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THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

THE

Infantry Journal

READER

SELECTED AND EDITED BY

COLONEL JOSEPH I. GREENE

DOUBLEDAY, DORAN 8c. COMPANY, INC.
Garden City, New York
1944

PRXKTBD AT THE Country Ufi Pras, garden city, n. t., u. & A.

COMPLETB AND UNABRIDCBD^
MANUFACTURED UNDER WARTIME
CONDITIONS IN CONFORMITY WITH
AU GOVERNMENT REGULATIONS
CONTROUING THE USB OF FAFRM

1936, X937, 1938, X939, 1940, 194*1 *94». *943,

BY INFANTRY JOXHINAL, INC.

WASHINGTON, D. C.

Preface

Through the twenty years in which the Army, as someone has said,
lived on starvation rations more than a dozen professional military jour-
nals were regularly published. Seven were the unofficial magazines of
branch associations, like the Infantry Journal; the others were official.
The branch associations are simply groups of Army men, mainly officers,
of the Coast Artillery, Cavalry, Infantry, Quartermaster Corps, and
other arms and services. These groups were formed together, like so
many lawyers or doctors, for professional discussion and the publication
of journals and military books on a non-profit basis. Several of the as-
sociations are over fifty years old, and two have published a magazine
for that length of time.

The Infantry Association, the largest of the groups since its branch has
always been the largest, originated at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, in 1893,
but did not begin to get out the Infantry Journal till 1904, when Associa-
tion headquarters opened in Washington. The magazine has appeared
without interruption since that time, with several shifts between quarterly,
bimonthly, and monthly publication. For its first thirty years the Infantry
Journal was a serious technical and tactical magazine for Infantry read-
ers, though from the beginning the Association welcomed members and
subscribers from other Army branches. The circulation varied from the
two thousand charter members (including Major Generals Arthur Mac-
Arthur and Tasker H. Bliss, First Lieutenant Hugh A. Drum, and Second
Lieutenants George C. Marshall and Walter Krueger, and many others
who were later of high command) to a World War I high of nearly
thirteen thousand, then down to roughly a third that number again.

In 1934 the editorial handling of the magazine changed markedly
with the coming of a new editor and assistant editor. Lieutenant Colonel
(now Major General) E. F. Harding, the new editor, encouraged Army
men to write of their profession in a more lively style, just as other editors

vi PREFACE

of the country were then seeking manuscripts which presented all kinds
of abstruse sciences in a more popular way for the general reader. He
was right in so doing. For in the four years that General Harding ran
the Infantry Journal , assisted editorially by Lieutenant (now Colonel)
Charles T. Lanham, the number of readers climbed right back toward
the World War I high, and articles and editorials more often became the
center of discussion and argument, some of it hot, over present and
future ways of war. Comment and quotation also increased in magazines
and papers outside of the Army, when these remembered that the nation
had an Army and that it might be used again someday in war.

The editors who have followed more recently have stuck to the same
policy. There happens to be no commercial or other military magazine in
the country devoted to broad discussion of warfare for the general reader.
It was therefore natural that a reasonably readable military journal,
which covered many sides of war not covered in general magazines,
should have a fast increase in circulation with the approach and com-
ing of war. By the spring of 1943 there were over one himdred thousand
readers of the Infantry Journal, including officers and enlisted men in
every branch of the Army and many civilians. The magazine is read by
those who want to know more about war — ^how we can better destroy
our Axis enemies, and what a sizable part of the Army thinks concerning
methods and means of warfare.

There are two reasons for an Infantry Journal Reader. The first is to
help still further in some small measure to bring this country and its
Army closer together. They have been apart for a long time. There are
millions of civilians still, after eighteen months of war, who think of
the Army as a separate if vast activity which has its separate ways and
even its separate language. They do not see it as an utterly necessary
sphere of American life in which every citizen shares whether or not he
wears an Army uniform. There are, for that matter. Army men who
sometimes forget the singleness of the American nation and its Army, the
fact that the Army is of and for the nation.

A second reason for the book is to show the man of the new Army
something of the men who are his leaders. For many of those whose
ideas, gripes, researches, and stories are in this Reader are leaders in com-
bat today. From what they wrote you cannot picture the entire history of
the Army for forty years, but you can see into many of its more articulate
minds. You can find what an Army man thinks is worth sweating out an
article about, and what other Army men think is worth reading.

There may be a third sound reason for this Reader for all that it was
not considered in making the selections. Many of the articles written in
years of peace are forceful self-criticism. They do not merely criticize;
they inveigh. They hammer at the faults of the Army itself, and often,
though mainly by implication, at the neglectful nation behind it. To

PREFACE , vii

this extent this Reader is a warning against letting these conditions arise
again.

Nothing in the book is put there merely because its writer held high
rank or holds it now. A good many articles by officers now in high com-
mand were left out because they are no longer of interest except to the
military historian. One of our highest commanders argued in 1920 that
we should have fast tanks capable of making fifteen miles an hour.
Fifteen miles an hour was fast for a tank in 1920. All such material has
been omitted no matter who wrote it. It should comfort the country and
its Army to know, however, that in going through the files the editor
found no article by a man in high command today which evidenced a
closed mind or a rigid thought. And if any reader of the sections on “The
Soldier Looks Ahead” is astonished at the alertness he finds, he should
remember, too, that what is in this book was written in the main by men
of but one of a dozen arms and services. There were similar articles over
the peacetime years in the service joiumals of arms and services other
than the Infantry’s.

Those who wrote and write for the Infantry Journal are largely in-
fantrymen. But anybody who can put the common sense of war into
readable prose— or even verse — ^is welcomed as a contributor. If a writer
has something to say about war that will interest and help the soldier
reader, his stuff is accepted — ^and paid for at a decent rate. He may be-
long to any army. Articles by foreign military writers have appeared
regularly since the first issue of the magazine. Even articles by enemy
writers from enemy publications are published now in war as in the past,
if they seem to reflect the military thought of the enemy clearly. The
politics of an author makes no difference. Democrat, Republican; New
Deal, Old Deal; Right, Left, middle; so long as he has something to say
about fighting war that makes sense, his article is printed. Nor is a military
writer barred because he doesn’t belong to the Infantry. There have been
many articles in the Journal (there are a lot in this Reader) by writers
from every other branch of the Army. Two of the steadiest contributors
of recent years were of the Corps of Engineers and the Coast Artillery
Corps. The regular, the guardsman, the reservist, all have written for the
magazine. Its contributors also cover every step there is in Army promo-
tion, from private to general. Any writer not in the Army may write for
the magazine if he writes intelligently about any side of war. One civilian
writer, Fletcher Pratt, has been a contributor through the better part of
two decades.

Since the Infantry Journal is the magazine of a large association of
individuals, it is privately owned (though non-profit) and not an official
organ. The editor^s statement in a 1937 issue covers this point:

The masthead carries an emphatic statement to the effect that the opinions
expressed in our columns do not carry the stamp of official approvaL

viii

PREFACE

But in spite of all this, eyebrows are sometimes raised over articles that scoff
at time-honored practices or criticize prevailing doctrine and methods. The
eyebrow raisers seem to have an idea that such articles are subversive to dis-
cipline and damaging to the prestige of the Army. This idea has its root in the
“official-publication” misconception that credits the Infantry Journal with an
authority it does not possess.

Those who recognize the Journal for what it is are not disturbed by articles
that inveigh against the established order. They applaud or condemn, depend-
ing on their views as to the merits of the cause and the soundness of the argu-
ment. The dissenters may write impertinently friendly letters denouncing the
offending contribution or they may submit a spirited reply. But they don’t sug-
gest that the War Department exercise its power to prevent the publication of
critical articles on the grounds that they undermine the foundations of the
Republic. They concede to authors the right to say what they think and to the
editor the privilege of publishing any literate comment on the military scene
that is impersonal, restrained, and duly mindful of the proprieties.

The primary mission of the Infantry Journal, as we conceive it, is to en-
courage thought on military matters by broadcasting the most stimulating dis-
cussions of timely subjects that we can lay our hands on. It is not to prescribe
how things shall be done. That is the province of regulations. The Journal has
neither the mandate nor the desire to cultivate the fenced fields of prescribed
and approved instruction. It serves best by prospecting on the frontier. It hopes
to lead its followers to gold in the hills. The contributors tell where it is to be
foimd, and more often than not it is there. But the editors do not guarantee that
the alleged pay dirt won’t turn out to be iron pyrites. Nor do we grieve over-
much if some of it does. For what the searcher after knowledge finds on any
single intellectual expedition is of small consequence; the important thing is to
get him out on the trail.

In brief, then, the Journal is a forum open to those who champion the things
that ain’t, as well as to those who champion the things that are. That the views
set forth in a manuscript do not qualify as “accepted” is no barrier to publica-
tion. Original thought is here valued more highly than uncritical acceptance of
military dogma rooted in the past. Since what we print goes out to subscribers
without the blessing of the War Department, an article in the Journal can shape
thought and influence action only by its inherent merit. The viewers-with-alarm
need not fear that it will do more. The forward-looking would not have it
do less.

Throughout the whole life of the magazine, however, it has been under
a general oflScial supervision. Up to 1920 the editors were assigned to
duty in one part or another of the War Department and did their
editorial work in addition to other duties. For five years during the
earliest days the president of the Infantry Association was Major General
John C. Bates, who held the highest place in the Army, the office corre-
sponding to Chief of Staff, which General George C. Marshall now holds.
In 1920 the office of Chief of Infantry was established and the editor of
the Journal was naturally placed under his supervision. In 1942, when

PREFACE

the Army was reorganized and the Chief of Infantr/s office abolished, the
four ground-combat journals, including that of the Infantry, came under
the supervision of the Commanding General, Army Ground Forces, Lieu-
tenant General Lesley J. McNair, with Major General Richard C. Moore
of General McNair’s staff in direct supervision of the editors.

The Infantry Journal continues in war to operate with similar editorial
freedom to that of the past. There are certain natural limitations in war
which do not apply in peace, and the military mission of the magazine
in war is to do everything possible and appropriate in support of the war
effort. But still the magazine is, as the masthead has declared for years,
“not the mouthpiece of the War Department.” It is the Infantry’s un-
official “magazine for fighting men.”

The scope of the articles the magazine has published in thirty-nine
years has been broad. As a recent editor wrote :

The Infantry Journal scope is the Infantry scope. For a long time back good
infantrymen have habitually thought in terms of the whole damned Army as
the team of fighters it takes to win a war. [The scope of the magazine] covers
the whole vast scope of warfare itself ... all of war and everything connected
with war, including science, world politics, and the social and even the religious
aspects of life that make the fighting flier, sailor, soldier what he is.

This was a statement of editorial policy, not a description of the ac-
ceptable articles that come to the editors and get printed. But the con-
tents of this Reader itself will best show the variety of the interests of the
fighting ground soldier.

Not much of the writing you will find in this Reader is of a marked
literary quality. But you will often find a directness, a force, and an
effective use of the vernacular which you will not find in many profes-
sional journals. Especially during the last decade the editors have not
sought for learned articles in the military jargon. They have believed
that most things about war could be plainly said and that the soldier
preferred them said that way. It is necessary to use military terms in
military writing. But not the artificial phraseology of the kind that gen-
erally hinders the broad understanding of every profession including the
military.

In a few respects this Reader is not precisely representative of the
Infantry Journal as a whole. For one, the back files contain hundreds of
articles on technical developments which are old stuff now, though they
often led in the days of peace to the adoption of new weapons and new
methods. For another, the Reader does not indicate the emphasis the
magazine puts on books. It contains many thousand words each month
on books diat deal with or touch upon war. But book reviews are seldom
good anthology material. The Infantry Journal is in a considerable degree
a center for the publication and distribution of military books of all kinds

PREFACE

— official manuals, its own books, and those of other publishers which its
editors think are a help to the fighting soldier. (Many of the selections in
this Reader have also appeared in books.) One other omission is that of
all long articles on specific campaigns. Some of the best things the maga-
zine has printed are complete studies of past war which do not lend
themselves to selection of separate chapters or passages.

But in brief this Reader contains what the present editors think are
the most interesting things from the Infantry Journal for readers in
general. If the job had been done for the experienced soldier alone, there
would probably have been a somewhat different selection.

The book could not have been assembled in a time of heavy wartime
pressure without the able help of the associate editors of the magazine:
Lieutenant Colonel John R. Ulmer, Captain H. A. DeWeerd, Corporal
John B. Spore, and Miss Catherine Redmond. In particular, thanks
should be expressed to Mr. N. J. Anthony, assistant to the editor, whose
remarkable memory of past editorial matters made a far more efficient
preparation possible. Mr. Anthony, assisted by Miss Marilynn Allen,
carried out the extensive secretarial work, and Captain Mark A. Rollins,
assistant to the editor, helped with suggestions as to form and contents.
Since the preparation of the book was a task in which the staff of the mag-
azine shared, all royalties are to go to the Infantry Journal itself.

The fullest thanks are due to the scores of Infantry Journal contributors
who wrote the words in this book, and to the past editors who judged
them worth reading by men whose profession was war. Three of those
editors are generals in the Army today: Major Generals Paul C. Mueller
and E. F. Harding, and Brigadier General T. J. Camp. General George
C. Marshall, chief of staff, was once assistant editor. Many others who
were at one time on the Board of Directors of the magazine and the
Executive Council of the Infantry Association, or who contributed articles
to the magazine, are likewise serving in high command and staff posi-
tions. Among them are Generals Eisenhower, Fredendall, Stilwell, Krue-
ger, Drum, and Chennault. There is a complete list of past Infantry
Journal editors in the Appendix.

Not all able American soldiers, by any means, have written about their
profession. The soldier’s writing is writing done when his official tasks
are over for the day or the week. The writing of articles is such hard
work for many otherwise able military men that they do not attempt it.
But a surprising number have done so, thus to give special aid to their
Army and country beyond their regular military duties.

The free presentation of ideas is as necessary to military development
as it is to the social growth of a nation and of the world. There yet ap-
pears to be no prospect of a lasting, a possibly permanent, civilization
without military strength to preserve it. If we finally learn as a people to
accept and cherish military strength against conquest, and to think of

PREFACE

armed services as vital and integral agencies necessary to the common
welfare, there is some hope. The thought of the nation now draws closer
to the thought of its soldiers. But the soldier’s duties, the soldier’s work,
done for all, need appreciation, understanding, and inspection by all.
And one way of gaining these ends is through reading the soldier’s own
self-criticism and discussion of his own work. For a beginning, there is
plenty of it in this Reader.

Colonel Joseph I. Greene
Editor, the Infantry Journal

Washington

March

Contents

PAOB

Preface v

Soldier By Captain C. T. Lanham i

I THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

The American Professional Soldier. . .By Major John H. Burns 2

Open Minds for Open War

Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel E. F, Harding 9

Auto Infantry Editorial by Major Fred R, Brown ii

All God’s Chillun Got Wings

By Lieutenant Colonel E, D, Cooke 1 1

The New Face of War By Major Thomas R, Phillips 14

Application of Science to War By Captain Joseph H, Grant 23

ELeepino Two Jumps Ahead By Lieutenant Joseph /. Greene 24

Army Publicity and the Professional Service Journals

By General C, P, Summerall 26

If This Be Treason By Lieutenant Colonel Rowan P. Lemly 28

Defending Our Last Frontier

By Major General William C. Rivers 29

Ride a Cockhorse By Major E, D. Cooke 30

^Tank Divisions By Major C. C. Benson 36

The Use of Inherent Mobility By Major William C. Lee 39

xiii

xiv

CONTENTS

Only Securtty Gan Guarantee Speed

By Captain Joseph /. Greene

Bnx Busker Goes to College By Major E. D. Cooke

The Dead Hand By Major John H. Burns

The Invisible Man By Lieutenant C. T. Lanham

Gases in Warfare By Colonel John Q. Tilson

The Literal Fog of War By G. F.

Ne’er a Cloud Hangs o’er the Field of Battle

By Captain Mustard

The Case for Anti-Tank By Captain X

Tank Torpedoes By Major E. D. Cooke

The Misuse of Air Power By Dallas D. Irvine

The Gun Plane By Captain X

Infantry Caterpillar Club By Captain Wendell G. Johnson

Defense against Aerial Attack By Colonel Louis Jackson

Interchange of Peacetime Duties

By Major General William C. Rivers

The Infantry Mind Editorial by Captain X

Air Forces Editorial by Major John R. M. Taylor

II BETTER WAYS OF WAR

The Battle-Wise Fighting Soldier Editorial

Counsel for the Defense

By Lieutenant Colonel Joseph W. StilweU

Training for the Next War By Corporal Leon P. Denis

Battle Practice By Sergeant Terry Bull

Training Areas Editorial by Major Robert C. Cotton

The Battle of the Flags

By Major Whitenred and Captain Blackanblue

Bombardment and Pursuit Aviation

By Major Claire L. Chennault

PAGE

5 *

85
88

94
96

99
104
108
1 14

119

CONTENTS

Mollycodduno the Army By George T. Fry 122

How TO Read the Ground By Captain James IV , Bellah 123

Tactics Isn’t Common Sense By Impertinax 131

Don’t Overdo Something

Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel E. F. Harding 133

Infiltration By Captains E. E. Hagler and A. R. Walk 134

Co-Ordination of the Attack . .By Major General J. F. C. Fuller 135

Machine Guns By Captain Alexander M. Patch 140

Armored Infantry Combat Teams By Colonel T. J. Camp 141

Toward an Ideal By Invictus 141

A Bas Eligibility! By Major General Johnson Hagood 145

The Legion of the Lost By Invictus 148

The Government of the Army

Editorial by Captain George A, Lynch 157

Over, Short, & Damaged By G. V. 157

Ah’s Happy By Captain Tracklink 159

Shirts, Woolen By Captain Tenderhide 160

When Winter Comes By Captain Trenchcoat 162

Chevrons for Inspiration By Lieutenant Chevron 163

“Dinner,” Not “Lunch” By Mess Officer 164

Call It Hash By Hungry 165

Am Support in Today’s War By Colonel Allison /. Barnett 166

NLD By Staff Sergeant J. R. Ulmer 170

War Is the Main Game Anonymous 175

Teaching Horse Sense by Mail By Captain E. G. Piper 181

War in Plain Language By G. F. 185

Animadversions Anent Anfractuose and Obfuscatory
Locutions By Captain Russell Skinner 1 97

“Auxiliary” and “Secondary” Arms

Editorial by Captain George A. Lynch 199

CONTENTS

Military English By Captain X

Abbr By B.F.Z).

Polysyllabification By Tongue-Tied

Militarist or Pacifist? By Lieutenant Colonel John W. Lang

Without Benefit of Stencils By Major Arnold W, Shutter

Mumblers^ Droners^ and Singsong Readers By *9.

Commanding Ground By G. V.

Shots, Big and Little By William Tell

New Tricks — By Order By Temporarily Abreast

Ancient Symbols of Campaign By Captain Tentage

Who Fires Ammunition — ^the Rifle or the Man? By S.A.R.

Blaze of Glory By Captain Brass

Don’t Tinker with the Governor Anonymous

At Least a Teck By Captain I. W. Turner

Teamwork Editorial by Major Merch B, Stewart

PiDDLERS Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel E. F, Harding

All the Teams Make One Team Editorial

III LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

Think It Over By Lieutenant Colonel L. M. Guyer

*‘This Platoon Will . . By Major James W. Bellah

Practical Peacetime Leadership By Major O. W. Griswold

Leadership By Major C, A. Bach

Second Lieutenants and Military Courtesy. .By Stone Borealis

“Most Military Sir, Salutation” By Captain Deference

Shavetails and Courtesy By Captain Stone Cold

Self-Respect By Vice-Admiral William S. Sims

The New Leadership. .By Brigadier General Douglas Mac Arthur
All God’s Chillun Ain’t Got Wings. ...... .By Arcades Ambo

PAOB

199

200

201

202

203

204

206

207

208

210

211

212

213

215

217

218

219

222

227

232

238

239

241

242

243
243

CONTENTS

xvii

Success in War By Major George S. Patton, Jr.

Panic By Mercutio

Fear By Professor William Ernest Hocking

Fear: Ally or Traitor

By a Subcommittee of the National Research Council

Salutes By Private Heelclicker

A Soldier That’s Fit for a Soldier Anonymous

Panic By Captain C. T. Lanham

Leader and Led By Major Thomas R. Phillips

Canned Commanders By Mercutio

Leaders Win Where Commanders Lose

By Major Richard M. Sandusky

Fighters Must Fight By Staff Sergeant Robert W. Gordon

Initiative By Major Richard G. Tindall

Rough on the Majors

Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel E. F. Harding

“ . . . and Assume Command Thereof” "Ry Stone Borealis

Slow — Men Working

Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel E. F. Harding

Smartness and Discipline By G. V.

Tramp, Tramp, Tramp By G. V.

Language of the Leader By Colonel E. L. Munson, Jr.

Leadership . . By a Subcommittee of the National Research Council

An All-Time Command Team

By Lieutenant Colonel George L. Simpson

Point By Lieutenant C. T. Lanham

IV LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

Profiting by War Experiences By Major George C. Marshall

What About Military History? By Major John H. Burns

Why Not Soon ? By Historicus

PAGE

25S

264

265

266

272

273

274
289

306

307

3 H

316

318

319

320
322

324

325
329

338

341

342
346

360

xviii

CONTENTS

PAGE

Mongol Methods of War By Harold Lamh 361

War Maxims of General Loutao

Translated by Lieutenant Walter Krueger 380

Two Views of War. .By Brigadier General John McAuley Palmer 381

Smoke at Gettysburg By Captain Victor A. Coulter 384

A Roman FSR By Colonel Oliver Lyman Spaulding 386

Jungle Warfare By Colonel Cary L Crockett 393

Talk of the Troops By Lieutenant Colonel Elbridge Colby 401

Singlehanded By Lieutenant Colonel Dan D, Howe 41 1

All-Out Map Error By Major Thomas E. Stone 418

Tactics and Training. . .Editorial by Lieutenant George A. Lynch 421

Mr. Justice Holmes: Soldier-Philosopher

By George R. Farnum 422

Tales of the Old Army. . . .By Lieutenant Colonel E, F. Harding 426

The Army’s Task Editorial by Major Merch B, Stewart 428

Indian Fighting Editorial 429

V GENERALS

Sword of the Border By Fletcher Pratt 432

Academic Soldier: Gamelin By Captain H, A, DeWeerd 444

VI OTHER ARMIES

German Methods Editorial by Major John R. M. Taylor 460

Armored Forces By Major General Heinz Guderian 460

Kampfwagenkrieg: A Review By Major Harvey H. Smith 482

Audi Alteram Partem By Mercutio 488

Guerrilla Warfare By Bert {Tank) Levy 489

Six Months with the Jap Infantry

By Lieutenant Harold Doud 495

The Tactical Problem — ^And a New Solution

By Captain B. H. Liddell Hart 504

CONTENTS

xix

Twenty Million Reds

By Lieutenant Colonel Charles A. Willoughby

A Typical Fight in Open Warfare. .By Captain Adolf von Schell

Some Impressions of the United States Army

By Colonel Hisao Watari

My American Impressions By Captain Takashi Aoki

VII TODAY’S WAR

The War for the World Editorial

How THE Germans Took Fort Eben Emael

By Lieutenant Colonel Paul W. Thompson

We Know Our Foes Editorial

Defense Behind the Seine By Lieutenant Robert M. Gerard

The Fight at Pearl Harbor By Blake Clark

Lessons of Bataan By Colonel Milton A. Hill

No Time for a Dry Run By Major Leonard H. Nason

From an Old^Soldier to the New By Gerald W, Johnson

Ground Troops’ AA Methods By Major Carl T. Schmidt

Conquest by Air By Major Paul W. Thompson

They Say By Colonel R, Ernest Dupuy

Gas on a Hostile Shore By Colonel Alden H, Waitt

The Invisible Weapon By Captain John V. Grombach

How Many Does It Take? Editorial

VIII THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2
Three Hundred Years of War

By Professor Robert M, Johnston

It Will Take Something More Editorial

Our Greatest Need Editorial by Captain H. C, Clark

After the War Editorial by Major John R. M, Taylor

The American “Miluon Army” By Dr. Leo Brenner

PAGE

509

519

525

528

533

535

540

542

559

565

587

589

59 *

599

617

622

629

638

641

643

646

647

CONTENTS

PAGE

Communal Dispersion By Robert Strausz-Hupi 647

A Soldier Looks at Military Government

By Colonel Elbridge Colby 654

The Day of the Walrus . . . Editorial by Major George H. Shelton 663

Equipment on Its Last Legs

Editorial by Major Paul J. Mueller 668

Go TO It. . . .Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel William H, Waldron 669

Preparedness in the United States

Editorial by Major John R. M, Taylor 671

Preparedness By Captain Walter Krueger 671

The Growth of War By Professor Robert M, Johnston 672

In the Middle of the Fight Editorial 673

IX APPENDIX

The Editors, the Infantry Journal, 1904-40 676

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

SOLDIERS

The stars swing down the western steep.

