions to the directives of their
superiors, both military and civilian. Doctrine for low-intensity conflict
now concedes the primacy of political considerations and the need, at
times, to adopt unorthodox measures. A soldier's training and education
must reflect these tenets. Military personnel must become proficient in
political-military operations if they are to be prepared for real-world
actualities where political considerations often determine military actions.
Bibliography
Briggs, Clarence. Operation Just Cause. Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole
Books, 1990.
Buckley, Kevin. Panama: The Whole Story. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1991.
Yates, Lawrence A. "Just Cause-Before and After: JTF-Panama and
the Panamanian Crisis." Military Review 71 (October 1991).
Fighting on the Upper Seine River, August 1944
Dr. Samuel J. Lewis
Reconnaissance is an ambiguous word, one with several levels of
meaning. It is one facet of intelligence gathering that can be performed,
theoretically, without violence or, conversely, with considerable violence,
as with a reconnaissance in force. English and several other languages
did not have a suitable word for reconnaissance and hence
adopted a foreign word. Other languages, such as German and Arabic,
already had a suitable word, connoting securing information by force
of arms, but as a rule, these words, too, remain ambiguous. The Russian
language, on the other hand, fields a plethora of words for various
forms of reconnaissance. The word remains firmly ensconced in the
lexicon of Western military culture for a valid reason, because eventually,
a commander will have to send an armed body to secure reliable
information. An illuminating example of reconnaissance that reflects a
number of its facets was the combat between the U.S. Third and German
First Armies southeast of the upper Seine River in mid-August 1944.
On 13 August 1944, General Omar N. Bradley, commander of the
12th Army Group, directed his forces to halt their advance to close the
Falaise pocket. The decision allowed many troops of the defeated German
Army Group B to escape over the lower Seine River. That same
day, Bradley's subordinate, Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr.,
commander of the U.S. Third Army, turned his attention eastward.
The following day, Bradley approved Patton's request to seize Dreux,
Chartres, and Orl&eaccute;ans to take advantage of German confusion and
eventually to capture a bridgehead over the Seine at Mantes. The two
American generals, at that point, still hoped to destroy the remainder
of German Army Group B against the Seine. Patton directed the VIII
Corps to continue clearing Brittany and the XII Corps to advance east
to Châteaudun, seize and hold Orléans, protect the southern flank of
the army, and prepare for further advances. He ordered the XV Corps
to advance east to seize and hold a bridgehead over the Eure River at
Dreux and dispatched the XX Corps to advance east to capture a bridge
head over the Eure River at Chartres and prepare to advance farther east.
These powerful Allied forces had complete command of the air, the
active assistance of the French Resistance, and a wealth of intelligence
sources on the enemy, including Ultra intercepts of top-secret German
military radio messages. Ultra information was an awkward blessing,
however, because commanders had to ensure that the Germans never
discovered the security breach. In addition, only several senior officers
at army and army group headquarters knew of the Ultra coup, which
on occasion left corps commanders and staffs puzzled at the confidence
of their superiors. To protect the Ultra source, Bradley and Patton,
like their colleagues, used the full spectrum of their intelligence assets.
Patton required his reconnaissance forces not only to secure information
aggressively but also to protect the intelligence information secured by
Ultra, the obtaining of which had to remain secret.
Oberbefehlshaber West (OB West), the German headquarters in
France, realized the nature of the crisis following the debacles of Operation
Cobra and at Falaise and struggled to cope with what was essentially
a hopeless situation. On 8 August, the staff directed that the
First Army turn over its sector along the Bay of Biscay coast to the
LXIV Reserve Corps and transfer to Fontainebleau, near Paris, where,
under Army Group B, it would defend the Paris-Orléans gap. OB West
instructed the German First Army to construct a defensive front between
Alengon and the Loire River to prevent any further U.S. advance toward
the upper Seine River. German intelligence reported strong U.S. armored
formations massing west of Le Mans, whose reconnaissance units were
probing east toward the Paris-Orléans gap. OB West warned that the
Americans could be expected to force a crossing of the lower Seine
west of Paris in an attempt to complete the destruction of Army Group
B. Another danger was a possible American advance through the Paris
Orléans gap to the Langres Plateau in an attempt to cut off and destroy
the forces of Army Group G. The commander of OB West gave specific
instructions that the First Army units were not to be deployed piecemeal
but should be massed to form a defensive line through Gien-Nemours
Montargis to the Seine River. OB West planned to send the First Army
two corps headquarters and five infantry and two panzer divisions, but
other emergencies subsequently canceled most of these movements.
The commander of the First Army was General Kurt von der
Chevallerie, a 52-year-old former branch chief of the German General
Staff who had held successive division and corps commands on the
Eastern Front. On his arrival in Fontainebleau on 11 August, he faced
a formidable challenge: the defense of some sixty miles of flat terrain
without any major formations. Two badly battered divisions from Normandy
were still west of Paris and not yet in the area. Two weak SS
replacement brigades were approaching Chalôns-sur-Marne, and the 48th
Infantry Division was slowly moving south from the Belgian coast.
Von der Chevallerie had few options. To gain time for his major
units to arrive and form a coherent defensive line, he spread his meager
forces out across the main roads to hinder the U.S. advance. Although
this violated OB West's instructions, it was his only chance to gain
the time required to bring up other units to defend the upper Seine
River. He placed the First Army's assault battalion in Étampes under
the command of his adjutant. The 1010th Security Regiment established
a security screen in the Malesherbes-Bellegarde area, and two security
battalions occupied Chartres. The First Army's specialist staff officers
served as garrison commanders in Pithiviers, Châteaudun, and Fontaine
bleau. Orléans had its own commandant.
Between 10-14 August, U.S. cavalry groups probed the Paris
Orléans gap in preparation for assaults on Orléans, and
Chartres. The German security screen repulsed these thrusts, but German
reconnaissance and intelligence measures were by necessity passive as a result
of insufficient combat units and reconnaissance assets. The First Army's
reconnaissance company, consisting of twelve obsolete and road-bound
French armored cars, patrolled the vicinity of Chartres. German staff
officers fluent in French systematically used the French national telephone
lines, asking the locals if they had been liberated yet and where
the Americans were. Since the First Army was equipped and organized
for a static coastal defense, it depended largely on the French telephone
system for its own command and control.
The commander of the German 48th Infantry Division, General Karl
Casper, arrived with the 48th Fusilier Battalion in Fontainebleau on
15 August. Von der Chevallerie told Casper that the First Army would
deploy the 48th Division behind the Seine as it arrived. Meanwhile, he
directed Casper to take his battalion with him to assume command in
the Chartres sector.
On 15 and 16 August, Patton's forces seized their objectives, rolling
forward against scant opposition. The garrison of Orléans retired across
the Loire and that of Ch´teaudun withdrew to Malesherbes. On 18
August, von der Chevallerie directed Casper's provisional command to
retire to defend Étampes and Dourdon. The only serious German losses
occurred at Chartres, where the U.S. 5th Infantry Division surrounded
the 800-man garrison. There was no American pursuit, because on the
evening of 15 August, Bradley, fearing a German counterattack, directed
Patton to halt.
While Patton fumed and complained in his diary, the American
inactivity allowed von der Chevallerie to piece together another security
screen in front of the Seine and bring up additional forces to defend
the river. The First Army's assault battalion held Dourdon, a Luftwaffe
flak detachment defended Étampes, and a reinforced company of the
1010th Security Regiment held Malesherbes. Casper directed his own
48th Assault Gun Company to occupy Maisse and his 48th Fusilier
Battalion to hold Arpajon. In front of Paris, the remnants of the 352d
Infantry Division held Limours. East of Malesherbes, the Loing River
bisected the First Army front between Montereau and Melun. Von der
Chevallerie named General Edgar Arndt commander of this Loing sector.
Arndt commanded only weak security forces to defend a very wide
front. He therefore placed his entire force in Montargis behind the
Loing River.
Patton was not particularly concerned with this front but, rather,
with the remnants of German Army Group B, struggling to escape
across the lower Seine. On 19 August, his XV Corps seized the first
bridgehead across the Seine at Mantes (see map 20). Over the following
days, Bradley and Patton unsuccessfully attempted to drive forces down
the west bank of the Seine. The XIX Tactical Air Command, attached
to Patton's Third Army, conducted reconnaissance along the Loire River
and between Paris and Orléans. The Third Army's indigenous cavalry
groups and squadrons (mechanized) scoured the front, identifying von
der Chevallerie's second delaying position. The day before, on 18 August,
the U.S. 43d Cavalry Squadron had penetrated the German security
screen and from the wooded banks gazed down on the winding Seine.
This aggressive reconnaissance was in the finest traditions of the
cavalry and air corps, but it was in this instance also grand theater.
Generals Bradley and Patton knew from intercepted German radio
messages not only the weakness of the German First Army but the
impotence of the German forces south of the Loire River. Armed with
such knowledge, it was doubly important to use aggressive reconnaissance
to protect the Ultra secret.
The final act of the tragicomedy on the upper Seine began on
Monday, 21 August, when Patton unleashed his full fury against the
inconsequential German forces. On the 19th, Bradley gave Patton permission
to breach the upper Seine, and Patton briefed his corps commanders
the following day. The U.S. XX Corps. advanced to seize
bridgeheads over the Seine at Melun and Montereau. The U.S. XII Corps
advanced to capture Sens on the Yonne River to protect Patton's flank.
Von der Chevallerie's security screen based on strongpoints held up
the U.S. Army for two days. On the afternoon of 22 August, von der
Chevallerie instructed his garrisons to withdraw behind the Seine. The
withdrawal proceeded as planned: after each German combat group
crossed the river, German engineers blew up the bridges. The major
German failure was allowing the U.S. XII Corps to surround the garrison
at Montargis on the Loing River. Given the overall German weakness,
however, and the flat terrain, one might ask what other possible
course of action von der Chevallerie had. The isolated garrison held
out until 23 August, when Arndt, its commander, died in combat and
the survivors surrendered.
Map 20.
During the fighting for the Seine, reconnaissance took its more
traditional form, with units and commanders moving forward to determine
the strength and location of the enemy. On the morning of 23August
1944, Major General Walton H. Walker, XX Corps commander,
made a personal reconnaissance to observe the 7th Armored Division's
attempt to cross the Seine at Melun. Unfortunately, his impatience and
frustration led him to interfere with the work of his subordinates,
directing a pointless and costly assault on a small island. That same
day, the XX Corps' other division, the 5th Infantry, pushed through
the Forêt de Fontainebleau on a two-regiment front, ably guided around
the minefields by members of the French Resistance. As the 11th Infantry
emerged from the forest, the soldiers saw that the Seine bridge
was still standing. As an American patrol approached it, however, the
Germans blew up the bridge, sprinkling the patrol with debris. The
lead battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Kelly B. Lemmon Jr.,
remained undeterred and reconnoitered the river bank. He found five
small boats and began to establish a bridgehead on the far side.
Patton's army had little difficulty crossing the Seine and breaking
the German First Army's line. Instead of the scheduled two corps head
quarters and five infantry divisions, von der Chevallerie received only
the inexperienced 48th Infantry Division to defend a front of some
fifty miles. The German infantry could not even observe much of the
front, so German patrols had to reconnoiter the more inaccessible
sectors. One such patrol discovered Lemnion's bridgehead near
Fontainebleau.
At first appearance, Patton's overwhelming superiority on the
ground, in the air, and in intelligence-gathering assets would suggest
that such a campaign would merit perhaps only academic interest. The
disparity in strength, however, makes the military work performed by
the commanders and staffs all the more intriguing-particularly regarding
their differing approaches to reconnaissance. We have already
observed how the need to protect the Ultra source made it doubly
important for the U.S. Army to pretend that it was not reading the
German's radio messages by aggressively reconnoitering with its cavalry
and air corps units. In hindsight, Patton could have carried out this
deception even further by aggressively seizing bridgeheads across the
Loire River.
Reconnaissance by the German First Army naturally differed in
scope and purpose from that of the much more powerful U.S. Third
Army. Von der Chevallerie lacked not only combat units but reconnaissance
assets, air support, and the help of the local population. He
consequently decided to disobey orders and erect a security screen with
the few units that were available. Von der Chevallerie saw this gamble
as the only way to gain time for reinforcements to reach the upper
Seine. In German doctrine, security and reconnaissance were interdependent
and, true to form, von der Chevallerie's security screen also provided ports
from which his own meager reconnaissance forces could sally forth.
The fighting along the upper Seine demonstrated the ambiguity
inherent in reconnaissance. It can be performed by one man on foot
or by highly organized special organizations. While it is normally conducted
to secure information on the enemy's location and strength, it
can also be used to mask information identified by other sources. In
the instance of the U.S. Third Army's and German First Army's combat
on the upper Seine in mid-August 1944, Patton, von der Chevallerie,
and their respective staffs demonstrated the broad applications possible
in effective reconnaissance.
Bibliography
Allen, Robert Sharon. Lucky Forward: The History of Patton's Third
U.S. Army. New York: Vanguard Press, 1947.
Blumenson, Martin. Breakout and Pursuit. United States Army in World
War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History,
Department of the Army, 1961.
Farago, Ladislas. Patton: Ordeal and Triumph. New York: I. Obolensky, 1963.
Crossing the Rapido
Dr. Roger J. Spiller
A deliberate assault across a defended river is an operation most
soldiers would prefer not to hazard. Yet it is the most common of tactical
operations and is dreaded all the more because river lines offer a
capacity for defense that is perhaps equaled only by high ground. A
river that in peacetime presents a simple problem for tactical exercises
can in combat become a nightmare for those who must fight their
way to the other side. Nature alone is often sufficient to foil a river
crossing; if a crossing point is expertly defended, the slightest aggravation
of terrain becomes a weapon in the enemy's hands. A marshy
approach, a sloping bank at an awkward tilt, a turbulent surface or
an uneven bottom, even the kinds of vegetation along the banks-all
must figure into the calculations that must be made before launching
such an operation. By their very nature, river crossings demand the
coordinated action of several arms and branches whose roles are critical
to tactical success. Yet even when fortune appears to favor one's own
side, the potential for disaster in this, as in all other military operations,
is never far away.
Italy's Rapido River is an inconsiderable stream that lies athwart
the southeastern entrance to the Liri valley. In its widest places, the
river is sixty feet in breadth and up to twelve feet deep. Sometimes,
its steep banks are as much as ten feet high. About halfway across
the valley floor, the Rapido curves to meet the Gari River, which continues
the river line westward past the valley entrance and on to the
sea. There are no easy fords along the Rapido here.
In January 1944, the Rapido achieved a good deal more importance
than its size would suggest, for it formed part of a strong defensive
belt called the Gustav Line that the German Army had thrown across
the width of the Italian peninsula. After the Allies stormed ashore at
Salerno in September 1943, they had pressed a fairly steady, but increasingly
difficult, advance until they reached the Gustav Line. There, their advance halted.
The Allied Combined Chiefs of Staff were anxious to take Rome
before launching Operation Overlord, the cross-channel attack on France,
but the terrain, the awful winter weather, and the strong defenses at
the Gustav Line had so far foiled their ambitions. The Allied high
command was convinced that only another amphibious landing could
deliver Rome in time, and the commander of the U.S. Fifth Army,
Lieutenant General Mark W. Clark, selected Anzio as the target for his
U.S. VI Corps. The hazards of such a landing were compounded by
the presence of a strong German reserve in Rome, the I Parachute
Corps of two reinforced divisions. Clark decided that the Anzio landings
should be coordinated with an attack by Major General Geoffrey Keyes'
II Corps against the Gustav Line at the entrance to the Liri valley.
Keyes' attack, Clark hoped, would support the Anzio landings in
two ways: first, a substantial attack along the Gustav Line would force
Field Marshal Albert Kesselring, the German commander in chief for
Italy, to commit his reserve to protect the Liri valley and thereby expose
Rome. Second, if Keyes' II Corps could breach the Gustav Line, an
armored force could attempt a drive up the Liri valley and eventually
join with the VI Corps to take Rome.
The defenses along the valley entrance reflected the Germans' appreciation
of its importance. The defense of the valley was assigned to
Major General Fridolin von Senger's XIV Panzer Corps, and to hold
the river line, Senger had entrusted Brigadier General Eberhard Rodt's
formidable 15th Panzergrenadier Division, at that moment perhaps the
best of all the German divisions in Italy (see map 21). The 15th had
made two villages along the river line its defensive anchors: Garigliano
to the southwest, opposite the British X Corps, and Sant' Angelo (in
Teodice) to the northeast. Sant' Angelo was to be the focal point of
the American attack. North of Sant' Angelo stood the 104th Panzergrenadier
Regiment, while on the opposite side of the village, the reconnaissance
battalion of the 115th Panzergrenadier Regiment defended.
The entire area was thick with concrete bunkers and other emplacements,
all shielded by aprons of wire. From their slightly elevated bank,
the Germans had devised an intense field of interlocking small-arms
fire that covered the immediate riverside. Mining had been prolific on
both sides of the river. Some German armor stood rearward in support
of these positions. The whole area was subject to observed artillery
fire. The commanding heights of Monte Cassino on the right flank
towered over the scene. Thus, for the men who were to make the assault,
the Germans had created the worst sort of tactical problem: an observed
river crossing in the dead of winter against veteran troops who were
well placed, well prepared, and well supported.
Major General Fred L. Walker's 36th Infantry Division was chosen
to force the crossing. Formerly of the Texas National Guard, the 36th
had been under Walker's command since before Pearl Harbor. The
division had spearheaded the amphibious assault at Salerno and was
well regarded by higher commanders, but it had suffered substantial
casualties at Salerno and in the fighting that followed. By January
1944, 2 of the 36th's 3 regiments were some 500 men under normal
strength, and a large portion of their strength was made up of new
replacements. Clark rated the division as 75 percent effective.
Map 21.
When Walker considered the problem before his division, he was
not confident the 36th could succeed. The German defenses were daunting,
and every advantage of terrain, even on his own side of the river,
seemed to lie with the enemy. Moreover, the approaches to the river
were dominated by a series of mud flats traversed by primitive roads.
Only at Monte Trocchio, about two miles to the rear, was there sufficient
cover from artillery to establish the necessary depots and assembly areas.
Walker intended to use two battalions each from his 141st and
143d Infantry regiments for the attack and aimed to cross the river on
both sides of the village of Sant' Angelo after a heavy artillery bombardment.
Each battalion was to seize a bridgehead secure enough to enable the
placement of Bailey bridges. Once the Baileys were laid, an
armored force stood ready to pass through the 36th's lines into the
valley and up Highway 6 toward Rome. In order to discourage enemy
reinforcements, the British 46th Division on the left flank was to make
an earlier cross-river assault against the village of Garigliano. Finally,
because no one in the high command was under any illusions about
the difficulty of this operation, it was decided that the 36th's river
crossing would take place at night.
Early in January, II Corps engineer units began surveying and
preparing the approaches to the river. They were to clear and mark
safe lanes of passage through the marshes and minefields, improve
the roads as much as possible, collect the boats and bridging equipment
for the crossing, and move all the equipment as close to the crossing
sites as possible. That done, the engineers were to guide the infantry
through the minefields. At the river's edge, the first assault elements
would cross on footbridges jury-rigged from catwalks and inflatable
boats or in M-2 assault boats. Then, if all went well, the much heavier
Bailey bridges could be put in place.
But throughout the month, there was heavy enemy patrolling on
both sides of the river, and rumors flew about the division that the
Germans were relaying mines in the cleared lanes. The roads seemed
beyond improvement. There were shortages of the proper number and
type of boats and bridging equipment. The engineers and infantrymen,
who had never before worked together, had difficulty understanding
each other's problems. And because of the lack of cover, the assault
over the Rapido would have to begin not at the river line but at Monte
Trocchio. The infantrymen would have to manhandle their own boats
(the M-2s were 13 feet long, 5 feet at the beam, and weighed over 400
pounds) nearly, 2 miles over marshy, mined terrain under enemy observation at night.