And soon the east will burn with day.

And we shall struggle up from sleep
And sling our packs and march away.

In this brief hour before the dawn
Has struck our bivouac with flame
I think of men whose brows have borne
The iron wreath of deadly fame.

I see the fatal phalanx creep.

Like death, across the world and back.

With eyes that only strive to keep
Bucephalus^ immortal track.

I see the legion wheel through Gaul,

The sword and flame on hearth and home.

And all the men who had to fall
That Caesar might be first in Rome.

I see the horde of Genghis Khan
Spread outward like the dawn of day
To trample golden Khorassan
And thunder over fair Cathay.

I see the grizzled grenadier.

The dark dragoon, the gay hussar.

Whose shoulders bore for many a year
Their little emperor^ s blazing star.

I see these things, still am I slave
When banners flaunt and bugles blow.

Content to fill a soldier^ s grave
For reasons I shall never know.

C. T. Lanham^ Captain (now Colonel) , Infantry
'R eprinted by courtesy of Harper^s and the author.

The Soldier Looks Ahead — 7

The factt that a good many soldiers looked ahead during the peacetime
years is perhaps evidenced by this Reader as a whole. The Army man, as
a rule following at least one service journal and often two or three, knew
how much discussion there was about new and improved nlethods and
weapons of war. He might himself think that warfare should be revolu-
tionized, or he might think the old way was the best. But there was
plenty written in the 1920s and ’30s that would make most Army men
reach one conclusion or the other.

In fact, as this first section of the Reader appears to indicate strongly,
there were many voices raised demanding change and the voices were
sometimes sharp in their demands, not merely as the new World War
began but for years before it.

Why there was not more action accomplished to achieve the points
made individually in such magazines as the Infantry Journal is some-
thing that will deserve the deepest study by those who determine the
future course of our armed services after this war is over. You can’t go
through the first section of this Reader without finding that many alert
minds were represented in just one of the several service journals. But
the need for modernization and change suggested and argued by these
men was usually slow in coming. For example, in an Infantry Journal
article entitled “Traditionalism and Military Defeat” (March 1941) by
Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel) Thomas R. Phillips, the author search-
ingly points out this lag. In speaking of motorization among other things
he says:

In the use of motors for the transportation of troops, one would think that the
United States, which can manufacture trucks faster than it can draft men, would
have developed the tactics and equipped its Army so as to make the greatest pos-
sible use of this exceptional military asset. But not so. It was not until 1939 that

2 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

a divisional organization was adopted which discarded horses and mules for haul-
ing supplies in wagons and dragging machine-gun carts and substituted motors
for them. With this reorganization it became possible to put a whole division in
motors and move it rapidly. But remember, it was twenty years after 1918 when
that reorganization was made.

This particular military author thought the entire trouble lay in the
ingrained traditionalism of the Army as a whole, though he did not
clearly distinguish between the Army as an institution and its separate
memters, scores of whom were thinking in such terms as those expressed
in the articles in this Reader. Moreover, he forgot the fact that the people
of our country had a large measure of responsibility for the state of their
Army and paid little attention to it. This isn’t the place to do more
than say how important an exhaustive study of this old peacetime trouble
is. For such a study would go far beyond the Army itself and into the
relationship between the people of the United States, Congress, the War
Department civilian heads, and the Army itself. All this section of the
Reader does is to show how forcefully and readably individual Army
men wrote about things they thought were wrong. And what they wrote
was read and discussed by many thousands of others in uniform.

It was also available for editorial comment and academic study to the
whole coimtry. But only one in a thousand or so was interested.

THE AMERICAN PROFESSIONAL SOLDIER
By Major John H. Burns
{1940)

Some of the most reflective thinking which our Army produced in the
twenties and thirties came from the mind of Major John H. Bums. Major
Bums was editor of the Infantry Journal for two years imtil his death in
June 1940. He was a graduate of the Command and General Staff School
and the Army War College and served much with troops as well as in staff
capacities.

Major Bums believed that psychology and anthropology held some of
the principal answers to the problems of war. He was a student of both. In
the many articles and editorials he wrote over a period of years he con-
tinually emphasized the main thought that it is men who make up an
army. Man, he therefore held, was a chief study for the high command.
He favored a broad knowledge among Army men of our country and the
types of its men in its different regions, and how they thought and worked,
the better that Army leaders might know in advance of war how best to
teach them to fight.

It was natural also that Major Bums’s stress upon man and individual

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

and mass psychology would lead him to reflect and write about leader-
ship. In his Psychology and Leadership, which was used as a text at the
Command and General Staff School for a number of years, his principal
ideas are gathered. But in “The American Professional Soldier” he gave
the Army his strongest statement on the future of our military men.

Let us first go back a year ago. The shadow of war lay over the world.
Pacificism had failed; weakness was an invitation to partition; treaties
were being cynically disregarded, and arbitration had become a mockery.
The stronger, the ruthless nation had begun to dispense justice for its
own benefit. Already only military power could guarantee to a nation
the chance for existence and eventual survival. People of all nations were
beginning to look anxiously aroimd and to plan for their future safety;
we, perhaps, not yet so much as those nations which lay close within the
darkest part of the shadow. Hurriedly, nervously, they checked over their
defenses — guns, tanks, planes, ships, factories, and masses of men. At
that critical time in our own nation few of our citizens were noticing
the men who would direct the energies of this vast nation in war — ^the
professional soldiers. They were, for the most part, unknown and
unimportant.

The intelligentsia — ^the jugglers of modem ideologies — ^looked down
their noses at the Army. They forgot that the people who make a war
may be silly, but that the people who wage it cannot afford to be. True,
an occasional modem thinker might intellectually find a reason for an
army if he could bring himself to think clearly about it. But in most of
their minds there was clear animosity — an animosity based not on reason
but on emotions aroused by the symbol of the one thing that human
thought appears unable to solve. That one thing is war. And war, to the
intellectual, was too plainly indicative of the primitive, pimy state of
oiu* vaunted human intellect.

So these workers in words, ideas, and thoughts, the articulate part
of the American folk, were mainly alike in their aversion — ^to use a mild
term — ^to the Army. Strange, wasn’t it, how this heterogeneous list of
writers, speakers, idealists, scientists, religionists, philosophers, pseudo-
philosophers — ^practically all the vocal parts of our population — ^had one
powerful emotion in common? They disliked the professional soldier.
One could also add the revolutionary communist to this group, so that
often we had the spectacle of the atheist and the man of God sharing
the same bed. A quaint conceit — ^the red nightcap of liberty on the same
pillow with the churchly black one.

All of these people shuddered over the horrors of war, and rightly so.
For who does not? But often the basis for their shuddering was the
self-conscious feeling that they themselves were not capable of standing
up in battle — ^unless it be waged with words. Consequently many of them
acquired a sense of inferiority which grew distortedly and caused them to

4 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

vent their spleen on the only symbol of war that confronted them — ^the
professional soldier. So it was often true that back of the intellectual
opposition to the military lay, not cold reason, but hot emotion.

Not that all this ever bothered the soldier. The soldier has yet to be
heard of who, because of this, ever added a stroke to his golf score. But
the soldier could nevertheless see the danger in certain of the modern
ideologies, certain of the social processes that would not produce soldier
material. He yearned for the type of man that went into the Wilderness
and into the Argonne. But he had long since begun to fear that he would
not get them. For to the modem educator especially — a, sluggish thinker
for the most part — the acquisition of ideas was paramount, the acquisi-
tion of idesds secondary, and the physical defense of either abhorrent.
Thus the products of our educational timberline might perhaps be only
inferior soldier material, and, by the same token, inferior human beings.

But the soldier does not make wars. He merely takes the war handed
to him by the people, and tries his level best to finish it in accordance
with the wishes of the very people who began it. The picture of the pro-
fessional soldier which for years has been so assiduously projected by
the portrait of a thirsty, power-drunk individual, only too eager to engage
in any war just for the fun of it, is simply silly. Indeed, many wars would
have been prevented if the counsel of the professional soldier had been
taken. And many future wars may likewise be prevented.

So the professional soldier gets along reasonably well and pays little
attention to the attitude of any particular class. He himself knows that his
government — ^any government, for that matter — ^is upheld by bayonets.
He may not know how to model a statue or write a sonnet, or even turn
a neat paragraph of prose, but he does know how to handle the bayonet-
men. Which is important.

Little enough study is given to the professional soldier and his cohorts
by the busy research worker who investigates almost everything else under
the sun. The military has been called “the next to oldest profession.” But
fifty weighty tomes are written by sociologists and other students about
“the oldest profession” to one book about the military. Yet the sociologist
who neglects the significance of military force and looks on an army as a
glorified police force — ^negligible in sociological matters — ^is missing a
big point. He fails to observe fully modem events and fails to interpret
them fully.

At almost any time in the past one could envisage wars, then in em-
bryo, that every sensible military man would hate to see bom. But those
wars were bom, never fear, for people make wars — not soldiers. The
soldier only fights them.

The professional soldier does not start a war under any circumstances
tinless he is sure of the outcome. He is a practical man who regards war
fundamentally as a business and not as a game. There is little romance

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

in it for him. And he never — ^no, never — gives his opponent an even break
if he can help it. The people who make the war may want to do that
and in our country generally have. It is hard going to have to wage such
a war. One hopes it will not happen again.

It could well have been asked up to about a year ago why the Army
existed when so many classes were either actively or passively hostile to
it. But in a democracy there is always a certain hardheadedness which the
illuminati often dub ignorance and which resists all attempts to inculcate
the belief that the millennium is just around the comer. Even though
democracies are usually imgrateful to their leaders, particularly the mili-
tary ones, still they know in the back of their collective heads that they
need them. Furthermore, as the past year has shown, it is always astonish-
ing in the end how little weight the writers and speakers carry when
they go against the deep swift current of public opinion.

Of all people in the modem industrial system, the professional soldier
has more insight into the minds of men than any other class. He is the
best practical psychologist extant. He does not regard men as a con-
glomeration of reflexes and conditioned responses, as the psychologists
appear to do. He knows him for what he is, an integrated personality,
with great capacity for self-sacrifice and an irritating habit of doing
thoughtless, roistering things at an inopportune time. He sees man in the
round and knows him in the raw and doesn’t think he is such a bad
product after all. To the professional soldier, man is not damned by
original sin; nor is he, as our “uplifters” would have us believe, the victim
of circumstance.

Nobody in our modem civilization thinks of men as the professional
soldier does. To all others men are producers, consumers, clients, sales
prospects, cases, subscribers, parishioners, or what not. Seldom, if ever,
does any person deal with more than one facet of the perplexing phe-
nomenon called man. But the professional soldier deals with all sides
of man. He feeds, clothes, doctors, works, amuses, shelters, disciplines;
arouses self-respect, faith, loyalty, patriotism; teaches self-reliance, cour-
age, sex, and other subjects neglected by the schools. There is more to
the job than just teaching the art of war. The soldier therefore knows
men individually or in the mass as no other group in modem life does.
He can do more with men.

And this last by itself is something worth close study. Note, for instance,
that your industrialists cannot get a man to work overtime fifteen minutes
without giving double pay, whereas the professional soldier in peacetime
can work him twenty-four or forty-eight hours at a stretch with no more
reward offered than a good meal, a good sleep, a word of commendation.
And in war he can lead men into a sleet of deadly lead in order to gain
an objective. Men offer their lives to the professional soldier for nothing
when they won’t give their employer fifteen minutes. These are the

6 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

stark facts. A strange commentary on our so-called scientific civilization.

The writer or student who dismisses all this by saying that it is only
iron discipline — ^fear of the commander — ^which drives a soldier forward
is only proving how little he actually knows of men and particularly of
the soldier. Furthermore — ^and this should strike home to the gentlemen
who are running our schools — ^the soldier calls on his men to sacrifice
themselves, to offer their lives for the good of the whole, and he gets his
request. On the other hand the schoolmaster could not persuade his
pup^ in general to sacrifice anything important for the good of anyone.
Yet the schools have over ten years to produce their effect, the Army
only a few short months on the average. Crude as the professional soldier
may seem to most intellectuals, he still has something which puts over
to those he leads a great moral lesson in a short time. He accomplishes
something that almost no one else in our modem civilization can accom-
plish or is accomplishing.

Just what sort of fellow is the American professional soldier? He is
generally the product of a middle-class home, seldom of a wealthy home.
Indeed, many a laborer or mechanic or farmer now has a son wearing
the shoulder straps of an officer. Men have often practically lifted them-
selves by their bootstraps from lowly jobs to a commission, and often
these last, when placed in competition with graduates of West Point,
Harvard, Columbia, Yale, or Princeton, come out on top.

The accusation is often leveled at the professional soldier that he is
narrow, reactionary, with little vision and no imagination — ^in short,
trustworthy but doltish. This will bear a little investigation. For the most
part Army officers are graduates of some good college or university. But
that is only the beginning of their studies. They must do much post-
graduate work in the Army schools. It is not unusual for an Army officer
to put in six years of study during twenty or twenty-five years of service
more or less, in such schools as the Infantry School, the Artillery Schools,
the Air Corps Tactical School, the Command and General Staff School,
and the Army War College. You will seldom find an officer on the War
Department General Staff who has not had from three to six years, or
even more, of postgraduate study to fit him for his job. In civil life all
of these officers would have earned through such study the magic letters
Ph.D. — ^which would automatically entitle them to admittance into the
inner circle of the intelligentsia and to respectful attention whenever
they gave out an opinion.

It is doubtful if any professional group is so rigorously trained and
educated as the American officer. Foreign officers, because of birth or
breeding, may be selected for higher training, but the American Army
tries to give it to all who can qualify, and there are a lot who do qualify.
When men in other professions are beginning to relax a bit after making
their niche in life, the professional soldier is still plugging at his books.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

Men with gray-sprinkled hair not uncommonly work all night at their
problems — a forty-eight-hour stretch is not rare. This strenuous work
often goes on, not for a few months only, but over a period of years.

Narrow work, no cultural value, one might say. Again, perhaps; but
not as narrow as the graduate study in medicine, psychology, engineering,
or other sciences. What is there cultural about learning to snatch out a
pair of tonsils, or the reactions of a rat in a maze, or the efficiency of the
mercury-turbine engine? These are no more cultural than studying how
to bring up Class I supplies, industrial mobilization, or the exterior bal-
listics of machine-gun fire, all of which are elementary subjects in the
soldier’s training. His proper field of study is everything that man has
ever done, not only as an individual, but as a member of a nation or
group of nations. From this he traces the causes of past wars and from his
data he can predict why there will be future upheavals. As a consequence
he is not so naive as to accept the conclusion — ^so prevalent today — ^that
our entrance into the last World War was due to the machinations of our
munitions makers. Moreover, he is obliged to go back to the humanizing
influence of troop duty, where he deals with men in the mass, and thus
never does he get far away from the vitalizing, warming, though often
crude, contact with human nature. All the theories he learned must
square with this realistic environment.

True, we have a few — a. very few — ^professional soldiers who are also
professional scholars. They are great lads. They can reach down through
the corridor of history and with a long arm pluck out any fact or, on the
other hand, project themselves into the future and tell exactly how a
gigantic regulating station should be run in the next war. They can
discuss Spengler, Freud, or the Italian condottiere. They are clever fel-
lows, all sib to the doctors of philosophy, but — ^and this is a pity — ^the
troops are cold to them ever.

Aside from that, the professional soldier has all the weaknesses of other
humans but with few of the petty virtues. He’ll take a drink or several
of them and on special occasions get politely tight. But he has three great
virtues which are not too common: One, he is absolutely honest, and this
applies not to money matters only; second, he has a clean-cut conception
of what the word “duty” means, and, drolly enough in this modem age,
he uses it in all seriousness; and he has faith. Faith in the country and its
destiny, in democracy and its methods, in something greater outside of
this puny human intellect of ours. And this last, no doubt, disqualifies
him utterly from ever being a modem intellectusd.

He has spent a great part of his life traveling up and down this broad
continent, from Monterey to Montreal. He knows the people, has lived
with them, and knows their problems. And yet he is not one of them.
He is a citizen of no state but of the United States at large. He seldom,
if ever, votes or becomes intellectually or emotionally entangled in

8 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

political problems. He may not be a great social thinker but he knows
what the common man wants because he knows the common man — ^is a
common man. And he realizes when political or economic evils press hard
on this common man and make him restive.

Furthermore, he has spent years beyond the limits of the United States.
He knows the tropics, the heat, the fecund growth, the insects, the dank-
ness, the people who live there, struggling in the grip of Nature at her
cruelest. He knows the beach at Waikiki and the liquid sunshine of
Hawaii, and the remnants of the giant Hawaiian chieftain class — ^figures
such as Phidias never had to model from. The Far East is more familiar
to him than New York is to the Kansan.

He admires the Chinese girls with their semi-modem garb, the throat-
high military jacket and the skirt slit to the knee. Their faces of pale
yellow ivory pointed to the chin, their slanting provocative dark eyes, the
thin, small feet — all these he knows. And also the Chinese merchant,
clothed in silks of rich hues, grave in his courtesy, calm, dignified despite
his rotund shape. A gentleman in the mart of trade. But behind all this
the professional soldier senses the 400,000,000 that is China, the civiliza-
tion that extends back thousands of years when the western European
was a half -naked, vermin-infested savage. He sees China awakening after
her long sleep and just now beginning to rub her eyes. Here is vast physi-
cal power, such power as he imderstands well, and he hopes it never
will be luileashed in his day.

And he comes home to the provincial thought of the United States
wondering. What if he cannot become vitally interested in the newest
social experiment, or the latest frill in psychology, philosophy, or the like?
He has seen enough of the world and its people to know that neither
he nor anyone else has the ability to solve all the problems that arise.
Only piece by piece do we progress. No one generation can do more than
make a tiny advance — ^just a fraction of a step. So he doesn’t bother to
support or oppose any scheme which, its originator thinks, solves the
problem of life. After all, he is but a soldier.

Therefore, he turns to his job, which is to make this country safe from
aggression so as to permit its people to develop as they must, or, as the
last resort, to fight the wars of the people when — God help them — the
people make such wars. If, in ordinary times, he seems importunate in
his demands for weapons of war, and doubly so in times such as the
present, this is not because he wants to begin a war, but because he knows
this imperfect world of ours an<i has a very definite idea of what it means
to try to fight wars without the tools it takes to win them.

It would be better for all concerned, as many non-military folk are
now finding out, if thinking people knew the solder personally — ^his life
and his function. Merely seeing a parade or a military review is not to
see the professional soldier. It would, indeed, pay any professor of history,

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEXD— 1

psychology^ or sociology to spend part of his sabbatical year with the
Army — ^if only he would leave behind his preconceived notions with his
books. And if such a one should make this visit, he should never tell
the soldier that some new scheme is going to prevent all wars. For the
soldier has heard that before, and wars are still going on and will go
on when all who live today are dust. Bigger minds than any in our own
crass culture have tried that and have failed miserably. Do not say to a
soldier that war is silly and unscientific. He knows that perfectly well.
And he knows something else often forgotten: man himself is silly and
unscientific.

It is not too late now — ^though it is a bit late — ^for the intellectuals to
come close to the Army. Many are already realizing that fact. Witness
some of those fine minds who write for the New Republic and the
Nation. At all events it is the soldier who will take the sons of the people
and make soldiers of them. If he does his job well the people will win
the war when next it comes. For it always does come, as the soldier knows.

OPEN MINDS FOR OPEN WAR
Editorial by

Lieutenant Colonel (now Major General) E. F. Harding

(^ 937 )

To think, and think in time, the muscles of the intellect must be kept supple.

Inventions developed between wars have always been the b6te noire of
soldiers. One can almost picture the general staffs of the New Stone
Age meeting in worried conference to discuss the probable effect that the
introduction of bow and arrow would have in an impending clash with a
neighboring tribe. Certainly the Israelites were much more concerned
about the war chariots of Sisera; and the elephants of Pyrrhus gave the
Romans many an anxious hour. And no wonder, for new or improved
weapons have been responsible for many a great military upset.

But our predecessors had a comparatively easy time of it at that. They
didn’t have to contend with new weapons, new technique, and new tactics
every time they went to war. Sometimes there were no notable changes
for centuries. Hubert, in Ivanhoe, whose ^‘grandsire drew a good bow at
Hastings,” was drawing the same kind of bow in King Richard’s time.
And the French knights who rode to their deaths at Cr6cy had had two
centuries to devise countermeasures against that same bow used by
Hubert’s descendants under Edward III.

Even in relatively modem times armies seldom had to contend with

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

more than one or two innovations at the outbreak of war. Sometimes
they had none at all — ^witness our War of 1812. Even in 1914 there were
only three weapons that had not been fully tested in a conflict between
first-class powers — ^the machine gun, the airplane, and large-caliber mo-
bile artillery. Moreover, these were not of transcending importance
initially.

Since the World War, developments have been so extensive that nearly
all of our weapons are essentially new. The modem airplane, for instance,
has been so improved that it must be regarded as a new instrument whose
effect cannot be predicted from the performance of its 1918 prototype.
Still more unpredictable is the effect which the enormous increase in the
size of air forces will have. The same goes for tanks, chemicals, and
motors. Even the old familiar implements of our trade have been im-
proved to a degree that makes unreliable all 1918 estimates of their
probable influence on the issue of battle. In a word, the great armies
of the world will carve the next panel to the frieze of military history
with a new set of tools.

In view of the number and weight of the unknown factors that will
enter into the equation of the next great war, only a crystal-gazer would
venture to predict just what it will be like or just how it will be won.
However, one need not be a major prophet to predict how it may be
lost. Assuming that the contestants are evenly matched, our guess is that
the willows will go to the army that is most thoroughly indoctrinated
with the belief that it knows the answers.

Such an army will be prompt to err and slow to revise. Formerly this
was not necessarily fatal. Armies so handicapped have survived initial
defeat, discarded their peacetime panaceas, set their roots in reality, and
emerged victorious. But that was in the days when horses and marching
men set the pace. Today the army that persists in giving its dubious pre-
conceived theories a complete battle test may never have an opportunity
to try out others. We may and should entertain all reasonable theories
(and perhaps a few screwy ones) as to the coursb future battles will
take, but none must be allowed to become permanently attached to the
inside of the skull.

Instead, we must prepare ourselves psychologically to make quick ad-
justments to actualities. We must cultivate flexibility of mind. We must
be ready to relinquish our most cherished theory of what war ought to
be and accept it as we find it

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

AUTO INFANTRY

From an editorial by Major (later Colonel) Fred R. Brown

(^ 9 ^ 7 )

The development of the flying machine and the automobile has revo-
lutionized means and methods in both peace and war. The horse is
gradually disappearing in business pursuits and is also gradually disap-
pearing in warfare. The great European War and our own recent experi-
ences and experiments have demonstrated conclusively that preparation
for the infantry attack must be made by lavish expenditure of ammuni-
tion and that the most effective and mobile modem troops are infantry
equipped with auto transportation and aided by airplane observation
and fighting.

By the use of auto transportation we can with rapidity and compara-
tive ease deliver, in excellent condition, near to the firing line and quickly
into action, the largest force of that arm by which all battles are won —
the unpretentious, straight-shooting, bayonet-fighting, bomb-throwing In-
fantry. The same arm which is now, regardless of nationality, giving and
taking the short-range blows and carrying the trenches on Europe’s blood-
soaked battlefields.

ALL GOD’S CHILLUN GOT WINGS

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Brigadier General)

E. D. Cooke

In a branch of the Army that has developed as fast as the Infantry,
which has in three decades added one weapon after another imtil the
present Infantry combat team includes more than a dozen weapons
ranging from rifles to 155-mm. (six-inch) self-propelled howitzers, the
argument that the Infantry should have its own airplanes for certain pur-
poses was bound to crop up. The tactical reasons behind the argument
were given by Lieutenant Colonel (now Brigadier General) E. D. Cooke
in an article of November 1940. These reasons, like many of the arguments
for change and improvement this Reader contains, continue to be used in
discussion. For, contrary to the expressed belief of a good many Ameri-
cans who do not know of their Army’s intense discussion on all sides of
warfare, it does go on and has gone on constantly for over twenty years as

n THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

most of the contents of this Reader will show. Colonel Cooke is one of
the Army’s most versatile and readable writers because he likes to write
in the vernacular. His many articles in the Infantry Journal probably re-
ceived as high a score of reader attention as any the magazine has ever
printed. There are several other articles by Colonel Cooke in this collec-
tion. He is also the author of many short stories.

Once upon a time aviators were not averse to wearing the shoulder
insignia of combat divisions: as members of observation squadrons. But
that was once upon a time. Since then the boys with wings have all gone
in for acting in the Big Picture. They don^t play cops and robbers with
us doughboys any more except on special invitation: and then only when
the weather is satisfactory — to them.

All of which is very nice for the fliers, but sort of tough on the ground
troops. In fact, it looks as if our Queen of Battles has been sold down
the river.

Yet being left in the lurch is no new experience for the boys who lug
the packs. Romance seldom greets the mud-covered doughboy. He doesn’t
always meet the public fancy. But no one ever won a war without him,
and no one ever will — ^not even with fifth columns. It takes the lads with
hobnailed shoes to grab and hold ground.

Just any kind of foot soldier can’t do the job, either. The antiquated
idea that all a doughboy needs to get ahead is a rifle and plenty of
intestinal fortitude is about as far wrong as from here to China. Those
doubting that statement are referred to the European scoreboards.

Most observers of the current blitzkriegs are willing to admit that, to
be a big-leaguer, our infantryman needs everything — ^including wings.
Not the kind that depend on the co-operation of six staff officers, three
headquarters, and a liaison agent, but something of his very own. Some-
thing that sticks with him — ^like cooties, second lieutenants, and corned
biU.

A main air force has missions of its own; three hundred, five hundred,
a thousand miles away. Furthermore, those babies are tuned up to high
gear. By the time they take off, gain altitude, and swing into line they’re
more than halfway beyond the infantry zone of action. To hold them
down to searching for essential elements of enemy information — ^particu-
larly within a radius of fifty or a hundred miles — ^is like calling on the
railway artillery to knock out a machine-gim nest. No wonder they
quit us.

Yet somebody has to supply information. And when you come right
down to it, what’s the matter with doing the job ourselves?

Right away comes the objection, ‘‘Doughboys can’t fly!” Well, a bunch
of college kids — ^including co-eds — are learning every day. What have
they got we don’t have? The answer is, airplanes!

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

And what is an airplane, by the way? It’s nothing but a machine that
travels in the air instead of on the ground, or on or under the water. It
feeds on gasoline and is operated by human beings. It can be used to
carry troops, guns, bombs, or whatever other supplies are needed. But,
above all, from an airplane one can see over the hills and far away —
something the infantryman most ardently desires to do.

Why can’t he do it? What’s so exclusive about flying?

Any soldier can administer first aid without the benefit of an M.D.
after his name! No one has to join a motor outfit before driving a truck!
All of us have ridden horses (and how!) whether or not we wanted to
be in the Cavalry! Why, then, the monopoly on airplanes?

The horse-and-buggy days are gone. The doughboy is no longer rele-
gated to advancing a mere twelve miles a day. Rather, he is expected
to cover incredible distances — ^by trains, motor vehicles, and even para-
chutes. He can’t linger by the wayside picking flowers, either. When he’s
gotta go, he’s gotta get there in a hurry!

The burning question then is, what will he meet at the other end? Or
even before he gets there, for that matter.

No one likes to be caught in his fatigue clothes or with the seat of his
pants glued to a reconnaissance car! The only way to prevent that is to
look ahead. And the best place to look from is in the air.

We don’t need any super-duper Flying Fortresses to do that. We could
dispense with the steam-heated foot warmers, the nickel-plated gadgets,
and the running hot and cold water. Even the gasoline tanks could be
cut in half — because we wouldn’t have to fly over an ocean or cross a
continent. All we want is to find out what’s on the other side of the
next hill.

Navigators and other high-priced help would be superfluous also. In
place of a $50,000 plane and a $6,ooo-a-year pilot, we’d trade even for
five cut-down jobs and a similar number of wild-eyed kids who would
rather fly than do K.P. The woods are full of them too. The kids,
that is.

As for the planes, they would not be hard to build. All we want is some-
thing that could land in a cow pasture, hide in a smokehouse, and take
off from the general’s pansy wagon when necessary.

Right now the aviators seem embarrassed with riches. Rumor has it
they are going to get more airplanes than they know what to do with.
How about giving some of them to us?

Of course we may break our fool necks trying to fly the dam things,
but what of it? They’re our necks. And besides, we’d rather break ’em
ourselves than have the enemy do it for us!

But the brass hats and lads with embroidered wings needn’t be too sure
we can’t make the grade. The doughboys have never fallen down yet
And if they ever do start, it won’t be from airplanes!

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

THE NEW FACE OF WAR
By Major (now Colonel) Thomas R. Phillips

In LONDON^ Paris, Berlin, and Rome men and women live fearing to be
awakened any night by the roar of exploding bombs. They are digging
mole cities far beneath the surface. They are renting apartments with
underground bombproofs before the buildings are even finished. They
are fitting their children with gas masks. Their fears turn ever toward
the skies.

Terrorism from the air stands in popular belief as the principal fea-
ture of tomorrow’s war. Actually the probability of air attack on cities is
[steadily decreasing. It has not been effective in Spain and China. A pre-
pared populace is immune to terror. The threat of retaliation gives pause
to staffs that contemplate unlimited aerial war. Attack from the air on
populous centers no longer offers hope of surprise. Five years ago it might
have been tried successfully, but today antiaircraft defenses and other
preparations have ended the honeymoon of aerial terrorism and war.
The theory of warfare which it represents is passing into the military
attic along with the French “headlong offensive” of 1914 and the
“mechanized armies” of the recent past.

The Versailles Treaty army of (Jermany, under General von Seeckt,
making a virtue of necessity, proclaimed the superiority of a small, highly
trained force, largely mechanized. Von Seeckt pictured attacks with
thousands of tanks breaking over the borders and disrupting all com-
munications while a thousand airplanes paralyzed the hostile capital.
The French answer to thousands of tanks and sudden attack was the
Maginot Line. They established a continuous front before war could
begin. But twenty years finds the cycle of military thought, after rising
into the clouds with airplanes and wandering down the highways with
mechanized armies, returning to the trenches and strong points of the
World War.

A scornful critic of generals as a class has written that the war they
prepare for is not the next war but the last. Major General J. F. C. Fuller
claims it is the war before the last. The present model for tactics and
strategy in many armies is to be found in the opening three months of
the World War, when divisions, corps, and armies maneuvered into
battle. In these same armies it is insisted that the continuous front was
a product of the special conditions of 1914, and that these are not likely
to reciur. The concentration of armies some distance behind the theater

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

of operations, their slow advance on foot toward contact, protected and
screened by large units of cavalry — this is the model. To 1914 divisions a
few modem weapons are added, and a little motor transport, and then
battles, model 1914, are refought. Alone, in the middle of a continent,
divisions, brigades, and even regiments, are maneuvered — on paper, at
least — ^with both flanks open.

The validity of these theories is open to question. In an almost war
occurring not so long ago in Europe, the two armies faced each other
across their fortified border. The continuous front was formed before
war started, and this may well have supplied one reason for its suppres-
sion. Had the two armies clashed, there would have been no room for
ixianeuver. Maneuver room could only have been gained by battle. Along
the Manchukuoan border Russian and Japanese forces face each other
on a fortified and occupied line. The Maginot Line is paralleled by a
fortified German line. Boundaries between Russia, Poland, and Finland
are fortified and manned. On every boundary in the world where war
might break soldiers face each other. Continuous fronts are already
formed. Contact is already established. Tomorrow’s war will start as
the World War ended — ^with a continuous front — ^and end as the World
War started — ^with maneuver.

Soldiers* efforts to avoid the pitfalls of the last war are represented
by the Douhet theory and the dream of a mechanized, high-speed army.
Both resulted from efforts to avoid stabilized fronts and wars of attrition
in which even the winner loses. To Douhet the power of the defensive
had become so great that fronts could not be broken. He visualized the
ground armies as on the defensive along their national borders. The air
armies, alone capable of passing over the trenches, were to win the war.
They would attack lines of communication, manufacturing establish-
ments, governmental headquarters, and even the civil population, and
destroy the ability and will of the enemy to tight. The logic of Douhet,
granted his premises, is irreproachable. But his premises were based on
an exaggerated idea of the powers of air attack and an underestimate
of the offensive power of ground armies and the moral resistance of
civil populations.

In theory the mechanized army could prevent the formation of stabi-
lized fronts by sudden attack at the outset It was expected to disrupt
the mobilization of the enemy and win the war by capturing key political
and communications centers. But the fronts to prevent such an inter-
ruption are already in being. The hardheaded French established a
checkmate. Von Seeckt’s dream ship foundered on the Maginot Line.

Were the military theorists wrong when they assumed that stabilization
for three years in France was a result of special conditions? No; for the
formation of fronts in modem war is a product of new agencies of war-
fare. Stabilization on the Western Front resulted from relatively short

16 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

lines, a shortage of ammunition, and an approximately equal combat
power of two great armies. And now the very threat of envelopment
by motorized and mechanized troops forces the continuous front. The
foot soldier of 1914 could be blocked when he attempted to move at a
rate of ten or twelve miles a day toward the rear of his enemy. The
mechanized force of today can move two hundred miles to the flank and
rear in twenty-four hours. Fronts must be extended to prevent such
envelopment; barriers established in time of peace to block the sudden
attack. A nation can have no flanks; an army can have no flanks. An
open flank is but an invitation to a mechanized force to march around
and to the rear, and render the position of the army untenable. And so
lines are extended in peace to international boundaries, to the sea, to
great mountain ranges — to impassable barriers. In this day of total
war each nation becomes a vast fortress ringed by barriers, artificial and
natural. And this protection gains time to assemble the citizen armies.

The continuous front is not a condition peculiar to a European war.
A continuous, or perhaps discontinuous, front more than a thousand
miles long was formed in Spain almost at once. Franco’s line of com-
munication guards, from Toledo to Don Benito, found themselves the
occupants of a front. Everywhere, from the Pyrenees to the Mediter-.
ranean, isolated bodies joined to establish the continuous line. It was
unforeseen but inevitable. A road or valley without its protecting barrier
was a free highway for troops in motors to turn the whole battle line.
The demands of the barrier took precedence over the massing of an
offensive maneuvering force by either contender. They still do.

Though but a quarter as many men are fighting on each side, they
are maintaining, in Spain, a continuous front more than twice as long
as that of the World War in France. The war started without prepara-
tion, without thought of forming fronts. The objectives of the opposing
forces were the great cities. If the continuous front was inescapable in
Spain, it is inevitable in any war.

A continuous front is not, however, synonymous with stabilization.
Certain military writers, reasoning from the stabilization of 1915 and
1916 on the Western Front, have assumed that stabilization is inevitable.
But the front in Spain is not stabilized and never has been. The front
in France was not stabilized during 1918. A stabilized front results when
forces of approximately equal power face each other along a continuous
front. The initial deadlock on the French front was the result of ammuni-
tion shortage. Only blasting could dislodge the burrowing soldiers, but
both France and Germany had exhausted their blasting materials. Had
either foreseen the unprecedented expenditure of ammunition and sup-
plied greater stockages or possessed a higher manufacturing capacity,
there would have been no stabilization. Either could thus have won
the war.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

Sequacious military thinkers, pointing to the period of stabilization
in France, proclaim that all stabilization is the result of the power of
defensive weapons and organization. The World War proves precisely
the opposite. Offensives were successful when means were available and
the technique of their use was understood. The defensive is never im-
pregnable. Ample and appropriate means and suitable technique can
break it. Artillery blasted through the most powerful lines in 1918. Since
then the tank and airplane have been developed to aid artillery and
infantry. Motors make possible the surprise concentration of the necessary
mass and supply it continuously with men, ammunition, and food.

Defensive power, moreover, aids the attacker just as much as it does
the defender. No army is strong enough to attack everywhere at once.
The attacker must defend nine tenths of his line. Defensive organization
permits him to do this with limited numbers. Thus is he able to concen-
trate enormous masses against a single sector and overwhelm it. The
greatest art in modem war is to make the power of the defensive work
for the attack. Given a definite superiority, an attacker can, by threats
at many points, force the dispersion of hostile reserves while he con-
centrates his masses.

It is also true that combat power is more than ever dependent upon
materiel. If the World War used entirely unforeseen quantities of am-
munition, the requirements of tomorrow’s war are equally unrealized.
All weapons fire faster. To an ammunition usage of almost unimaginable
vastness must be added tank and airplane replacement. The average
battle life of an airplane in the World War was less than twenty hours;
the average actual life at the front, about thirty days. What nation
is now prepared to replace its air fleets at such a rate? The destruction
of half the tanks used in a single engagement may be a commonplace.
What nation can build new tanks at such a pace? It is quite possible that
a future war will see stabilization again, purely for lack of factories and
stockages to replace the usury of battle.

Other things being equal, the nation with the greatest stocks of war
material, or, in their stead, a war industry ready to turn out ammunition,
aircraft, and tanks as fast as they are used, will win. Germany’s greatest
strength for war does not lie in its army of a million men but in an
industry rapidly expanding to equip an army suddenly increased from
one hundred thousand to a full million with more than a million reserves.

Industrial mobilization is a magic word on the lips of all general staffs.
But only the nation definitely preparing for offensive war at a foreseen
time will develop its industry or stockages to the degree that tomorrow’s
war will require. The democracy with defensive strategy, unable to fore-
see the time of hostilities, cannot afford to stock, or be prepared to
manufacture, war materials on the scale needed. If it did, its stockages
and equipment might become obsolete, its plants and plans useless. In-

18 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

deed, the waste of peacetime preparation now approaches the waste of
war. Democratic peoples live in Ae present, and the facts of tomorrow
are always unexpected. The natiure of democratic government and the
pacific inclination of democratic peoples make industrial counterprepara-
tion for a war on tomorrow's scale a practical impossibility. The indus-
trial requirements of modem war favor the aggressor nation.

Thus the two inescapable features on the new face of war are the con-
tinuous front and the unimaginable devouring of mat6riel. No longer, in
the face of mechanized war, can a nation have an unfortified frontier.
No longer will it suffice to have an air force in being, a tank force in
being, a three-month stockage of ammunition. Behind these must be a
plant in being, ready to replace unprecedented consumption. Neither
plant plans nor paper plans of industrial mobilization can go into action
fast enough to replace losses of materiel in the early stages of war. The
nation that breaks the continuous front will be the nation that can supply
ammunition and replace airplanes and tanks a month earlier than its
opponent. The industrial front is as important as the fighting front. It
is total war that may be expected.

Even the United States does not escape these servitudes. Our most
potent allies are two great oceans. In recorded history no great nation
has ever been so favored. But oceans are highways. Our frontiers are sea
frontiers. Our continuous front is occupied by the Navy, backed by the air
force and coast defenses. Behind those barriers we alone among the great
nations may have time to organize our Army and prepare its industrial
support.

Soldiers teach the practice of war by extracting little parts from the
whole of war, classifying the parts as to type of operation. Then they
set up situations in problems and maneuvers so that the classical solutions
are applicable. Envelopment, penetration, delaying action, etc., are illus-
trated. The situation is made to fit the solution. Years of thus thinking
about war in samples obscures the whole, and by then the pieces cannot
be made to fit into a whole even if it were perfectly seen.

To gain a tme picture the outset of war must be visualized. When there
is tension between adjacent nations the newspapers inform us that large-
scale maneuvers are taking place in the frontier areas. Both sides deny
that this has any significance. But border forces are reinforced. If war
then breaks, the two armies are in contact in small force, facing each
other on the frontier. The opposing armies flow to the battle areas be-
hind the border barriers. Concentration takes place on the battlefield and
not in the interior.

What will the air forces, the only forces at this time capable of passing
the barrier, be doing? Will they be out knocking over buildings? Hardly!
They will be busy where they can serve their country most effectively.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

At the outset, it seems probable, their greatest service will be to delay
and disorganize the movement of enemy troops to the border. Not then
are cities and industries the vital targets. Most important of all tasks will
be the effort to prevent the strengthening of the continuous front. It
must be kept weak to ease the problem of breaking it. Hence air forces
will be used against troop movements. Every marching column will be
swept with bombs and machine guns. Every railroad track will get its
quota of bombs.

At the same time the air forces will have to protect their own troop
movements from the hostile aviation. This may become so important
that attack on hostile aviation in the air and on its airdromes will become
the vital task. This decision will be difficult and one that cannot be made
in advance.

In important areas activity in the air will be almost continuous. Soldiers
may have to give up the immemorial march to battle, for long columns
on roads are the dream targets of the aviator. Marching at night gives
a partial protection. Movements by rail may be so delayed and inter-
rupted as to be impracticable. Only the motor remains. Its roads are
many, difficult to destroy, and easy to repair. A wrecked train blocks
the tracks for a day. A wrecked truck is shoved into the ditch and traffic
continues. These conditions will probably force the use of trucks for all
troop movements to the front. And trucks will not be safe in long columns.
Just as soldiers must disperse and move forward in small groups when
they come into the zone of fire in battle, so in the future will they have
to filter through the beaten zone of air attack by movement in single
trucks. This zone is not of unlimited depth; perhaps thirty miles, perhaps
fifty miles, perhaps seventy-five. But whatever its depth, within it there
can be no masses, no perfect targets for the hostile aviation.

It is at the outset of a war that surprise is most easily obtained, and
speed is a main element of surprise. Superior peacetime preparation is a
surprise. The strength of the German armies in 1914, reinforced by their
reserve corps, was a surprise to the French. The direction of the German
attack was a surprise. The speed of mobilization was a surprise. The rapid
reduction of Belgian fortresses, by artillery heavier than any ever used in
the field before, was a surprise. The Germans were in turn surprised by
the speed of Russian mobilization. New surprises are likewise being pre-
pared for tomorrow’s war. Unquestionably mobilization will take place
with greater speed, and some of the former steps in the process will doubt-
less be eliminated.

Getting the “mostest men thar fustest” is more important at the out-
set of war than at any time during it. But it is a mistake to assume that
surprises will repeat patterns of the past. The surprise of tomorrow may
be the neutralization of air forces by ground weapons; it may even be

20 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

the unexpected success of enormous masses of tanks in a break-through
obtained by superior speed in the opening phases of war. No greater
mistake can be made than to visualize war as if it were a fixed form.

In no field of war has uninformed imagination strayed so wildly as in
the popular conception of aerial war. Soldiers and staffs who become
infected with these public enthusiasms will have their surprises. Air
forces are thought of as darkening the skies in numbers and performing
prodigiously. The air forces of the World War are thought of as negli-
gible in comparison with those of tomorrow’s war.

Germany, England, and France each manufactured about fifty thou-
sand airplanes during the World War. Germany surrendered eighteen
thousand at the Armistice. Such numbers will probably never be pro-
duced in an equal period again. The airplanes of 1918 were small, inex-
pensive, and relatively simple to construct. The bombers of today cost
from one hundred thousand to half a million dollars, and the cost is still
mounting. Construction takes from six months to a year and a half ; they
cannot be replaced without long delay. Will such costly craft, fragile as a
flying insect and practically irreplaceable, be used on every trifling mis-
sion? Obviously not. They will be reserved for work suitable to their
cost and importance. Just as a navy is unwilling to risk its fleet without
hope of compensating results, so will the air forces decline to operate
their irreplaceable squadrons against trifling objectives. They will be
saved until the tasks at hand are important enough to warrant the
chances they may have to take.

The effectiveness of antiaircraft defense may also be a surprise. If
the results obtained by German materiel in Spain can be used as a
standard, it appears that localities well defended by antiaircraft artillery
are immune from bombardment. Not because bombers cannot get through
the antiaircraft defense, but because the losses are too great to justify
the results obtained. The time is approaching when antiaircraft defense,
like coast defense, will accomplish its mission of holding off the enemy
by its mere presence, with never the opportunity of firing a shot. But
antiaircraft materiel will always be limited in amount. There will be
enough to protect certain vital localities, but it will never be available
in quantities sufficient to limit air operations seriously.

The failiu-e of air forces to perform the prodigies expected of them
will be a surprise because everyone looks for some explanation, hidden
as yet, to account for the small results in Spain and China. In theory,
a ton of gas can kill forty-five thousand men; in the World War it took
a ton to kill one man. A single rifle bullet can kill half a dozen men; in
the World War twenty-eight thousand were fired for each man killed.
A single bomb can destroy a bridge — in theory; perhaps two hundred
will have to be dropped to accomplish the destruction, and perhaps, too,
the bridge can be repaired in a day. In a year of steady bombardment the

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 21

Japanese air force, unopposed, has failed to interrupt the Canton-
Hankow railway for more than a few hours at a time. In Spain two
railway lines from France, supplying the Loyalist forces, have continued
to operate under almost daily attacks from Franco’s bombers. The single-
rail line from Barcelona to Valencia continued to run for almost two
years until it was cut by Franco’s advance to the sea. Franco’s four hun-
dred modem bombers are not a weak force if weighed against the limited
communications they have been attacking. In a major war the air forces
would be larger, but so would their tasks be more numerous. Recognition
of their real limitations will lead to their use in concentrations great
enough, and on objectives important enough, not to dissipate their unique
capabilities and unexampled power.

But though many soldiers do not exaggerate the capabilities of fighting
aviation, they have unlimited faith in the powers of observation aviation.
A squadron of thirteen observation planes is allotted to each division.
These are each given, in maneuvers and problems, one or two missions a
day. Methodically they make their scheduled flights up and down all
roads in the hostile rear and photograph great areas of territory. How
simple; what quantities of information they bring in! The general makes
his daily flights to observe the course of the battle. Artillery fire is adjusted
from the air. The whole thing is as unreal as popular belief in a five-
minute destruction of Manhattan Island.

When battle is intense, pursuit aviation will operate constantly over
the lines. The single observation plane fortunate enough to escape small-
caliber antiaircraft cannon will be the prey of pursuit patrols. Observa-
tion, in battle, will have to be fought for. Three observation ships will
need the protection of a pursuit squadron. Fishing expeditions for in-
formation will only result in the loss of plane, pilot, and observer. Specific,
vital information will warrant an expenditure of the air power required to
obtain it. But the G-2 practices of using observation aviation current
in many armies have no basis in the reality of war. When the thirteen
observation planes of each of the divisions have once been reduced to
two or three before the first week of battle is over, then will they be
concentrated in the larger units and sent out with proper protection on
limited and specific assignments. Information worth the loss of a half-
dozen airplanes and crews can only be information of the greatest
importance.

The nature of tomorrow’s battles depends upon the whole silhouette
of tomorrow’s war. The tactics of small, independent maneuvering forces
have no application to the reality of the continuous front and of support
by tank masses and combat aviation. Instead, tactics will be power tactics.
It is not the maneuver of men that must be learned; it is the maneuver
of power, of which men are but a part. What must be learned is the
concentration, application, and continuity of application, of all the

22 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

powers of armies. Not men alone nor aviation alone, not tanks alone nor
artillery alone, but all of these, co-ordinating their action toward a uni-
form objective, reinforced by endless rivers of ammunition and replace-
ments, are the tools of power tactics.

The preliminary steps of the offensive battle will be efforts to get the
enemy off balance. His reserves will be dispersed in answer to feints.
Secondary offensives will force him to counterattack, thus reversing the
offensive-defensive balance. When the main attack takes place it will be
a surprise, and initial success should follow. It may be made on a broad
front to allow the massive entrance of men and material to flow through
and spread out on each flank, or it may be in the form of two penetra-
tions converging toward a point and pinching out a pocket — “pocket
tactics,” The break can be accomplished only with the help of all the
available means of war. In 1918 it was men and artillery; now it must
be men and tanks supported by artillery and combat aviation.

The first reaction of the defender will be to concentrate his air power
to delay the flood pouring through the gap in his defensive dikes. Closely
following will come his tanks and troops in motors to form new dams.
The attacker’s air force will operate with his troops to make the break-
through. As soon as the break is made the air force will delay the move-
ment of enemy reserves and will also protect its own troops from the
defender's frantic air attacks. Will air forces be wasted at bombing cities
and rail lines at a time like this? The break-through may mean total
destruction for the defender and a victorious end of the war for the
attacker. For both the vital need for air-force help is on the field of
battle where the main decision is being resolved. Every other air-force
objective is secondary.

Great battles require periods of resupply and recuperation between
them. It is during these periods that air forces will be most effective in
attacking the movement of ammunition toward the front and the mili-
tary manufacturing establishments in the rear. Offensives may thus be
delayed or disrupted. One searches in vain for justification of independent
air operations against objectives not related to the objectives of the
ground armies. Whatever the future may show, the gain of tomorrow’s
war depends upon the success of the ground armies. Air forces will make
their principal contribution in support, both close and distant, of ground
operations.

If the war turns into stabilization and a war of attrition, there may
be some logical (but no humane) justification for the aerial attack of
political and economic objectives. A people, weary and worn with years
of fruitless war, may succumb to discouragement if the hostile air force
constantly harasses. Who can tell? Perhaps it may be tried.

No picture of tomorrow’s war is complete without the black warriors
of propaganda, subversion, and sabotage in the shadows. Propaganda

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 23

exalts the virtues, strength, and nobility of its sponsors. Underground
organizations spread dissension and corrupt the faith of the opponent
in his leadership and cause. Sabotage makes the best-laid plans go awry.
In many nations in the world the black war is being fought today, the
preliminary of the blood war. It is real war, a war of lies and corruption,
of spies and destruction. In certain nations two- and three-year courses
of subversion are given in universities. Our own nationals attend and
come back to undermine our institutions. We are not prepared for war
until we are prepared to fight subversion.