Keyes and Walker had been counting on the British X Corps to
divert the Germans' attention by attacking on 18 January, two days
before the 36th's scheduled crossing. But Lieutenant General Sir Richard
L. McCreery, X Corps' commander, had decided to postpone sending
his 46th Division across the Gari River for twenty-four hours. This
was not enough time, Keyes protested, for the British to secure a bridge
head and draw German defenders from the American sector. Keyes
was right. Far from resorting to local reinforcements to repel the British
attack, the Germans committed their reserve I Parachute Corps. The
British attempt, though stalled for the moment, had at one stroke removed
the threat to the Anzio landings and so also one of the reasons
for the attack across the Rapido. But the British had not taken pressure
off their American flank. When McCreery recommended that the Rapido,
attack be canceled, Clark disagreed. The 36th's attack, scheduled for
the evening of 20 January, would proceed as planned.
At about 1900, the men of the 141st's assault battalion were carrying
their boats into the mud flats in front of the river. Their artillery support
began thirty minutes later, when more than sixteen battalions of
artillery opened fire on enemy positions around Sant' Angelo. Immediate
enemy counterfire fell on the assault troops, creating havoc and destroying
the tapes laid down to guide them through the minefields.
One German volley killed or wounded thirty men from one company
alone. Looking for cover, some troops fled into minefields. By 2000,
one-quarter of all the boats had been damaged. As the assault battalion
neared the river, it suffered from extremely heavy small-arms fire from
the opposite side. When the regimental commander, Lieutenant Colonel
Aaron A. Wyatt Jr., saw that the crossing was in danger, he called
for an extension of artillery cover. Meanwhile, under nearly impossible
conditions, about 100 men from the battalion had crossed the river by
2100. There, throughout the night, they held a tenuous grip on a small
bridgehead while the engineers and remaining infantrymen attempted
to get footbridges across the river. After a night of extremely heavy
fighting, still only half of the battalion had come across the Rapido,
and most of the bridges that had been put up had already been destroyed
by enemy fire. At dawn, Wyatt began to withdraw his men.
South of the village, Colonel William H. Martin's 143d Infantry
had managed to put one platoon across the river before enemy artillery
found his position. By 2300, one company, much reduced by casualties,
had made its way to the opposing bank, but the volume of enemy fire
was so great that it was not until 0500 the next day that the survivors
of the battalion had made good a crossing. Once there, the battalion
found itself unable to advance and being steadily pushed back toward
the river. With the pocket his troops occupied growing ever smaller,
Major David M. Frazior, the battalion commander, asked for permission
to withdraw but was refused. When later in the morning enemy armor
joined the fight, Frazior began to get what men he could to the friendly
side of the river.
Farther downstream, another battalion of the 143d attempted to
cross. In the confusion of darkness and the chaos of enemy shellfire,
the engineer guides became lost. More men strayed into the minefields.
By 2300, all the battalion's rubber boats had been destroyed. By morning,
still not one soldier from this battalion had crossed the river, and
the battalion commander was relieved on the spot by a frustrated
Martin. The new battalion commander arrived too late in the day to
do much more than order a retirement to the assembly area.
At dawn, with men stranded and sounds of heavy fighting coming
from the enemy side of the river, Walker and his regimental commanders
were trying to salvage the wreckage of their attack when Keyes
called to relay Clark's insistence that the crossing be attempted again,
and soon. Walker wanted to resume the attack that evening, but Keyes
pressed for an immediate attack that day. By midday on 21 January,
regimental commanders Martin and Wyatt began preparing their men
for their second cross-river assault in less than twenty-four hours. Few
boats and little bridging equipment had survived the previous night's
action, and now the resumption of fighting had to await new supplies.
Martin moved the remnants of the 143d into action once more. Lack
of equipment forced Wyatt to wait until dark to try again.
Martin's 143d launched its second attack at 1600 against the same
crossing sites. Aided-and sometimes hindered-by smoke, the 143d got
one battalion across in rubber boats by 1900. Meanwhile, the engineers
worked for eight hours under fire to construct a footbridge. By 0200
the next morning, Martin had managed to get two additional rifle
companies across the river. But after advancing 500 yards, the men of
the 143d advanced no more. By dawn, the battalion commander and
all his company commanders had been wounded. The intensity of enemy
fire had prevented the new battalion commander from reaching the
bridgehead for three and one-half hours. Shortly after dawn, he reported
that there were only 250 effective soldiers in the bridgehead, that all
the boats had been destroyed by shellfire, and that the only footbridge
had also been wrecked. The engineers managed to put up two more
footbridges during the day, but by midday on 22 January, these were
used to evacuate survivors. At noon, Martin ordered his men to withdraw.
North of Sant' Angelo, Wyatt's 141st delayed its attack until 2100.
For five hours, Wyatt's riflemen worked to clear the opposing bank of
enemy troops and then set the engineers to work on footbridges. By
0400 on 22 January, Wyatt had pushed one battalion across, and by
dawn, a second battalion had joined the fight on the far bank. Wyatt's
men advanced about 1,000 yards before being forced to dig in. As the
fighting in Martin's sector downstream gradually dissipated, more enemy
pressure began to build on Wyatt's position. By 1600, all the commanders
in Wyatt's two battalions had been either killed or wounded.
Communications with the far side of the river had long been severed.
As the evening approached, forty men managed to escape the bridge
head. They thought there was no hope for those who remained behind.
Sounds of American weapons could be heard from the far side of the
river until 2000. Then they stopped.
Even as Martin was extricating the ruins of his battalions and
while Wyatt's battalions were steadily losing their grip on the far bank,
the corps commander, Keyes, was considering ordering Walker to commit
his reserve regiment. Walker protested, and Keyes relented. It was time
to cut the 36th's losses. And, anyway, that day, 22 January, Allied
forces landed at Anzio against negligible resistance.
The following day, Walker wrote in his diary, "two regiments of
this Division were wrecked on the west bank of the Rapido." The 141st
and 143d suffered 1,681 casualties. Losses by supporting units attached
for the attack, especially the engineers, drove casualty figures higher still.
Senger, the opposing commander of the XIV Panzer Corps, remembered
the affair at the Rapido in quite a different way. "The German
Command," he wrote, "paid little attention to this offensive for the
simple reason that it caused no particular anxiety." Considering the
sacrifices of the troops on the Rapido, Senger's recollection is the most
damning "after action" imaginable. The report of Senger's 15th Panzergrenadier
Division for the Rapido assault simply reads, "prevented enemy troops
from crossing S. Angelo."
A cursory examination of the Rapido operation would imply that
it is merely another case of how tactical judgment was sacrificed for
the sake of strategic objectives. But the strategic objective that the
attack at the Rapido was meant to serve had already been achieved
by the British X Corps two days earlier when vital German reserves
were drawn from their positions around Rome. That the Rapido operation
was executed as originally scheduled suggests a certain preoccupation
by the U.S. high command with Anzio and a certain indifference
to just how incidental the Rapido operation had become. Nor did the
tactical situation demand an attack at the place that had been chosen
for the division. Walker had argued that there were more suitable places
to penetrate the Gustav Line, places that eventually were used after
the failure at the Rapido.
Even under the best circumstances, river crossings are fraught with
technical and tactical difficulties. If the crossing is substantial and
operationally significant, as the Rapido was, supporting units will in
evitably be thrown into cooperation with combat units with whom they
have never worked, whose problems and immediate concerns are different,
and with whom they are little inclined to be understanding.
Too, surveys of frontline troops in World War II showed that, of all
the tactical problems they faced, they most dreaded assaults across
water obstacles and amphibious landings. Little wonder, then, that the
prospect of crossing the Rapido filled the troops with foreboding and
that, during the battle, commanders reported their troops less than
enthusiastic for the fight.
And if to these difficulties are added the terrain and, indeed, the
troops that effectively defended the Rapido, the result becomes under
standable. Every irregularity of the terrain seemed to conspire against
the efforts of the men of the 36th, who were all the more susceptible
because their commanders' doubts about the feasibility of the operation
appear to have been translated to the lowest tactical levels. In the
histories and documents that tell the story of the Rapido, much has
been made of the colliding temperaments of Clark, Keyes, and Walker.
But while these men were important figures in this story, they were
not the whole story, nor even a large part of it. That part belongs to
the men of the 36th, who at the Rapido became hostages to the disastrous fortunes of war.
Bibliography
Blumenson, Martin. Bloody River: The Real Tragedy of the Rapido.
Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1970.
___. Salerno to Cassino. United States Army in World War II.
Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, U.S. Army, 1969.
Graham, Dominick, and Shelford Bidwell. Tug of War: The Battle for
Italy, 1943-1945. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1986.
Hapgood, David, and David Richardson. Monte Cassino. New York:
Congdon & Weed, 1984.
Senger und Etterlin, Fridolin von. Neither Fear Nor Hope: The Wartime
Career of General Frido von Senger und Etterlin, Defender of Cassino. New York: Dutton, 1963.
The XIX Panzer Corps' Lightning Advance into France,
May 1940
Lieutenant Colonel Edward P. Shanahan
The desire to achieve surprise in military operations is timeless.
Considered an essential element of victory from ancient times to the
present, the concept of surprise is almost universally enshrined as a
principle of war. Because surprise is vital to successful offensive and
defensive operations, particularly at the operational and tactical levels
of war, it can decisively shift the balance of combat power and affect
the outcome of campaigns and battles.
Surprise influences the enemy's sense of self-confidence, mental
stability, competence, and will and ability to fight. Surprise induces
psychological shock in enemy leaders and soldiers when it targets their
command, control, and communications systems-thus delaying their
reactions and reducing the effectiveness of their combat and support
systems. The enemy need not be taken totally unaware but only become
aware too late to react effectively, thereby allowing the attackers to
establish favorable battlefield conditions and set the terms of battle.
Through the use of surprise, success out of proportion to the effort
expended can be gained.
A classic example of surprise is the Germans' penetration of the
Ardennes in May 1940. The German plan in 1940 was to win a quick,
decisive victory against the French and their Allies by achieving strategic
surprise. Beginning its operation at 0535 on Friday, 10 May 1940,
the Wehrmacht launched its campaign in the west by invading the
Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg. In less than one week, the
Wehrmacht had shattered the French Army and, within the next six
weeks, had conquered France and its Continental Allies in the west,
driving the British Army from the Continent. The key to the
Wehrmacht's smashing victory was the successful attack of a major
German force through the Ardennes, an operation that achieved almost
complete surprise. General Heinz Guderian's XIX Panzer Corps, which
spearheaded the advance, moved approximately 220 miles in 11 days,
penetrating the "impassable" Ardennes Forest, breaching a fortified
river line, and defeating a major slice of the French Army. The decisive
German victory reaffirmed the critical importance of surprise in warfare.
The original German plan to invade France and the Low Countries
(Fall Gelb or Plan Yellow) was unimaginative and highly conservative.
When Fall Gelb was compromised in January 1940, French forces were
alerted and deployed to the frontiers. Nothing happened, however, and
operations on the Western Front lapsed into the routine of the so-called
"phoney war." Fortunately for the Germans, the Allies had revealed a
preview of their wartime strategy and dispositions. As a result, two
changes occurred: the Germans altered their plans, and Hitler tightened
the security surrounding the forthcoming operations. The Allies also
initiated their own changes, deciding to reinforce the Netherlands and
Belgium. General Maurice Gamelin shifted the French Seventh Army
from strategic reserve and committed it to the Allied left flank in the
Netherlands. Under this revision, known as the Breda Variant to the
Dyle Plan, thirty French divisions would wheel into Belgium and the
Netherlands at the outset of the German attack. The hinge of this
operation was the French Ninth Army, composed of ten weak, mostly
reserve, divisions. The other unit facing the so-called impenetrable
Ardennes was the French Second Army, deployed with its strongest
division on its right, to protect any attempt to outflank the Maginot
Line, and its weakest divisions on the left, behind Sedan and adjacent
to the Ninth Army.
One of the alternative plans to Fall Gelb was drawn up by General
Erich von Manstein, the chief of staff of General Gerd von Rundstedt's
Army Group A. The Manstein variation shifted the main effort from
the northern right wing to the center in the Ardennes region.
Manstein's aim was to achieve a decisive victory through a two-phase
campaign: phase I was to break through the enemy's front and cut off
forces that had advanced into Belgium; phase II was to envelop the
remaining enemy forces north of the Somme River. Manstein's plan
was predicated on achieving strategic surprise. He believed the French
High Command would anticipate a German repetition of the World
War I Schlieffen Plan and would react to stop a German drive into
Belgium as far to the east as possible. Manstein also argued that the
bulk of the Allied forces would be committed prematurely. Therefore,
the German main effort should be shifted from Army Group B in the
north to Army Group A in the center, and the penetration should occur
along the Meuse River between Namur and Sedan.
On 24 February, the OKH (Army High Command) issued a modified
version of Manstein's plan. Army Group B, with thirty divisions, would
strike the Allied left flank as a major supporting attack to confirm the
Allies' preconceived belief that they were the main effort. This would
draw the Allies into the Low Countries prematurely and divert their
attention from the critical area of the main attack executed by Army
Group A. Army Group C, with nineteen divisions on the left wing,
would hold the southern flank and demonstrate in front of the Maginot
Line defenses to hold those forces, particularly the reserves, in place.
The main effort through the hilly and densely wooded Ardennes
would be made between Liège and Luxembourg. This thrust through
the "impassable" Ardennes would be entrusted to General Ewald von
Kleist's panzer group, comprised of two spearheads-General Heinz
Guderian's XIX Panzer Corps with three divisions aimed at Sedan and,
on his right, General Georg-Hans Reinhardt's XLI Panzer Corps of two
panzer divisions aimed at Montherme. Farther north was General
Hermann Hoth's 5th and 7th Panzer Divisions to cover the northern
flank of the main attack.
The plan could only work if German armored and motorized units
successfully negotiated the difficult Ardennes, with its limited road net
work, before the Allies identified the main effort. Surprise, speed, and
operational security would be critical, as would the success of the
deception executed by the right wing. German intelligence on Allied
troop dispositions confirmed Manstein's conviction that the Allies had
discounted a blow in the Ardennes.
Army Group A's divisions were packed into the Ardennes from the
Luxembourg border to the vicinity of Giessen-Marburg, some 200 kilometers.
Despite the need for surprise, the assault tanks were moved as
far forward as possible prior to the actual attack and put on designated
priority roads. Guderian's formations were drawn up in the attack zone
with three divisions abreast. The main effort of the XIX Panzer Corps
was the 1st Panzer Division in the center, the 2d Panzer Division on
the right, and the 10th Panzer Division and the Grossdeutschland
Infantry Division on the left.
On 9 May 1940, Hitler authorized the initiation of operations. In
turn, Kleist's panzer group issued its start order. While the bulk of the
XIX Panzer Corps prepared for the assault, special operations troops
infiltrated across the border to seize key targets, thus facilitating surprise
and the swift movement of major units.
In conformity with their plans, the Allies turned their attention
north to what appeared to be the main assault. The II and XI Corps,
on the left of Ninth Army, moved from their frontier positions into
Belgium between Namur and Givet. To their right, with orders to delay
the enemy, two light cavalry divisions, a brigade of Spahis (African)
Cavalry, plus a similar force (four and one-half cavalry divisions) from
the Second Army, moved across the Meuse to meet Rundstedt's van
guard in the Ardennes. The Belgian forces in the Ardennes consisted
of two light infantry divisions, also with a mission to delay the Germans.
On the morning of 10 May, elements of the XIX Panzer Corps
rushed across the Luxembourg border (see map 22). The 1st Panzer
Division, in the center of the corps advance, crossed at Wallendorf and
headed for Martelange (the Belgian's first line of resistance) and then
to the first day's objective at Neufchiteau. The 2d Panzer Division on
the northern (right) flank crossed at Vianden and headed for Tintage
and then Libramont, while the 10th Panzer Division, on the southern
(left) flank, crossed near Echternach and proceeded toward Rosignol.
The entire corps advanced in a tight formation, presenting an excellent
target, but the Allies had been unable to penetrate the Luftwaffe screen
and were taken in by the deception in the north. Meanwhile, the Luftwaffe
completely surprised the Allies by attacking 72 key airfields in
France, Belgium, and the Netherlands-in some cases to a depth of
300 kilometers. In addition, the German use of special operations forces,
unconventional tactics in Luxembourg, and airborne and air assault
operations behind Belgian lines assisted the rapid movement of the
XIX Corps by securing key facilities and critical passage points along
the major routes of advance. By 1000, the 1st Panzer Division's forward
detachment reached the Belgian frontier east of Martelange.
At Martelange, a company of Belgian chasseurs blocked the
Wehrmacht's advance, the first of several short but costly battles that
upset the Germans' timetable. By 1100, however, German lead elements
had seized the high ground northeast of the town. By 1200, the advance
guard had reached Bodange. Again encountering fierce resistance by
Belgian defenders, the Germans attacked using concentrated artillery
and four 88-mm antitank guns. By 1800, the defenders, unable to withdraw,
surrendered. By evening, the Belgian frontier had been penetrated,
but as a result of the battles along the frontier, Guderian's XIX Corps
did not accomplish its first day's objectives-a credit to the valiant
Belgian soldiers.
During the night of 10-11 May, the 10th Panzer Division, ordered
to halt, prepared a hasty defense between Etalle and Arlon against an
anticipated French counterattack on the left flank. Guderian vehemently
argued against halting his advance, insisting that reaching the Meuse
River should remain the XIX Corps' main focus to exploit the advantage
of surprise. Guderian prevailed. The orders were canceled and the three
panzer divisions continued their advance until around 0430 on 11 May.
The divisions' objective for the 11th was to reach the Meuse River.
As the German panzer divisions proceeded, they struck the next defensive
line about 1130. Then, the 10th Panzer Division bogged down
in the forest around Arlies and Rulles, while the 2d faced stiff resistance
at Libramont. Though slowed again by numerous road obstructions
and artillery fire, the 2d penetrated the second Belgian defensive
line, and by 2100, its advance guard had pushed out to Paliseul, fifteen
kilometers west of Libramont.
Map 22.
Guderian intended for the 1st Panzer Division to break through
the second defensive line in the vicinity of Neufchâteau (the first day's
objective) and, if possible, advance to Sedan. The 1st, however, did not
begin its advance until around noon and then ran into numerous road
demolitions and mines. To add to the confusion, the Belgian chasseurs
had changed many of the road and town signs. Neufchâteau was not
secured until 1500.
At 1700, for the first time since the beginning of the operation,
the Germans of 1st Panzer Regiment encountered French troops, the
5th Division Légère Mécanique. The French put up stiff resistance but,
after an hour, withdrew to Bouillon, a key defile on the Semois River
leading to the Meuse at Sedan. In two days, the 1st Panzer Division
had advanced 100 kilometers, 5 kilometers short of the French border
and 20 kilometers from Sedan.
Additionally, on the 11th, OKH intelligence positively identified the
Allied main effort along the Dijle River. Orders for operations on 12
May reiterated the importance of reaching the Meuse River and establishing
bridgeheads there. On the 12th, the XIX Panzer Corps resumed
its attack, again successfully exploiting the element of surprise. By
evening, the bulk of the XIX Corps (except for the 2d Panzer Division,
which was delayed due to numerous detours) reached the northern bank
of the Meuse River in the vicinity of Sedan. By 1900, the French with
drew to the left bank, destroying all bridges as the Germans concentrated
their artillery to support the river crossing.
The OKH, apprehensive about the river crossing, threatened to slow
down the advance, but Kleist objected, emphasizing the importance of
speed, timing, and surprise. He ordered Guderian to cross the Meuse
at 1600 on the 13th. In response, the XIX Panzer Corps' staff worked
on the operations order throughout the night. The final order was issued
at 0815 on 13 May, which gave the divisions little time to execute a
difficult operation. Fortunately, the plan mirrored an operation they
had war-gamed and rehearsed earlier along the Moselle River.
Guderian's attacking forces, the 1st and 10th Panzer Divisions, were
to attack on line, with the main effort in the 1st Panzer Division's
zone of action (the 2d Panzer Division was still delayed at the Semois
River). The Grossdeutschland Infantry Regiment, corps artillery, and
heavy artillery battalions were to follow the 1st Panzer Division. To
encourage his men, Guderian personally visited each of his three divisions,
that morning prior to their assaults.