Among all the combat agencies of war, the Infantry remains the
center of gravity of battle. Only the infantryman can hold ground and
protect himself. But no longer can the Infantry alone win ground. The
tragic Queen of Battles, without her servitors, is no longer queen. She
remains at the center of military power but is powerless without her
stanch supporters.

The silhouette of tomorrows war shows it starting with a continuyu s
front. The front will be broken by the application of power tactics on a
new scale. All the elements of military power will be co-ordinated to help
attain the objectives of the ground army. The war may be won or lost^
or it may be stabilized, as a result of the battle on the industrial front.
In the lines and in the factories the forces of subversion will fight. This
war, pounding against the will of the soldiers and nations, may be de-
cisive if it, too, is not prepared for and met. The sphere of war expands.
A new view of the whole is needed, and a new resolution of war into its
components. The classical pieces of war with which soldiers, fascinated,
play and lose all sense of the world’s growth and change are still, and
ever will be, yesterday’s and not tomorrow’s war.

APPLICATION OF SCIENCE TO WAR
By Captain (now Colonel) Joseph H. Grant

U937)

Although the need for new engines has led to the cultivation of some
of the exact sciences — after a fashion — ^their study has been unsystematic.
In fact, their technical contributions have been made for the most part
by non-military men, and with few exceptions the Army makes no serious
effort to keep in touch with scientific progress or to branch out for itself
in the field of independent scientific investigation. The less exact but no
less important sciences such as sociology, biology, and psychology are,
with the limited exception of military medicine, totally neglected. Yet a
knowledge of these latter fields of thought would have indicated to the

24 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Western Allies in the late war just what might have been expected of
Russia. In time of peace a study of psychology and the application of its
principles would imdoubtedly aid in abolishing many present-day evils.
For example, psychology shows that the aptitudes and interests of men
vary and that it is possible to devise tests which will indicate, within rea-
sonable limits, the characteristics a man must possess for certain tasks.
Although the military service recognizes the desirability of a certain
amoimt of specialization, it sets that recognition at naught by the bland
assiunption that a man can be a Jack-of-all-trades and good at all. That
this condition exists, the demands in the way of professional knowledge
and consequent instructional ability upon the oflBcers of the combatant
arms amply demonstrate.

From these facts the need for a true science of war becomes evident.
Supposedly such a science exists at present, but exactly what it is no
one seems to know. Nowhere is it exactly defined. Clausewitz makes it
mere knowledge, but certainly it is more than this. Because war has
primarily a biological basis (it is made by human beings) and because
it does represent a phase in the evolutionary progress of the race, the
science of war should be as broad as life. It should take cognizance of all
the other sciences, particularly those applied sciences of everyday life.
In time of peace it should make use of the scientific method, substituting,
wherever practicable, controlled experimental procedure for mere theory.
It should also adopt the scientific attitude, resolutely putting away the
tendency toward dogmatic thinking which now characterizes it. It should
be scientific, as science is now imderstood.

The organization of science is the task for no one man or group of
men, but for many men working all the time. The products of this science
will make war more terrible and, paradoxically, more humane because
less frequent and less lengthy.

KEEPING TWO JUMPS AHEAD
By Lieutenant (now Colonel) Joseph I. Greene

{^935)

Some two or three years ago Major General J. F. C. Fuller, in Lec-
tures on F.S.R. III, recommended that an army have two sets of Field
Service Regulations, both kept well revised at all times, one containing
the latest tactical doctrine applicable to the army as it is now organized
and equipped, and the other comprising the equivalent doctrine for to-
morrow’s army. He argued that it would be of tremendous advantage to
have on hand a complete set of regulations based on the most probable

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

and desirable changes of the near future. Then, if war came, and with
it a number of the probable changes, there would be something concrete
and well considered to go on.

The virtue of such a project lies in giving probabilities, and even pos-
sibilities, official recognition. We give them recognition now, it is true,
but only by weighing them in oiur extremely sensitive scales of experi-
mentation, which take a long time to settle and all too often have to be
read over and over.

Careful experimentation is undoubtedly of utmost importance, but
when war comes we are always in the middle of a number of changes.
The World War, for example, foimd us on the point of deciding that
machine guns had importance. The final jump had to be taken flat-
footed and was a tremendous effort. We had to decide on a weapon
and then write regulations for it, almost overnight. The small group of
officers who knew anything at all about the experimental types of ma-
chine guns that had been studied for several years had to be assembled
at Camp Benning and had to do their work under tremendous pressure.
That work might well have been accomplished — ^much of it during the
preceding years — ^while experiments were under way.

“Here is a new thing (or a new idea). It looks good. But we can’t
be sure that it is good until weVe given it a lot of study. On the supposi-
tion that it will be found practicable, what use can we make of it? How
would it affect our present doctrine and methods? What changes in
regulations would be necessary?”

This sequence of thought today is largely individual. An occasional
enthusiast for a new point of view or piece of equipment lets his mind
travel ahead, but he seldom goes the whole distance. An official analysis
of the new departure accompanied by a set of changes for regulations
is rare indeed. In the usual case we spend several years experimenting
and several more deciding upon the alterations in doctrine. It is only
necessary to point to the fifteen years we have spent in approaching some
definite conclusions on mechanization and motorization to prove the
point.

And for the past five years we have had before us a possibility — ^fast be-
coming a probability — that upsets every doctrine we have half decided
upon with regard to armored vehicles. I refer to the high-speed small-
arms bullet. Five years ago, when it was first definitely known that a
man had held a rifle to his shoulder and blasted a big hole through an
inch and more of armor plate, then was the time to formulate tentative
changes in our current tank doctrine, such as it was. An improvement
that bade fair to make every known type of tank a brother to a Swiss
cheese as soon as it ventured on the batUefield — ^and still does— deserved
the immediate consideration of a group of open-minded officers who could
spend their whole time on the subject; but to date nothing but hushes

26 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

surround the subject. A few bold minds have asked: *‘What kind of tanks
shall we build now?’* Or, more to the point, “What kind of tanks can
we build? Can they carry the extra armor? And if they can carry it,
where shall we put it?”

The real question we face is: “If armies get the high-speed bullet be-
fore we get the tank that can stop it, then what do we do with our
tanks if war pops up?” There should be some group whose business it is
to reply: “Here is what you can do if this proves true,” and, “Here is
something you can go by if that proves true.”

I suggest, therefore, that the Infantry Board be doubled in size and
that the additional members be formed as a twin board whose sole duty
would be to keep two jumps ahead of the game. I suggest that this
parallel board be required to view every new possibility of importance
as if it were already practicable and available, and evolve at least an
outline of the changes in doctrine it would bring about.

Much of such work, no doubt, would never be of actual use. On the
other hand, when a new development did prove out, the work of the
“futurist” board would constitute a well-thought-out line of departure
for the changes to be made. And in the event of war its studies would be
“something to go by” until experience found a better way.

ARMY PUBLICITY

AND THE PROFESSIONAL SERVICE JOURNALS

From an article by General C. P. Summerall
(then Chief of Staff)

(^930)

Truthful pubuctty is one of the most important missions of the Army
in time of peace. This is also the case in time of war, with the difference
that in peace great efforts are required to secure proper publicity, while
in war publicity is automatic. The Army is an instrumentality of the
government, as necessary in peace to prepare for defense as it is in war
to execute the defense. During war the people understand perfectly well
the mission of the Army; in peace its mission is obscure. Even the people
who participated in war have become largely occupied with their own
affairs and have little time to devote to thou^t on the military estab-
lishment.

The Army depends for its existence and support upon the will of the
people. The extent of their interest measures the degree of support that
the Army receives. It is not fair to the Executive or to Congress to expect

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AlitAD— 1

them to act arbitrarily in providing means for the support of the Army
when the people know little about the reasons for its existence. It is one
of the duties of the Army to acquaint the people with its mission and its
performances in time of peace.

There has been in our service an evident tendency for officers to avoid
“bursting into print.” As a result, our list of military writers who have
achieved distinction is regrettably short. We still rely on British authors
for standard works on Jackson, Lee, Sherman, Grant, and other out-
standing American military leaders. Up to the close of the World War
our military textbooks were largely indebted to foreign publications for
their contents.

There is no reason for our officers to feel inferior or to imply, by their
silence on military subjects, undue deference to the opinions of foreign
military writers. There are many subjects of immediate importance to
the Army that American officers should discuss in the pages of the pro-
fessional magazines of the arms and services, which we call the service
journals. The editors of these journals may be relied upon to protect
authors and the War Department from untoward incidents that might
arise from the publication of undesirable material.

There appears to be an idea that news consists of only such items as
appear on the front pages of the metropolitan newspapers. Nothing is
farther from the truth. Our service journals afford an excellent means
of making military news available to the public. When an article appears
in any of the service journals it comes to the attention of publishers who
are constantly on the lookout for interesting material on subjects con-
nected with national defense. Any article that has value for their pur-
poses receives prompt attention; it may be quoted at length or may serve
as the basis for articles prepared by civilian writers. In either case the
author receives due recognition and the Army benefits by having its
activities accurately portrayed. Many officers who are not directly con-
nected with the Army’s regularly estabished publicity agencies will find
that the service journals afford the most convenient outlet for authorita-
tive and interesting articles. They can thus pass on to the service and
to the public the results of their study, their thought, and their experience.

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

IF THIS BE TREASON

From an article by Lieutenant Colonel (later Colonel)
Rowan P. Lemly

{^ 934 )

In my judgment the Army appears more prone to orthodoxy than most
professions in civil life. To put it baldly, too many officers are addicted
to inertia in the origination of constructive ideas.

One can appreciate the necessity for conservatism in the adoption
of new weapons and other materiel, or in the complete upheaval of
doctrines on organization, or in radical changes of our views in the
application of tactical principles. And no conservatively minded man can
criticize the snail’s pace at which (through no fault of their own) our
several laboratories function in the experimentation, test, and adoption
of new ideas. An economical expenditure as well as a very careful dis-
tribution of oxur limited military appropriations is forced upon us. As a
result we seem to be striving constantly to spread our meager allotment
of butter over too large a slice of bread. Requests for additional funds
with which to experiment and effect radical changes are not received
enthusiastically by members of the military committees in Congress. They
are from Missouri and must be shown, and to this viewpoint one can
attach no blame. The result is that innovations which involve expendi-
tures other than for bare maintenance of the existing military machine go
into a mill where they are ground into dust and oblivion or come to life
only in the face of dire national emergencies.

But mental activity and concentration, constructive thought, exchange
of ideas and argument on ways and means to improve the military, par-
ticularly in the fields of weapons, organization, and tactics, cost not one
cent of appropriations. Many civil corporations hold annual competitions
among their employees and give substantial prizes for the best ideas,
plans, or innovations which result in material savings or increased profits
to the organization. Indeed, the very fight to hold down one’s job in
civil life and secure advancement results in constant effort and competi-
tion among those who refuse to be drones. Yet in the military — 2 l most
interesting and absorbing profession — the tendency of some officers
appears to be to do their daily jobs reasonably well but otherwise to
call it a day. Serious study on ways and means to improve the machinery,
concentration leading to constructive criticism, and creative thought
which looks toward future and perhaps radical developments in weapons,
organization, and tactics — there is not enough of this. Several years after

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

the Armistice the first vital changes since the World War took place in
our infantry defense tactics. They were bom of a confidential report
on certain German tactical maneuvers!

DEFENDING OUR LAST FRONTIER
By Major General William C. Rivers

General Rivers, who retired from active service a number of years be-
fore the present war ^fter being the Inspector General, argued continually
regarding the importance of the Pacific area, especially Alaska. Every-
thing General Rivers said in November 1935 — and in a number of other
articles which appeared in general magazines — ^has been borne out by the
developments which culminated in Pearl Harbor.

Universal use in atlases, and in illustrating books and newspaper arti-
cles, of maps on the Mercator projection — greatly distorted and deceptive
at high latitudes — has given rise to important misconceptions in the pub-
lic mind. One of these is the failure to realize that the normal, straight,
and short steamship lane from our West coast to Asia passes near Alaska
and parallel to our Aleutian Islands. Another general misconception con-
cerns the position of Honolulu with respect to this highway to the Orient.
Study of a great circle map on the gnomonic projection, or better yet a
globe, will show how far (more than two thousand miles) to the south
of any part of this highway to Japan and Manila lies Honolulu. Also that
Japan is more than twice as far from Honolulu as from the American
Aleutians in Alaska.

Such a study will indicate the paramount strategic position of the
Aleutian Islands with respect to the eastern part of the north Pacific
Ocean. The question is one of defending the United States, Hawaii, and
the Panama Canal by controlling the parts of the north Pacific near our
shores, rather than the defense of Alaska. A hostile fleet operating from
an Aleutian base would find excellent harbors. Easy mining work would
make the Okhotsk and Bering seas closed areas, providing well-protected
communications lines. An opposing fleet based on Honolulu would be
obliged to work on longer and exterior lines — ^an inferior strategic
position.

Our recent board of Army ofiicers appointed to consider sites for the
several air-defense bases provided by the new Wilcox Bill will doubtless
suggest a location of the Army air base in Alaska with respect to possible
sites for a naval base in the Aleutians region. Fairbanks and the head of
Cook Inlet have been mentioned in the press as suitable for the Army
air-defense base. Although dispersion in depth of air forces is now neces-
sary, and although the speed as well as carrying capacity of the bombing

30 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

plane have been doubled in the last four years^ both places mentioned
in Mr. Gordon’s recent article in the Journal lie at too-great distances
from any probable naval base in the Aleutians.

The Weather Bureau records, and conversations with Coast Guard
officers, indicate that climatic conditions in the Aleutians are more favor-
able than is generally believed. The Japan current passes to the north
as well as to the south of that great group. In Unalaska, for example,
zero weather has never been encountered. Navigation is open all the year
round in the Aleutians. Winter ice floes do not come farther south Aan
the Pribilof Islands. Annual rainfall is from sixty to eighty inches. Many
places in the United States have as much or more rain. There is some
precipitation about two himdred days in the year — ^as in some places
in the United States.

Unalaska and Bristol Bay near by — ^the latter closed by easy mining
operations — ^will hold the fleets of the world. At Dutch Harbor the
anchorage is some eighteen or nineteen fathoms. Wharf construction
would offer no difficulties. The limited personnel for repairs to vessels
would be brought from the United States, as was the case with far more
numerous employees to build the canal at Panama. Fogs are frequent
at times in the Aleutians. For foe and friend alike they are often a great
detriment and, with the deceptive possibilities of the radio, they would
be at times an advantage. The suggestion has been made — ^and it is here
repeated — that a joint Navy-Army board should study the important
questions of “defending our last frontier.”

RIDE A COCKHORSE

By Major (now Brigadier General) E. D. Cooke

U937)

Polo and hunting are natural pastimes for members of the horse Cavalry
and horse-drawn Field Artillery luiits. But until the middle thirties about
one half of the officers on duty with Infantry regiments and battalions
were also mounted. There were, for example, five polo teams at the In-
fantry School, four of which were Infantry. There was also a hunt with
several packs of hounds and a vociferous if small group of non-riding
doughboys who kept up a running barrage on the horsy aspects of their
Infantry brothers-in-arms. In “Ride a Cockhorse” General Cooke put over
the points and at the same time gave Infantry Journal readers a good
many laughs.

Bn-L BUSHER was deceived early in his military career. He was led to
believe that doughboys walked, artillerymen sat on caissons, and only
cavalrymen rode horses.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

That was all right with Bill. He got through five major engagements
without needing a horse in any one of them. And he was perfectly con-
tent to continue his service as a foot soldier. But no sooner was the war
over than he had to start equitating.

“The best thing for the insides of a man is the outsides of a horse,”
declared Bill’s division commander.

So, for the sake of their insides, Bill and his contemporaries reported
each morning to a specially imported cavalry instructor. Although pris-
oners did not turn out until seven-thirty, the door of the riding hall
opened at seven.

The condition of his insides had never bothered Bill, but after three
hours of slow trotting the outside of his anatomy needed plenty of atten-
tion. If any pleasure was derived from the exercise, it existed for the
instructor alone.

Swaying gently to the beauty-rest gaits of a thoroughbred mare, the
cavalryman hazed his victims with caustic innuendoes. Always the riders
were at fault, never the flea-bitten culls they bestrode.

“If you’re going to be just a passenger, drop a nickel in his ear!” Bill
was told on several occasions.

Bill’s lips straightened into a hard, thin line. If ever he had any delu-
sions about the benefits of riding, they were dispelled under that grueling.
Never again would Bill associate old Dobbin with anything related to
his own personal well-being.

“I’m only getting you shaken down into your saddle,” the instructor
said in justification of his slow-trotting methods.

“If I get shaken down any further I’ll be swallowing the cinch,” Bill
complained.

But the pounding continued, until the general announced that he
personally would conduct the class on a controlled ride. He wanted to
see how they were progressing.

“Someday,” he iriormed them, “your social status may depend upon
your appearance on a horse.”

Seated upon his privately owned Arabian stallion, the general presented
a fine picture of an aristocratic gentleman. But Bill Busher was not so
fortunate. Judging by the horseflesh beneath him, Bill ranked pretty low
in the social scale at that particular moment.

The bones of his decrepit hay burner creaked in every joint as Bill
pounded off across country in pursuit of social prestige and the good of
his insides. The general’s horse soared over a fence, light as a cloud. The
instructor’s mount skimmed after him like a swallow. Then came the
charge of the heavy brigade.

The vanguard hit that fence with a crash that could have been
heard clear down to the Rio Grande. Kindling wood flew like straws,
and overgrown plow horses rolled and thrashed around in the dust. An

82 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

ambulance, thoughtfully provided, picked up the casualties and rushed
them to the dispensary for first aid. The remainder of the cavalcade
surged through the opening made by their fallen comrades and thun-
dered after the general.

A slide came next. A straight up-and-down slide into a gravel pit.
A regular heart-stopping monster of a slide. Bill’s benighted quadruped
took one look over the yawning lip of that orifice and shook his head.
The poor dumb beast wanted to imply that he couldn’t go down that
thing — not without wings. And, being no dumber than the horse, Bill
agreed with him. But down below the instructor was yelling:

•‘Don’t be a passenger! Dominate him! Come on, dominate him!”

So to show the general that he had the welfare of his insides at heart.
Bill drove home the spurs with one great smack of his heels.

The horse gave a weary, resigned grunt and leaped straight out into
space!

Several hours later in the hospital a doctor was fussily going over the
cuts, contusions, and abrasions on Bill’s body and at the same time giving
him a severe lecture.

“I can’t find any broken bones,” he concluded, snapping on the last
piece of adhesive, “but you’re going to stay in bed for a while, anyhow.
If you fellows must ride, why risk your necks going down slides and
jumping fences when there are all the bridle paths in the world to ride
on?”

Bill shrugged a painful shoulder.

“You’ve got me there. Doc,” he admitted. “I’d like to know the answer
to that one myself.”

Bill was not being smart: he was honestly puzzled. He knew his ex-
perience had in no way improved the condition of his insides. As for
any social aspirations — ^well, they lay shattered at the bottom of the
gravel pit. So aside from a week in the hospital. Bill was unable to figure
out just what benefits he had derived from his brief course in equitation.

A certificate announcing his proficiency in horsemanship arrived in due
course, and Bill decided that was the answer. It was like any other inocu-
lation in the Army: one took it and became immune. Bill guarded the
certificate zealously, believing that with it in his possession he was
finished with horses. But he was quickly disillusioned.

A new brigadier arrived on the post, and he was plenty tough. At his
first review he spotted one officer having difficulty with a horse, and the
brigadier immediately ordered every officer in the brigade out for
equitation.

Not thinking the order would apply to anyone already proficient. Bill
proceeded to headquarters and presented his certificate. The brigadier
acted as though Bill had tried to hand him a rattlesnake.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AH^AD— 1

*T’m the only one who gives certificates in my brigade,” the brigadier
fumed, pounding his desk and stomping his feet. “Unless you want a
Class B, you’d better get yourself out of here and onto a horse.”

Bill got himself to the stables without delay.

“I bet I don’t even get up high enough on this guy’s social ladder to
fall off,” Bill confided gloomily to his friend, John Bean.

“You needn’t worry about him being social,” said John. “He’s out for
blood.”

And sure enough, the brigadier’s idea of equitation proved to be a
series of plain endurance tests. Eighteen to thirty miles once every week —
with an extra ride thrown in whenever a new officer joined the brigade.
As there frequently were not enough horses to go around, John and Bill
took to riding mules.

“Not so stylish,” John admitted, “but a whole lot more comfortable.”

“Yes,” Bill agreed, “but if equitation is the art of horsemanship, what
is riding a mule?”

“It’s thirty miles, no matter what you’re riding. Are you still worried
about your social standing?”

“Nope. Just puzzled. The brigadier hasn’t said what he has us out
here for.”

“That’s what you think,” John retorted. “He has us here to do fifteen
miles out and fifteen miles back, because that’s the kind of a guy he
is.”

“But why?” Bill persisted. “What do we get out of it?”

“Maybe you’ll get a diploma in mulemanship.”

But the brigadier did not issue a certificate. And even if Bill had been
pronounced proficient it wouldn’t have done him any good because
he was ordered to school at Fort Benning, and students at the Infantry
School equitate, certificates or no certificates.

Bill couldn’t understand why equitation was part of the curriculum
in a doughboy school. He questioned a few of his classmates and their
answer was a shrug. They took it for granted no military education could
be complete without a horse in it, but they didn’t know why.

“At least we have a doughboy instructor,” Bill said as they filed into
the corral for their first day’s slow trotting, “He probably won’t be so
hard on us.”

On the horse next to Bill’s, “Cotton” Jones hooted derisively.

“You haven’t been around one of these doughboy graduates from Fort
Riley [the Cavalry School], have you?” Cotton asked. “A cavalryman
teaches equitation because it’s his business, but these fellows do it for
pleasure. They’re twice as tough.”

“Do you mean that infantrymen actually go to a cavalry school just
to learn horseback riding?”

34 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

*‘Sure! And they come back with pink coats^ riding to hounds, and
everything.”

A puzzled furrow appeared between Bill’s eyes.

“But if they like it so much, why don’t they transfer to the Cavalry?”

“Then they’d be just one more man on a horse,” said Cotton. “Here
they are big shots. Ladies pay court to them and club together to buy
them presents. They travel around to horse shows and polo games. They
collect ribbons, silverware, and swell details [jobs]. They are sitting on
the troops!”

Bill shook his head.

“They can have my share of it. All I want to know is, why do the
rest of us have to ride?”

There was no connection between horsemanship and the rest of Bill’s
schoolwork. But he rode with folded arms, jumped logs, and galloped
across country just the same. And on the diploma given Bill at the end
of the year was a statement to the effect that Bill Busher had passed in
equitation.

But that was good at the Infantry School only. It didn’t buy Bill
anything beyond there. Each year, it seemed, someone discovered a new
way of pointing the toes or of holding the reins, and when that happened
Bill had to go out and start all over again.

He rode leaning back and he rode leaning forward. He lengthened
his stirrups and he shortened them again. He pointed his toes out and
he pointed his heels down. But none of it seemed to get him anywhere.
There just wasn’t any end to a doughboy having to ride a horse.

“Don’t any of these certificates mean anything?” Bill inquired of one
superior.

“I’m afraid not,” was the answer. “Perhaps when you get one from
Leavenworth [the Command and General Staff School] it will excuse
you.”

“That’s small comfort,” said Bill, “because it doesn’t look as if I’ll ever
get to that place.”

But he did, eventually. And he was not surprised when, the very first
week, all students reported for equitation.

“Look,” said Captain Krims, pointing to the lists of horses, “they have
a name for every one of them!”

“That’s nothing.” Bill spat at the tanbark. “So have I.”

He was not disappointed in the horse assigned to him. The beast had
a mouth of iron and a firm determination to be at the head of the
column. It was no more than Bill expected.

However, the instructor was quite decent As much as possible he
avoided seeing Bill’s errors and even admitted that the horse was not
so good.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHfiAD— 1 35

“We only want you to get toughened up for the terrain exercises,” he
said.

That certainly was reasonable enough, and Bill perked right up. At
last he could see a reason for horses. And besides, if a graduate of Leaven-
worth didn’t have to ride any more, then this was equitation to finish
equitation, and Bill was all for it.

But in the second year’s work there were no terrain exercises, and
still they rode. Second-year students were required to be on a horse for
two hours a week despite hell and high water.

“How come?” Bill wanted to know.

Again he encountered that same blank wall. It was orders, that was all.

The bottom fell out of the thermometer — ^for a month it was too weak
even to get up to zero — ^and still they rode. It was not mandatory to ride
outdoors. Bill could have stayed in the riding hall but, like many another,
he preferred the cold to maneuvering by fours on the dot, cross, and
circle.

Swathed in extra underclothes, sweaters, ear muffs, gloves, and even
galoshes. Bill and his friends wandered like miserable outcasts through
the brakes of the Missouri. It was equitation at its worst, but the discom-
forts were merely incidental to Bill’s desire to learn the reason why it had
to be done. The motive, however, remained obscure.