In the vicinity of Sedan, the Meuse was fifty-five meters wide and
unfordable. Further enhancing the main line of resistance were concrete
bunkers and trenches hedged by belts of barbed wire. In addition, each
defensive position had an antitank gun and machine guns spaced at
183-meter intervals. However, the defenses were incomplete and were
manned by the French 55th and 71st Infantry Divisions, which were
composed of elderly reservists. Nonetheless, Marfee heights, which
overlooked Sedan, provided an excellent position for observation by
French artillery observers, and the 55th had massed 140 guns in this sector.
By 0800, after working all night, all German elements were in their
assault positions in the wood lines along the river. Forward of these
positions, they faced several hundred meters of ground open to enemy
observation and fire. At 1000, the Luftwaffe commenced a five-hour
bombardment of enemy artillery, defensive positions, and assembly
areas. At 1500, as the Luftwaffe bombing effort reached its culmination,
the German artillery joined in for a massive combined, concentrated
preparation. At the same time, infantry and engineers in the initial
assault elements used this opportunity to cover their advance to the river's edge.
At 1600, the 1st Panzer Division advanced slowly but gradually
increased its momentum. By dark, Lieutenant Colonel Hermann Balck's
1st Infantry Regiment had gained a foothold across the river. By 1730,
the lead elements of the 2d and 3d Battalions had reached the
Donchery-Sedan rail line one and one-half miles southwest of the
crossing site. By 1800, Guderian crossed the river and joined the 1st
Infantry Regiment in the advance. Meanwhile, Balck attacked the defensive
line south of the Sedan-Bellevere road. By 2030, he had breached
the line and opened a gap in the French line between Frenois and
Wadelincourt. Balck realized the surprise he had achieved, understood
his commander's intent, and kept pressing the attack in order to carry
the bridgehead as far forward as possible. At this point, French resistance
was still minimal. A bridgehead three miles wide and six miles
deep was established by dawn, and the first tanks were ferried across.
The 2d and 10th Panzer Divisions of the XIX Corps fared worse
than the 1st Panzer Division, even with their superior firepower. Due
to extremely effective defensive fires, the 10th managed to establish
only a small foothold by 1930-at a tremendous cost in lives and
materiel. The 2d Panzer Division suffered an even worse fate than the
10th. The 2d assaulted across open terrain under devastatingly accurate
artillery fires and faced tank-to-bunker firefights. At 2100, Guderian
redirected its crossing efforts.
Guderian's XIX Panzer Corps managed to establish the critical
bridgeheads south of Sedan and at Gaullier. Without these significant
bridgeheads across the Meuse, the corps would not have been able to
maintain its center of gravity.
By midnight, the XIX Panzer Corps had established a salient six
kilometers deep and five kilometers wide. Guderian, now concerned
about a French counterattack, used the remainder of the night to
strengthen his positions. He directed the infantry to dig in and all
available panzer and antitank units to continue to move forward. On
14 May, he intended to widen and protect the bridgehead, exploit his
success, secure crossing sites along the Ardennes Canal, and conduct
a breakout toward Rethel.
The actions of 14 May proved to be highly significant in terms of
the campaign, as the XIX Panzer Corps continued to enlarge its
bridgehead south toward Stonne and the Ardennes Canal. Throughout
the day, the French tried unsuccessfully to cut Guderian's lifeline by
attacking the bridgehead, both sides attacking and counterattacking
throughout the day. Guderian, staunchly sustained by his vision of
how the attack should unfold and the campaign's objectives, continued
to push armor and artillery over the Gaullier bridge site-some 300
armored vehicles and a 105-mm battalion. Also during the night, the
2d Panzer Division managed to advance a panzer regiment with
infantry across. To keep the bridge operable, corps engineers endured
continual air attacks.
The 1st Panzer Division absorbed the brunt of the French counter
attacks. In these engagements, the tactical competence and leadership
of the well-trained Germans proved to be critical. The Germans' capability
to communicate and maneuver quicker than the slower-reacting
French allowed them to engage French armor with flank shots-in
microcosm, an analogy of the entire campaign in France. By 2400, the
XIX Panzer Corps had fought off five and one-half French divisions
and secured a great tactical victory-but at the operational level, it
would be for naught if Guderian did not continue to exploit the advantage
that surprise had given him and maintain the momentum and initiative he held.
Again, Guderian's superiors expressed concern for the security of
his rapidly moving corps and feared that it was overextended. Guderian,
however, opposed stopping and wanted the uncommitted divisions so
he could continue the deep attack. By striking immediately and continuously,
he could disrupt any Allied countermoves, and the speed of
his advance would ensure XIX Corps' security. Late that night, Kleist
withdrew the order to stop Guderian and allowed him to continue the
advance. As it turned out, OKH's intelligence assessment reported no
significant repositioning by the French reserves that would indicate a
counteroffensive.
On 15 May, the XIX Panzer Corps' breakthrough continued to
develop successfully, literally splitting two French armies at their
weakest points and setting the stage for the pursuit of forces to the
English Channel. As a result of this success, the bridgehead was
expanded to a depth of twenty-five kilometers by fifty kilometers, and
French resistance in the sector dispersed. By nightfall, however, the
operation was again halted because OKH feared that the XIX Panzer
Corps' deep penetration would be cut off by a French counterattack.
Once again, Guderian pleaded to continue so he could take advantage
of the surprise he had gained. Guderian believed that he should advance
as long as he had the freedom to maneuver. If the XIX Panzer Corps
slowed down or halted operations, the French would have the critical
time they needed to react effectively. With Kleist's support, the OKH
rescinded the order, and Guderian spurred his weary troops on and
effected a linkup between his 1st Panzer Division and the 6th Panzer
Division from Reinhardt's XLI Panzer Corps at Montcornet. By establishing
this two-corps front, Guderian set the stage for the pursuit phase of the operation.
As the XIX Panzer Corps' soldiers surveyed the open horizon on
the morning of 16 May, they realized their achievement. The XIX Corps
accomplished in six days what the German Army in World War I had
only attempted. As Guderian wrote, "We are in the open now, the men
are wide awake and aware that they have achieved a complete victory...."
Bibliographly
Doughty, Robert A. The Breaking Point: Sedan and the Fall of France,
1940. Hamden, CT: Archon Books, The Shoe String Press, Inc., 1990.
Guderian, Heinz. Panzer Leader. Washington, DC: Zenger Publishing
Co., 1979.
Horne, Alistair. To Lose a Battle: France, 1940. Boston, MA: Little,
Brown and Co., 1969.
Manstein, Erich von. Lost Victories. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1982.
Rothbrust, Florian K. Guderian's XIXth Panzer Corps and the Battle
of France: Breakthrough in the Ardennes, May 1940. New York:
Praeger, 1990.
Seizing the Critical Bridges at Benouville
Major(P) Neil V. Lamont
On 6 June 1954, the tenth anniversary of D-day, the bridge over
the Caen Canal between the villages of Benouville and Ranville in
northwestern France was named Pegasus. This name was inspired by
the British 6th Airborne Division's conduct of a critical operation at
the bridge site and by the 6th's shoulder patch, which features Bellerophon
riding winged Pegasus. This 1944 World War II operation provides an
excellent example of teamwork in which British Army, Navy, and Air
Force units cooperated to complete an almost impossible task.
By the spring of 1944, the Allies had marshaled 2.5 million men
in preparation for an invasion of the Continent. When and where they
would attack was uncertain. Since intelligence reports indicated that
Hitler intended to push the Allies into the sea, Eisenhower was concerned
about his troops' vulnerability once they hit the Normandy
beaches: at the outset, they would be outnumbered as much as ten to
one. To ensure the success of the invasion, Eisenhower-under strong
protest from General George C. Marshall, U.S. Army chief of staff
proposed to drop airborne troops in front of and on the flanks of the
invading forces to seize bridges and road junctions. As an integral
part of the plan, the British 6th Airborne Division was to drop behind
the lines at Sword Beach east of the British landing site. This blocking
force was to prevent German panzers from attacking the left flank of
the landing force.
The commander of the 6th Division, General Richard ("Windy")
Gale, chose to drop his division east of the Orne River, five to seven
miles inland (see map 23). His main body would seize and hold the
bridges over the Caen Canal and Orne River so tanks, trucks, and
other critical equipment could be moved forward. Gale's success in
holding these vital bridges would be crucial to the success of Operation
Overlord.
Since the Germans realized the importance of the bridges across
the Orne, the garrison commander at the bridges had begun wiring
them for demolition. But charges had not been placed. Because his
units were twelve miles inland, he believed he would have plenty of
time to place the charges after the initial invasion warning.
Allied reconnaissance also revealed other preparations for countering an
invasion. Among these was the placement of antiglider poles (called
Rommel's Asparagus by the Allies) to discourage the Allies from
inserting troops in gliders.
Map 23.
D Company, 5th Para Brigade, 6th Airborne Division, was to take
the bridge over the canal. The commander of D Company, Major John
Howard, a 31-year-old former sergeant major, had been with this unit
for two years and thought of it as his second family. Howard's operations
orders, dated 2 May 1944 and signed by Brigadier Nigel Poett,
the commander of the 5th Para Brigade read:
...your task is to seize intact the bridges over the River Orne and
canal at Benouville and Ranville, and to hold them until relief.... The
capture of these bridges will be a coup de main operation depending
largely on surprise, speed and dash for success. Provided the bulk of
your force lands safely, you should have little difficulty in overcoming
the known opposition on the bridges. Your difficulties will arise in
holding off an enemy counterattack on the bridges, until you are
relieved.
The remainder of the 6th Airborne Division, which landed between
the Orne and the Dives Rivers, was to relieve Howard's company within
two hours of his touchdown. Sometime around 0015 on 6 June 1944,
the first of Howard's gliders landed on the target. Within twenty-four
hours, Howard's operation was a success, due largely to the preparation
and teamwork of the units involved.
D Company, like other British airborne units, was composed of
highly motivated volunteers. Derived from a variety of backgrounds,
they had one thing in common-a reputation for being committed to
"duty first." The soldiers in D Company regarded Howard as a stern
disciplinarian but a caring leader who trained them hard so they would
be prepared for any challenge. Howard's superiors also showed great
confidence in him and his ability to instill a sense of cohesion and
teamwork in his men.
By July 1942, Howard, left on his own, developed training for his
company that included basic light infantry training and marksmanship.
He also required his airborne and gliderborne troops to be familiar
with a variety of weapons, to include Enfield .303 rifles, Sten carbines,
Bren light machine guns, 2- and 3-inch mortars, and Piat antitank
guns. Additionally, the troops became proficient in using Gammon
bombs-plastic explosives that disabled tanks. To provide realistic
training, Howard used live ammunition.
Howard also taught his men first aid, cooking, sanitation, and how
to use German weapons. In addition, he ensured that his men were
proficient in gas warfare, camouflage (both natural and artificial), and
map reading. Howard continuously stressed that D Company, an elite
force, should react quickly. What set Howard's unit apart from other
companies in the regiment was his demand for physical fitness. His
men ran five miles cross-country before breakfast, conducted a full day
of training exercises, and, in the evening, participated in sports.
Additionally, twice a month, the company held two- or three-day field
training exercises.
The officers of D Company trained with the soldiers, which
strengthened the bonds of respect, camaraderie, and teamwork within
the unit. But in spite of Howard's efforts and good training, boredom
was a continuous challenge, as troops tired of the same routine. Because
morale was getting low, Howard convinced his colonel to allow him to
implement more flexibile, realistic training.
In the spring of 1943, about the same time that regimental commanders
had increased emphasis on training, information was leaked
that the 6th Airborne Division was to fight in France. Meanwhile,
Gale's planners decided that it was imperative to protect the left flank
of the seaborne invasion to be conducted by the British 3d Infantry
Division at Sword Beach, a vulnerable piece of terrain since the bulk
of the German armored forces in the west was in this area. The planners
knew that if Rommel committed his armor against Allied forces
here and was allowed to cross the Dives and Orne Rivers, he could
defeat the entire invasion force.
Gale was convinced that he must protect the left flank at Sword
Beach by sending his paratroopers into blow up the bridges over the
Dives River and seize the bridges around Ranville and Benouville intact.
Without these bridges, his entire airborne division would be trapped in
enemy territory with its back to the English Channel. Gale also knew
that the Germans had prepared the bridges for demolition. He therefore
decided to insert his paratroopers in gliders at night. Although landing
the gliders at night would be difficult, holding the bridges against a
German counterattack would pose the main problem.
To prepare for its upcoming mission, D Company began flight
training in Waco gliders. Howard's men practiced exiting the gliders
quickly so as not to be trapped in them on landing. The flight training
was tough, and the men suffered continuously from air sickness.
Howard kept his men from becoming bored by physically exhausting
them. He convinced his men that this rigorous training would condition
them to make quick combat decisions, even while exhausted.
Because the paratroopers would usually be fighting in darkness, Howard
emphasized night training.
In early April, Gale briefed the plan to all subordinate commanders,
and a three-day exercise was planned to test it. D Company performed
superbly, justifying its intense training. After D Company's creditable
performance, the regimental commander shared the secret invasion plan
with Howard. D Company would be the spearhead for the division in
this operation, a reward for all its hard work and training. The regimental
commander also informed the proud Howard that his unit would
be involved in a further training exercise. At the same time, Howard
was given two extra platoons to support his company and thirty additional
sappers from the Royal Engineers (who were also paratroopers).
This new exercise, code-named Mush, was brilliantly planned and
executed. Even though the units experienced problems, all commanders
believed the coup de main would work, provided the new Horsa gliders
landed in the right place. To prepare for the mission, the Glider Pilot
Regiment worked day and night. During Operation Skylark, a demonstration
conducted for Gale, pilots landed the Horsas on a small triangle
from an altitude of 6,000 feet. To strengthen team spirit, the
pilots whose airplanes would pull the Horsas were introduced to their
glider crews-something that had never been done before. To further
enhance camaraderie, the glider pilots were assigned the same tug crews
for each training flight. In addition, the living quarters of glider and
tug crews were placed near each other so the men would become better
acquainted. Training flights were made intentionally difficult. None-the-less, by early May, the crews were flying by moonlight and casting
off seven miles from the target at 6,000 feet and landing their gliders
close to their objectives. They landed in all types of weather, made
difficult flying and landing maneuvers, and perfected their timing. By
the end of their forty-third training flight (more than half of which
had been conducted at night), all crews were well prepared.
On 2 May, Howard received excellent information on the operational
area emanating from British intelligence, Royal Air Force reconnaissance,
local resistance people, and French collaborators. He received
the most up-to-date intelligence available, passed on to him in the most
hospitable and professional manner. British intelligence personnel, for
example, built him a twelve-foot-square model of the operations area
that had every building, bush, tree, fence, or ditch represented, and
they updated it daily to ensure accuracy. Gale, who probably sensed
Howard's misgivings in seizing a bridge wired for demolition, reassured
him that missions can succeed despite the overwhelming odds against
them.
Howard was to seize the bridges quickly and then move swiftly to
establish defensive positions while awaiting relief. To maintain the
secrecy of the operation, Howard was to conduct his training without
revealing the details of the operation. To do this, he laid out a simulation
of the real battlefield on a large plain, depicting with tape a river
and a canal with two bridges over them at the exact distances of the
real targets. His platoons repeatedly practiced capturing the simulated
bridges, sometimes only one platoon participating and at other times
all six. By having the gliders land between the bridges, rather than
outside them, Howard minimized the distance his troops would have
to travel on foot to attack the target and maximized mutual support
between platoons. During this training, Howard's men practiced every
possible scenario to better prepare them for the operation.
Poett, the 5th Para Brigade commander, told Howard in early May
that anything he required to support his training was available. Howard
took him at his word and requested a unit to act as "German opposition"
as D Company simulated an attack on the bridges. This "German"
unit would wear German uniforms, carry German weapons, use German
tactics, and even speak German. But in spite of this intense, realistic
training, the men still became bored. Finally, around the end of May,
Howard called his men together and said:
Look, we are training for a special purpose.... You'll find that a lot
of the training we are, doing, this capturing of things like bridges, is
connected with that special purpose. If any of you mention the word
"bridges" outside our training hours and I get to know about it, you'll
be for the high jump and your feet won't touch before you land in the
Glasshouse and get RTU [returned to unit].
After consulting with his other officers and drawing on lessons
learned from the intense training, Howard finalized his operations plan.
He decided that the key to the operation's success was the quick
destruction of the German pillbox near the bridge. Howard wanted to
destroy the pillbox, while at the same time getting a platoon across
the bridge. The pillbox, in addition to being a center of firepower, also
contained the detonator that would blow up the bridge. Howard ordered
three men from the number one glider to take out the pillbox and the
remainder of the platoon to cross the canal bridge to take possession
of the far bank.
The men from the number two glider were to clear the inner
defenses, trenches, machine-gun nests, and antitank gun pits along the
eastern bank of the canal. Members from the number three glider were
to reinforce the men from the number one glider on the far side of the
bridge. Gliders four, five, and six had identical missions to the first
three, but their objective was the river bridge. Each glider had five
sappers, and they would move to the bridges immediately, then inch
their way, hand over hand, across the beams underlying the bridge,
cutting fuses and disposing of explosives as they went. As the operation
proceeded, Howard intended to take two platoons from the river bridge
and use them as fighting patrols or as a reserve force to protect against
a German counterattack until the Allied reinforcements arrived.
Howard's superiors approved his plan, and his troops continued to
practice their missions until D-day. To provide further realistic training,
a British movie company and the Air Ministry produced a film from
thousands of photographs that depicted what the pilots would actually
see as they passed over the area of operations.
Finally, D-day arrived. The operation generally went just as
planned. Air Vice Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, commander of the
Allied air forces on D-day, described the operation as the "greatest
feat of flying of World War II." Surprise was achieved as the number
one glider crash-landed precisely on target in the wire at the base of
the canal bridge. Although the men were temporarily knocked out from
the impact of the crash, they soon regained consciousness, exited the
glider, and continued their missions. The second glider came in, also
on target, just a few feet from the first glider. The platoon gathered at
its preassigned assembly point and moved forward to complete its
assigned tasks. Number three glider's landing was less smooth, with
the crash trapping six men in the glider and throwing one man into a
nearby pond, where he drowned. Nevertheless, the remaining troops
carried on with their mission. At about 0020, the first of the paratroopers
landed and, although disoriented, began to link up with
Howard and his men. By 0026, both bridges had been captured, and
the mission shifted from the offense to defense.
D Company's success in the operation was the result of teamwork
instilled by rigorous and continuous training. The close cooperation of
the men in Howard's company led to an outstanding operational
achievement. The countless hours Howard's men spent in preparing
for the operation culminated in a splendidly executed operation. While
a number of factors contributed to D Company's success-surprise, a
brilliant plan, and insightful leadership-in the end, the exemplary
teamwork of a dedicated group of soldiers and airmen accomplished a
mission many might have doubted was attainable.
Bibliography
Ambrose, Stephen E. Pegasus Bridge, 6 June 1944. London: Allen & Unwin, 1984.
Crookenden, Napier. Dropzone Normandy: The Story of the American
and British Airborne Assault on D-Day 1944. New York: Scribner, 1976.
Gregory, Barry. British Airborne Troops, 1940-45. New York: Doubleday, 1974.
Howarth, David. D-Day: The Sixth of June, 1944. New York: McGraw Hill, 1959.
Ryan, Cornelius. The Longest Day: June 6, 1944. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1959.
The 43d Infantry Division's Determined Attack on the
Ipo Dam, 1945
Major George J. Mordica II
Dogged determination, courage, and persistence by men on the
battlefield can create the tenacity that leads to victory. In the battle
at Ipo Dam in the Luzon campaign in the Philippines during World
War II, U.S. soldiers exhibited a tenaciousness that led to a crushing
Japanese defeat. The adversity the 43d Infantry Division faced in
carrying out its mission at the dam could have easily brought about
failure. Yet due to decisive leadership and innovation at every level of
command-and, yes, tenacity-the 43d succeeded. Its actions resulted
in the destruction of a potent defensive force and the seizure and
safeguard of a major water supply for metropolitan Manila.
The situation confronting the U.S. Sixth Army after its capture of
Manila on 28 February 1945 was threatening. While the Sixth Army's
mission after the fall of Manila was to clear southern Luzon of all
Japanese forces, a more immediate menace faced it in the vicinity of
Manila itself. The Japanese forces near the city, while small in comparison
to the continuing buildup of U.S. forces, still threatened the
city proper with possible attack. In addition, the Japanese were
determined to hold the key terrain and supply routes in the Manila
vicinity and to control the irrigation and water systems necessary to
the city's survival.
In response to this threat, the U.S. XI Corps joined the XIV Corps
in the Marikina valley area in an effort to destroy all enemy forces
endangering the city. Unfortunately, poor intelligence led the Sixth
Army headquarters to believe that the Wawa Dam on the Marikina
River, fifteen miles northeast of Manila, was an integral part of the
city's metropolitan water supply and thus in peril. In reality, the
Wawa Dam had been abandoned as Manila's water source when the
Ipo Dam and Novaliches Reservoir were completed in 1938. In 1945,
water from the Wawa Dam was used only to irrigate the Marikina
valley.
The Ipo Dam, located twenty-five miles northeast of Manila on the
Angat River, was held by the Japanese. Unfortunately, it provided one
third of the capital city's water supply. The Japanese also controlled
aqueducts that fed the Novaliches Reservoir ten miles northeast of
Manila, the city's most immediate source of water and one which supplied half the city's needs.
U.S. forces would face a number of difficulties in their advance to
seize the Ipo Dam. The area around the dam is extremely rugged and
hard to traverse. Moreover, the dominant feature north of the dam is
the Angat River gorge, a formidable barrier that is impassable to large
numbers of troops and can only be crossed at certain fords. South of
the dam, the area is also rough, blanketed by hills and deep valleys
and covered with heavy undergrowth. Roads are nonexistent. West of
the dam is the Palisades, a steep-sided plateau that dominates the only
all-weather road in the area. Metropolitan Road runs north and south
between Norzagaray and Novaliches, with a junction at Bigti, where
Route 52 then proceeds east four miles to the dam (see map 24). The
area on both sides of this route consists of gradually rising hills with
little cover or concealment on top and heavy undergrowth and woods
in the ravines. East of Metropolitan Road is the Santa Maria River,
which issues from the Osboy and Fork ridges. The area is unsuitable
for tanks, and the existing roads and trails require constant main
tenance. All trails and roads are impassable during rainy periods, with
the possible exception of some parts of Metropolitan Road.
General Walter Krueger, the Sixth Army commander, gave the XIV
Corps the mission to take the Ipo and Wawa Dams. The corps commander,
Lieutenant General Oscar W. Griswold, ordered the 6th
Infantry Division (which was already badly depleted in strength from
the Luzon campaign) and the understrength 1st Cavalry Division to
secure the Wawa Dam on the Bihol peninsula. His plan called for the
6th Division, on 20 February, to lead the attack against the two dams,
with the U.S. line of departure on the west bank of the Marikina River.
Both understrength divisions would attack with practically no initial
reserve (a small reserve would eventually be formed from units still
landing in Luzon). The 43d Division, which just landed on 9 January
1945, would be the 1st Cavalry Division's reserve.
Supporting the XIV Corps was the XI Corps, which had initiated
operations to destroy the Kobayashi Force. Meanwhile, XIV Corps'
operations bogged down before stubborn Japanese resistance. The
campaign to seize the Wawa Dam became a bitter two-month struggle
and a sideshow to the battle for Ipo Dam. In the struggle for the
Wawa Dam, operations in May alone cost the 38th Division, including
an attached infantry regiment of the 37th Division, over 750 casualties.
Map 24.
In mid-April, Manila's acute water shortage changed the complexion
of operations. To ensure adequate water supplies, General
Douglas MacArthur ordered a drive on the Ipo Dam, deemphasizing
the Wawa Dam operations. Krueger, on receipt of a radio message from MacArthur, ordered
XI Corps to drive on the Ipo Dam as soon as possible.
In early May, Lieutenant General Charles P. Hall, the XI
Corps commander, ordered the 43d to redeploy north to seize the Ipo
Dam intact and destroy the Shimbu Group that was defending the dam.
Meanwhile, the 112th and 169th Infantry regiments, now part of
the 6th Division, pushed to the foot of the Palisades and attempted to
dislodge the enemy. Because of heavy American casualties in the
operation, U.S. commanders determined a much larger force would be
required to take the dam. U.S. intelligence had estimated the Shimbu
Group at 20,000 troops, but the force proved to be much larger.
The key players in the 43d Division's attack on the dam were
Major General Leonard F. Wing, the 43d's commander; Brigadier
General Alexander N. Stark, the assistant deputy commander; and
Colonel Marcus V. Augustin, commander of the Marking's Fil-American
Yay Regiment (the Marking Regiment). The 38th Division would assist
the 43d by attacking on the right. Participating in the attack were the
43d's organic infantry regiments, the 103d, 172d, and 169th, and the
Marking Regiment. Additional support came from the 754th Tank
Battalion (less two companies), a chemical mortar company, a large
contingent of antiaircraft units, two additional 155-mm artillery battalions,
and a battery of 8-inch howitzers. A reconnaissance in force
south of Metropolitan Road indicated that the Kawashima Force's
defenses were weaker here, so Wing chose this location for his main effort.
On 7 October 1944, General Tomoyuki Yamashita assumed responsibility
for the Japanese defense of the Philippines. He had last
commanded a replacement and training army with headquarters in Bo
Tanke, Manchuria. On assuming command in the Philippines, he was
given only two days with the outgoing commander and, in fact, was
not aware of the reasons for General Shigenovi Kuroda's relief. The
restrictions placed on Yamashita's command were discouraging. He
was to command all ground forces, including air and naval service
troops in Leyte and Luzon. But he was not given control of the naval
fleets, which were to be directed by Tokyo, or the air forces, which
were controlled by Field Marshal Count Hisaichi Terauchi, a superior,
in Saigon. Unable to coordinate Japanese sea and air forces with his
ground forces, Yamashita was hampered in options and resources to
the very end.
Yamashita's other problems stemmed from his earlier attempts to
defend against U.S. landings at Leyte. Since the Japanese had lost
tremendous casualties at Leyte (where they had massed their forces),
Yamashita lacked the fully manned defense he needed to hold out
against renewed U.S. attacks elsewhere. As a result, he planned to
defend three key areas in Luzon until reinforcements could arrive from
other parts of the Japanese Empire. He elected to defend west of Clark
Field, which he hoped would prevent the use of the harbor; east of
Manila, to cut off supplies; and in the north, where he hoped to block
U.S. access through the mountain passes into Luzon's breadbasket,
the Cagayan valley. Yamashita did not expect to hold out forever. He
was fully aware of his limited air support and fuel supplies and the
hostility of the Filipino people. He needed outside reinforcements.
The Shimbu Group defending the Ipo Dam was composed of 30,000
veterans situated in excellent defensive positions: elaborate caves, dug
in gun positions, and an extensive network of trenches. Lieutenant
General Shizuo Yokoyama, the Shimbu Group commander, had
organized his defenses well. He assigned 9,000 men of the Kawashima
Force to defend the Ipo Dam along a main defensive line anchored in
the center at Bigti. Here, a regiment manned a natural fortress created
by the Palisades. South of Bigti, the 12,000-man Kobayashi Force
defended the area midway between the Wawa Dam and Antipolo.
Farther south was the 9,000-man Noguchi Force, defending the
boundary of the Kobayashi Force to Luguna de Bay. Also in the south
was the Kogure Detachment, a 2,250-man suicide boat detachment that
was to prevent amphibious assaults on the Shimbu Group's rear
through Luguna de Bay. The key to Yokoyama's planned defense was
a 5,000-man reserve force that was to shore up defenses where needed.
Prior to XI Corps' advance on the Wawa Dam, Yokoyama had
augmented his reserve force with three artillery battalions of 2,750
men, plus other service units, moving them into the Bosoboso valley
behind the Kobayachi Force, where he anticipated the Americans would
strike. While correct in his assumption, his guess may have led him to
commit his reserves too early in the rugged and compartmented terrain.
The Japanese defensive scheme for the Ipo Dam called for the control
of all approaches to the dam. The defense was well organized,
with considerable depth west to east, but it lacked good north to south
lines of communication, supply, and, more important, routes for reinforcements.
The defense forces contained a mixture of combat service
and combat service support troops built around a nucleus of the 8th
and 105th Infantry Divisions. The logical approach to the dam was
Route 52, a two-lane gravel road that ran the four miles from Metropolitan
Road up to the dam. Because the terrain elsewhere was too
rugged to sustain traffic, the Kawashima Force had thoroughly fortified
the area around Route 52.
Wing's battle plan was simple in concept and provided for the
fixing of the Japanese forces along their main defense line and the
envelopment of that line from the south. Wing believed that the
Palisades would be difficult to take by direct assault. Thus, the scheme
of maneuver called for the 169th Infantry, already in front of the
Palisades, to continue pressure there. Meanwhile, the Marking Regiment
and elements of the 169th were to feign an attack on the enemy's
right. Then, under cover of darkness, the 103d Infantry would move
into position and attack from the south as the main effort. The 172d
Infantry would support the attack, which would be preceded by large
artillery concentrations.
By 5 May 1945, all the 43d's combat elements had moved into
their attack position undetected by the Japanese: the deception had
worked. On 6 May 1945, at 2200 under a moonlit night, the attack
began. The Japanese were taken by surprise, and the results by day
break were promising. The 103d had swiftly gained 5,000 yards.
Meanwhile, the 169th engaged the fortress at Bigti from the north and
south in company-size patrols. But the 172d, in support of the 103d,
struggled over rough ground to maintain contact, which tended to
canalize that regiment along the Kay Ban Ban Valley. Thus, a decision
was reached to spread out the battalions as the regiment continued.
By 7 May, the 103d had seized a dominant ridge in its zone of
attack and was defending against piecemeal enemy counterattacks
ordered by the local Japanese commander. At the same time, the 118th
Engineer Battalion was breaking trails and bridging gorges behind the
infantry in each attack zone and doggedly maintaining lines of communication
-so desperately needed to resupply the attacking U.S.
forces. The division artillery, strongly reinforced for this operation,
continued to provide the advancing troops excellent fire support against
the numerous enemy counterattacks. In the north, the Marking Regiment
ran into heavy resistance but was able to seize a number of dominant hills.
From 8 to 10 May, the 103d and 172d continued to advance steadily
on their objectives. The 172d captured strong enemy positions at Hill
805 and Tacbihan Mountain. The Japanese continued counterattacking
against the 103d's hastily prepared positions, but they were stubbornly
repulsed. The 169th aggressively continued its actions, and the
Japanese began concentrating available reserves to the center at Bigti,
as the U.S. commanders hoped they would.
While U.S. artillery was effective in concentrating its fire in front
of the advancing troops, it was initially ineffective in its counterbattery
role, due primarily to the Japanese trench and cave system. The
Japanese had also concentrated antiaircraft fire on U.S. artillery
spotter planes, preventing them from locating Japanese artillery
positions. To stem the loss in spotter planes, U.S. dive-bombers shifted
their priorities to Japanese antiaircraft positions. This increased
activity allowed U.S. spotter planes the freedom to pinpoint the
Japanese artillery. Once this system was perfected, the division and
corps artillery concentrations achieved great success. The Fifth Air
Force flew over 100 close air support missions a day to support the 43d Division.
On 11 May, the enemy defense stiffened. The U.S. 3d Battalion,
172d Infantry, suffered heavy casualties attempting to seize hills on
Fork ridge and was forced grudgingly to withdraw. In addition, the
Japanese repulsed the Marking Regiment three times from Four-Corner
Hill. In all other sectors, U.S. gains were limited to 200 yards,
signaling that the 43d Division had hit the main Japanese line.
To attract more enemy attention and weaken Japanese defenses
elsewhere, the 169th on 12 May was ordered to increase the tempo of
its attacks on the Palisades. Heavy action intensified as the 169th
attacked and seized San Mateo and temporarily penetrated the Osboy
ridge. Throughout the fierce fighting, the Japanese continued to shore
up their center. Meanwhile, the 1st Battalion, 103d Infantry, captured
Hill 815. The division commander now felt his plan was beginning to
crack the enemy defense and committed his reserve, sending the 2d
Battalion, 103d, to sweep east across the Ipo River to cut Japanese
communications and their troops' escape route to the south. After five
hours of fighting, the Marking Regiment finally took Four-Corner Hill.
On 13 May, the rain fell in sheets, hampering all operations-but
not before the 1st Battalion, 103d, gained a foothold on the southern
shoulder of Hill 860 and the 2d Battalion took a vantage point 1,000
yards from the dam (where it reported the structure still intact). The
Marking Regiment also seized the eastern part of Hill 803, which
dominated the dam in the north.
Yamashita's communications with his Shimbu Group commander
were completely cut off by 14 May. The bad terrain, poor weather,
lack of fuel, and constant U.S. pressure from ground and air attacks
had effectively sealed off Yokoyama. The Japanese communications
network was completely disrupted at all levels, and only intermittent
communications were possible. Local Japanese commanders, in
desperation and without guidance, began to commit company-size
banzai attacks in response to U.S. threats.
On 14 and 15 May, the Japanese artillery continuously pounded
all U.S. forward positions and lifted the barrage only long enough for
Japanese troops to mount banzai charges, usually at night. The 103d
Infantry stubbornly held against three such attacks. The Marking
Regiment resisted two banzai attacks but was dislodged by a third one.
Wing believed this increased enemy pressure to the north and south
indicated the Japanese were worried about their flanks and may have
weakened their center to mount such attacks. Wing altered his original
plan accordingly and directed all elements to attack the Japanese at
1030 on 17 May.
The new plan called for the double envelopment of the Ipo Dam
by the 103d in the south (according to the original plan) and added a
northern envelopment by the Marking Regiment. Wing planned for the
3d Battalion, 169th Infantry, to attack the Palisades and the 172d,
with the 1st Battalion, 169th, to cut off and destroy the enemy forces
on Osboy and Fork ridges. Intense close air support would aid the
attacks at the Palisades and Osboy ridge.
The first air assault would begin on 16 May; the second, on the
17th, would screen U.S. attackers. On the 16th, 185 fighter-bombers
struck the Palisades and the Osboy ridge with 50,470 gallons of
napalm. The next day, 220 planes dropped 62,660 gallons. As planned,
the attacks shocked the enemy, allowing tanks and engineers to clear
Route 52. The 169th then stormed the Palisades using bamboo ladders.
The accompanying close air support completely destroyed and
demoralized the remaining Japanese defenders.
Simultaneously, all 43d Division units seized their objectives. The
Marking Regiment captured the northern part of the dam first, while
the 103d took the southern end. This capture happened so quickly that
the Ipo Dam was taken intact. U.S. troops quickly isolated the detonation
charges set to blow up the dam and stopped all attempts to
damage the facility. While the Japanese had placed charges below the
dam gates, they had underestimated the speed, ferocity, and direction
of the U.S. attack.
The few Japanese that escaped the Ipo Dam scrambled into the
thick undergrowth, escaping to the Dingalan Bay area. The battle had
cost the Japanese 4,062 killed and 368 captured. U.S. losses included
172 killed, 708 wounded, with 4 missing in action. Mopping-up operations
began on 18 May, and by 19 May, all resistance had ceased.
Even though the terrain on this battlefield was the worst in Luzon,
U. S. forces had tailored their attack to exploit terrain, weather, and
the array of forces available to them. While maintaining control of his
forces, Wing had remained flexible enough in executing his plans to
adapt to changing battlefield conditions.
The Japanese, on the other hand, became isolated in the defense
and unable to react to new threats. The communications problems and
the restrictive terrain prevented them from shifting their forces in the
defense when necessary. In addition, because of their command structure,
they were unable to coordinate their naval, air, and ground forces.
When the Japanese commander lost control of his ground forces, the
battle was over. The piecemeal attacks ordered by Yamashita's isolated
subordinate commanders against the U.S. forces were desperation
measures and no substitute for coordinated counterattacks.
The 43d Infantry Division's actions at the Ipo Dam exemplify
tactics applied and executed beyond what might be expected. In four
teen days, from 6 May to 19 May 1945, the 43d Division accomplished
what the 38th Infantry Division and the better part of a U.S. corps
could not do in two months against the Wawa Dam under similar
circumstances. The persistence and perseverance of the 43d allowed it
to take the Ipo Dam intact in the face of banzai attacks and withering
fire. Coordinated attacks and tenacity led to an impressive U.S. victory.
Bibliography
Craven, Wesley Frank, and James Lea Cate, eds. The Army Air Forces
in World War II Vol. 5. The Pacific: Matterhorn to Nagasaki, June
1944 to August 1945. Washington, DC: USAF Historical Division,
United States Air Force, 1953.
Falk, Stanley Lawrence. Liberation of the Philippines. Ballentine's
Illustrated History of World War II. New York: Ballantine Books, 1971.
Krueger, Walter. From Down Under to Nippon: The Story of Sixth
Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Combat Forces Press, 1953.
Smith, Robert Ross. Triumph in the Philippines. United States Army
in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military
History, Department of the Army, 1963.
Spector, Ronald H. Eagle Against the Sun: The American War with
Japan. New York: Vintage Books, 1985.
Operation Spark: Breaking Through the Blockade
at Leningrad
Dr. Robert F. Baumann
The Soviet-German struggle on the Eastern Front during World War
II featured intense combat under the most varied conditions of any
theater of the war. In the fighting, both armies adapted to the extremes
of terrain and climate. Among the striking examples of such adaptation
was the Soviet operation to break through the blockade of Leningrad.
Conducted from 12 through 18 January 1943, Operation Spark (or Iskra,
as the Russians called it) provides an instructive case of the influence
of terrain and climate on the conduct of battle, as well as the power
of well-coordinated combined arms attacks against prepared defensive positions.
In December 1942, the city of Leningrad had endured more than a
year of encirclement by German and Finnish forces. Without a land
link to the rest of the Soviet Union, the city had survived the winter
by means of the "road of life" over icy Lake Ladoga. Still, the privations
and loss of life suffered by the inhabitants had been staggering.
On the eve of the Soviet breakout, the situation remained precarious.
As long as German forces held the narrow band of terrain jutting east
of the city and north to the southern shore of Lake Ladoga, the block
ade remained effective. Earlier in the year, Soviet forces had failed to
pinch off the salient and thus close the gap between Leningrad and
the vital rail lines running to the south and east. The operations,
however, significantly eroded German strength. Key factors in the Soviet
failures had been their lack of skill in operating in forest-swamp terrain
and inability to coordinate forces on both sides of the salient.
The distinctive wooded-swamp terrain characteristic of this region
of northern Russia influenced not only the conduct but the timing of
military operations. An impediment to year-round movement, the
wooded-swamp areas posed an extraordinary difficulty to vehicular
movement during the annual April-May wet season. In some areas,
movement depended entirely on hastily constructed corduroy roads. Only
in the dead of winter, when solid ice formed, did the terrain minimally
accommodate normal traffic. The middle of winter was a fortuitous
time of attack for another reason as well. Only then was ice on the
Neva River hard enough to sustain a rapid armor-supported crossing
attack from the west. As evidence to this effect, the Germans decisively
repelled a warm-weather crossing in force as recently as September
1942. Still, winter conditions were not entirely advantageous. Low, thick
clouds could complicate orientation on the ground and hamper air
support. In addition, bitter cold would take a cruel toll on men and machines.
In reality, Operation Spark was both a breakout and break-in. The
plan prescribed synchronized converging thrusts by the Soviet Sixty
Seventh Army from the west and the Second Shock Army from the
east (see map 25). The Sixty-Seventh had to force a crossing of the
Neva River and advance to meet elements of the Second Shock Army,
which would be fighting through tough defenses and difficult terrain.