Then, long after all riding was over. Bill attended a huge Hunt Ball.
And there, among the pink hunt dinner jackets of the caballeros, he dis-
covered the long-sought reason for equitation.

“Look at all the whipper-uppers and tallyhoers,” he said to Krims.

“Yeah,” his friend replied, “and some of the whippersnappers too.
Aren’t they having a big time, all dressed up in boots and silks?”

But in looking closely Bill detected a note of sadness behind the gaiety,
a haunted look in the eyes of those jaunty cavaliers. And suddenly Bill
knew the cause of their hidden fears, and with it the reason for Army
equitation.

The art of horsemanship had been kept alive by the spirit of those pink
coats. The people themselves were clinging desperately to an idea, to a
legend originating as far back as the ancient days of chivalry. For cen-
turies the symbol of leadership was a man on a horse, and those people
had struggled valiantly to keep it so.

They would not hear the rumbling of combat cars. Their eyes were
closed to the infantry hurrying by in trucks. They still heard the creak
of saddle leather above the clank of machinery. They lefused to relinquish
their heritage.

And to Bill the sight of them trying so hard to hold back the hands on
the clock of time was all at once pathetic.

“It’s not funny, after all,” he said, and Krims nodded in agreement.

“No! It’s not so damned funny. Let’s go have a drink.”

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

And even as they entered the taproom the orchestra started another
dance. With a preliminary umpah, umpah, the trombones and clarinets
sounded :

Oh, the old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be.
Ain’t what she used to be .. .

TANK DIVISIONS

From an article by Major (now Colonel) C. C. Benson

{1931)

This is one of the first articles to appear in America suggesting the use
of tanks in such large units as divisions. We had, at that time, but a few
companies of obsolete World War tanks and a few single experimental
models. This writer’s thought for the future was indeed clear, or nearly
everything he says turned out to be right when it came to building our
armored divisions of the present

A FEW OUTSPOKEN ENTHUSIASTS maintain that most of the fighting in
future wars will be done by machines. Those who rely more upon
practical experience than upon imagination can hardly accept this view
without important reservations. Fighting machines are particularly sensi-
tive to the ground; as the ground gets rougher, their efficiency falls off
rapidly. In extremely difficult country they are practically useless. In-
fantry and cavalry take the ground as they find it, and no machine can
compete with them on rugged or wooded terrain. Even in open country
there are towns, patches of woods, hills, and watercourses that form reefs
on which land battleships may come to grief under the anti-tank guns of
the enemy. The ability of mechanized units to operate independently for
brief periods should not obscure the fact that they will be organized
primarily for co-operation with other arms. Both the old and the new
combat elements have their parts to play. The real problem is not to
carve out an exclusive role for mechanized units but to co-ordinate their
uses with those of existing means.

In close proximity to an organized system of hostile machine guns,
even infantry is pinned to the ground and deprived of that tactical
mobility which is essential to offensive action. With a tactical doctrine
based on aggressive offensive action, we must provide adequate means
for offensive action. The armored cross-country fighting machine affords
one means of disrupting the hostile machine-gun organization and as-

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

sisting the whole force to overcome the power of the defensive. The
purpose of mechanization is to provide ground troops with an effective
offensive element

There are, then, two principal combat missions that mechanized unite
will have to perform:

(1) To lead the assault upon well-organized positions;

( 2 ) To maneuver rapidly and deliver sudden powerful blows against
the enemy’s front, flanks, and rear.

We cannot reasonably expect a single unit to execute efficiently mis^
sions so markedly different; consequently it will be necessary to consider
carefully the matter of organization. The machines used for different
purposes may be identical except for thickness of armor and details of
armament, but the organizations will be different.

The organization of these units is a matter for immediate considera-^
tion, not only because of their potential value in combat, but also because
their creation will affect materially the revision of present plans for
mobilization and for procurement. The writer suggests that these units
be organized as tank divisions.

Tank- versus- tank actions will develop and culminate even more rapidly
than cavalry-versus-cavalry actions. Tank-division and brigade com-
manders can and should have highly centralized control of their units
before and after an engagement; but in action they will be unable to
direct in detail the fast-moving operations of their combat units. If they
attempt to issue detailed orders, confusion and delay will result. Much
must therefore be left to the initiative and judgment of subordinates. The
adaptability of a tank division to rapid changes in the situation will de-
pend largely upon subordinates who can assume their proper share of
responsibility in action. Each unit should have an ample quota of officers,
so that higher commanders will not hesitate to exploit the full powers of
highly mobile combat elements.

It may appear premature to proceed with organization before we have
had some experience in handling modern equipment. There are, how^
ever, excellent reasons for so doing. Our general mobilization plan fails
in its purpose if it does not include all the units that we may expect to
mobilize. To produce and maintain equipment for mechanized units will
impose a heavy burden on certain of our industries. They should be fully
prepared to assume that burden in wartime, but procurement plans can-

38 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

not take definite shape until definite tables of organization are provided.
Furthermore, the creation of mechanized units is highly desirable for
training purposes. Once authorized, these units could be used in com-
mand-post exercises and in problems at the service schools. Hundreds of
officers throughout the service, instead of a handful, could then apply
themselves to mechanization studies. We do not hesitate to change
infantry or cavalry tables of organization, nor should we hesitate to pub-
lish tables for mechanized units, even though they will be subject to
change. Whether perfect or not, tables of organization [for tank divisions]
should be authorized. So long as our plans are merely on paper, changes
cost us nothing. The first step is to get an adequate organization estab-
lished as a basis for future plans and studies.

Many years may elapse before mechanization is generally accepted in
our service. The equipment is so expensive that comparatively little of
it can be had in times of peace. After the first tank division is organized
and equipped, its powers and limitations will have to be determined by
such experience as maneuvers provide. The service schools will have to
modify their teachings to accommodate the newcomers, and many a class
will graduate before our future commanders are thoroughly prepared to
use mechanized forces, or even to co-operate with them. In the normal
course of peacetime events it will take a long time to adapt military
thought to the use of fighting machines.

There are, however, certain factors that may accelerate our mechaniza-
tion progress :

(1) Fighting machines appeal to the American desire for energetic
action and swift decision. In other words, the weapon suits our national
characteristics.

(2) Machines are now used in civil pursuits in this country far more
extensively than in the Army. Americans are thoroughly accustomed to
the use of mechanical devices, and we have more good mechanics than
any other nation in the world. Herein lies strength if the Army is pre-
pared to use it.

(3) Our industrial, material, scientific, and financial resources are
ample to produce and maintain the necessary equipment. Increased
mechanization in the Army provides an effective means of utilizing in
national defense our acknowledged superiority in these matters.

(4) Mechanization is in full accord with our plan of national defense —
a plan based on the maintenance of a small but highly efficient force.

(5) Armored fighting machines can be made practically immune to
attacks by gas and aircraft, and can therefore be relied upon to protect
ground troops from the unrestricted use of these powerful new weapons.

(6) The War Department favors a reasonable measure of mechaniza-
tion in our service and is giving serious thought to the development of a
definite well-considered mechanization project.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1 39

(7) Influential leaders in Congress appreciate the value of fighting
machines and recognize the need for an increased number of well-
equipped mechanized units. It is probable that when the time comes
Congress will be prepared to grant the necessary funds.

(8) Under present conditions the necessary automotive equipment can
be purchased at rock-bottom prices.

In conclusion, let us recall a paragraph from an address delivered by
General Summerall on September i, 1927:

The temptation is ever present to view military problems in the light of past
experience. It must be borne in mind that no two situations or campaigns in war
are alike. Especially must it be recognized that our last experience presented a
special case that cannot be repeated. Not again can we expect allies to contain
the enemy for more than a year and furnish us with all essential munitions while
we are organizing our armies.

THE USE OF INHERENT MOBILITY
By Major (now Major General) William C. Lee

Another student of tanks in war who early argued for the employment
of large masses of mechanized units in striking depth into the enemy’s ter-
ritories was Major William C. Lee. (He is now a major general command-
ing large air-bome forces and has, more than any other man in our Army,
been responsible for the rapid and thorough development of our para-
chute and other air-bome troops.) General Lee’s ideas were expressed in
the following article which appeared in January 1936.

Tremendous progress in mechanical development and the almost uni-
versal mechanization of industry directs the thoughts of officers of all
armies into new and fascinating paths. Everywhere mechanical develop-
ment is being paralleled by studies in the tactical employment of the new
weapons being developed. In our own Army progress has been retarded
by a lack of mat6riel, but this condition is about to be relieved by the
production of a new tank of much promise. We may well devote time
and thought as to how we are going to use it

From the time, soon after the war, when the British adopted the sprung
track (the secret of tank speed over ten miles per hour) they have led
the world in practical experimentation and in the development of new
tank tactical methods. Thinking always in terms of speed and mobility,
they have looked into the future and have conducted extensive experi-
ments leading toward mechanization on a large scale.

In England, out of the many changes in organization and the great
variety of thought, we see emerging a mechanized force capable of in-

40 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

dependent action and possessing a considerable radius of action and great
stxiking power. The advocates of such a force urge that it should by no
means be restricted to close operation with the less mobile foot soldier;
rather it should be used either independently or in decisive attacks with
other arms against the enemy’s flank ^nd rear. It is capable of frontal
attacks against the main hostile position when no flanks are available^ but
in such case it will make a deep penetration and its objectives will be
artillery in position, headquarters, communication centers, and reserves.
Tank officers say that in this way they can utilize the speed of the new
tank to support the infantry action more effectively.

The important element around which the British Mobile Force is
built is the tank brigade, consisting of one light tank battalion and three
mixed tank battalions in which we find light, medium, and “close-
support” tanks. The light tanks act on security, covering, and reconnais-
sance missions; they screen the advance of the brigade and watch its
flanks; they constitute a pivot of maneuver while the heavier elements,
the medium tanks, form the maneuvering mass. When the mission of the
brigade carries it far into enemy territory, beyond its normal cruising
range, it is to be supported by airplanes, armored cars, and motorized
protective troops of all arms.

France has contemplated the employment of the tank as an accom-
panying weapon for infantry, and the motorization and mechanization of
cavalry.

To support the infantry, methods of tank employment in France have
not changed materially since the World War. Even though a better and
faster tank has been built, and great progress in anti-tank defense has
been accomplished, the French tanks are still closely tied to infantry ac-
tion in methodical attacks.

For protection the French lean to heavier armor and fire support from
other arms rather than to great speed. They do not believe that the
terrain will permit tanks to employ high speeds on the battlefield. Their
new infantry tank, although faster than the old Rehault, lacks the high
speed of the new British and American tanks. Its somewhat improved
speed, however, does give sufficient mobility to permit the new tank to
operate at a somewhat greater distance from infantry than the old tank.
But, contrary to the British thought, the French maintain that the tank
is not capable of extended independent action and that it requires at all
times the help of the other arms and the protection of their supporting
fires.

Thus we see in Europe the armies of two powerful nations with sharply
varying policies regarding mechanization: one looking ahead to warfare
of the future, the other wedded to methods proven in warfare of the
past. The trend of military thought of a nation is strongly influenced by

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

its social system, its economic condition, its political relations with foreign
nations, its geographic location with reference to possible enemies, and
its experience in war. A brief analysis will indicate, perhaps, the reasons
for the difference in French and British policies.

In Great Britain we see a small professional army which is not or-
ganized primarily for continental warfare but to imperial policing and
small wars. However, owing to its obligations under various political
pacts, the nation must be prepared now to support its allies on the con-
tinent. Its land forces can best do this by maintaining a modernized and
well-trained army of great mobility, one capable of striking powerful and
decisive blows. Quite naturally, then, the army has turned to motoriza-
tion and mechanization as a means of modernization.

We realize the extraordinary value of the British experiments and they
should be carefully studied. We are appreciative of the progress that they
have made in the development of tank forces capable of operating as
independent formations. Surely there is a great need for such forces.

The infantryman, we believe, heartily approves of the creation of
mechanized forces, in his own or other arms, for he knows that the reason
for such forces is to help him attain victory. But he sees the high-speed,
self-contained tank formation becoming less and less a close supporting
infantry weapon. He is apprehensive of the tendency to take from him
the armored assistance that he so much needs for his immediate, direct,
and close support. It is well to heed him, for even in England the high
command still considers the infantry the backbone of modem armies.

We hear much of the new infantry in which armored machines will
replace the foot soldier in the near future. We wonder. Machines will
move him faster; they will move him to the battlefield and on the battle-
field; but when the deadly hail of hostile bullets is met it is the foot
soldier, with his weapon in his hand, crouching, crawling, from hole to
hole, from cover to cover, who will clinch the victory. And it is he only
who can hold conquered ground. The capabilities of the tank are great,
but its limitations are actual and cannot be glossed over. Assuming that
perfected armor plate will turn every bullet, that the n^ultiplicity of main-
tenance, supply, and traffic problems can be solved, and that technique
will eliminate mechanical limitations, the colossal problem of production
precludes putting every fighting man in an armored vehicle. There is no
evidence that any country today is preparing for production of tanks on
such a scale.

What, then, is the true sphere of the tank? It is not to replace the
infantryman but to aid him. The problem revolves around the question
of how best to do this. Shall self-contained armored formations, acting
as the mobile arm, support the general action — ^which, in fact, is a sup-
port of the infantry — ^by wide maneuver on the enemy’s flank or rear, or
shall the tank be closely tied to infantry action?

42 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Infantry officers of the British Army cry out that close support from
tanks is necessary. They say, *‘The power of the machine gun in the
defense is too great for our unprotected bodies. Give us a tank to work
closely with us.” In answer to this demand the British plan to produce
an infantry tank, low, heavily armored, and of necessity slower than the
vehicles of the tank brigade. These tanks are to be organized on a basis
of one battalion of tanks to the infantry division and allotted to army or
corps. Speed is sacrificed for armor, mobility is lessened, tactical methods
are back to fifteen years ago. This reversion is typical of the inconsistency
surrounding the whole question.

Why sacrifice speed and mobility in the tank in order to give close
support to the infantry? If we admit that armor is preferable to speed
such a decision is logical, but there are other considerations. Tactical
success is dependent to a great extent on strategical mobility. General
Forrest’s pithy comment on mobility applies to tanks as well as to men,
and when strategy ends and tactics begin, it is speed and reserve engine
power that give the tank the suppleness and agility to save itself at the
moment it is most exposed; it is speed that makes a difficult target; and
it is speed that enables the tank to close rapidly with the enemy. Until
every infantryman is equipped with powerful armor-piercing weapons,
we deny that a sacrifice of speed will enable the tank to support the foot
soldier more effectively.

Let us turn again to France. The factors governing the tactical em-
ployment of the tank during the World War have dominated French
thought ever since.

The French cannot afford to carry on extensive experiments. More-
over, their methods are dictated by their situation in Europe, which
necessitates a policy of defensive frontier tactics. The French prefer
proven methods, even with their new tank. One of their writers has said:
“It is only from a consideration of our experience in war that we can
arrive at positive and reasonable conclusions, free from foolish and un-
justified hopes. There is nothing so useless as imagifting combat tactics
for a formation that does not exist or is not exactly defined.”

The French do not become xmduly excited over improvements in arms
or armor. They expect an occasional upsetting of the balance between
protection and offensive armament.

French doctrines are based on probable continental wars in which
great masses of conscripted infantiy and artillery will come to grips.
Cavalry, as the mobile arm, has been reinforced by mechanization; but
for general actions, tanks are employed for close infantry support on wide
fronts and in density and depth. Tank units are atta^ed to front-line
infantry battalions to fight with the infantry as infantry. Therefore, tank
action can be a surprise only to the degree that the general action is a
surprise. As infantry advances in long thin lines so do the tanks advance.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 43

The enemy will equip his front elements with long thin lines of anti-tank
weapons, gun for tank, and the tank will be mastered.

With methods of this kind mobility is restricted, surprise is impossible,
and protection simmers down to the questionable factor of armor.

In the American Army we have discarded the slow and obsolete war-
time tanks. Our tank units are marking time while awaiting the produc-
tion of our new vehicles. Soon we hope to see our tank battalions parallel-
ing our theoretical tactical studies with practical tests and experimentation
in the field with troops and machines, for it is only in this way that we
can arrive at worth-while tactical conclusions.

Although, in theory, machines are designed to conform to tactical re-
quirements, mechanical progress is at times far ahead of our tactical ac-
complishments. Our new tank possesses great speed and increased ability
to maneuver. To limit this machine to the old tactical tank method of
“accompanying tanks” is permitting tactical thought to fall far behind
mechanical progress.

As in the French Army, our tanks are infantry, although our cavalry is
being reinforced and strengthened by mechanization in order to provide
forces for distant and independent missions. As in the past, our methods
regarding tank combat methods still strongly resemble those of the
French. Undoubtedly this has been because of the similarity of tank
materiel. But with a new tank, positively and distinctly American, cer-
tainly we should evolve our own methods to fit its capabilities and the
spirit of our tactical doctrines. In considering the knowledge obtained
from a study of the experiments of the French and British, let us not
ignore the capabilities of our new machine.

There has appeared in our new school texts a brief reference to “tanks
in support of foot troops,” and therein is the key to an effective method
of employing our most recent tank. We are told that tanks, when used in
the supporting role, are not attached to subordinate units of foot troops,
but are kept under the control of the higher commander, to act as a unit
under the tank commander. But the new texts still emphasize the em-
ployment of tanks in the accompanying mission, and this role is stressed
throughout.

It is believed that, in the future, the emphasis will be put on the sup-
porting tank method and that this idea will be developed, far beyond the
short reference in our texts, with the aim of substituting it completely
for the old established accompanying tank method. In this new role the
tank can use its speed, its mobility, its power of maneuver. It can ma-
neuver against the enemy’s flank and rear and can penetrate his defensive
positions when no flanks are available. And in doing all this it will operate
so as to closely support and work directly with the infantry. Because the

44 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tank possesses speed is no reason to say that its speed makes it unfit to
work closely with foot troops, rather is the opposite true.

Our present method of using tanks in the accompanying role neces-
sitates the attachment of, usually, one platoon of tanks to assault infantry
battalions. Our regulations state that tanks should be employed only in
large numbers, on a broad front, and with a maximum of surprise.

We repeat that the attachment of tank platoons to rifle battalions on a
broad, continuous front practically eliminates surprise, reduces mobility,
Hmits the results that the new tank is capable of producing, and does
not give the most effective close support to the foot troops. As previously
pointed out in discussing French methods, it makes defense against the
tank exceedingly simple.

This writer proposes that we follow the French in retaining the tank
for the mission for which it was created; that is, the close support of
foot troops. But there let us leave the French and borrow from the
British to the extent of using the speed, the mobility, and the maneuver
power of the modem tank. Let us base our solution on the principle of
concentrated formations. If only one company of tanks is available to
support an infantry regiment, then let us not break up that tank com-
pany for attachment to infantry battalions, dispersing the tank effort and
scattering the tanks into a long thin line, or lines, whereby an opposing
long thin line of anti-tank guns can meet them, gun for tank. But rather
let us use the tank company as a unit, to fight and maneuver as a unit,
with all the fighting power of the company concentrated within itself.
Its mobility and speed will enable it to attack unexpectedly and swiftly
over selected terrain, to strike from the flank, to penetrate, and, when
once within the hostile lines, to move laterally over the enemy’s positions
opposite the front of the attacking regiment of foot troops. Such action
as this can be sudden and swift and can be co-ordinated closely with the
attack of the foot troops and supporting fires. But, it will be asked, what
is to prevent the enemy from concentrating his anti-tank fires in order to
meet the concentrated tanks? The answer is in the speed of the tank,
its ability to maneuver and make rapid thrusts and move on before con-
centrated fires can be brought to bear on it.

The more closely the tank battalion supports the attack of the foot
troops, the shorter the thrusts it makes into the hostile position, the
simpler its missions, and the more often can the tanks disengage and
repeat the action. The tank-battalion commander is no longer a staff
oflicer at the command post of the infantry commander. He is now a
fighting leader. Co-ordination with the foot troops and the supporting
arms can be obtained by informing them promptly of the proposed tank
action, including the tank missions, objectives, routes, and assembly
points. The commander of the supported infantry unit can best co-
ordinate this action.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

We can carry the idea on to include groups of tank battalions^ or-
ganized as regiments or brigades, operating as powerful mobile units,
penetrating more deeply into the enemy’s lines, striking his guns in posi-
tion, his reserves, his command posts, and communications. We can
create a mobile formation for the reserve as a powerful weapon to be
used by the higher commander in pursuit, exploitation, or as a striking
force to be committed for decisive action.

A company or a battalion, or even a group of battalions, of our new
tanks, operating as a concentrated unit, employing surprise, swift and
sudden thrusts, and rapid disengagements, will be more effective in
closely supporting the foot troops than a wide dispersion of small tank
units attached to battalions over a wide front.

It is not advocated that these tank units assume cavalry missions of
^ong-range reconnaissance. We should leave that to the mechanized
cavalry, which is better organized and fitted for the purpose. It is not
claimed that our concentrated tank formations are capable of extended
independent action. We can, however, in the supporting role, use the
speed and maneuverability of the tank to strike at a decisive time, in a
decisive direction.

To accept the armored fighting vehicle as a mobile weapon to be
maneuvered as a concentrated force is simply to utilize its full capabilities.

The great captains have been those who used to the utmost the in-
herent mobility of the most effective striking force of their times and the
mobility of their own brains.

Mobility! Mobile fire power! These are as necessary today and tomor-
row as in the time of Genghis Khan.

ONLY SECURITY CAN GUARANTEE SPEED
By Captain (now Colonel) Joseph I. Greene

This 1937 attempt to look into the future hit the nail right on the thumb
several times, especially as regards the speed at which the German armies
would enter France. True, the author covers himself to some extent by say-
ing early in his article that a highly mechanized army can only make high
speed in conducting an invasion if the “invaded nation is totally unpre-
pared.” But this doesn’t make up for his poor prognostication later on.
“Security” is, for the benefit of the reader who may not have a clear grasp
of the term, protection against sudden attack which is obtained by the
commander of a force through a combined use of part of his air and
ground troops out at a considerable distance from the main part of his
army so that the enemy will run into it first.

The factor in mechanical warfare that is least clear in our minds and
on which there is the greatest variety of muddled thought is the element

46 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

of speed in fast motor or tank columns. In a previous article the writer
pointed out the possibilities of using our highways to their actual capaci-
ties but confined his discussion mainly to traffic matters. There is more
to the story than that, however. It is particularly necessary to consider
modem security before we can draw well-founded conclusions on fast
motor and mechanized movements. In this article, then, let us see what
security has to do with it.

The greatest confusion regarding fast motor columns comes from the
natural but mistaken conception of widespread parallel columns of great
armies speeding toward each other, and toward battle, at forty miles an
hour. We know full well by this time — or at least we should know it —
that such a conception is absurd and that the flying columns of such
forces would be bound to get into difficulties soon or late.

And yet this idea persists, and with some reason, since motor vehicles
can travel at high speeds even in large numbers. Particularly does it
persist in the newspapers, which seldom number among their writers men
with a sound background of military thought.

In a recent lecture, for example, Mr. George Slocombe, well-known
British correspondent and commentator on European affairs, made the
statement that if Germany wars against France again, her armies will
speed toward and across the border at fifty to sixty miles an hour, with
vehicles moving six abreast on broad military highways. At that rate, if
the layman follows Mr. Slocombe’s picture to its seemingly inevitable
conclusion, the German armies would reach Paris some two hours after
leaving their own soil.

It is perfectly true, however, that the German Army, or any other, may
move toward and probably as far as its own border with remarkable
speed. But once it reaches the border there can be no continuance of
such speed unless, perchance, the invaded nation is totally imprepared.
Here is where security enters the picture.

Not long since, when a day’s march for cavalry was twenty to thirty
miles, and for infantry twelve to fifteen miles, the commander of a large
force felt safe with a screen of mounted units a score or two of miles out
front, and with advance and flank guards giving him a protective leeway
of a few thousand yards. Moreover, the term “beyond striking distance
of the enemy’s main ground forces” meant, in those days, simply that his
security detachments could be smaller than when he was “within striking
distance” of the enemy. And so long as his cavalry kept close watch of
the hostile forces, he felt secure.

Now, however, “striking distance” must be meztsured in terms of thirty
miles an hour instead of two and one half. Where a commander once felt
that an enemy twenty miles away was uncomfortably close, now a: hostile
force that is 20 X 30/2.5, or 240, miles away is beginning to get near

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1 47

enough for business. Under these circumstances a commander has but
one solution — to push out his ground security many times farther than
before and to use his distant air reconnaissance hundreds of miles farther
than that. In fact, the Command and General Staff School now teaches
that elements of distant ground security and reconnaissance may operate
out to 250 miles, and distant air reconnaissance to 700 miles.

Security, moreover, is only a half measure unless it extends in all
directions. Where once a commander could reasonably estimate the chief
direction of his danger, today he cannot tell from what point of the
compass a blow may strike. Hence he dares not leave the slightest section
of his perimeter unguarded. The same Leavenworth text quoted above
defines security as “the all-around ground and air protection of a com-
mand by the adoption of effective measures to prevent surprise, observa-
tion, and interference by the enemy.”