The Schlusselburg-Siniavino salient, occupied by the German Eighteenth
Army, ran about fifteen kilometers from north to south and varied in
width from twelve to seventeen kilometers. The German Eighteenth
Army consisted of five divisions and three independent regiments but
lacked adequate reserves. The Germans had been in place for sixteen
months and had established a strong system of defenses, taking full
advantage of terrain and built-up areas. In repelling an attempted
breakthrough from the east by Soviet forces in the spring of 1942, the
Germans, responding to local penetrations, had enveloped breakthrough
units and restored the defensive front behind them. Rather than
launching costly assaults on Soviet pockets in forested areas, the
Germans pounded them into submission with artillery.
A crucial role in the eastern or Volkhov Front attack plan fell to
the Soviet 372d Rifle Division, Second Shock Army. By participating
in previous operations in the vicinity, the 372d had obtained invaluable
fighting experience in the forest-swamp terrain (areas of trees, brush,
and grass standing in water ranging seasonally from a few inches to
several feet or more in depth). Under the command of Colonel P. I.
Radygin, the division was to strike its main blow directly against
Workers Settlement Number 8, the main strongpoint of German defenses
facing eastward in the Schlusselburg-Siniavino salient.
The broader mission of the Second Shock Army against the salient
included the penetration of forward defenses along the fifteen-kilometer
front and the capture of Workers Settlements Numbers 1 and 5, as
well as the village of Siniavino. The Second Shock Army deployed five
divisions abreast in its first attack echelon, with one rifle division and
two ski brigades in reserve. It also employed four tank brigades, one
tank regiment, and four independent tank battalions to support the
infantry in its attack. At the same time, elements of the Volkhov Front
positioned south of the salient created a deception by feigning preparations
for an imminent offensive.
Map 25.
Forces of the Leningrad Front, in turn, were to force the Neva
River from the west. The Soviet Sixty-Seventh Army formed two
operational echelons, with four divisions in the first echelon. The Soviet
136th Rifle Division was to strike directly across the river on the
Marino-Siniavino axis and clear the left-bank defenses held by the
German 170th Infantry Division. The 136th would ultimately link up
with elements of the 372d and 256th Rifle Divisions of the Second
Shock Army near Workers Settlement Number 5. The Soviet 86th Rifle
Division was to cross the river on the northern flank of the 136th and
clear the town of Schlusselburg on the southwestern edge of Lake Ladoga.
In preparation for the assault, forces of the Leningrad Front built
storm ladders and rehearsed attacks against ramparts formed of wood,
peat, snow, and ice similar to those defended by the Germans on the
steep left bank. The secret establishment of roads behind the lines and
concealed departure points for assault groups on the right bank posed
a crucial task. Engineers conducted all work on the expansion of
trenches and lines of communications at night. To enable tanks, particularly
medium T-34s and 30-ton KVs, to cross the Neva, they constructed
portable tracks consisting of wooden rails reinforced with ice.
Equally intense preparation was under way on the Volkhov Front.
On 2 January, Radygin; his chief of staff, Lieutenant Colonel M. K.
Evdokimov; and his operations chief, Major P. V. Melnikov, visited
the front where the Soviet 372d Rifle Division was to replace the 128th
Rifle Division on the eve of the attack. The 128th would, in turn, stay
in line but reduce its frontage by concentrating its forces on the
northern flank of the 372d. Dressed as enlisted personnel, Radygin and
his aides reviewed the terrain and received a briefing on German
defensive positions. Throughout December, Soviet troops practiced
assaults against obstacles, strongpoints, and ice-covered ramparts. Good
aerial reconnaissance made possible a good approximation of the
German defensive system. In accordance with the Second Shock Army's
plan of operations, Workers Settlement Number 8, one of a group of
scattered residential clusters in the lightly settled area, assumed central
significance. The Soviet 256th Rifle Division was to attack on the
southern flank of the 372d. Follow-on elements of the 18th Rifle Division
would then exploit in the direction of Workers Settlement Number 5.
Workers Settlement Number 8 consisted of fifty-six separate buildings,
making it an eminently defensible position. Two German regiments of
the 227th Infantry Division held strongpoints along the front
facing the Soviet 372d Rifle Division. Around and among the buildings,
they had established a network of gun and machine-gun strongpoints.
Forward of the settlement were two trench lines and peat ramparts
that would seriously hinder the movement of armor and heavy weapons.
The Germans had doused them with water to coat them with a thick
layer of ice. Lines of wire obstacles and firing points north and south
of the settlement provided further defenses. Minefields obstructed all
avenues of approach.
In addition, terrain figured importantly in the organization of
German defenses and in the Soviet scheme of offensive maneuver. The
area east of Leningrad is widely forested and further interrupted by
scattered peat bogs and marshes. These had the effect of canalizing
traffic and could substantially strengthen linear defenses. In fact,
German defenses several kilometers north and south of Workers Settlement
Number 8 were anchored by forests. In addition, several bogs
immediately to the east determined lines of communications in the
Soviet rear area. Roads were few and unimproved. The onset of freezing
weather in late 1942 somewhat mitigated the effects of the bogs for
the infantry but could still provide only limited trafficability for armor
and heavy vehicles. Soviet engineers worked furiously behind the lines
to construct roads and bridges through woods and swamps to sustain
the attack once it began.
In general, both the Soviets and Germans found that forests and
bogs obstructed not only movement but orientation and the control of
artillery fire. Fighting within forests, in particular, placed a great
burden on infantry units and engineers; delivery of effective fire support,
whether by artillery or air, was difficult. Due to the increased ability
of defenders to conceal their positions, vigilant security and reconnaissance
were constantly necessary.
Throughout the war, the Soviets demonstrated great adaptability
in winter combat. This was in part due to lessons they had painfully
learned during the Soviet-Finnish winter war of 1939-40 and the crisis
brought on by the German invasion in the winter of 1941-42. Horses
were sometimes the most effective means of transport, and both the
Soviets and the Germans often used sleds to move provisions over snow
and ice. Some Soviet units received white uniforms for winter camouflage,
and many moved on skis. The Soviets also extensively winterized
their weapons and vehicles, thus reducing the breakdowns that plagued
their German adversaries. In addition, the wider tracks on Soviet tanks
provided a modest advantage in mobility over frozen ground.
On 6 January, the Soviet 372d Rifle Division organized assault
detachments to lead the attack of each regiment. Training for this
mission was critical. The organization of Detachment Number 3 of the
1st Battalion, 1238th Rifle Regiment, was typical. It consisted of 127
men, subdivided into special subgroups for engineering and reconnaissance
(19 men), obstacle clearance (28 men), and the attack (80 men).
The attack subgroup included one sapper and one rifle platoon, supplemented
by sections of antitank guns, machine guns, and automatic
rifles, as well as a 45-mm gun detachment and a pair of artillery observers.
The attack of the 372d would depend above all on speed, shock,
and secure flanks and communications. On breakthrough, elements of
the 98th Tank Brigade would join the advance. Each regimental commander
received a plan to ensure synchronized conduct of the operation,
as well as detailed instructions for rear-area units and artillery and
the relief of units on the march.
On the night of 10-11 January, the 372d Rifle Division assumed
its starting position for the operation. The Soviet attack began at 0930
with a relatively brief but intense two-hour artillery preparation. The
Leningrad and Volkhov Fronts exchanged artillery liaison officers to
coordinate fires. These officers' roles would increase in importance as
the forces converged. During the barrage, which tore up large portions
of the German minefields and trenches, engineers and storm groups of
the 372d advanced with armor support against surprised defenders to
clear the way for the assault. The Fourteenth Air Army bombarded
German command and control centers, artillery positions, airfields,
railroad junctions, and other targets in the rear area of the German
Eighteenth Army. The combined effect of the strikes significantly disorganized
the German defensive system. During the first day's ground
attack, launched at 1150, the Soviet 1238th Rifle Regiment advanced
through German trench lines for two to three kilometers and captured
several buildings on the southern periphery of Workers Settlement
Number 8. However, a German counterattack with tanks halted the
advance. Penetration of the German defenses even to this modest depth
cost the regiment about 1,000 casualties.
The experience of the Soviet 372d Rifle Division contrasted with
that of the 256th Rifle Division on its southern flank. The zone in
front of the 256th was a level peat swamp that formed, when frozen,
a natural corridor between Workers Settlement Number 8 and the
Kruglaia Woods just to the south. Soviet artillery fire quickly smashed
German ramparts of timber, peat, and ice, permitting the infantry to
move forward at a brisk pace. Yet, in part, because the frozen ground
was not sufficiently hardened to permit the tanks to keep up, the rate
of advance diminished.
On the second day, 13 January, the 372d renewed its drive against
the settlement, but the defenses still held. Heavy snowfall restricted
air support. Now, elements of the second echelon joined in the attack.
Later in the day, the 372d received orders to begin bypassing Workers
Settlement Number 8 and proceed northeast to Workers Settlement
Number 1.
In the meantime, the Germans began regrouping their tactical
reserves-including elements of the 96th and 61st Infantry Divisions
and a regiment of the 69th Infantry-in the vicinity of the Siniavino
heights in the southern extremity of the salient. This probably served
two purposes. First, the heights lay within a forest and provided highly
defensible ground. Second, the heights commanded the southern portion
of the main road from Workers Settlement Number 1 to Workers
Settlement Number 5 just to the north. This road offered the most
direct route of escape for forces attempting to flee the salient in the
event of a defensive collapse. The Soviets, in turn, responded by
massing their artillery on the Siniavino heights.
From the Leningrad side, assault groups and sappers of the Soviet
268th and 136th Rifle Divisions were the first to complete the
600-meter dash across the frozen Neva. Air attacks and army and naval
artillery paved the way by inflicting significant damage on the German
defenders. Taking care not to drop shells on the Neva itself and risk
breaking up the ice, Soviet gunners ignored the most forward defensive
positions on the banks and concentrated on the first line of trenches.
As soon as the assaulting troops advanced to within 150 to 200 meters
of the left bank, fire refocused on deeper positions. By the second day,
Soviet troops controlled a bridgehead along a five-kilometer front south
of Schlusselburg. Soviet light tanks made the crossing on the first day,
and the T-34s began crossing over corduroy roads with second-echelon
elements on 14 January. However, the German defenders of Schlusselburg
repelled the direct river-crossing assault of the 86th which then
had to cross south of the city and attack by land from the south. At
the end of the day, the gap between the two fronts had narrowed to four kilometers.
From this point, the forces of the Leningrad Front had two principal
tasks. First, the 136th Rifle Division was to drive on to Workers
Settlement Number 5, which it accomplished on 17 January. Second,
the 86th Rifle Division was to isolate and then seize Schlusselburg.
However, an attempt to storm the city from the south bogged down in
front of the Preobrazhenskii hill on the town's fringes. Soviet forces
subsequently managed to flow around this strongpoint. On 16 January
the 86th Rifle Division and the 34th Rifle Brigade, supported by heavy
armor, broke into Schlusselburg. They successfully cleared the town
after heavy street fighting on the 18th.
Meanwhile, on 14 January, elements of the 372d Rifle Division
continued the assault on Workers Settlement Number 8 and weathered
ten counterattacks. The cold was so severe that flesh froze on contact
with metal. Combat at the settlement continued into 15 January when
Soviet forces defeated desperate German counterattacks and broke the
remaining defenses. After the battle, the entire complex of residential
buildings had been reduced to rubble, reflecting the intense pounding
by mortars and artillery. Yet that same rubble doubtless afforded
defensive positions and concealment to the German defenders through
the several days of fierce fighting.
At the same time, Soviet forces in the salient concentrated their
attacks on Workers Settlements Numbers 1 and 5 in an effort to block
any escape by surviving German forces. Progress was slow, however,
stirring General G. K. Zhukov to return to the scene and demand that
the Second Shook Army completely eliminate the salient within
twenty-four hours. In response, Radygin hastily formed a composite
detachment from the remnants of the 1236th and 1238th Rifle Regiments.
Under Major A. F. Gamarin's command, the composite force
was to cut the escape route southward from Workers Settlement Number
1. The 12th Ski Brigade supported this effort from the north by stealing
across the German rear over frozen Lake Ladoga to sever the German
command and control of fleeing units.
Though cornered, the Germans defended desperately and inflicted
heavy Soviet losses. Throwing in his last reserve, Gamarin deployed a
reconnaissance company and a composite battalion formed from remnants
of the 1240th Rifle Regiment. Moving under Melnikov's control,
the unit crept southward along a ditch running parallel to the main
road between Workers Settlements Numbers 1 and 5. Fields of burning
peat lighted the route during darkness. Melnikov concentrated his forces
on the edge of the forest just south of Workers Settlement Number 1.
In combination with the composite force of the 1236th and 1238th Rifle
Regiments, they pressed the settlement from the north, east, and south.
Almost simultaneously, white-clad troops of the Soviet 123d Rifle Brigade
of the Leningrad Front entered from the west. With the reduction
of German defenses in the salient, linkup of the two fronts occurred at
0930 on 18 January. Soviet troops then swept the forest to the south
to capture scattered German survivors.
The immediate effect of the Soviet attack was to create a corridor
of some eight to eleven kilometers in width from north to south linking
Leningrad once again with the rest of the country. Soviet success depended
in large measure on successful adaptation to specific local conditions of
climate and terrain. Logic and experience dictated a winter
attack when the Neva's ice had hardened and the wooded swamp zones
became traversable. The Germans were doubtless aware of this, but
the Soviets disguised their preparations effectively and achieved tactical
surprise. Rehearsals of the attacks and extensive preparations by the
engineers facilitated rapid success. Above all, the Soviets worked vigorously
to maximize their mobility over difficult terrain. The construction
of roads and bridges in their rear areas permitted the ready flow of
reserve and second-echelon forces into battle. The construction of corduroy
roads and the clearing of obstacles further facilitated movement
into the salient. Supported by overwhelming fire, the Soviets fixed
German defenders all along the front with their initial attack and
responded quickly to enemy counterattacks. In addition, the Soviets
exploited natural corridors in the terrain and successfully flowed around
defensive strongpoints. Although it did not eliminate the threat to
Leningrad, Operation Spark had tremendous psychological impact.
Leningrad, symbol of the 1917 Russian Revolution and the former
imperial capital, had been rescued. When considered in light of the
even greater triumph over German forces occurring simultaneously at
Stalingrad, it marked a dramatic turning point in the war on the Eastern Front.
Bibliography
Meretskov, Kirill. "Breaking the Siege of Leningrad." Battles Hitler Lost.
New York: Richardson and Steirman, 1986.
Operation Market-Garden, September 1944
Dr. Gary J. Bjorge
Using time effectively is a challenge for everyone, but for a military
commander, it is crucial. The changing battlefield, with its fleeting
opportunities, often requires timely decisions. Failure to act at an
opportune moment may cause the needless injury and death of many
soldiers. Yet acting prematurely may also be a mistake that leads to
disaster. Operation Market-Garden-the largest airborne operation of
World War II (Operation Market) and a three-corps ground advance to
link up with the airborne forces (Operation Garden)-illustrates the
dilemma a commander can face when he seeks to exploit opportunities
without acting rashly.
By the end of August 1944, the rapid Allied advance across France
had created an air of optimism about an early end to the war. The
disorganization in the German Army had become so great that even
an effective defense of the Westwall was considered unlikely. For weeks,
General Dwight D. Eisenhower had sought to employ his strategic reserve,
the First Allied Airborne Army, to deliver a decisive blow against
the Germans. Numerous airborne operations had been planned, but none
had been executed because the rapidly advancing ground troops had
repeatedly made them unnecessary.
By the end of August, both Eisenhower and Field Marshal Bernard
L. Montgomery had begun thinking about using airborne forces to help
the Allied armies cross the Rhine River. On 5 September, planning
began on an operation to use one and one-half airborne divisions to
seize river crossings in the Arnhem-Nijmegen area (Operation Comet).
Then, on 10 September, this operation was canceled, to be superseded
by Operation Market-Garden. The plan was to drop three and one-half
airborne divisions along a fifty-mile corridor in southeast Holland to
capture key bridges over several canals and large rivers and to open a
route for the British Second Army to advance from the Belgian-Dutch
border to the Zuider Zee, a distance of ninety-nine miles. The Allies
sought to maintain the momentum they had built since crossing the
Seine River on 25 August by cutting the land exit of the Germans
remaining in western Holland, outflanking the German Westwall defense
line, and placing British ground forces in position for a subsequent
drive into Germany across the north German plain. Eisenhower and
Montgomery believed Market-Garden was feasible, and after questions
regarding the amount of supplies to be sent to the 21st Army Group
were resolved on 12 September, Montgomery set 17 September as D-day
for the operation. Market-Garden would be the key that would unlock
the gates to Germany for the Allied armies.
Market-Garden failed to achieve this objective because the Germans
held the bridge over the Lower Rhine River at Arnhem. During the
fighting there, they virtually destroyed the British 1st Airborne Division.
The British XXX Corps, which was supposed to reinforce the airborne
unit, could not advance quickly enough to make a timely linkup. When
first briefed on the Market-Garden plan, Lieutenant General F. A. M.
Browning, commander of the British Airborne Corps, suggested that,
in light of the plan's timetable, the objectives of the operation might
have stretched "a bridge too far." In retrospect, he was correct.
A number of circumstances undermined Market-Garden's timetable.
Bad weather after the first day interfered with follow-on troop drops,
aerial resupply, and tactical air support. Also, German resistance in
the area was greater than predicted by Allied intelligence. In addition,
Allied communications were inadequate, especially within the British
1st Airborne Division and between this division and other units. This
led to Allied command and control problems and made it impossible
to redirect supply drops to secure drop zones. Furthermore, the British
XXX Corps advanced too slowly to link up with the British 1st Airborne
Division. Another factor affecting Market-Garden's timetable was that
only one main road existed for the Allied advance. This lack of alternate
routes complicated troop and supply movement and simplified German
defensive strategy. Furthermore, the Germans responded quickly and
adeptly to developments. Finally, cases of simple misfortune helped
throw the Allies off their schedule. The result, according to Major Brian
Urquhart, the chief intelligence officer of the British Airborne Corps,
was "an unmitigated disaster."
The difficulties in keeping Market-Garden on schedule stemmed from
decisions made during its planning. One costly decision was to have
only one lift on D-day. Since available aircraft and gliders could transport
less than half of the 35,000 airborne soldiers at one time, the
division commanders requested two lifts on D-day in order to have
most of their men on the ground the first day. The troop carrier commanders,
however, overruled this because they would not have enough
time to check for aircraft battle damage, conduct spot maintenance,
and rest the crews between lifts. The area of operations was located
just within the maximum range of transports flying out of England,
and the troop carrier commanders feared that squeezing two lifts into
one day would result in higher casualties.
Another significant decision was the one giving airlift priority to
the divisions in a south to north order. This was to ensure that the
road in front of the British XXX Corps was cleared. Because of this
decision, the British 1st Airborne Division at Arnhem (including a Polish
independent parachute brigade) would not be completely delivered until
D+2. A third decision that caused problems was the selection of drop
zones and landing zones, especially those for the British 1st Airborne
Division. Because the Allies overestimated the flak threat around
Arnhem, the division landed four to nine miles west of Arnhem's three
bridges. These decisions reduced the airborne forces ability to exploit
their greatest combat multiplier-surprise. With limited numbers of men
available on D-day and substantial ground to cover, the Allies found
it impossible to capture and hold all their objectives immediately. Some
would have to wait. When the Germans responded quickly in strength,
difficulties arose.
While the Allies were making decisions that would later cost them
precious time, the Germans were using time to improve their response
to Allied efforts. At the beginning of September, the German Army
was fleeing through Belgium. However, after Antwerp fell to the Allies
on 4 September, a series of events gradually changed this situation.
First, on this same day, Hitler ordered General Kurt Student to move
his First Parachute Army's headquarters into the Netherlands to fill
the gap in Army Group B between the Fifteenth Army in the Schelde
estuary area northwest of Antwerp and the Seventh Army in the
Maastricht-Aachen area. Student only had the LXXXVIII Corps, with
just one division to cover a fifty-mile front. The division, however, was
a full-strength "fortress" division that had been guarding the Dutch
coast since 1940. Fortunately for Student, General Kurt Chill, who was
retreating through Belgium with remnants of his infantry division and
two others, decided to stop along the Albert Canal to organize a hasty
defense. On 6 September, Chill contacted the LXXXVIII Corps' commander
and turned over his battle group to Student. Even though these
German units could not stop the Allied advance, they did delay it.
Coupled with the Allies' logistical problems, Chill's actions gained time
for some of Student's parachute troops and other units to arrive in the
army sector.
During this period, other troop movements advantageous for the
Germans were taking place. On 3 September, Field Marshal Walter
Model, the commander of Army Group B, ordered the Fifth Panzer
Army-which was retreating in disorder-to release the 9th and 10th
SS Panzer Divisions so they could move to the Arnhem area for refitting
and reorganization. On 5 September, Model ordered the II SS Panzer
Corps headquarters under General Willi Bittrich to move to Arnhem to
rehabilitate the 9th SS Panzer Division and two other panzer divisions
that would be moving into the Netherlands when conditions in the
Seventh Army sector permitted. On 9 September, Model ordered the
10th SS Panzer Division to Germany for rehabilitation and directed
the 9th SS Panzer Division to move south to help meet the growing
U.S. First Army threat around Aachen. Unfortunately for the Allies,
by D-day, these German divisions had barely begun to move. They
gave Model a ready reserve only a half day's march from Arnhem.
These movements provided German commanders with forces to
respond to Market-Garden. However, the promptness of the German
response made these modest forces even more effective. This speed was
due to a number of factors, one of which was the closeness of several
major headquarters to each other: Model's Army Group B headquarters
was in Oosterbeek just west of Arnhem; Student's First Parachute Army
headquarters was in Vught, a small town thirty miles southwest of
Arnhem; and Bittrich's II SS Panzer Corps headquarters was twenty
five miles east of Arnhem. These headquarters staffs had the manpower
to implement commanders' intentions quickly and provide cohesiveness
to improvised organizations. The proximity of these headquarters to
the Operation Market area of operations also made a rapid response
easier. Student and his commanders had a ringside view of the U.S.
101st Airborne Division's airdrop to the east of his headquarters. Model
was forced to leave his headquarters hastily at Oosterbeek because the
British were landing only two miles to the west. Model then moved
quickly to Bittrich's headquarters and continued to command.
German competence also made the rapid response possible. No doubt,
the Germans were surprised; Model's situation is evidence of that. In
addition, reports of airdrops all over the Netherlands made confusion,
indecision, and incorrect conclusions very possible. Bittrich, however,
soon perceived from reports that the Arnhem-Nijmegen corridor was
the key area. Immediately, he ordered the 9th and 10th Panzer Divisions
to move in that direction. Lastly, chance played an important role in
the quick German response. Someone shot down in a glider in the
U.S. 101st Airborne Division area was carrying a copy of the Allied
operational order. Two hours later, this order was on Student's desk.
Once the Germans had this information, surprise at the operational
command level was gone. The Germans now knew the Allied objectives
and could organize their defenses and reinforce them.
Another example of the Germans' rapid response to Allied operations
occurred when remnants of the 59th Infantry Division (which were
moving by train through the First Parachute Army sector) were ordered
to detrain at Tilburg and move east twenty miles to fight the U.S.
101st Airborne Division at Zon. The Germans also quickly formed rear
echelon and regional defense units into larger fighting units. One such
grouping, the so-called Division von Tettau, joined with the 9th SS
Panzer Division in launching a two-pronged attack against the British
1st Airborne Division drop zones and landing zones on 18 September.
During the following days, other units straggling out of the Schelde
estuary were brought into the fight. Also, reinforcements were transferred from Germany.
On D-day, while the Germans struggled to organize a defense
against Market-Garden, the Allied airborne forces enjoyed considerable
success. The airdrops and glider landings were accurate and sustained
low casualties. U.S. 101st Airborne Division units gained control over
most of the fifteen-mile stretch of highway between Eindhoven and
Grave, their objective (see map 26). The 101st's biggest disappointment
was the failure to capture the bridge over the Wilhelmina Canal at
Zon before it was destroyed. North of the 101st Airborne Division, the
U.S. 82d Airborne Division captured the 1,800-foot bridge across the
Maas River at Grave, a bridge over the Maas-Waal Canal at Heumen,
and the hill mass southeast of Nijmegen. However, by the time the
division was prepared to assault the 1,960-foot-long highway bridge
across the Waal River at Nijmegen on the evening of D-day, Bittrich's
troops had already established a defensive perimeter south of the bridge.
This force could not be dislodged. The British 1st Airborne Division at
Arnhem experienced the greatest difficulty. German forces blocked the
division's efforts to gain control of the highway bridge over the Lower
Rhine and the high ground north of Arnhem. At 2030 on D-day, Lieutenant
Colonel John D. Frost finally reached the northern end of the
highway bridge with his battalion headquarters and one company. From
this position, he interdicted bridge traffic but failed to control the bridge.
The Allied column, advancing from the Dutch-Belgian frontier, also
ran into difficulties on D-day. German resistance was stronger than
expected, allowing the British XXX Corps' Guards Armoured Division
to advance only seven miles before stopping. The next day, it was
1900 before the main British armored column reached Eindhoven and
linked up with the U.S. 101st Airborne Division. Pushing through the
city without a pause, the column, continued north to Zon where, during
the night, British engineers installed a Bailey bridge across the Wilhelmina
Canal. At 0645 on D+2 (19 September), the Guards Armoured
Division began to cross the bridge on its way north. Already, it was
more than thirty hours behind schedule.
According to Market-Garden's timetable, the Guards Armoured Division
was expected to reach Nijmegen by 1800 on 18 September and
be in Arnhem by 1500 on 19 September. The division did not reach Nijmegen until the afternoon
of 19 September and was then stopped
by the German positions at the Waal River bridge. On D-day, Bittrich
had decided that the British 1st Airborne Division was vulnerable and
could be destroyed if the Allied linkup forces were delayed. Bittrich's
dispatch of blocking forces and Student's attacks on the flanks of the
long Allied corridor were intended to achieve this objective. So far, the
Germans had achieved surprising success: the linkup column was still
far from Arnhem, and the British 1st Airborne Division's situation was
becoming more critical by the day.
Map 26.
The British 1st Airborne Division was suffering because planned
airdrops of reinforcements and supplies had not occurred. Inadequate
radio equipment and bad weather were also plaguing its operations.
Messages to redirect supply drops were not getting through. Thus, air
crews repeatedly risked their lives to drop supplies only to have them
fall into German hands. The greatest problems facing the British 1st
Airborne Division, however, were those caused by the unexpected
German strength in the area. The airborne division had been unable to
reinforce Frost's force at the northern end of the Arnhem bridge, and
it was being steadily decimated (the last holdouts surrendered on the
morning of 21 September). The remainder of the British 1st Airborne
Division had been attacked by German armor and artillery on D-day,
and these attacks continued. By 19 September, the division was reduced
to holding a small defensive perimeter in Oosterbeek along the Lower Rhine.
At this critical point in the action, the Germans miscalculated the
British 1st Airborne Division's strength and initiated operations that
gave the Allies time to rescue the remnants of the division. By 21
September, General Roy E. Urquhart, the airborne division's commander,
feared that a general, concentrated attack could overwhelm his force.
Bittrich now believed, however, that small, scattered actions would
destroy the British at less cost by taking advantage of the lack of
initiative of British junior commanders and noncommissioned officers.
The British contained these small-scale attacks and gained still more
time when Model opted against a direct ground assault, believing that
heavy artillery would eliminate the British force. While the German
artillery bombardment was terrifying, the British survived by huddling
in slit trenches, holding out as Allied ground forces advanced slowly
from Nijmegen. Finally, on 23 September, the British 43d Infantry
Division reached the bank of the Lower Rhine opposite the remainder
of the 1st Airborne Division. Because the Germans did not expect a
withdrawal, they were fooled by the deception measures that allowed
2,398 paratroopers to evacuate across the river. For the 1,400 men killed
and the 6,000 captured at Arnhem, the evacuation came much too late.
Operation Market-Garden reminds us that action and movement
take time. It illustrates the difference between time as plotted on the
map table and time experienced on the battlefield, where each force
works feverishly to upset the timetables of its enemy. Allied leaders
devised Market-Garden as a means to take advantage of German weaknesses.
The operation failed because it was impossible for Allied forces,
which were too dispersed, to capture a number of vital points in a
timely way. This inability to reach objectives promptly placed the British
1st Airborne Division in a difficult position and led to its tactical defeat.
Ultimately, this failure in timing resulted in a significant strategic set
back. Instead of opening the gates to Germany, Operation Market
Garden gave the Germans the opportunity to patch units together into
an organized force capable of slowing and, for a time, stopping the
Allied advance. Market-Garden exemplifies the crucial importance of
time in war, where military actions must take place at the opportune
moment to maximize their effects.
Bibliography
Bauer, Cornelis, and Theodore A. Boeree. The Battle of Arnhem. New
York: Stein and Day, 1967.
MacDonald, Charles Brown. The Siegfried Line Campaign. United States
Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History,
Department of the Army, 1963.
Piekalkiewicz, Janusz. Arnhem, 1944. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1976.
Powell, Geoffrey. The Devil's Birthday: The Bridges to Arnhem, 1944.
New York: Franklin Watts, 1985.
Ryan, Cornelius. A Bridge Too Far. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1974.
Urquhart, Robert Elliott. Arnhem. London: Pan Books, 1977.
The "Truscott Trot": Training for Operation Husky, 1943
Major Stephen D. Coats
At approximately 2230 on 22 July 1943, Lieutenant General George
S. Patton Jr., commander of the U.S. Seventh Army, entered the Sicilian
port of Palermo. A mounted column from the 2d Armored Division
followed Patton's command vehicle, guns silent. Soldiers of the 3d
Infantry Division were already patrolling the streets as the armored
procession snaked its way through the fallen town.
Conflicting emotions must have swept over Patton as he surveyed
his prize. On the one hand, the conquest of Palermo served notice to
British Field Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery that Patton's command
could strike with virtual impunity in Sicily. On the other hand, the
port had not fallen in a spectacular armored sweep as Patton originally
envisioned. Before tanks could be unleashed, Patton's infantrymen from
the Seventh Army's Provisional Corps, spearheaded by the 3d Division,
had traversed nearly 100 miles of Sicily's most challenging terrain to
take Palermo. When he finally linked up with the 3d Division commander,
Major General Lucian K. Truscott Jr., Patton exclaimed, "Well,
the Truscott Trot sure got us here in a damn hurry!"
In the euphoria of victory, Patton forgot to mention his Italian foes.
Their unwillingness to offer stiff resistance accounted for some of
the astounding speed enjoyed by the 3d Division. Yet in his remark to
Truscott, Patton was on to something. The "Truscott Trot" was the
manifestation of a rigorous, focused training program that had prepared
the 3d Division for grueling combat in Sicily. The men of the 3d had
Truscott to thank-and curse-for that training.
At the beginning of 1943, Truscott supervised the organization of
Lieutenant General Dwight D. Eisenhower's advanced command post
in Tunisia. While serving in that capacity, Truscott learned that the
3d Division would participate in the invasion of Sicily, Operation Husky,
scheduled to commence after the Tunisian campaign ended. When he
assumed command of the 3d in North Africa on 8 March 1943, Truscott
calculated that he had approximately four months to prepare his division for battle.
Truscott believed that the available time could be put to good use.
He concluded that the 3d had lost much of its combat-ready edge since
he had tested and evaluated the division at Fort Lewis, Washington,
in the summer of 1941. Truscott had departed Fort Lewis by May 1942,
but the 3d Division remained stateside and intensified its training in
amphibious warfare. On 8 November 1942, the division assaulted North
African beaches near Fedala, Morocco, as a part of Operation Torch.
The 3d seized Casablanca by 11 November. Between November and
March 1943, however, the division had engaged in little combat or
training. Given its relative inactivity in Morocco, Truscott believed a
sort of "rear area" feeling had overcome the 3d's infantrymen. "In
consequence," maintained Truscott, "disciplinary standards had suffered
and the attitude toward training lacked the fire and intensity which I
had hoped to find in a division which might be called upon to fight at any time."
To make matters worse, the division had lost some of its finest
officers and men during the last week of February. Less than two weeks
before Truscott assumed command, 3,500 soldiers, almost 25 percent of
the division's strength, had departed to fill the ranks of the 1st and
34th Infantry Divisions after the battle at Kasserine. Some men within
the division also had moved to new leadership positions vacated by
departed comrades. Replacements had to be acquired quickly to fill
remaining vacancies.
Truscott must have weighed the variables at hand-mission, enemy,
terrain, troops, and time available-and then established two principal
objectives for his command: first, to attain the highest possible marching
and physical standards for an infantry division; and second, to develop
initiative and leadership among officers and noncommissioned officers.
To realize the first of these objectives, Truscott drew from-his personal
theories on infantry training. For years, he had believed that
standards for marching and fighting in the infantry were too low, "not
up to those of the Roman legions nor countless examples from our
own frontier history, nor even to those of Stonewall Jackson's 'Foot
Cavalry' of Civil War fame." While serving with the Combined Operations
Headquarters early in the war, Truscott had seen how rigorous
training had prepared British Commandos and U.S. Rangers for combat.
Now, he was anxious to determine the extent to which an entire infantry
division could achieve similar training goals.
Truscott began with speed marching. As a career cavalry officer
with nearly twenty-five years of experience by 1942, he had learned to
value quickness in military operations. Contemporary doctrine called
for infantry to march two and one-half miles an hour for twelve miles
a day. Truscott believed the infantry capable of greater performance
levels. He tested his hypothesis after less than a week in command by
ordering battalions of the 3d to march ten miles at four miles an hour.
The first battalion to execute lost nearly 10 percent of its personnel
along the route. At the same time, it sustained a pace of less than
three miles an hour. The next day, a second battalion moved the same
distance. Of the 1,000 men who started, only 12 failed to complete the
march at a rate of 4 miles an hour.
Truscott believed that physical conditioning accounted for the per
formance disparity between the two units. The battalion relieved had
been in the field for two weeks and had conducted challenging training
in a desert environment. Truscott decided this episode validated his
theory that infantry could "traverse given distances at maximum rates
and be fit for combat."
Thus, each infantry battalion would be expected to approximate
Commando and Ranger standards for marching. However, Truscott was
careful not to expect too much too soon from his infantrymen. Directing
unrealistic rates of march over vast distances for short durations would
be detrimental to the "psychological preparation" of his men. Truscott
observed: "I realized that I would have to approach the objective gradually.
To prescribe such standards for an entire infantry division and
then fail to attain them would cause lack of confidence, affect command
relations, and be generally harmful. Officers and men would have to
be imbued with the importance of such preparation and with confidence
in their ability to attain it."
Physical and leader development intensified for the 3d Division
when it began to move to the Fifth Army's Invasion Training Center
(ITC) at Arzew, Algeria, on 15 March 1943. Truscott preceded unit
deployments with daily training inspections and officer conferences that
included leaders from each infantry regiment and the division artillery.
At training sites, he "saw much, but said little, and that little usually
only to officers on the subject of standards." Truscott used the conferences
to introduce himself to the division's leadership and to impart his "views
on training for combat, on fighting, and on the responsibilities of leadership."
Truscott also conferred with the cadre at the ITC before the division
reported. He wanted his views on training understood at the center
and emphasized that the training his division received was of vital
personal concern. To give greater focus to division training, Truscott's
staff pored over the initial Husky plan that had arrived at Arzew on
5 April.
Physical conditioning dominated unit and individual training through
out the two-week course. Infantrymen spent many hours log rolling,
bayonet training, hand-to-hand fighting, and rope climbing. Units used
speed marching, dubbed the "Truscott Trot" by soldiers, to move about
training areas. Additionally, the 3d Division staff prescribed a minimum
standard for marching: every officer and man would march five miles
in one hour twice each week and eight miles in two hours once each
week. Truscott later wrote, "Attaining these standards presented no
difficulty and almost every battalion reported greater speeds during its
first two weeks." Most eventually achieved five miles in one hour, four
miles an hour for the next two hours, and three and one-half miles an
hour for the remainder of a thirty-mile march. Those who could not
meet minimum standards because of "physical weaknesses or defects
were reassigned elsewhere." Truscott wrote that the action was necessary
so as not to jeopardize the combat efficiency of the units or the lives
of fellow comrades."
Truscott and the ITC also incorporated lessons learned from the
ongoing Tunisian campaign. Companies and battalions rehearsed joint
amphibious landings during the day and night. They practiced combined
arms team tactics and worked particularly close with supporting artillery.
Units also trained in antiaircraft and antitank firing. In addition,
soldiers learned how to remove mines and booby traps.
To pursue the second principal objective that he had established
for his command, Truscott personally promoted initiative and leadership
among his junior officers and men. He seized available opportunities
to talk informally with groups of officers and noncommissioned officers,
emphasizing that leaders must (1) approach fighting as a simple business
in which problems could be solved by common sense, (2) know
weapons and tools, (3) be physically conditioned, (4) be determined to
achieve, (5) know how to live and work together in the field, and (6)
take risks. Truscott declined to punish junior officers for mistakes
arising from personal initiative; at the same time, he directed commanders
to "deal harshly" with those who failed to act when a situation dictated boldness.
The division worked at the ITC to achieve Truscott's standards in
leadership and physical training. While the 3d went through its paces,
Truscott and his staff planned a two-week course in mountain warfare
to prepare the men for Sicily's rugged, inland terrain. Physical fitness
retained a priority in the training plan. Mountain techniques in marching,
tactics, weapons firing, and day-night combat operations rounded out the core exercises.
Just as the division's first regiment completed its mountain training,
Truscott and the 3d were ordered into Tunisia to participate in the
final assault on Axis forces. At the end of April, Truscott quickly suspended
training for his remaining regiments. (The 30th Infantry was
still training at the ITC, and the 17th Infantry was just beginning its
two-week course in the mountains.) During the first half of May, the
3d Division stood ready to attack in Tunisia, but no orders materialized.
Truscott urged his superiors to permit a resumption of division
preparations for Operation Husky.
The 3d Division was released for training on 15 May and assigned
to the Bône-Philippeville area. Unfortunately, Truscott found the
environment unsuited for training in landing operations or mountain
warfare. At first, requests for his unit's transfer elsewhere were rebuffed
by Allied force headquarters. But as Truscott later remarked, "persistent
protests, like drops of water falling upon hard stones, eventually wore
down the staff resistance." On 1 June, the division was ordered to
Bizerte, "an ideal spot for invasion training."
The division spent the first three weeks of June preparing for its
assault mission in the upcoming invasion. Truscott assigned one battalion
from each regiment to train for beach assaults. Other infantry
battalions rehearsed passing through their respective assault battalions
to seize specific objectives. Unit training culminated when the 3d
Division, augmented by other units and redubbed the "Joss force,"
conducted a full-scale dress rehearsal. Most soldiers thought they were
beginning the actual invasion.
Since that would not come for another two weeks, Truscott curtailed
intensive unit training. More time was allowed for recreation, although
the "Truscott Trot" and physical conditioning were continued to maintain
performance levels. Truscott later wrote, "Never was any division
more fit for combat and more in readiness to close with the enemy
than the 3d Infantry Division when we embarked for the invasion of
Sicily" on 6 July 1943.
The 3d Division achieved extraordinary results in Sicily. On D-day,
10 July, it seized the port and airfield at Licata. Within thirty hours,
the 3d attained its D+3 objective. Truscott overheard subordinates
saying, "Fighting the battle was a damn sight easier than training
for it." Subsequently, the infantry negotiated difficult terrain to seize
Agrigento by surprise on 16 July. Then, in four days, Truscott moved
his division nearly 100 miles over mountain trails, principally by foot,
to seize Palermo on 22 July 1943. Truscott wrote after the war, "Careful
planning and preparation, rigorous and thorough training, determination
and speed in execution, had paid dividends in success." There is little
to dispute in that observation.