This all-around protection at a distance is not obtained, however, by
placing advance, flank, and rear guards much farther out from the main
force than before, or by .increasing their sizes. On the contrary, we find
the following in paragraph 74 of the same text:

When our main body is beyond striking distance of the enemy’s main ground
forces, the necessity for advance, flank, and rear guards, and other security
detachments of a size capable of effective combat, is minor as compared with a
thorough distant air and ground reconnaissance which will provide adequate
warning of approaching aviation, mechanized or motorized elements, and be
able to delay or stop them.

And here it is that we find the essence of modem security — a, distant
sturdy circle of small ground combat units.

These ground units are necessary no matter how strong we may be in
the air. The fact is simply that air reconnaissance at best is too uncertain.
It cannot see through cloud, fog, and haze for one thing. And for another,
we may not have the planes to spare to do a thorough job, especially at
the beginning of a war.

The distant security units around the great perimeter of a modern
force must be strong enough to prevent any undetected penetration, and
powerful enough to delay and harass an approaching enemy. By re-
sistance, road blocks, and demolitions they can reduce the speed of his
approach from any direction to a crawling pace.

This job is essentially one for mechanized cavalry, (At the same time,
there must be no confusion of mission between the tight ring of distant
security forces and mechanized reconnaissance units that may dart out to
still greater distances in order to seek definite information by contact.)
Lacking mechanized cavalry in suflBcient numbers, motorized infantry,
assisted by artillery and demolition engineers, can do the job of distant
security. This fact is recognized by the discussion of “security without

48 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

cavalry** in the Command and General Staff School text previously cited.
Reconnaissance detachments of the types which have appeared in
Leavenworth instruction for the past two years may also be used. How-
ever composed, such units must have high speed and considerable delay-
ing power.

Now to return for a moment to the general concept of a mechanical
army speeding toward the border bent on invading a contiguous state;
it is self-evident that the border itself is equivalent to a strong perimeter
of distant security. Behind that border, so long as hostile defending ele-
ments of any size have not crossed it in order to establish road blocks,
movement toward invasion can be conducted at maximum speeds. The
only limitations are the capacities of highways and the power of motors,
save, of course, the possibility of interference from the air. And of this
there will be little or none, if the invaders choose a day of visibility zero
to launch their thrust.

If the enemy has any defenses at all along his borders, the invading
columns must, for all their initial speed, reduce their pace to a walk
when they encounter them, or even come to a halt and fight. It is an
absurdity, for example, to conceive of great German columns continuing
on into France at high speeds.

But suppose instead that a sudden invasion strikes an ill-defended
frontier. In such case it seems probable that small but tough advance
combat units of the invaders* force would first push rapidly down every
road, in order to advance the high-speed zone as far as possible for the
larger columns following. But as the advance units go on this erramd they
must keep fairly abreast and make sure by rapid cross reconnaissance that
the ground between roads contains no force of size. Eventually we can
expect that all such advance security and reconnaissance units will find
roads blocked and meet resistance strong enough to halt them. The
defender, by then, will have established his own perimeter of distant
security, behind which he, too, can speed forward with his forces as fast
as he can muster them.

What comes after this, as far as speed of movement is concerned, de-
pends entirely on the relative strength of invader and invaded. If the
invaded nation is relatively weak we may expect determined operations
by the invader to overcome the delaying forces in accordance with a
plan of action involving his whole main force. These operations, when
successful, will extend his area of high-speed operation and reduce that
of the defender in the same degree. But in the words of the Leavenworth
text, quoted before, “generally speaking, a highly mobile force will not
be able to move through an area which is not controlled by friendly
forces, unless the situation and the available information definitely estab-
lish the fact that hostile interference within the area is impossible.**

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 49

It may be that movement for one force may be far more restricted than ,
for the other. For example, in the event of an invasion of our own coastal
frontiers, we may think of our distant security perimeter as forming a
semicircle around the invader. In this situation we would have much
room, EUid he comparatively little. We can imagine here a continuous
line of mechanized or motorized units giving way where the invader
presses, but placing every stumbling block in his path. And somewhere
behind this line of outposts oiu* own force would be getting ready to strike
its blow. But where both main forces have some freedom of maneuver,
their distant security perimeters will, of course, approach the circular
in form.

In any case the first clashes will be between advanced mechanized re-
connaissance elements, forming a part of the security perimeter, or
pushed out still farther in advance. Thus our own main force may be
called at short notice to strengthen its security perimeter. Every hour
saved in making such a reinforcement may mean many square miles of
maneuver area saved to our own force. Here is a time, if ever, for using
the main highways to rush double staggered columns at maximum run-
ning speed to critical areas.

Let us assume now that our main force takes the offensive before the
hostile commander makes a vigorous effort. If up to this time the enemy
has not tried to penetrate our own distant ground security, or has not
gained contact with it, our whole perimeter of security should move for-
ward as the main force moves, perhaps leapfrogging by rapid jumps, in-
stead of slowly advancing. Eventually some part of the security must
close upon the enemy’s. Indeed, these far outpost lines may touch along
scores or even hundreds of miles before one main force or the other makes
a sudden thrust.

When such a thrust is made, if the direction of advance is to be
through a sector where the hostile security is already in contact with our
own, there should be a preliminary pressure at several points in order to
create deception. The security units at all these points, reinforced by
detachments strong in motorized engineers, must shove forward rapidly,
repairing roads, rebuilding bridges, and otherwise preparing for the main
advance a few hours later. If the direction of advance is toward a part
of the security perimeter where there has been no contact, feints in several
directions are nevertheless desirable. Here the security preceding the
main force must likewise be strong in road- and bridge-repairing units.

Thus, throughout the whole period of coming to grips, behind the
shifting barrier of the security perimeter large mechanized and motorized
units can move at high speed, using the highways to their full capacities.
Nothing can get through that stout ground barrier to interfere with rapid
movement. Hostile action, behind the barrier, can come only from the
air.

50 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Hostile action from the air may consist in attempts to block or destroy
defiles and stretches of important routes, or of actual attacks upon
columns by bombardment or attack aviation. Whether an enemy could
keep all roads in great areas continually closed by air bombardment is
open to doubt, although he may be able to interfere continuously with a
few important defiles as long as the weather favors him.

Direct attacks on columns may occur as a routine harassment of traffic
on main highways, or they may take the form of planned attacks upon
discovered motor movements, both of which have their limitations. We
are safe in assuming that the trained antiaircraft fire of a modem army —
particularly that of infantry — ^will afford considerable protection against
either.

It is also a possibility that, in order to break through our line of distant
security abruptly, the enemy might concentrate his air attack directly upon
the elements composing it. Here again success is doubtful. For the security
units will be small, scattered, and well camouflaged. And those who fly
attack planes that move between two hundred and three hundred miles
an hour, and close to the ground, will have great difficulty in detecting
and attacking such small deployed forces. Moreover, the effect of such
attacks on the actual road blocks would be nil.

More effective, perhaps, would be the use by the enemy of the vertical
envelopment, although as yet we know little about it. Whether carried
out by hostile units in transport planes that land to discharge their loads,
or by bodies of parachute troops, this type of operation grows closer to
reality every day. And how could a hostile commander employ aerial
infantry better than by using it to clear a wide breach in our distant
security, thereby paving the way for the rapid and unresisted advance of
his ground units? If this new method of warfare proves practicable, an
operation like that just suggested could be countered only by frequent
patrolling to cover the entire area inside of the distant ground security.
And once a vertical envelopment is discovered, the movement of fast
columns behind the distant security perimeter to deal with them would
be an absolute necessity.

To sum up, then, distant security guarantees in large measure rapidity
of movement in areas behind it. In turn, speed, combined with secret
movement during hours and days of low air visibility — the very circum-
stances that also best protect fast columns from the hostile forces of the
air — ^preserve for us surprise. And surprise, as always, gives the great
advantage. But there can be no true speed in movements of large forces,
hence no surprise, until we are thoroughly familiar with the capabilities
and limitations of traffic on modem highways.

Once battle is joined by the main forces, the pace of the forefront will
be greatly reduced. Yet if speed of movement is largely preserved until
that time, it should give us such an advantage in the placement of forces

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

that the conflict will never come to a World War standstill. But even if^
that does happen, speed of movement in rear areas will still be a vital
thing. No matter what vehicular columns move, back there every resource
of modem traffic knowledge and practice will still be needed.

Speed, in fact, will be vital from the first act of war to the last pursuit.
We must learn how to gain it and use it, now, in time of peace. In war we
must preserve it. Security alone can guarantee it.

BILL BUSKER GOES TO COLLEGE
By Major (now Brigadier General) E. D. Cooke

Through the eyes of Bill Bushcr, General Cooke furnished to the readers
of the Infantry Journal acute comment on many sides of peacetime Army
life. This piece, dated 1939, is, for all its lightness, an accurate descrip-
tion of the reaction of an Army officer upon attending the Army’s highest
school.

Being ordered to the War College made Bill Busher feel like a man sud-
denly arriving in the welcome safety of harbor waters after a long and
stormy voyage at sea. From the War College on it looked like clear sailing
to Bill. At least he would no longer have to dip his colors to those con-
temporaries who had successfully navigated their way to a military Ph.D.

Just the same, the prospect of becoming a similar Doctor of Philosophy
sort of stumped Bill. He wondered if he had the necessary qualifications
and made a determined effort to discover what went on down at the
confluence of the Potomac and Anacostia rivers. He didn’t have much
luck.

“It’s going to be the best year of your life,” was the trite response of
one officer questioned on the subject.

“You get out just what you put into it,” said another.

When pressed for further details the interrogated officers became vague
and their answers nebulous. So Bill decided to wait and learn for himself
what it was all about when he got to Washington.

From the very beginning, starting with his first stroll down Connecticut
Avenue, the habitat of our General Staff failed to make a hit with Bill
Busher. He ran into less pulchritude and more personal ambition to the
square inch than he’d encountered to the acre anywhere else in America.
Because of this Bill feared he might be misplaced among the intelligentsia.
So did his old crony from Leavenworth, John Honest.

“They must be pretty hard up when they reach down for a couple of
field hands like you and me,” John opined.

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

‘‘They just got us here to encourage the rest,” Bill retorted. “If we get
by, anylx)dy can.”

Of course neither one believed what he said. Each had a sneaking idea
he was pretty good. And at the first War College conference their sus-
picions were confirmed. From the commandant on down, every speaker
assured Bill and his mates that they were superior, especially selected
officers, capable of handling any situation which might arise.

Bill hoped they were right — ^particularly on his first committee. [Much
of the work of student officers at the Army War College was done in
study groups or “committees.”] His name appeared as chairman, but the
directive was as far over his head as the Washington Monument. Bill be-
gan to imderstand why no one had been able to tell him what he would
be doing at the War College. He didn’t even know now that he was there.
And he wasn’t alone in that predicament, either.

The entire committee was lost in a fog of indecision and false starts.
Members spent long hours in vehement debates — ^which usually de-
generated into windy bull fests, broken up only by spontaneous adjourn-
ments to the coffee shop. Yet as a whole there was no mental driftwood in
the group, and their written report somehow lumbered forward to a
ponderous conclusion.

When completed, the results had to be presented by Bill and a couple
of subchairmen: the formal oration being preceded by two rehearsals.
The first of these recitations disclosed all too clearly what a weird,
jumbled, incoherent brain child their joint efforts had conceived. But it
was too late to make more than minor changes before recording a second
dry run [a marksmanship term for “practice”] the following day — ^which
was even less encouraging than the first. And then came the final palaver,
the trial for record, the high spot in a military education!

For sixty whole minutes Bill and his two sweating fellow sufferers took
their turns delivering themselves of an awkward, stilted speech, from
which all split infinitives, together with most of the life, had carefully
been eradicated. And listening attentively was the eaitire faculty, not
showing by so much as a single lifted eyebrow that they recognized whole
passages shamelessly lifted from similar speeches of previous years. Listen-
ing, also, was a dazed student body, aghast at the spectacle presented, yet
ever mindful of the time when it would be their turn to mount the
speakers’ platform.

Perhaps it was for that reason they were so vociferous in their con-
gratulatory comments immediately after the lecture.

“Would you believe me,” asked John Honest, “if I told you that was
one of the most interesting talks I’ve ever heard?”

“No,” said Bill, “I wouldn’t believe you, but I like to hear it just
the same.”

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

In addition to the commendations^ Bill’s committee^ being one of the .
first to present, escaped lightly during the period devoted to comments
and questions. Even though the class had been assured from the very first
day that any member could say anything he pleased — that one man’s
opinion was as good as another’s — ^most of the boys were a little slow in
accepting the statement. Many of them had heard it before.

But at the War College it actually was true. For the first time in his
Army career Bill found himself in a place where knowledge had no rank
— where opinions were judged on their merits and not according to the
insignia of the opinionee!

That fact became more and more apparent as the course progressed.
And, once reassured, some of the more unexpected persons developed into
incorrigible sounder-offers. Bill himself lay awake many a night thinking
up brilliant bits of repartee, but unfortunately they always pertained to
something already past or to subjects which never came up. Several times
Bill got to his feet and expounded extemporaneously. Each time he re-
sumed his seat in utter embarrassment and self-recrimination. Again and
again he swore not to repeat the performance, but he found free speech
was like free drinks — ^hard to leave alone.

Yet it was John and not Bill who one day took the cake. The com-
mandant in person had just pronounced a principle which, he believed,
was unassailable. Whereupon John lumbered heavily to his feet.

‘This may be my last official act,” he announced solemnly, “but I
disagree.”

“Well,” said Bill on the way out, “it’s been nice to have known you.”

“Yeah.” John hunched his shoulders defensively. “Tell ’em to forward
my mail to Guam.”

The general, however, was as much amused as the others. And of
course, except for a selected few, he had little to do with students’ future
stations. Most assignments, upon leaving the War College, as far as Bill
could discover, were brewed up by the dark of the moon in the mystic
chambers of the General Staff. The list, when completed, was then
marked “Dangerous,” “Secret,” “Do Not Divulge,” and locked behind
the largest steel doors in the War Department.

None of these precautions managed to silence the chirping of the little
birds. News of what was going on soon leaked out, and since Santa Claus
was expected to be generous in the way of orders, the students began
their Christmas snooping early. And their curiosity was as nothing com-
pared with that of their wives.

“I wouldn’t mind so much not knowing about our orders, except that
I play bridge with a lady who just bursts at the seams with inside in-
formation,” Mrs. Busher complained bitterly. “If she can make that

54 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

General-StafF-ofEcer husband of hers tell her where we are going, I
don’t see why I can’t find someone who will tell me.”

Whereupon she dragged out her most expensive gowns and stalked the
cocktail parties in search of officers connected with handling personnel.
It was not a brass hat, however, but one of Bill’s own classmates who
finally disclosed where the Bill Bushers were going. This particular
student had been sent for in connection with a specific job and during
a conference had seen the secret list, along with Bill’s name and assign-
ment, which he promptly divulged. One by one, because of similar in-
cidents, the rest of the class gradually ceased talking about orders — 2 i
sure sign the veil of secrecy had been pierced.

So that was that, and Bill was for leaving the cocktail parties alone.
There were too many of them to begin with, and besides, the same people
went to all of them.

“And what’s more, they’re so busy nmning from party to party they
don’t stay long enough in any one place to have a good time,” Bill
grumbled.

“It might be better if you didn’t have quite so much of a good time
yourself,” Mrs. Busher admonished, “particularly when you drive through
such thick traffic between parties.”

“That’s what makes me drink,” allowed Bill. “It would anyone. Drive
fast and these D.C. Potomaniacs smash your fenders racing to an intersec-
tion; slow down and they sideswipe you going past; and the minute you
stop for a light everyone honks at you. By the time a fellow rubs bumpers
wiffi that company he needs stimulants.”

Of course Bill was not actually driven to drink, but he didn’t like
having his actions questioned. He expected indulgence. As a War College
student he was being pampered by everyone in the military service — ^in-
cluding his wife. So at the first gentle touch on the matrimonial check-
reins he bowed his neck and bucked. And as the course proceeded Mrs.
Busher found Bill getting harder and harder to handle — ^not to say down-
right bullheaded.

He insisted, for instance, that he was still young and active enough to
continue playing noonday baseball out behind the college building. Even
when a Charley horse clamped down on one leg and Bill’s walk began to
resemble that of a dignified old rooster who had gotten one foot stuck
on a piece of flypaper, he refused to give in.

He also tried to keep off sick report when he first caught the flu. He
was afraid he’d miss the boat to graduation; that he had only a one-way
ticket without stopover privileges, and that if he once got off the train
he’d be out of luck. So instead of staying in bed at the first sign of fever,
Bill struggled on down to school, trying to stave off the inevitable. Each
day he got worse, until the morning arrived when he couldn’t get out
of bed and Mrs. Busher had to phone the outpatient service.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

A doctor arrived immediately, but he was not very sympathetic.

“You fellows are all alike,” he sighed resignedly, “always trying to keep
up when you should go to bed.”

“Will I be well enough to go to school tomorrow?” Bill asked timidly.

“And spread germs all over the rest of your class?” The medico
irritably snapped his stethoscope into a satchel. “Not if I know it! You
stay in bed till I say get up.”

Bill’s temperature went skyrocketing. He fumed and he fussed, and
the more he worried about being absent, the higher his fever climbed.
Finally, after not less than ten days in bed without improvement. Bill
gave up. He fell back on the pillows, resigned to losing his chance at the
War College. But he no sooner quit worrying than the fever departed.
And to his agreeable surprise the school authorities accepted his return
without comment.

Many of his friends hadn’t realized Bill was sick. With everybody
absorbed in committee work, only that group to which Bill was assigned
noted his absence — principally because they had to do his work in addi-
tion to their own. The writing, the bulling, and the presenting were still
going on. Only, as far as Bill could see, the class was becoming more and
more blase, more and more critical of the steady deluge of oratory flow-
ing from the platform.

Fellows who at first had carried to college a sneaking suspicion that
they were pretty good now were sure of it. No subject was too great for
them to express an opinion on. At Leavenworth those fellows had juggled
corps and armies all over the map; now they dealt with the entire uni-
verse. Indeed, not a few seemed to infer direct communication with
Jupiter and Mars. Such hallucinations occasionally led the conversation
so high into the stratosphere that Bill was forced to pull the rip cord on
his mental parachute and get back to earth.

Bill was no military Einstein: he stuck to fundamentals. He figured
out there were just two kinds of Army officers — the talkers and the
listeners. And as hour followed hour in the conference hall Bill began to
get all listened out. He cringed each time a speaker mounted the rostrum
— and, once the harangue was over, rushed thankfully to the cool com-
fort of the coffee shop.

That refuge was becoming increasingly popular with the class as the
course went on. It was just Bill’s luck, too, that when he unexpectedly
flipped five aces out of the dicebox most of his schoolmates were present.
And those who weren’t came running, for it is an old War College cus-
tom that the man who throws all aces in one cast must buy coffee for the
house. Thereafter his name appears, framed for posterity, on the walls of
the coffee shop.

“Getting your name there cost more than on the bronze tablet that
will record our graduation,” observed John Honest.

56 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Bill looked around the room and grinned.

“Well, since the official plaques hang just outside the commandant’s
office, I bet more people will see I’ve been through college by looking at
the list down here than at the one up there.”

“That’s right,” John acknowledged, “and you know you’ve made this
list, which is more than any of us know about the other.”

The thought of not graduating was, of course, a standing joke. And
yet the possibility was not so funny, after all. Men had been known to
miss getting their names on the yearly scroll. As a matter of fact, one had
been removed at the very last moment only a year previous. Therefore,
it was with much relief that Bill finally saw himself listed on the plaque’s
facsimile, reproduced with printer’s ink on a sheet of paper, and posted
on the bulletin board for all to observe.

Nor was Bill alone in his elation. Not an officer in the class but experi-
enced a thrill on seeing that simple but impressive announcement. After
all, a man graduates from the Army War College but once.

“Just let me keep my health and not lose any secret documents,” Bill
prayed silently.

Thereafter work was merely incidental to the turning in as rapidly as
possible of all confidential, restricted, and secret papers with which Bill
had been burdened throughout the year. Each of those returned was as a
weight removed. Bill’s spirit, released of responsibilities, soared higher
and higher as the time approached for his final clearance and embarka-
tion upon the historical ride.

That tour was the grand finale, a de luxe exposition on military history.
And the entire trip turned out to be just like the busses the class and
instructors rode in — ^not only streamlined but air-conditioned as well.

For nine days Bill and his schoolfellows traveled about in solid com-
fort. They ate in air-cooled dining rooms, had their baggage carried in
and out of hotels, were dished out ice water at every halt, and handed
folding chairs to rest on during the talks. All they had to do was to sit
and listen. And some of them kicked at doing that!

“Which only goes to show we’re still soldiers in spite of our education,”
Bill remarked.

“What do you know about soldiers?” John Honest hooted. “You
haven’t been around any of them for the past fifteen years!”

“Maybe not,” Bill conceded, “but I soon will be. I’m going where, if I
want to know how many men are in my command, I won’t have to look
in Reference Data to see if it’s thirty thousand or three hundred thousand.
All I do is step out in front and yell, ‘Count off,’ and they’ll count off —
all thirty of them.”

“Yeah,” John jeered, “you will if you can squeeze that thirty-six waist
into your thirty-two breeches.”

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 57

“Okeh. But you’re not going to feel so good when you have to wear
woolen O.D. to graduate in.”

“That’s right,” John sighed. “I wish our Army schools would either
hold graduation in cool weathei^ or else let us put on something besides
winter uniforms.”

“Aw, you know you can’t be comfortable and military both at the same
time. We’d do better to pray that for once the speechifying will be short
and snappy.”

As a matter of fact, it was. Not over thirty minutes elapsed between
invocation and benediction. The talkers were just as uncomfortable as
the listeners, and besides, some of those members of the class selected for
pick-and-shovel jobs in the War Department [as members of the War
Department General Staff] had to put on their working clothes that very
afternoon and start digging. Their new bosses were calling for action!

Apparently members of the General Staff were not one bit impressed
with the amount of arduous labor performed at the War College. They
themselves had been through it. Their attitude was that the boys had
taken it easy for a year, but now it was time to get down to business —
and they needn’t try to fool anyone about having been overworked at
college, either.

Bill was not trying to fool anyone — ^not even himself. The school had
presented him a gentleman’s course, and Bill certainly hadn’t done any-
thing in any way to disturb the nomenclature of that curriculum. Nor did
he have any aspirations toward doing so. Nevertheless, the mere fact of
having graduated carried certain material benefits which Bill intended
exploiting to the utmost.

Never again, for example, would Bill seek work for work’s sake. No
indeed! He intended devoting the rest of his service to the pursuit of
securing positions, not to looking for jobs. He would, in fact, rely on his
head for results instead of his feet. Yes sir, he was going to do a lot of
sitting around, spending hours at a time, projecting deep thoughts far into
the future.

And since indolence, like charity, should begin at home, his first step
toward establishing the new era was to indoctrinate Mrs. Busher with the
idea.

“You see, sweet,” he explained carefully, “a considerable amount of
time and money has been spent on my education. Naturally the Army
expects intellectual results for the output. So from now on practically
all my activities will be mental instead of physical.”

Mrs. Busher gave several moments to considering this from all angles.

“Oh,” she finally said understandingly — and then, giggling mischie-
vously, “You’re telling me!”

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

THE DEAD HAND

By Major John H. Burns
(^ 937 )

Fortunate is that army whose ranks, released from the burden of dead forms,
are controlled by natural, untrammelled, quickened common sense. German
General Staff Account of the Boer War

From the past a Dead Hand reaches out to clutch the present in an
iron grip. It is all-grasping, all-powerful; it cannot be eluded. And,
unless strenuously resisted, it strangles all progress. It has halted great
races in the morning of a splendid culture by turning their faces from
the future toward the past — ^that past which, contemplated too long,
induces a hypnosis leading to mental stagnation. Such a fate befell China.

But the Dead Hand operates among all occidental peoples too, though
not so obviously. It sews two buttons on the back of a dress coat; it
notches the lapels of a coat collar; it stitches a row of buttons on the
end of a coat sleeve. Once these tWngs were useful, for the buttons on
the dress coat kept the sword belt from sagging, and the lapel notches
permitted the collar to be folded around the throat in severe weather.
Today they are useless, yet still we follow the old patterns.

But, some may say, these are only conventions of dress. What harm is
there in retaining, with slight changes, the raiment of the past to clothe
our physical bodies? It may be harmless, it is true; but at the same time
it is significant of something that is far deeper and' nothing short of
dangerous.

For the great harm comes when the Dead Hand fashions our mental
rather than our physical clothing. We wear this clothing of the mind
with no more idea of why it is shaped to a certain pattern than we have
of why a dress suit has tails. We accept unquestioningly. Moveover, we
can be as fully disturbed at any attempt to alter this mental garb as
at the idea of wearing a red tie with evening clothes.