Truscott's rigorous training plan prepared the 3d Division for combat
in Sicily. From years of personal experience, education, and observation,
he was convinced that the Army's "tactical principles and training
methods were sound." Most difficulties were due to "faulty execution
and inadequate standards." Truscott set about to correct those shortcomings
in the 3d Division in a manner compatible with the unit's
upcoming Husky missions. He quickly assessed the division's combat
readiness, established priorities in training, and communicated his goals
through the chain of command. When reversals (personnel losses and
changes in mission) threatened preparations for Husky, he carefully
dealt with each situation, then worked with his higher headquarters to
reorient on training for the invasion of Sicily.
Yet he endeavored to establish training standards and objectives
in accordance with soldiers' capabilities. Truscott believed that unrealistic
goals could be as detrimental as no goals at all. He also recognized
the value of decelerating training when appropriate. Rather than drive
the division through difficult exercises up to the eve of the invasion,
he accorded his men several days to relax and reflect on their
accomplishments before the commencement of Husky.
He never eased up in one area, however: physical conditioning.
Speed marching was the heart and soul of his training program and
philosophy. He firmly believed that the "Truscott Trot" had prepared
the men for combat, "physically and psychologically," and would see
them through campaign challenges in Sicily.
Bibliography
D'Este, Carlo. Bitter Victory: The Battle for Sicily, 1943. New York:
E. P. Dutton, 1988.
Taggart, Donald G., ed. History of the Third Infantry Division in World
War II. Divisional series. Reprint. Nashville, TN: Battery Press, 1987.
Truscott, Lucian King. Command Missions: A Personal Story. New York:
Dutton, 1954.
The Failure to Achieve Unity of Command in Vietnam
Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame, U.S. Army, Retired
Students of the art of war learn early that unity of command is a
necessary principle of war ensuring success on the battlefield. The
United States' participation in the Vietnam War with other Free World
military forces presents a classic example of where an integrated, or
combined, command should have been established. It never was, and
the lack of unity of command was evident in Vietnam at all levels.
At the outset of U.S. involvement in Vietnam, the United States
established a combined command with its ally France. From the arrival
in Vietnam of the U.S. Military Assistance Advisory Group (MAAG),
Indochina, in 1950 through the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu in
May 1954, the United States, by attaching strings to American aid,
tried to influence the strategic direction of the war and the development
of an independent, indigenous Vietnamese army with a role in its own
development and training. The French parried American pressure by
developing indigenous Vietnamese units commanded and led by French
officers and noncommissioned officers; they also accepted only minimal
U.S. advice on the conduct of operations and steadfastly refused to
allow the Americans a role in training the Vietnamese. As the fall of
Dien Bien Phu appeared imminent, the French agreed to let the Americans
participate in training the Vietnamese and to place U.S. advisers
with Vietnamese units. At the beginning of June 1954, the French
formally requested that the United States join France in organizing
and training the Vietnamese National Army.
After the Geneva Accords of 1954, the situation in South Vietnam
was anything but stable. While the state of Vietnam had gained independence,
the French remained in the south without a timetable for withdrawal.
Meanwhile, French and American objectives did not coincide.
But despite mutual distrust, the two powers agreed on a binational
training organization under the overall authority of the French commander
in chief in Indochina and the direct command of the chief of
the American MAAG. Established on 12 February 1955, this integrated
command lasted less than six months. By June 1955, the French were
gone, and the experiment of creating and training the South Vietnamese
Army had become entirely an American task.
While the South Vietnamese government tried to stabilize itself,
southern Communists began to rebuild and consolidate their own political
and military apparatus. Beginning in 1956, the Vietcong (VC), as
the southern Communists became known, initiated political agitation
and subversion consisting of a systematic program of assassination
and other acts of terrorism against government officials. Through 1957
and into 1958, insurgent incidents increased. American officials, however,
misread the nature and seriousness of the insurgency, believing
it to be a diversion covering a conventional attack across the demilitarized
zone. In 1959, scattered and sporadic terrorist acts evolved into
a sustained campaign by the Vietcong. By 1960, the South Vietnamese
and their U.S. advisers found themselves embroiled in an internal
insurgency that was assisted by the northern Communists.
Prior to 1960, U.S. advisers were primarily involved in training
and performing high-level staff work. In 1960, they began advising
ground combat units at the regimental level in the field. In 1961, U.S.
advisers operated at the battalion level, and by 1964, they were with
Vietnamese paramilitary forces. Gradually, U.S. advisers became involved
in combat. In late 1963, President Ngo Dinh Diem was executed
by members of a coup, and the tumultuous coup-filled year that followed
led to political destabilization and battlefield losses. In 1965, U.S. combat
units were introduced into the Vietnamese struggle.
By 1964, the armed forces of South Vietnam grew to 250,000, and
U.S. support grew apace, to 23,000 advisers. To coordinate all U.S.
military support activities in South Vietnam, the United States established
the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV), in 1962.
By 1964, MACV had consolidated support and advisory activities and
subsumed MAAG.
MACV was a joint command subordinate to the U.S. Pacific Command
(PACOM). The MACV commander, General William C. West
moreland, commanded all U.S. forces in South Vietnam and was senior
adviser to the chief of the Joint General Staff (JGS), Armed Forces of
the Republic of Vietnam (AFRVN). While Westmoreland was responsible
for combat operations within the borders of South Vietnam, the commander
in chief of PACOM controlled the air war over North Vietnam.
But despite the formal command linkage, Westmoreland more often
reported directly to the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) and the president
and bypassed the PACOM commander. Thus, no unity of command existed.
In 1965, the United States decided to seek the assistance of other
Free World combat troops in support of South Vietnam. This brought
Australia, New Zealand, the Republic of Korea, Thailand, the Republic
of China, and the Philippines into the struggle. The involvement of
these forces inevitably raised the question of command arrangements.
Since the United States viewed Vietnam, like Korea in 1950, as a test
of the Free World against Communist aggression, an arrangement similar
to the United Nations Command in Korea seemed appropriate (although
the UN had no role in Vietnam).
On 18 March 1965, in a message to General Earle G. Wheeler,
chairman of the JCS, Westmoreland stated that he felt it was time for
a transition to a combined command- and-staff arrangement. He also
stated that such an arrangement would be acceptable to the South
Vietnamese. While Westmoreland believed that a small, combined, and
coordinating operational staff should be superimposed on the current
structure of individual commands-MACV and AFRVN-he also envisioned
that as greater numbers of U.S. troops arrived, he would assume
control of those operations where American troops were involved
and shape the operations and functions of a transitional command.
Westmoreland went so far as to request Army Brigadier General James
L. Collins to organize and manage the combined staff. From this beginning,
it appeared that the combined staff would evolve into a combined
command, with MACV and the Joint General Staff of the AFRVN as
components of it that dealt primarily with administrative and logistical
matters.
When Westmoreland, on 28 April 1965, met with the chief of the
Vietnamese JGS, General Tran Van Minh, and then-minister of defense,
Lieutenant General Nguyen Van Thieu, he found them "politically sensitive"
to the proposal of a combined staff. Since South Vietnam had
so recently gained its independence, the AFRVN leaders were cautious
of any arrangement that appeared to threaten their national sovereignty.
Moreover, they did not believe that the South Vietnamese populace
would accept an American general in command of the AFRVN and
feared fueling Communist propaganda charges that they were U.S.
puppets. Because of these sensitivities, Westmoreland dropped the concept
of a combined command and told his subordinates to get used to
an environment where responsibility was "shared and cooperatively
discharged without ... traditional command arrangements."
In all cases, military working arrangements were decided on and
agreements signed between the commanders of the various Free World
military forces and the commander, MACV, that placed those forces
under MACV's operational control. For instance, the Korean working
agreement stated that Korean forces would operate under parameters
established by the Free World Military Assistance Council, composed
of the chief of the Vietnamese JGS, the senior Korean officer in Vietnam,
and the commander, MACV. This council provided operational
guidance to, not control of, Free World forces through the annual Combined
Campaign Plan. First published at the end of 1965, the Combined
Campaign Plan was not a true operational plan. It only broke the
operational effort down geographically and functionally but assigned
no tasks or goals.
Without the benefit of an integrated command at the top, agreements
between local Free World commanders and South Vietnamese
ground commanders provided coordination of combat operations. While
South Vietnamese corps commanders retained overall responsibility for
military affairs in each corps tactical zone, U.S. and other Free World
force commanders accepted responsibility for tactical areas of responsibility
(TAORs)-arbitrary geographical areas in which U.S. and Free
World units conducted combat operations. Westmoreland described these
arrangements as an extension of the advice-and-support role Americans
previously had performed. Though the subject of forming a combined
command arose among leaders from time to time in the next several
years, each time it met a negative response based on the belief that
the concept of coordination and cooperation was functioning adequately
and that a combined command would commit the United States more
than it wanted to be.
While the concept of TAORs and joint agreements between allied
commanders seemed cleanly structured, it was not necessarily so. On
the Vietnamese side, each corps tactical zone was broken into division
tactical areas that were the responsibility of an infantry division. The
several provinces within each division tactical area were called sectors
(in military parlance) and commanded by the province chief. These
sectors were subdivided into subsectors in which the Regional Forces
and Popular Forces operated. Superimposed on top of this structure
was the American organization, with Field Force commanders at the
top. The Field Force commander corresponded to the Army of the Republic
of Vietnam (ARVN) corps tactical zone commander and was
responsible to MACV for all U.S. operations within his TAOR. No U.S.
division, however, was made permanently responsible for a specific tactical
area. The Field Force commander was also designated the senior
adviser to the Vietnamese corps tactical zone commander, making all
U.S. advisers within the zone responsible to him as well.
Cooperation and coordination between the ARVN and U.S. forces
were not well exercised because the two forces had different languages
and customs, and their missions were different: the ARVN was primarily
responsible for area security in support of pacification; U.S. forces were
committed to search-and-destroy operations.
To coordinate the overall operations of combined U.S.-ARVN forces,
a Combined Campaign Plan was developed. This concept would provide
ARVN forces the opportunity to observe and evaluate the standards
displayed by U.S. combat units. Under this concept, for the entire year
of 1967, Operation Fairfax integrated three U.S. battalions with those
of the ARVN 5th Ranger Group (down to squad level). While touted as
a success, however, the operation was planned and directed exclusively
by U.S. forces and did nothing to enhance ARVN capabilities for
planning and conducting operations.
The same can be said for ARVN participation in one of the largest
combat operations of the entire war, Operation Junction City. Directed
against a major enemy stronghold, War Zone C in Tay Ninh province
(in early 1967), Junction City was initially to have included two ARVN
regiments. However, according to General Bernard W. Rogers, this plan
was determined to be too ambitious, and ARVN participation was reduced
to only four battalions, which were integrated at the battalion
level. The implied rationale for this reduction was to eliminate the
repetition of information leaks that had previously allowed the VC to
escape from U.S.-ARVN forces, as in Operation Cedar Falls in the adjacent Iron Triangle.
In Operation Junction City, elements of the U.S. 1st and 25th Infantry
Divisions, 173d Airborne Brigade, 196th Light Infantry Brigade,
and integrated ARVN battalions formed blocking positions in an inverted
horseshoe around the operational area while the 11th Armored
Cavalry Regiment and 2d Brigade of the 25th Infantry Division pushed
into the open southern end of the horseshoe to search out and destroy
elements of one VC division and one North Vietnamese Army (NVA)
regiment (as well as the headquarters of the Communist Central Office
of South Vietnam [COSVN]). In keeping with the ARVN's primary mission
of area security in support of pacification, elements of other ARVN
divisions maintained a security cordon near the populated areas close
to the area of operations.
Junction City was considered a success and a turning point that
vindicated large-scale, multiunit operations. Yet while inflicting considerable
damage to the Communists, who lost nearly 2,800 confirmed
dead, Junction City presented disturbing strategic consequences and
demonstrated weaknesses in MACV-AFRVN cooperation and combined
action. The COSVN headquarters and the VC-NVA units were not destroyed
but simply withdrew into Cambodian sanctuaries. As for
MACV-AFRVN cooperation and combined action, it was superficial at
best. U.S. commanders did all the planning and relegated their Vietnamese
counterparts to the role of blindfolded executioners of their part
of the action. Operational plans on the Vietnamese side were merely
translations of U.S. orders, and the tactical role of ARVN units was
largely supportive. As for coordination at the top, the Vietnamese JGS
operational staff knew nothing about Junction City until it was
launched, although the operation plan was published a month in
advance. This failure to inform the JGS, it is claimed, was done pri
marily to prevent leaks in security. Unity of command at the operational
level appeared to be a facade.
In his memoirs, Westmoreland claims that he "never encountered
serious disagreement" with senior Vietnamese officials and never regretted
the decision not to establish a combined command. While former
senior South Vietnamese officers, writing in the Center of Military History's
Indochina Monographs, thought "the concept of cooperation and
coordination predicated on the principles of equal partnership and division
of responsibilities according to capabilities was perhaps the wisest
and most appropriate [course] in the Vietnam context," problems were
caused, in their opinion, by a shortage of "comprehensive guidance"
by MACV and the JGS in their implementation of annual Combined
Campaign Plans. Since U.S.-Vietnamese operations were planned and
directed by Americans-with only token Vietnamese participation or
approval-ARVN capabilities for planning and conducting combat
operations on their own were not at all enhanced. These same senior
former South Vietnamese officers also cite the Field Forces commanders'
focus on U.S. troop operations-to the exclusion of their advisory duties
as a limiting factor to U.S.-ARVN cooperation and coordination.
General Bruce Palmer, writing in The 25-Year War, contends that
the lack of a combined command caused a reduction of the close coordination
necessary to achieve unity of effort in operations in Vietnam.
He further contends that the decentralized nature of Free World forces
planning and operations, as well as the U.8. domination of the annual
Combined Campaign Plan, allowed U.S. commanders to run "their own
shows" according to their assigned missions and left the Vietnamese
without a strategy of their own when the U.S. and other Free World
forces withdrew.
The Vietnam experience is replete with examples of allied and
AFRVN operations where lack of unity of command produced flawed
results. While allied deference to Vietnamese sensibilities was probably
necessary, the lack of a single commander at the highest level led to
decentralized planning and execution that resulted in minimal comprehensive
guidance, reduced coordination between the allies, and, ultimately,
failure. We can only speculate at this point, but had the
principle of unity of command been adhered to at all levels by allied
forces, the outcome in the Vietnam War might have been different.
Bibliography
Palmer, Bruce. The 25-Year War: America's Military Role in Vietnam.
New York: Simon and Schuster, 1984.
Palmer, Dave Richard. Summons of the Trumpet: A History of the
Vietnam War from a Military Man's Viewpoint. New York: Ballantine Books, 1978.
Pimlott, John. Vietnam: The Decisiue Battles. New York: Macmillan, 1990.
Rogers, Bernard William. Cedar Falls-Junction City: A Turning Point.
Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, Department of the Army, 1974.
Stanton, Shelby L. The Rise and Fall of an American Army: U.S.
Ground Forces in Vietnam, 1965-1973. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1985.
The Influence of Weather on Combined Arms Operations
in Korea, 1950
Dr. Jack J. Gifford
Weather and terrain, as they apply to military operations, often
interact to create a synergistic effect. So it happened during the Korean
War around the Chosin Reservoir in December 1950, when the extremely
cold, damp climate combined with the rugged, mountainous terrain to
produce severe conditions for combined arms operations between the
Chinese and U.S. forces.
The previous month, U.S. ground forces had advanced to the Chosin
Reservoir in hot pursuit of a badly battered North Korean Army. The
Americans sought to close on the Yalu River, in the process destroying
what remained of enemy forces and reunifying Korea under the control
of the Republic of Korea (South Korea). Instead, they confronted the
Chinese Communist Forces' (CCF's) Twentieth Army, which having
slipped undetected into Korea, attempted to envelop and destroy the
advancing UN troops.
The critical terrain features that affected the outcome of this battle
were the roads linking the advanced UN positions with the supply
base at the port of Hungnam. For over half their length, these narrow,
unpaved roads ran over a high plateau and through tortuous passes.
Because UN forces depended on motor transportation to haul the bulk
of their supplies, the roads became crucial for the movement of tanks
and artillery pieces. Cutting the roads, which would prevent the movement
of American motor vehicles, was a primary Chinese goal and a
key to victory.
In later assessments of the battle, both sides felt that their equipment
and clothing were inappropriate for the bitter winter weather.
Concerning the latter, the Chinese wore quilted-cotton pants and long
shirts that usually hung over their pants. Underneath these clothes,
they wore light, summer-weight cotton shirts and pants (their summer
uniforms). On their feet, they wore tennis shoes and heavy cotton socks
that they often tied as leggings around their lower legs. The quilted
cotton overgarments were warm, although the cotton underclothing did
not really provide the warmth of normal layered clothing. Morever,
when wet, the cotton garments were very difficult to dry and lost most
of their insulation value. If they became soaked, the clothing froze
and so did the wearer. In addition, the thin tennis shoes offered little
protection from the cold, and the Chinese suffered thousands of cases
of frostbite and frozen feet. Some Chinese reports say whole companies
of men froze to death during the campaign.
The Americans' layered woolen clothing offered much better protection
against the cold, but Army and Marine equipment for the extremities
had a number of shortcomings. For example, the U.S. forces had
no satisfactory cold-weather boots. The leather boots the troops wore
did not keep out the cold or damp, while the waterproof boots caused
sweating, with the sweat then freezing inside the boots. When conditions
did not permit the regular changing of footwear-for instance,
after troops climbed hills or conducted extended firefights-U.S. forces
also suffered frostbite and frozen feet. While American gloves gave
considerable protection from the cold, soldiers still needed to remove
all or part of one of their gloves to fire their weapons. In these cases,
bare flesh froze to any metal weapon parts.
The United States deliberately kept sleeping bags in short supply,
as men sometimes froze to death in them. Other soldiers were killed
attempting to get out of their bags when surprised by night attacks.
During the day, the Marines used warming tents to alleviate the cold.
Many Marines felt these tents were vital in allowing them to continue
fighting in the bitter weather of Chosin.
Personal weapons wielded by the men of both armies usually functioned
despite the cold weather. With reduced lubrication, U.S. M-1
Garand rifles worked satisfactorily. On the other hand, most carbines
froze and became inoperable. Problems also existed with many crew
served weapons. A spring in the Browning automatic rifles sometimes
failed to work in extreme cold. Morever, machine guns, particularly
water-cooled ones, tended to freeze up, as the antifreeze added to their
water was only effective to 20 degrees below zero, while the temperatures
around Chosin fell to 30 and 40 degrees below zero. Sometimes,
machine guns could fire only in the single-shot mode. To keep their
weapons from freezing up, most men fired them hourly. Of more significance,
the baseplates for mortars often froze, then broke under recoil
pressures when fired. On an earthen surface, good mortarmen can fire
without baseplates; on ice or frozen ground, they cannot. Furthermore,
the Chinese reported that over half of their mortar rounds failed to
function properly due to the cold. Also, chilled Chinese fingers often
found it impossible to unscrew the wooden caps of their potato-masher grenades.
Most logistical support for the UN forces was airlifted. The airstrip
at Hagaru-ri, at the head of the Chosin Reservoir, was particularly
important for both bringing in supplies and evacuating 4,312 casualties
over half of which were cold-weather injuries. While cargo planes
loaded at warmer and better-equipped sites in Japan, they landed on a
short, frozen landing strip between high mountain peaks that was under
intermittent small-arms fire.
The weather also affected air support in several ways. For instance,
airfields near Wonson did not have heated hangars for the land-based
planes. Thus, mechanics worked on planes with bare hands, and contact
with cold metal was painful. The mechanical-bomb and rocket-loading
equipment often froze up, and all the munitions had to be loaded by
human muscle power. On U.S. aircraft carriers supporting the war, ice
often choked the decks and made refueling, loading, and above-deck
servicing difficult. Furthermore, icy decks made takeoffs and landings
hazardous. Snow flurries and low clouds also contributed to the difficulties
facing pilots flying air-support missions. Still, despite these complications,
air support proved a vital ingredient in U.S. operations at Chosin.
Signal equipment was another critical item for troops fighting in
Korea, but the cold put much of the equipment out of operation. Only
the tank radios functioned satisfactorily. Communications failures
contributed heavily to the destruction of Army forces east of the Chosin
Reservoir.
Medical support on the frigid battlefield was also difficult, as
plasma and sedatives froze. Medics warmed sedative bottles in their
mouths or against their bodies, but only a warming tent could thaw
plasma and other medical supplies. Even in the warming tents, water
froze when placed more than eight feet from the stoves. On the other
hand, wounds quickly froze, preventing excessive loss of blood. Emergency
rations also froze, and the troops had difficulty in thawing them
enough to make them edible. The troops ate partly frozen rations that
caused severe gastrointestinal problems that often resulted in uncontrollable diarrhea.
Despite the cold weather, the artillery at Chosin gave strong supporting
fires, but the numerous defilades in the mountainous terrain
reduced the guns' ability to strike many critical areas. Furthermore,
some types of ammunition failed to detonate in the extreme cold, particularly
illumination shells. Perhaps more telling was the effect the
weather had on propelling charges. The cold distorted the burn rates
of this ammunition and made it impossible to predict accurately the
fall of rounds. Throughout the battle, short rounds fell on friendly
forces. The cold so slowed the recoil mechanisms of the tubes that it
took up to two minutes for the guns to relay themselves. This made
firing concentrated barrages difficult. In addition, prime movers for the
artillery had to be started regularly, or they froze up and became unusable.
Tanks and trucks, if not run on a regular basis, froze up. Also,
the frozen ground around the Chosin Reservoir restricted the ability of
tanks to negotiate icy slopes and left them largely road bound. Indeed,
more tanks were lost to weather and terrain than to enemy action in
the Chosin campaign. In the restricted terrain and in subzero temperatures,
normal armor tactics sometimes proved disastrous for accompanying
infantry and support units. When engaged on the road, tanks
usually stopped to fire. This forced all the thin-skinned vehicles in the
column to stop, which made them very vulnerable to enemy small
arms fire. At one stage in the Chosin campaign, when a relief force,
Task Force (TF) Drysdale, attempted to fight its way to Hagaru-ri, it
was largely destroyed when the tanks in the column stopped to fire at
the Chinese. This made the light vehicles, which depended on mobility
for survival, easy targets for Chinese gunfire. Small-arms fire quickly
knocked out several trucks, blocking the road and cutting the convoy
into several segments, three of which were subsequently overrun.
Yet tanks, with their mobile artillery fire and protected machine
guns, formed a vital part of the defensive perimeter at Hagaru-ri. With
out this fire support and the tanks' ability to push aside most of the
Chinese roadblocks, none of TF Drysdale (in the above instance) would
have reached Hagaru-ri, where its firepower immensely strengthened
the defense of the garrison.
A major U.S. attack planned for 0800 on 27 November aimed
toward Mup'yong-ni, above the Chosin Reservoir, with the 7th Marines
and the 2d Battalion, 5th Marines, in the lead. Meanwhile, the 1st
Marines controlled key points along the road from Hamhung to the
reservoir. On the east side of the reservoir, the 1st Battalion, 32d Infantry,
commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Don C. Faith Jr., and the
31st Infantry, commanded by Colonel Allen D. MacLean, held firm
positions. After the onset of the U.S. attack, however, the CCF's
Twentieth and Twenty-Seventh Armies initiated their own massive
attacks (see map 27).
On 26-27 November, TF MacLean, along the east side of the reservoir,
established a perimeter at Pungnyuri inlet, about eight miles
north of the 1st Marines' command post at Haguru-ri. The task force's
infantry battalions were short of gloves, tire chains, and tarps for their
trucks and had only kitchen tents for cover. The Chinese drove them
from their forward positions north of the inlet on the second night of
fighting. In this battle, the battalion's 75-mm recoilless rifle destroyed
an enemy tank and self-propelled gun. In addition, the task force's
4.2-mm mortars wave fire support that broke up enemy assembly areas
and blunted penetrations. A Marine tactical air control party provided
air support for the task force and knocked out two Chinese self-propelled
guns and a tank. However, the artillery battalion south of the inlet
provided no fire support for the battalion north of the inlet. Moreover,
the task force's tanks were six miles to the rear with the rear command
post, completely out of touch with the forward elements.
Map 27.
TF MacLean's 2d Infantry Battalion set up a perimeter south of
the inlet and was joined by several batteries of an artillery battalion
with eight 105-mm tubes. A Chinese attack here on the first night of
the battle overran almost all the positions, and U.S. artillerymen fought
mostly as infantrymen during the battle. On the second night of fight
ing, three M-16 quad 50s and four M-19s with dual 40-mm, guns, plus
the artillery headquarters and headquarters battery, joined the fight in
the perimeter. This group had fought off an attack on its position about
a mile south of the inlet during the first night. On the second night,
the group lost an M-16 when its battery failed in the cold and the
Chinese overran and destroyed it. The task force's tanks, six miles
farther south, and the headquarters personnel with them were not
attacked on the first night.
In the following nights of fighting along the perimeter, U.S. Army
artillery and mortars furnished supporting fires, but the M-16s and
M-19s of the antiaircraft unit provided the bulk of the fire support for
the hard-pressed infantrymen. By the end of the hostilities at the inlet,
all the mortars had broken baseplates as a result of the cold. During
the short daylight hours, air cover kept the Chinese relatively inactive,
which allowed the task force to collect its dead and wounded and
reorganize for the next Chinese assaults.
The extreme cold constricted the capabilities of the task force. For
example, the slower recoil of the guns hindered the artillery's ability
to fire rapid barrages. In addition, illumination shells generally failed
to ignite. The batteries of the tracked antiaircraft vehicles also some
times failed to deliver enough power to rotate the turrets, and men
became casualties when they used ungloved hands to feed ammunition
and inadvertently touched metal. Medical problems were enormous, with
hundreds of wounded needing plasma, all of which had frozen. More
over, there were no warming tents, and some wounded men froze while
at the aid station. Most of the medical facilities of the units were not
at the battle perimeter, and the Chinese roadblock just north of the
headquarters-tank position prevented the medics from reaching the
forward elements of the task force.
For their part, the tanks moved out to clear the roadblock. However,
they had no supporting infantry. At the roadblock, the tanks encountered
a Chinese force armed with a captured American 3.5-mm bazooka
that knocked out the lead tank, which then blocked the road. Another
tank was lost when it slipped on the icy slopes while trying to pass
the knocked-out tank. The tankers found that, without infantry support,
they could not clear the roadblock with the supporting fire block, and
they fell back to their assembly area. A second attempt to open the
road the next day also failed, with the loss of two more tanks to the
treacherous, icy terrain. This last attack was supported by a makeshift
infantry team gathered from the personnel of the rear headquarters.
This uncoordinated mob could not manuever as a fighting unit and
contributed little to the tank assault. Before the task force attempted
to fight its way south, the tank unit retreated and joined the defenses
of Hagaru-ri, ending any chance of a full combined arms operation by
the badly chopped-up units. Had the scattered U.S. forces been able to
form a regimental combat team, they possibly could have fought their
way out.
On 1 December 1950, after losing Colonel MacLean to Chinese
gunfire, the units east of the reservoir consolidated into TF Faith and
began fighting their way back to Hagaru-ri. Because all the task force's
artillery pieces and mortars were frozen, they had to be abandoned.
For fire support during the retreat, the task force depended on close
air support and its antiaircraft guns. Yet largely because of the freezing
weather, only one of the antiaircraft vehicles could be started, an
M-19 with dual 40-mm guns. Supported by this tracked vehicle and air
cover, the unit moved some distance down the road, but the M-19 was
used mostly for hauling trucks past roadblocks, and it ran out of
ammunition before reaching the critical roadblock that the tank company
had unsuccessfully attacked two days earlier. Although infantry
men cleared the roadblock, the trucks in the convoy, without supporting
weapons of any kind, were later destroyed by the Chinese.
While TF Faith's experience serves as an example of the dangers
inherent in failures to coordinate combined arms, the movement of the
5th and 7th Marines from Yudam-ni to Hagaru-ri is an excellent
example of successful combined arms operations in cold weather. The
Marines emplaced artillery at both Yudam-ni and Hagaru-ri, fourteen
road miles apart. They also had an infantry company at the pass
between these two points, just within range of the supporting artillery
at Hagaru-ri. Furthermore, the Marines employed a number of tanks
in their defense of the base at Hagaru-ri, while a single tank with a
90-mm gun led the road column in the breakout from Yudam-ni. The
Marine artillery also displaced by batteries and stopped to set up firing
positions several times during the move to continue its support of the
infantry. In addition, the Marines had close air support and made
effective use of their organic mortars and recoilless rifles. Infantry units
attacking the Chinese along the hills flanking the road also remained
within supporting distance of their artillery. The Marines made night
attacks across the ridges in weather so bitter that two men died of
cold shock while advancing.
The lone Marine tank led the column of lighter vehicles down the
road to Hagaru-ri. As it came to roadblocks (there were thirty-seven
the first six miles between Yudam-ni and Hagaru-ri), it provided fire
support until the Marine engineers moved forward to clear the blocks.
When a roadblock was a blown-out bridge, the engineers either put in
a temporary replacement or built a bypass using bulldozers and other
equipment. The Marine infantry moving along the hillsides annihilated
the Chinese covering the road, and the convoy moved on. Wounded
men and drivers rode; all others walked. The Marines evacuated every
thing but their dead, whom they buried before departing. The artillery,
which remained in position until almost all the troops left, answered
calls for fire support from the troops on the ridgelines. Meanwhile,
close air support kept the Chinese relatively inactive during the day
time. By this time, the Marine columns began to encounter a number
of Chinese immobilized by the cold.
The company holding the summit above the critical pass between
Yudam-ni and Hagaru-ri was just within reach of the fire base at
Hagaru-ri, so as the column from Yudam-ni linked up with the force
holding the pass, it came within range of artillery fire support. The
head of the Marine column made it from Yudam-ni to Hagaru-ri in
just fifty-nine hours; the tail of the column took seventy-nine hours.
When the Marine column reached the top of the pass, its prime movers
ran out of fuel, and it lost ten of its eighteen heavy 155-mm artillery
pieces. The prime movers were diesel powered, and fuel could not be
moved forward to reach them.
Meanwhile, the fire base at Hagaru-ri held out against heavy
attacks. Combat engineers and service troops were pressed into service
and established a defensive perimeter. The best infantry units, with
preplanned mortar and artillery fires, defended a draw that offered the
best approach for the Chinese into Hagaru-ri. Service and engineer
troops held the key hills surrounding the town, and the tanks defended
the open flatlands leading to the reservoir and gave fire support to
the hill positions manned by the engineers. This defensive formation
succeeded in holding the perimeter until additional combat troops (TF
Drysdale) fought their way into Hagaru-ri. While the fighting raged,
the engineers continued working on an airstrip using floodlights, even
during the heaviest fighting. When completed, the airstrip allowed the
wounded from the 5th and 7th Marines to be flown out, along with
those TF Faith survivors who had worked their way back to Hagaru-ri
across the frozen reservoir after the Chinese had destroyed their truck convoy.
Overall, the Marine withdrawal to Hagaru-ri was a masterpiece in
combined arms operations undertaken in the most bitter weather. While
most of TF Faith became casualties, the Marines withdrew in good
condition and were ready to return to combat almost immediately. On
the other hand, the CCF's Twentieth Army found the combination of
Marine and Army combined arms operations and the frozen wastes of
North Korea more than it could handle. The Twentieth Army was not
fit for combat for nearly six months. Its total casualties can only be
guessed at, but some Chinese survivors reported nearly 100 percent
losses in their divisions. Weather inflicted most of these casualties.
Bibliography
Appleman, Roy Edgar. East of Chosin: Entrapment and Breakout in
Korea, 1950. College Station: Texas A&M; Press, 1987.
___. Escaping the Trap: The US Army X Corps in Northeast Korea,
1950. College Station: Texas A&M; Press, 1990.
Hammel, Eric M. Chosin: Heroic Ordeal of the Korean War. Novato,
CA: Presidio Press, 1990.
Hopkins, William B. One Bugle, No Drums: The Marines at Chosin
Reservoir. Chapel Hill, NC: Algonquin Books, 1986.
Leckie, Robert. The March to Glory. Cleveland, OH: World Publishing, 1960.
Marshall, S. L. A. "Commentary on Infantry Operations and Weapons
Usage in Korea, Winter of 1950-51." Chevy Chase, MD: Operations
Research Office, The Johns Hopkins University, 1953.
Spurr, Russell. Enter the Dragon: China's Undeclared War Against the
U.S. in Korea, 1950-51. New York: Newmarket Press, 1988.
Authors
Major Bruce Alsup graduated from Middle Tennessee State University
in 1976 and is currently pursuing an M.A. in history at the University
of Missouri. He is also a 1990 graduate of the U.S. Army
Command and General Staff College.
Dr. Robert F. Baumann has a Ph.D. in history from Yale University
and researched this article on location while in residence at Leningrad
University during the summer of 1991.
Dr. Gary J. Bjorge received a B.A. from the University of Minnesota.
After five years of service as an officer in the U.S. Navy, he
received his master's and doctorate degrees from the University of
Wisconsin-Madison. His area of specialization at the U.S. Army
Command and General Staff College is East Asian and Chinese military history.
Dr. Jerold E. Brown received his Ph.D. in military history from
Duke University in 1977. His published works include Where Eagles
Land: Planning and Development of U.S. Army Airfields, 1910-1941
and Voluntarism, Planning, and the State: The American Planning
Experience, 1914-1946.
Lieutenant Colonel Thomas E. Christianson earned a B.A. and an
M.A. in history from the University of Wisconsin. He served as an
assistant professor of European history at the U.S. Military Academy
from 1984 to 1987.
Major Stephen D. Coats earned a master's degree in American
history from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and is a graduate
of the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. He has served
with the 7th and 9th Infantry Divisions.
Major Robert E. Connor received an M.A. in history from North
eastern Illinois University. He is currently studying toward a Ph.D. in
English history at the University of Kansas. As an Infantry officer,
he has served in command and staff positions in the United States
and Germany.
Lieutenant Colonel John R. Finch (U.S. Army, Retired) holds an
M.A. in history from the University of Kansas and served twenty-two
years as an intelligence officer, participating in the Vietnam War's
Easter Offensive, Operation Just Cause in Panama, and the latter
stages of Operation Desert Storm in the Persian Gulf.
Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame (U.S. Army, Retired) holds an
M.M.A.S. from the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College
and an M.Ph. in history from the University of Kansas, where he is
currently a Ph.D. candidate in Russian history.
Dr. Christopher R. Gabel received his Ph.D. from the Ohio State
University in 1981. His publications include The U.S. Army GHQ
Maneuvers of 1941 and Seek, Strike, and Destroy: U.S. Army Tank
Destroyer Doctrine in World War II.
Dr. George W. Gawrych received a Ph.D. in Middle East history
from the University of Michigan. His publications include Key to the
Sinia: The 1956 and 1967 Battles for Abu Ageila and numerous articles
in U.S. and international journals.
Dr. Jack J. Gifford, a veteran of the Korean War, received a Ph.D.
from the University of California-Los Angeles, where he also served
as a lecturer. He was also a professor at Westminster College.
Dr. Thomas M. Huber earned his doctorate from the University of
Chicago and has taught at Stanford University. He is the author of
Japan's Battle of Okinawa, April-June 1945 and The Revolutionary
Origins of Modern Japan.
Lieutenant Colonel Matthew S. Klimow earned a B.S. from the U.S.
Military Academy, an M.A. from Webster University, and an M.M.A.S.
from the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. He is currently
writing on his experiences in Operation Desert Storm.
Major George E. Knapp, an infantryman and Vietnam War veteran,
received his bachelor's and master's degrees in history from Spring
Hill College, Mobile, Alabama, and the University of Missouri-Kansas
City, respectively. He conducted the interviews for Buffalo Soldiers at
Fort Leavenworth in the 1930s and Early 1940s.
Major(P) Neil V. Lamont has an M.S. in national security affairs
with a concentration in Soviet and East European area studies from
the Naval Postgraduate School. He is also a graduate of the U.S. Army
Russian Institute, the Defense Language Institute, and the U.S. Army
Command and General Staff College.
Dr. Samuel J. Lewis received his Ph.D. in modern European history
from the University of California-Santa Barbara in 1983. He is the
author of Forgotten Legions: German Army Infantry Policy, 1918-1941
and Jedburgh Team Operations in Support of the 12th Army Group,
August 1944.
Lieutenant Colonel James R. McLean earned a B.S. from the U.S.
Military Academy and a master's in history from the University of
North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He is a graduate of the U.S. Army
Command and General Staff College.
Major George J. Mordica II, an Armor officer, received a B.A. in
history from the University of Southern Mississippi and an M.A. in
international relations from Western Illinois University and is a graduate
of the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College.
Dr. Michael D. Pearlman received a B.A. from Wichita State University,
an M.A. from the University of Chicago, and a Ph.D. from
the University of Illinois. He is the author of To Make Democracy
Safe for America and has published articles on military issues in several
journals.
Lieutenant Colonel Robert D. Ramsey III holds a master's degree
in history and is a Ph.D. candidate at Rice University. He is currently
working on a study of the Meuse-Argonne campaign in World War I.
Major Gary D. Rhay, a Vietnam War veteran, received a B.A. in
political science from the University of Oregon and an M.M.A.S. from
the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. He has also taught
at the U.S. Military Academy.
Dr. William G. Robertson has a Ph.D. in history from the University
of Virginia and is the author of Back Door to Richmond: The Bermuda
Hundred Campaign, The Petersburg Campaign: The Battle of Old Men
and Young Boys, the Bull Run chapter in America's First Battles, and
Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950.
Lieutenant Colonel Edward P. Shanahan earned a B.A. in political
science from Eastern Kentucky University and an M.S. in geography
from Pennsylvania State University. He served as an assistant professor
of history at the U.S. Military Academy.
Major Terry L. Siems, an Armor officer, received an M.A. in history
from Pittsburg State University in 1982 and has served as a company
commander in Germany.
Dr. Roger J. Spiller, general editor, CGSC Press, and George C.
Marshall Professor of Military History, U.S. Army Command and
General Staff College, received a Ph.D. in history from Louisiana State
University. He is the editor of the three-volume work, Dictionary of
American Military Biography.
Dr. Lawrence A. Yates received his Ph.D. in history from the
University of Kansas. He has written Power Pack: U.S. Intervention
in the Dominican Republic and is currently writing the official histories
of Operation Just Cause and the role of Joint Task Force-Panama in
the Panama crisis.
"There has been a revival of interest in military history within the Army over the last two decades. Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939, a superb collection of essays prepared by the officer and civilian scholars who teach history at the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, demonstrates the high quality of that renaissance. This fascinating collection of historical vignettes shows the impact on war of principles such as decisiveness, flexibility, discipline, and surprise, as well as problems inherent in specific situations to include airborne operations, river crossings, fighting in cities, and harsh weather. For the professional soldier, this book offers a ready reference to almost any eventuality he might face in combat. For the reader of military history, these essays on famous and virtually unknown actions limn the panorama of recent warfare."
- Edward M. Coffman
University of Wisconsin-Madison
"What a great volume to inaugurate the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Press in three dozen carefully chosen and cogently written case studies ranging from World War II to the Gulf War and from Indochina to the Falklands. The authors address the multiple complexities of modern combined arms warfare. Collectively, these beautifully crafted essays illuminate all the important aspects and principles of war such as combat engineering, river crossings, morale, economy of force, and surprise that contemporary officers must understand. Although written especially for professional soldiers, academic military historians and their students will profit enormously from this broad ranging excursion into the myriad faces of warfare during the past fifty years."
Peter Maslowski
University of Nebraska-Lincoln
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