The human obstinately resists change of any sort but particularly an
effort to change his mental raiment — the trousers of convention, the
vest of doctrine, the coat of dogma, and the all-enveloping mantle of
tradition. Man has a mind that can reason, but he uses it primarily —
almost exclusively — to buttress the opinions, prejudices, and minor faiths
he has imthinkingly absorbed from his environment. This he incorrectly
calls thinking. The right name is rationalizing.

With regret we must acknowledge that man does not desire to think

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

a thing out but prefers to act in accordance with a dictum or tradition.
Furthermore, constant repetition of a thing, constant seeing of a thing
in a certain way will ever convince him that that thing is essentially light
and proper and thereafter all the logical data in the world will not per-
suade him otherwise. Thus his actions are impelled by dogmas instead
of thoughts, and he becomes an ingenious rationalizer but a poor thinker. .
Not even our greatest minds are immune.

As a consequence we humans are perfect material for the deft fingers
of the past to mold. For we are bom into a fixed world, and the learning
period of life is spent in absorbing dogmas, doctrines, opinions, and
prejudices out of the past. When man does change it is not because logic
has convinced him but because iron circumstance forces him.

Under the Dead Hand each generation hardens into the old pattern
and becomes fiercely hostile to change. The great mind who tries to make
obsolete governmental forms square with the realities of the present is
stabbed to death on the ides of March, and the One who comes preach-
ing a newer and better life — a New Way — is met by a snarling mob
egged on by a venomous intelligentsia. He is scourged, spiked hand and
foot to beams, and the Dead Hand hoists Him high against the sky on
Calvary.

The Golden Age of mankind as recorded in folklore and fable appears
to be that period in which every detail of daily life was regulated by
taboos. It was a contented life, for every activity was fixed by tradition
and custom; and although the stmggle for existence was great, the
struggle to think was absent. Man would far rather war against wander-
ing head-hunters than have the horrifying experience of struggling with
an original thought that stole into his head.

How many eons mankind, with all its potentialities for civilization,
spent in this primitive state is not known, nor what started the change
that led the nomad and the hunter to civilization. But this much is
known: man is the same as of old; there has been no great degree of
mental evolution; he still yearns for taboos, doctrines, dogmas — ^anything
to escape from thinking. Yet he is now faced with the inescapable fact
that the civilization he started forces him to think or die, and that the
tempo of this civilization is quickening, demanding more thought, in its
turn bringing more mental distress. Study might show, perhaps, that all
past cultures came to their death because of the revulsion of the com-
mon man against the thinking required of him to maintain a state of
civilization.

' But what has all this to do with soldiering? you may ask. A great deal.
For this mentally slothful, this twisty- thinking individual^ is man, and
soldiers are men; and through this primitive type of mind the leader
must work to accomplish any task. Indeed, of all military dangers the
greatest is that the leader himself can only comprehend and initiate

60 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

action with the same type primitive mind. Unless he watches himself
carefully, and few do, he will direct events in accordance with prejudices^
doctrine, dogmas, or tradition, and not in accordance with the clear facts
before him. For these facts take thinking to comprehend, more thinking
to synthesize into several probable courses of action, and still more careful
thinking to resolve into the right course of action. With man it is always
simpler, and much more consistent with the normal functioning of his
inherited mental apparatus, to let a doctrine — or even a hunch — dictate
his course of action. Then he uses his mind most ingeniously to prove
how eminently correct the dogmatic decision is.

It would not be so serious if these doctrines were the result of real
creative thinking by great minds of the past, but for the most part they
are merely bald opinions strikingly, yet plausibly, expressed by some suc-
cessful man of action. As Spengler, the great German historian, points
out, “The man of action is often limited in his vision. He is driven with-
out knowing the real aim. . . . Often he goes astray because he has
conjured up a false picture of things around and about him.” Tragically
enough, the primitive mind — ^which is always present even under a top
hat — admires exceedingly the man of action, reveres his statements, and
cares not a fig for the thinkers, who are tiresome fellows all.

Hence any opinion on war by a successful soldier is received respect-
fully, repeated often, and by sheer repetition soon becomes a dictum or
rule reaching out from the past to control present conduct — this to the
exclusion of reason. Then another thing happens. Second-class minds —
pedants or propagandists — ^select such of these remarks as bear out
already fixed opinions or flatter national pride, and put them together
in a plausible manner to build up a doctrine of war, a concept of national
psychology, or anything that pleases their fancy. The result of all this
is a mass of fixed irrational opinions in the minds of succeeding genera-
tions. Such opinions are the fingers of the Dead Hand and their strength
is incalculable.

Farfetched, you think? But wait. Wellington once said that Waterloo
was won on the playing fields of Eton. Field games, he meant, produced
the proper soldier material. No one could claim, of course, that Welling-
ton was a great social thinker; yet no one stopped to ask upon what
playing fields Austerlitz, Marengo, Valmy, Arbela, or Cannae were won.
The phrase was simply accepted as truth and more than a hundred years
later is still repeated as truth. Such phrases are dangerous, but for long
no one saw how dangerous and untrue this one was. This stock statement
shaped the British mind until the playing of games by officers and gentle-
men became a veritable fetish. It remained for the poet Kipling to point
out its fallacy during the Boer War when he spoke in withering scorn
of the “flanneled fool at the wicket” and the “muddied oaf at the goal”
and related how the Empire had to depend, not on these products to

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

win the war, but on “men who could shoot and ride.” Of course Kipling
was merely a poet, and where his opinion clashed with a dictum of the
Iron Duke it was ignored. However, it does not always pay to ignore the
poet; his vision is clearer, oftentimes, than that of the man of action.

The Boer War passed, and the World War came and passed, and still
the Dead Hand rules; for only lately a British general officer, aged fifty-
three years, was adversely reported upon because he did not take part
in field games. Ponder on this situation. It is fantastic, absurd. Yet it is
accepted placidly by the very people who, no doubt, smile superciliously
at the Tibetan lama with his prayer wheel. But the lama has about as
good grounds for believing in the efficacy of his wheel to bring salvation
as the British in the efficacy of field games to produce tacticians.

When Lord Seaton, the famous Colonel Colbome of the Peninsular
War and Waterloo, was asked how skill in war was obtained, he replied,
“Fighting, and a damned deal of it.” He never stopped to explain how
a yoimg man in his middle twenties, with no experience of high com-
mand and little of warfare, waged his first campaign in northern Italy
so brilliantly that it is a military classic. Yet Lord Seaton knew Napoleon’s
record well, for he had been waging war against him so long that the
British Empire was almost bankrupted.

The years roll on. In the middle of the nineteenth century General
Sir John Fox Burgoyne railed against any education test for officers. It
was “uncalled for, delusive, and mischievous. To extend these examina-
tions to the higher grades, even to captain, would be intolerable and
would destroy emulation in the real qualities of a good officer and a
soldier.” It would appear from the general’s full statement that these good
qualities were proficiency in games and sports. Wellington’s remark and
Lord Seaton’s were here nicely blended and neatly rationalized to pro-
duce another stumbling block to progress almost fifty years later. To
indicate the tremendous hold these phrase-born traditions had on the
British mind it should be noted that in 1898, in the words of a distin-
guished British soldier, the British officer knew nothing of war, did not
want to know anything, and considered himself a better soldier for his
ignorance.

Wellington’s fame, his methods, his casual phrases have had a greater
effect on the British Army than that army has realized. One is tempted
to see a connection between Wellington’s almost rabid insistence that
his orders be carried out punctiliously, even though in error, and the
lack of initiative displayed by beach commanders during the Gallipoli
landing. Did Wellington create a tradition which has been followed to
this day — a tradition of waiting for orders instead of bold initiative?
Compare the British at Gallipoli with the superb initiative of German
officers nears Penchard in France in 1914, and one cannot help but
wonder.

62 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The British general who stated relative to trench periscopes, “It is
contrary to the traditions of the British officer to seek information from
a position of security by means of mechanical device,” is typical of a man
living and thinking under the Dead Hand. And so was the officer on the
British Imperial General Staff who dismissed the first conception of a
tank with the curt advice to the one presenting the idea, that he come
down to earth and stop wasting his and others’ time. And so was Wel-
lington himself, for when shown the new improved cylindroconoidal
bullet invented by Captain John Norton in 1823 he said that Brown
Bess — the musket of Napoleonic days — ^was good enough. General
Napier’s remark when he learned of the Mini6 ball invented by Captain
Mini6 of the French Army in 1853 (Captain Norton’s idea taking shape
again) is particularly characteristic. To have infantry able to fire a dis-
tance of one thousand yards was unthinkable. It would make infantry
but “long-range assassins,” to quote the words of the outraged general.

And then listen to these words delivered a few years ago in a motor
civilization by a full general in the British service: “The longer we can
keep horses for artillery and cavalry, the better it will be for the Army,
because thereby you keep up the high standard of intelligence in the man
from his association wiA the horse.” Reductio ad absurdum!

Yet, you may say, new things do come and the old order finally passes.
But how much the Dead Hand delays progress! Some wise man has made
the point that many great inventions were so obvious that as a matter of
fact they invented Aemselves. The soldier, however, will not even permit
this process; he sets his face against it — ^indeed, his eyes are in the back
of his head the more clearly to read the past for all that he must stumble
through the present.

Exaggerated? Not at all. In an armory in the small town of Oneonta,
New York, is a breech-loading rifle — one of those with which a battalion
of British troops was equipped during our Revolutionary War. The
rifle was invented by Major Patrick Ferguson, who also organized and
trained the battalion equipped with it. In the Battle of Brandywine
troops with this rifle were able to fire so rapidly that the Americans
facing the battalion fled, thinking they were opposed by a large force.
Here was an invention that received the service test of war and proved
tactically successful. Even today the same rifle works smoothly and
efficiently. Mechanically it is sound. Yet the British general in New York
broke up the organization and distributed the men and rifles among other
units. How many years later was it before armies were equipped with
such weapons? Almost a full century! Think that over.

We have quoted the British record extensively merely because the
record is handy; no nation or army is free from the domination of the
Dead Hand. We might quote the experience of the Prussians going out
to meet Napoleon and his new methods of war, with the withered tradi-

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

tions^ formations, and ideas of Frederick the Great. We might tell how*
the Prussian machine creaked into action, how the Napoleonic avalanche
swept over it, and how a torrential pursuit destroyed it.

Or we might recall how the French used the Chasseurs d’Afrique in the
Franco-Prussian War. How they charged infantry in true Napoleonic
style and were smashed into pulp. Yet the recent American Civil War
and the still more recent Austro-Prussian War had definitely shown that
the mass cavalry charge against infantry was as obsolete as the crossbow.

In both these cases revolutionary developments in the art of war
occurred before the very eyes of the soldier, but tradition was stronger
than facts. The old was blindly retained and disaster followed.

The same spirit lived on into the twentieth century — even into the
World War. Did not Marshal Foch remark in 1909 at the Rheims avia-
tion meet that while flying might be a good sport it had no military
value? This from the keenest military mind in France!

Or take our own Army. Not so long ago, as history reckons time, our
regulations prohibited all but cavalrymen from wearing mustaches. The
boots and the jingling spurs were not enough to mark the man on horse-
back who for the span of a thousand years had dominated the battlefields
of the world. Yet his day passed centuries ago with the rise of the bristling
infantry pikes in the cantons of Switzerland and the twanging of the
English bows at Crecy. Gunpowder, the musket, and bayonet definitely
ended cavalry as the basic battle arm. All this was centuries past. Yet
tradition wrapped the cavalryman in her ample, splendid cloak, and he,
the beau sabreur, twirling his mustachios in the red afterglow of the
sunset of his arm, demanded something special to distinguish him from
those others — the rabble of battle. And still he dreamed of his ancient
glory, and still at the dawn of the twentieth century — and I must go to
England for this — ^he clung to the idea of riding down unshaken in-
fantry — 2l delirious dream bom of the hashish of tradition.

But the American Infantry would not be denied and eventually won
the right to wear mustaches. Then, to make matters complete, they
adopted a purely cavalry weapon — ^the saber — as a side arm. And after
the World War — a strictly infantry conflict — they obtained the treasured
privilege of wearing the boots and spurs of the cavalry arm. Tradition
blinded everyone. The infantryman strutting proudly with his newly won
spiirs and the cavalry saber trailing from his hip failed to notice that the
ammoniacal odors of the stable were being replaced by the stench of gaso-
line, denoting the rapid decomposition of the ancient horse.

As a result we have the absurd spectacle of the greatest motor nation
in the world still enthralled by a tradition, still worshiping at the shrine
of Eohippus. This, you may say, means little; it is only a quaint leftover
from the past. But it is ominous, for it shows we are looking backward
and burning punk before an ancient joss. Check the record and see where

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

'we stand in relation to other great powers in mechanization and motoriza-
tion. This industrial giant of a nation^ to drop into the jargon of the
horse itself, is but an “also ran.”

Yes, all armies are gripped by the Dead Hand and are content.
Throughout the hierarchy of command they are blind to the possibilities
of new things. Even that genius, Napoleon, failed to see the significance
of the steamboat and the submarine, both of which were presented to
him by Fulton. Yet Napoleon’s archfoe was the sea power, Britain; and
the steamboat, at least, was a practical invention which might have
allowed him to come to grips with her. But for this once he could not
see beyond the narrow rut of his times, and his star soon set. Tradition
may only blind the genius, but it makes fools of common men.

Any doctrine, custom, or tradition advanced as a reason for doing a
thing in war — or not doing it — vindicates the presence of the Dead Hand.
Suspicion should immediately arise and the matter should be examined
in the cold light of logic, going back not to old quotations, old axioms,
old opinions, or old doctrines, but straight to scientific fundamentals.
For war is not won by traditions but by the utilization of solid facts
applied logically in accordance with the psychological nature of man.

Perhaps it is this psychologically unchanging nature of man that has
led to our veneration of tradition. By bloody trial and error we have
learned how to control men in battle. We can advance few scientific
reasons for our methods, yet actually the soldier knows more about con-
trolling and directing men during times of stress than any scientist. This
knowledge is conveyed from generation to generation by traditions and
customs, the reasons for which we have not the faintest idea. Thus, while
our understanding of the mechanism for controlling the conduct of man
is hazy, the mechanism itself is fundamentally sound.

There is, then, some justification for this clinging to tradition where
it applies to the control of men, but there is absolutely no justification for
permitting the intrusion of any tradition, doctrine, or custom in the field
of military thought. Furthermore, our ability to apply inherited methods
would increase enormously if we turned the light of reason and science
inward and traced each tradition or custom to its source to ascertain how
it brings about a certain result or whether it creates any good result
at all.

Then in the clear light of reason we can slough off all the outmoded
crust of tradition that hampers our advance; retain the good from older
days, and adapt the new, when reason proves it good. Then, and not till
then, will our fighting organization fit the man, the times, and the new
technology of the age of machines.

It should be remembered that we are in a great era of change. With
lightning rapidity our social and industrial structure is being reshaped
by the roaring machines of a mechanical age. Concomitantly the Army

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

itself must change^ for an army is but the integration of men and peace-
time inventions for the purpose of war. Already the yeast is stirring the
mass.

The infantry regiment is being radically changed to fit the age; the
division is conforming; cavalry is taking to wheels and tractors; already
the idea of great motorized and mechanized masses is being toyed with;
aircraft have shouldered their way into the battle group. All is fluid —
changing. Nothing is constant. Never did we need thinking officers more;
never could less trust be placed in custom or tradition. We are on the
threshold of a new era of war, like the one that came in after the battle
of Adrianople or the one initiated by Napoleon.

But this time, under the pressure of the machine age, events will move
with incredible rapidity. Instead of requiring generations or centuries
to accomplish a change, it may take but a decade. The army that leisurely
dabbles with the new is doomed. The military mind must be active, avid
for new things, eager to try them out; searching, seeking, prying; ruth-
lessly scrapping the old thing or method to replace it by a better one.

But this is not all, or even the most important part. Every effort must
be made to ascertain how sociological changes will affect oiu* future
soldier material. The officer who believes that American civilization as it
is evolving will give him the same human material that fought at Gettys-
burg or in the Argonne is living in a fool’s paradise. The mere existence
of that belief indicates how the acceptance of the traditional concept of
an American has atrophied the power of applied thinking. The philoso-
phy of John Dewey and his disciples, for instance, is remaking our public
schools and is but one of the many factors that are producing a different
American. Whether this American will make a different or better soldier,
no one can say, for no one is investigating the matter.

And so we have industry changing the tools of war with lightning
speed and society shaping our human material — the basic weapon of
war — to a different, untried pattern. Both things are occurring at the
same time. It is a revolution if we could but see it.

Yes, a new technique of war is ready to break from the egg — a war of
machines and of science, a war in three dimensions. No officer is so junior
that he is freed from the necessity of thinking, for no custom or tradition
can settle the problems which will arise. We must think out new methods,
not fiunble with old ones. Today, because of the flux — the fluidity — of
modem life, the Dead Hand is a greater military menace than ever
before in history.

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

THE INVISIBLE MAN
By Lieutenant (now Colonel) C. T. Lanham

( 1935 )

Contending armies wage a war of concealment. Both sides seek an ulti-
mate invisibility. From this silent contest there emerged in the last war
that strange phenomenon known as “the empty battlefield.” No longer do
banners and pennons signal the locations of headquarters. No longer does
the sun glint from polished fieldpieces. No longer do soldiers march to
battle in bright red pantaloons as did the French Infantry of 1914. Those
picturesque settings for painters of battles are at an end. Today armies
strive to vanish into nothingness.

Let us examine this “vanishing game” with reference to the infantry-
man. True, his colorful uniforms have long since gone by the board (to
the infinite chagrin of his feminine admirers), but do the neutral colors —
the horizon blue, the field gray, the khaki — that have been substituted
carry the idea of invisibility to its logical conclusion? I think not.

The uniform of the individual soldier still presents a single mass of
color of unbroken outline. Rarely, indeed, will the infantryman find him-
self in terrain whose color background blends perfectly with his uniform.
When this blending does not occur the soldier presents a characteristic
and unmistakable target.

We need only recall that in the realm of materiel more than mere
neutral color was resorted to for purposes of concealment. The charac-
teristic outlines of fieldpieces, of tanks, of battleships were broken by a
combination of colors. The resulting bewilderment to the eye, even at
short distances, was almost incredible.

Now isn’t it possible for our camouflage experts to apply this same
principle of the “broken outline” to the uniform? Can’t the field uniform
be fabricated from a variety of colors in such manner that the individual
soldier will no longer present a characteristic target? I believe that experi-
ments conducted along this line of thought will prove little less than
startling and may in the end bring us perceptibly closer to our goal —
^Uhe invisible manJ*

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHE4D— 1

GASES IN WARFARE

From an article by Colonel (Congressman)

John Q. Tilson

(^ 9 ^ 7 )

. . . With the increased use of the airplane, so that bombs, instead of
being fired from mortars or howitzers, which are destructive of certain
kinds of containers and render useless certain kinds of very poisonous
gases, may be dropped from the airplane, we can do much toward mak-
ing war unbearable.

You can use other and different gases from the airplane than you
can from the gun. There are now a number of chemists — I could not tell
you how many — ^brilliant chemists, who are working on these problems.
It is believed that with the supremacy of the air complete, the use of
bombs, including the use of gases — ^which was forced into the hands of
the Allies, first being used by their adversaries — ^may be made the turning
element in this whole contest. Think what the effect would be if used
against supply depots, if used against troops in reserve, where they are
supposed to be resting back of the lines; think what it would mean to
have these bombs constantly falling upon them, or, going even farther
back, with supremacy of the air back over German territory. Of course
I should be in favor of warning them to take away their women, children,
and old men from any part of the country that we should have to operate
over, a thing, by the way, which the enemy has not done in the case of the
Zeppelins which have gone over England. Having done that, you can
realize what kind of terror and destruction might be brought to Germany
itself by the use of all kinds of weapons used in aerial warfare, including
gas bombs of every type and kind.

THE LITERAL FOG OF WAR
By G. V.

{^93^)

Hanging in the headquarters of the Infantry School for many years —
there it still hangs, I have no doubt — ^was a large composite photograph
of the infantryman in the modem sense. The details are now a little dim,

68 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

for it is some time since I have gazed upon it for inspiration. But if my
memory is at all correct, a doughboy with bayonet at the ready, a tank
looming over a trench, a machine gunner intent upon a remunerative
target, a rifle grenadier, another soldier with hand grenade at the top
of the arm-swing arc — in fact, every manifestation of modern infantry
combat — are splendidly depicted. And when I spoke of inspiration just
above, that is exactly what I meant.

Recently, however, that picture has come back to my mind more and
more often, as the oncoming years have made me more reflective. What
I have read in the papers, too, about Ethiopia and Spain has brought
back that picture of the infantry spirit time after time. I felt that there
was something wrong with it — something definitely missing. And at last
I have decided just what it is.

It is too clear. You can see every feature of the men*s determined faces.
You can count the swivels on the rifle and the rounds of ammunition
in the machine-gun belt. You can almost see the channeled surface of
the* poised grenade. But could you see these things on a modem battle-
field, even if you were close to them?

I doubt it, for you would have your gas mask on. That whole symbolic
picture of infantry activity, I have come to believe, should be shrouded
in a heavy haze, in turn symbolic of the gas and smoke that form the fog
of war in its literal modern sense.

When, indeed, are we going to stop playing ostrich? When are we
going to think of battle as it will be and not as it has seldom been since
1915? When, to become more definite in my questioning, shall we cease
to leave out chemicals from our training, except for one brief period of
gas-mask drill per year?

To my mind here are a few of the things we well may do while there
is still time:

(1) Require gas masks to be carried at all but the most elementary
drills — always, in all types of combat training.

(2) Require them to be worn for a few minutes of every training
period and for an hour at least once a month.

(3) Require every officer to be a proficient gas oflBcer, not one second
lieutenant per battalion.

(4) Bring persistent chemicals into every tactical problem given at
the Infantry School, and in the Infantry Extension Courses.

(5) Require training not only in gas protection but in steps to be
taken after troops have been heavily sprinkled by persistent chemicals.
(What would you do if your whole company or battalion was drenched
with mustard by a hostile plane? There are actually some things you
can do if you think fast, which may prevent 1 00-per-cent casualties.)

We are by no means ignorant of gas. But gas is something very un-
pleasant, hence we are inclined to let it gently drift into the background

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

and settle over a smaller and smaller part of our training schedules. We
shall not be able to control its drift when war comes. All too often it
will drift squarely upon us. Let us learn to look at things through the
haze of gas as we shall have to see them then.

NE’ER A CLOUD

HANGS O’ER THE FIELD OF BATTLE
By Captain Mustard

{W37)

I GAN UNDERSTAND IT and make some allowances — ^but not many — ^when
regimental commanders content themselves with a farcical amount of
gas-mask work in chemical training. Wearing masks is stuffy business at
best and miserably uncomfortable when it is hot. And it is a fact that
all regiments at least acknowledge the existence of chemicals in war
by including time for gas drill on their schedules, however brief that time
may be.

But the clearest evidence that we of the Infantry are failing to give
their due to chemicals in war is the minor place given to them at the
Infantry School. In last year’s Regular Course problem after problem, in
which chemicals should have been expected as an everyday part of the
tactical situation, made no mention of gas or smoke. The brief course in
chemical warfare, which came near the middle of the year, was as
thorough as the time permitted. But once it was over many a problem
followed in which chemicals played only a minor role, if any at all. And
in this year’s course, I understand, things are much the same.

As a matter of downright fact, most of the technique and doctrine of
the attack now taught at Benning is primarily based on non-chemical
warfare. It is painfully evident that gas and smoke arc mainly after-
thoughts. Isn’t it time for somebody to remember that more than one
quarter of our World War casualties were the result of German gas?

Smoke receives some recognition, but only a grudging one. The fact
that it blows away in a twelve-mile breeze gets plenty of stress. Its use
is not the commonplace tactical measure that it should be, especially in
the instruction involving small units.

I make bold to say in conclusion that our largely non-chemical ap-
proach to warfare is a 1907, and not a 1937, brand of tactics. And I
give it as my further opinion that, since the World War ended, any
tactical problem in which gas and smoke do not spread over the ground

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

is not worth the paper on which it is mimeographed. Worse than that,
it is misleading and a highly dangerous practice.

THE CASE FOR ANTI-^TANK
By Captain X

There has always been a marked tendency for the limitations of the tank
to be overlooked. It is a machine of immense power which, properly con-
trolled and directed and used in a correct tactical manner, is capable of
great destruction. At the same time the tank, like every other weapon of
war, no matter how powerful or how striking its power appears to the
uninitiated, has limitations. Indeed, the “capabilities and limitations” of
weapons is a phrase that has been in use in the Army for many, many
years, for it is as dangerous to forget the limitations as to overestimate
the capabilities. The Army man must see things squarely, must see all
sides. Otherwise he cannot possibly estimate the general situation and
decide what to do next.

By May 1938, when the following article was published, there had been
a great deal written about tanks and mechanization in general, and very
much about the means of combating them, the ways of attacking the
serious limitations of tanks. In “The Case for Anti-Tank” the author at-
tempted to point out the weaknesses of tanks and suggest what might be
done against them. In several places he is guilty of overenthusiasm in an
article which would have been stronger if it had been less argumentative.

He also missed the important close-in method of combating tanks which
has destroyed many of them in this present war. And he also missed half
of the “tank-destroyer” application — ^thc speedy-moving, self-propelled
gun mount.

Valuable as may be the lessons of Cambrai, Amiens, and the other
World War battles of the tank, we are inclined to build too much upon
them. We have data in plenty about these battles — know the numbers,
casualties, frontages, time and depth of penetrations, and even the effect
upon morale. And it is therefore natural to make these first and already
olden tank engagements a chief burden of our tank discussion, and to use
them as a measuring rod for future mechanical conflicts.

But when we search these limited, if solid, facts of history for an
approved solution to fit some second, greater Cambrai of tomorrow, we
distort our mechanized thought. In thinking too readily of tomorrow as a
better yesterday we neglect, and sometimes forget entirely, factors far
more vital to tomorrow’s war than what happened in battle two decades
ago. For it is the ground we shall have to fight upon, the tanks that
we or an enemy can eventually build for traversing that ground, and the
probable strength of the anti-tank defense — these are the main things we

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1 71

must think of^ and not those first valiant^ inconclusive actions of the
tank.

Above all must we consider anti-tank. We must weigh tank in terms of
anti-tank at every turn, remembering that anti-tank was inadequate,
impromptu, and often non-existent in the few tank engagements of the
World War, although isolated instances of its superiority were not lack-
ing. We may even find, through such comparison, that advantage now
lies far more with anti-tank than tank, and that the dream of iron battle
that arose at Cambrai may become in the end more like an impracticable
nightmare. Now more than ever is such a comparison pertinent, since it
has recently been decided that we must have a special kind of tank for
dealing with the enemy’s anti-tank guns, before another kind, following
in a second wave, can destroy the enemy’s machine guns.

Comparative Vulnerability

Aside from the glib argument that the speed of a tank can take the
place of resistant steel we must accept the fact that a gunproof tank can-
not be built. Even tanks of 150 to 200 tons, carrying several inches of
armor, like those seriously discussed in England and France for use in
another stabilized European war, are vulnerable. “The Achilles’ heel of
these thick-skinned monsters,” writes an anonymous author, “lies in their
tracks, which cannot be completely protected.” And the bigger the tank,
the greater the ratio of track to its total of target surface. At least half
of a 200-ton tank would be track target rather than armor target. We
need not consider the possibility of still larger tanks, which are utterly
impracticable short of some revolutionary development in metallurgy and
mechanics. And since all tanks weighing more than ten or twelve tons
are extremely limited in their strategic mobility because they have little
speed and cannot cross most bridges, we shall confine this discussion
mainly to the light- and medium-armored vehicles that every major na-
tion is busy developing.

For use against these, it goes without saying, an effective anti-tank
weapon can be built; in fact, it may already exist. A gun powerful enough
to penetrate at most some two inches of armor or break, jam, or dismount
the tank track, both at maximum range, is all that we need.

Maximum anti-tank range, of counse, is determined by terrain and not
by the curve of the trajectory and the propelling charge. It is limited
by the distance at which a tank becomes a visible target for direct fire.
On flat, treeless ground, like the wheat fields of the Middle West, a tank
of any size may become a plainly visible target two or three miles away
when the weather is clear. But not much of the earth’s surface where wars
are likely to be fought gives us this extreme. And where great level or

72 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

gently rolling stretches do exist, the growth upon them, or the desert
mirage, usually cuts down the distance of visibility. Thus it is safe to say,
with terrain in general in mind, that a tank will seldom become an anti-
tank target farther away than two thousand yards.

Actually, anti-tank range is a bracket running from a few feet to about
two thousand yards. A tank may belly up over a hump of ground to
find an anti-tank gun at point-blank range, as happened several times
at the Benning maneuvers in 1937. Or it may, at the other extreme, come
into clear view a mile or more away down a long straight stretch of road.

Thus, from the viewpoint of disabling power alone, we can say that an
effective anti-tank gun must be capable of penetrating the armor or
making useless the tracks of light and medium tanks at ranges from
zero to two thousand yards. For this we will certainly need no Big
Berthas — at least until the super-tank becomes the order of the day.
The equivalent of the present 75-mm. gun should have ample power to
disable any vehicle that may be used by any modem mechanized force.
Indeed, a gun of this power has disabling power to spare for all our
needs at present and for some time to come. Let us accept a weapon of
this size as our effective anti-tank gun in this discussion.

How vulnerable, then, would the crew of such a gun be to the fire of
attacking tanks? It would be extremely vulnerable to the close-range fire
of tank machine guns at less than two hundred yards. It would be vulner-
able, also, to accurate 37-mm. or larger caliber gunfire from stationary
tanks at longer ranges. A shield of armor and a protective emplacement
would lower its vulnerability in a considerable degree. Let us grant the
shield, but for the present let us think in terms of open warfare and
assume a hasty emplacement of the gun giving only the protection that
the ground may accidentally afford.

In these conditions it is plain that the vulnerability of the tank is one
of long range and that of the gun one of short range. Hence much de-
pends upon which sees the other first and gets the jump in opening fire —
upon comparative visibility. Since tanks may warn of their approach by
sound before they are seen, let us first touch upon comparative audibility
before turning to comparative visibility.

Comparative Audibility

The approach of tanks numbered in hundreds, or even in scores, is
heralded by a mighty roar — a veritable Niagara of rolling sound. How
far off this noise can first be detected by anti-tank gunners depends on
the wind and the shape of the ground and upon how sustained the other
noises of battle may be. These other sounds, however, must be highly
sustained over a large area to drown out the deep tank undertone.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 73

It is hardly necessary to point out that the crews of moving tanks can-
not hear the movement of opposing truck-drawn anti-tank units. The
crews of stopped tanks^ lying in wait, might hear them, but they could
not distinguish anti-tank trucks from any others. Thus the factor of
audibility will be an advantage almost solely pn the side of anti-tank.

Comparative Visibility

The factor of visibility, too, will almost invariably favor anti-tank. It
is difficult to imagine circumstances in which an anti-tank gun would
not have the advantage here. We know to begin with that the myopia
of the tank is incurable. The tank has been nearsighted from birth, and
apparently there is little that can be done about it.

Seldom, if ever, will tank crews detect a gun in concealed or prepared
positions until it has opened fire — ^and often not for some time thereafter,
especially when the gun begins potting at the tank at a range of several
hundred yards or more. The same thing will be true of guns firing from
reconnoitered positions unless they are late in arriving. And when this is
the case it will usually be better for them to go into a hasty position some-
where else. Anti-tank gun crews will often be able to go into action hastily,
yet without immediate detection. Only on ground that is actually ex-
posed is this likely to be difficult. And even there they may succeed at
times, since it is hard to pick up details clearly through the eye slits of a
moving tank at much beyond two hundred yards.

From the anti-tank viewpoint, visibility is a different story. The smallest
tank is a big target at ranges measured in hundreds of yards. As General
von Eimmannsberger says, “The tank doesn’t fit into the emptiness of
the modern battlefield . . . [it] has to attack across terrain in full view.”
Tanks, in fact, are about as capable of a stealthy approach as a herd
of elephants charging through a canebrake. Whether anti-tank gun
crews hear them first, or see them, they have the drop on the tanks, and
a big one it is.

It is also true that the crews of attacking tanks will seldom have
exact information of opposing anti-tank dispositions. The circumstances
may vary all the way from an “exploratory” attack (as in a wide envelop-
ment where the tank units know only the general direction of their
enemy) to an attack against an area in which other units have already
developed definite infantry resistance. In the first case, of course, the
tanks are merely hunting for a prey. In the second, “definitely located
infantry resistance,” even in an attack against an organized defensive
position, is seldom spotted point for point and machine gun for machine
gun. Instead it is located “on the near slope of that hill,” or “in the
right edge of those woods.” Rarely will a tank-unit commander know
that the enemy has squads, or machine guns, or anti-tank guns at given

74 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

points, as map problems get us in the habit of thinking. Nor will
“definitely located” resistance necessarily stay definitely located — ^another
illogical Aing hard to keep away from in map problems.

Still more to the point, definitely located infantry resistance does not
betray the location of it%own anti-tank protection, for anti-tank guns lie
low until their steel-clad enemies come lumbering over the landscape.
And even if some super G-2 were somehow able to inform the tank
crews exactly where our gun crews are crouching, there is no guarantee
whatever that our anti-tankers will freeze in place. Rather will it be
habitual for them to move their guns to any of the several near-by alter-
nate positions as is necessary to meet the attack.

For similar reasons observation airplanes can be of little help to tanks
in finding anti-tank movements or positions. Anti-tank units will always
be well scattered. There will never be any anti-tank concentrations re-
motely approaching those of a mechanized force. Air photographs will
tell only a readily altered story. Air spotting might keep scattered anti-
tank guns in sight. This would afford some general help in planning a
tank attack but would be small help to individual tank crews in finding
their way across country to a given target during the attack itself. It is
conceivable for a single plane to guide a single tank toward a single gun,
but not for many planes to direct a regiment or two of tanks individually
toward their targets.

Before a battle opens, observation aviation is almost certain to be
more helpful to anti-tank than tank. When they can operate, observation
imits can warn anti-tank units, either directly or through a higher unit,
of approaching masses of hostile tanks. Air warnings can be given in
ample time, even without radio, since the plane is so much faster than the
tank. Only two situations may prevent such warnings: (i) Movement
of hostile mechanized forces in a manner that will keep air observers
from seeing them, as on days of low air visibility, through heavy woods,
or by short fast dashes from concealment to concealment, by day or
night; and ( 2 ) a hostile air superiority that prohibits observation. Neither
case, however, should greatly reduce the effectiveness of an otherwise
thorough anti-tank defense.

No; the gun has the jump on the tank almost any way we look at it.
If we think in terms of a single gun and the tank its gun crew first sees
approaching, the gun will open fire before the tank, often at a range of
many hundred yards. When the first shell detonates close by their tank
or strikes it, the crew will know it is under fire. Chances are great that
the tank crew will not locate the gun for some time afterward, assuming
that the tank is not disabled at once. The sound of the gun may not be
heard within the tank at all, and the position of the gun will often be
difficult to determine until the tank gets closer to its target. Unfortunately

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1 75

the tank cannot, like the elephant, smell its enemy at great distance
adown the wind.

If, however, the gun first takes the tank under fire at a short range,
say two hundred to three hundred yards, a member of the tank crew may
see the gun at once, particularly if the first shot is a wide miss (which
will not be often at such ranges). But at any short range the gun crew
will almost invariably be aware of the tank’s approach from hearing it,
and all set to engage it when it first looms into view.

Often a gun crew will be able to fire for some time before the crew
of a hostile tank can determine the direction of fire and see just where
the gun is. Maneuvers show that attacking tanks fail entirely to see many
of the guns which are simulating fire against them. Simulated fire, it is
true, makes no noise or smoke. But on the Infantry School maneuvers of
1937 it seemed most probable that, whether the anti-tank guns had
fired blanks or not, the tank crews would not have seen many of them.

In actual combat we can expect a number of tanks to come under the
fire of a number of guns at roughly the same time, and by virtue of the
fact that anti-tank guns will usually open fire first, each will pick a
specific target through some system of fire distribution before the tank
crews can pick their own specific targets and thus distribute their own
fires. When there are more guns than tanks the tanks may see some of the
guns in short order, but hardly all of them. When there are more tanks
than guns the same thing will often hold at first anti-tank contact, except
when the guns are greatly outnumbered. Even when there are four or
five tanks engaged by a single gun it may be some seconds or minutes
before any tank crew spots it.

A single tank, or a platoon of three to five tanks under a single leader,
may seek cover temporarily when they first come under anti-tank fire
by moving behind defilade. This maneuver to gain breathing time, which
is of course a passive measure, only succeeds when the tanks know the
general direction from which the fire is coming — a fair probability, since
at least the general direction of the enemy will usually be known. From
defilade the tank crews can reconnoiter, either in the tanks or out of
them, seeking to locate the gun or guns that picked them up, the better
to resume their attack. But on the other hand, the opposing gun squads
know where the tanks have gone and remain ready to lay on them when
they pop in sight again. The gun crews, in this case, have temporarily
accomplished their mission of defense by interrupting the attack and
neutralizing the tanks for the time being. The tanks, in endeavoring to
accomplish their own mission, may be able to stay behind defilade while
they move for some distance to one flank or the other, but soon or late
they must appear again and come under fire. They may come under the

76 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

fire of the same guns, either from the same gun positions or new ones,
or under the fire of other guns.

Though defilade may thus give some protection to attacking tanks, it
is actually small protection except on very broken ground. How very
small is only apparent if we analyze the matter. At first thought it appears
that a tank protected by defilade during one half the time from the
moment an anti-tank gun first sees it until it closes on the gun has
achieved a 50-per-cent safety. But it is nothing of the sort.

We must not forget that an approaching tank offers a target one hun-
dred times larger at two hundred yards than at two thousand yards.
Thus the actual exposure of a tank to gunfire during the last half of
its attack, assuming an even rate of speed, is many times that of the
first half — ^by actual calculation about nine times as great. If an attack-
ing tank comes in sight at two thousand yards and manages to reach a
p>oint two hundred yards from the gun, approximately 60 per cent of
its exposure comes between four hundred and two hundred yards. There-
fore, unless a tank, through some remarkable circumstance of ground,
has defilade during the last part of its attack run, the degree of cover
it can obtain is only a small fraction of its total exposure.

But what of the zigzag broken-field running that tanks may use where
the ground is good? Its purpose, of course, is to disturb the aim of the
anti-tank gunner, and this, in some degree, it accomplishes. But it is
worth questioning whether its disadvantages do not offset its one
advantage.

In the first place, a zigzagging tank is exposed to fire for a considerably
longer time than a tank on a straight course. It also exposes more of its
surface to fire since the side area of a tank is about twice that of the
front. Furthermore, if we assume any distribution of anti-tank guns in
width with overlapping sectors, which we must, a tank moving on an
angular course across the line of aim of one gun may be moving on a
straight, or practically straight, line toward some other gun, thus offering
a point target with little angular change.

Actually the anti-tank difficulties of firing at crossing tank targets are
not particularly great. The angular displacement, except when the tank
is within one hundred yards or so of the gun, does not interfere seriously
with accurate laying. The technique of fire at moving targets is neither
complicated nor hard to apply. In anti-tank firing the difficulties due to
angular movement can hardly be compared to those of machine-gun or
rifle firing at airplanes in low flight — ^this for the simple reason that air-
planes can fly from five to forty times as fast as attacking tanks will be
able to move across country.

But there is still another important factor that goes far to cancel zig-

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

zagging as a disadvantage to anti-tank gunners. On the straightest of ^
courses and the smoothest of fields the gunners within a tank are never-
theless attempting to fire from a moving, shifting, bumping, vibrating
platform. Add the lurch and shift of the zigzag and it is hard to say how
much of their fire will not land in the next county.

In any analysis of comparative visibility between tank and anti-tank
we must also think of tank speeds. Let us briefly consider now the battle
speeds of the tank as distinct from its general mobility in a more strategi-
cal sense, which we shall cover in a later part of this article. “In battle,”
writes General von Eimmannsberger in “Panzertaktik,” “speed means
life and effectiveness for the tank, while slowness means inaction and
sure death.” Battle speed, he believes, will vary around wide limits;
therefore, “we should not tie ourselves down to any numerical figure.**
But that, indeed, is to evade one of the most vital and decisive of all anti-
tank-tank questions. We must know roughly what tank speeds to expect
on all kinds of ground, and fortunately this matter is open to little ques-
tion. It can be settled at any time by punching a stop watch to measure
a few hundred runs by tanks over a number of selected pieces of strange
ground on various reservations. For the present we can estimate these
speeds within a close bracket for any particular piece of road or ground
and for dashes of any length across country on any particular type of
ground.

It is only the part of wisdom to stop fooling ourselves and admit freely
that tank cross-country speeds will run from one half to twenty miles an
hour, seldom over that, with an average of little better than five. And
while we are at it, we should take firm hold upon the fact that the
smallest tank resembles the elephant more closely than it does the fox.
And elephants are not noted for their ability to twist and turn. They are
easy to hit, and a powerful gun will stop them in their charge.

The tank simply does not have, as some of us are prone to believe,
the sustained cross-country speed of the antelope. Nor can it cross streams
and clamber up banks with the slithering rapidity of the alligator, or
wallow through marshes with the ease of the carabao. True, we find tank
data in plenty on trench spanning, barrier climbing, and slope climbing.
But if these data are interpreted in terms of actual ground performance,
the truth is that any small, steep-banked stream is liable to stop the
progress of tanks until a crossing can be found or prepared; that many
a strip of muddy or marshy land is a barrier to light and heavy tanks
alike, and that in sum the so-called cross-country speeds of twenty-five
and thirty-five miles an hour or greater, often attributed to the tank, are
only possible on the most exceptional terrain.

We must remember, too, that boulders and stumps greatly interfere
with the speed of tanks and that there are hundreds of thousands of
square miles of boulder-strewn and stump-covered land in our country.

78 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

We do recognize the fact that if the trees of a woods are big enough
and near enough together, a tank cannot crash through them. But we
usually forget, when we think about tank cross-country speeds, just how
much a passable woods slows up a tank. Two miles an hour is nearer the
truth than twenty, in going through a woods, whatever the size of the
tank.

All hindrances reduce the average speed of the tank attack and give
more minutes to anti-tank gunners in which to pour out their deadly
fire. Indeed, a well-constructed hindrance which forces the drivers of an
attacking tank to hunt for a way across it can easily double the total
target exposure of the tank. And even a hindrance which forces drivers to
overcome it by using the power of the tank in low speed to force a way
through or over it increases the exposure considerably. No tank can be
driven full speed into such obstacles without a high risk of damage to
the tank or injury to the crew. At best the driver must take a minute
or so of crawling speed, during which the tank is meat for an effective
anti-tank gun laid to cover the obstacle.

Often, of course, a tank need not remain stationary when it encounters
a hindrance. Unless restricted by the ground, the driver can cruise up
and down searching for a better path. This is roughly equivalent to the
zigzag in its effect on anti-tank aim, and the same factors go far to offset
what the tank may gain. The period of tank target exposure is increased;
the tank doubles its exposed area by presenting its side; the tank itself
cannot fire with accuracy; it becomes more of a straight-on target to
other anti-tank guns, and there is the additional fact that the range
from gun to tank, while the tank is cruising, changes only slightly.

At this point let us recall again the comparative obscurity of the
anti-tank gun as a target to the tank. Not only is it much smaller and,
in most situations, stationary; it is often obscured by camouflage or natu-
ral growth, or partially defiladed by the ground or by a constructed
emplacement. To apply the same term to gun as to tank, the target ex-
posure of the gun, even on open ground, is actually but a fraction of that
of the semiblind tank.

Next we must ask how smoke would affect the comparative visibility
of tank and anti-tank. It seems improbable that smoke will have a great
effect on mechanical war or the measures taken to oppose it. It is true
that smoke can be used to support attacking tanks by covering the areas
where anti-tank guns are likely to be and that with this help tanks can
advance for some distance without coming under direct fire. But during
this part of the tank attack their target exposure is least. Three quarters
of the target exposure occurs duxjng the last one quarter of the attack.

But of greater import is another point. When tanks have come close

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

and the protecting smoke begins to thin out, it is a vastly different situa-
tion for tanks than foot troops. An attacking rifleman, when the smoke
begins to lift, will often be so close to his enemy that he is practically
on even terms with him in a short-range exchange of fire. Or he may
even be close enough to hazard an immediate assault. Certainly his
chance of first seeing his nearest enemy through the rising smoke, and
then of taking him under fire, is practically as good as his enemy’s chance.
But the noise and size of a tank put it under a tremendous disadvantage
in similar circumstances. And visibility from a tank is bad enough, even
when there is no smoke at all. Thus opposing anti-tank gunners have
every chance of placing accurate surprise fire at close' range upon the
tanks as their great bulks begin to loom up through the clearing smoke.
It is quite true that smoke will reduce the period of exposure to anti-
tank fire. But surprise fire at ranges so close that it will be hard to miss
should go far to make up for it.

Certainly the value of smoke to tanks is highly debatable. On all but
the flattest of terrain, tank drivers could only feel their way through
smoke at very low speeds on straight courses. Smoke fired from a tank
could be placed with accuracy only after the tank crew had located
opposing anti-tank guns, which woidd usually be too late.

Now consider for a moment whether smoke does not have its anti-
tank uses. Where no other means were available to reduce tank speed
over good ground, smoke might be used to do it. Drivers could see noth-
ing, nor could gunners. And anti-tank guns, as before, would get the
first chance as the tanks emerged from the thick smoke at slow speeds.
Again, where the ground forced an anti-tank gun crew to cover a small
defile at close range, smoke would blind armored cars or tanks, while the
anti-tank crew continued to pour fire into the road-wide defile at maxi-
mum rate, with crews acting unhampered by any but the wildest tank
machine-gun fire. Experiment along these lines seems well worth while.

Thus, if smoke can be an asset to either, it favors anti-tank somewhat
more than tank. As a hindrance to both, surely it places the tank at a
much greater disadvantage.

Comparative Mobility

We have thus far touched only upon the battlefield mobility of the
tank in our study of tank speeds and their effect on the visibility of tanks
as anti-tank targets. But to gain a complete picture we must think also
of the broader aspect of tank and anti-tank mobility. Most of us are in-
clined to think of the tank as being already upon the battlefield and
charging rapidly across a thousand yards or so of ground — ^perhaps a
mental heritage from Cambrai. Actually this is only the last mile of
many, both for tanks and the guns against them, whether the situation

80 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

be stabilized or open. So let us compare the general mobility of the two.

A 75-mm. tru^-drawn gun weighs about a ton and a half. This is
from one third to one sixth the weight of various types of light tanks.
In spite of the fact that it does not run on tracks^ such a gun has a
mobility at least equivalent to, and often greater thsm, the tanks it shells
are capable of disabling. Let us see why this is so.

In Aeory, but for the most part in theory only, a tank has greater
mobility than the gun that can disable it. This gun, without a track-
laying carrier of its own, can leave the roads only on ground that is
hard enough for cross-country truck movement. On much terrain, and in
wet weather, it must stick closely to the roads. True, if we put the gun
on a track-laying carriage the whole thing may still be somewhat lighter
than a tank. But by so doing we not only create a special and costly
piece of armament, but also one that has the main disadvantage of the
tank, which is weight. For weight cuts down the mobility of tanks far
more than we ordinarily conceive. Weight confines tanks chiefly to first-
class highways for moves of any length. They simply cannot cross most
of the bridges of secondary roads.

In most discussions of what tanks can and cannot do it seems to
be assumed that the next war will be fought in a land where all bridges —
even on the veriest country lanes — ^will support any weight than can be
moved under its own power. In our own country 90 per cent of the roads
are other than primary highways. Over the bridges of these roads hun-
dreds of thousands of trucks pass daily, carrying loads comparable to a
truck-drawn or truck-carried anti-tank gun. IBut a six- or eight-ton tank
would crash at first impact through most of these same bridges. The
same thing would be true on by far the greater part of the seven million
miles of motor roads which the rest of the world now boasts, except in
certain European countries where bridges are purposely made strong
enough to carry tanks.

This bridge-crossing limitation of tanks will often mean a big advan-
tage for anti-tank. Where guns can be moved one hundred miles in three
or four hours, tanks, halting at many a bridge until it has been strength-
ened, or detouring around, may well take a day to cover the same dis-
tance. Where guns are fairly certain of averaging from twenty to forty
miles an hour in short or long moves by road, tanks, unless they can
stick to good roads and bridges, will average only a fraction of those
speeds.

When gun and tank both operate largely on roads, the gun has about
the same speed and a far higher bridge-crossing ability. When the gun
stays largely on roads and the tank moves across country, the gun keeps
much of its speed except where the roads are very bad, but the tank’s
is often reduced to a few miles an hour. This means that the gun can

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 81

move to meet the tank, instead of waiting for it where it may not come
at all.

From this discussion of anti-tank and tank mobility it is apparent that
the tactical method of holding some anti-tank units mobile for move-
ment toward a threatened area has a sound basis. General Eimmanns-
berger, the noted European authority on mechanized warfare, insists
“that any guns that are merely held back in readiness will never reach
the front line in time.” This might have been true at Amiens, where
horse-drawn batteries, held in mobile reserve, attempted to move forward
to meet the British tanks, and it is probably still sound where animal-
drawn guns are concerned. But the actual performances of motorized
anti-tank units at the Benning maneuvers make it hard to believe that
anti-tank mobility suffers in any comparison with tank mobility. Indeed,
it will often have the advantage.

The full effect of combat aviation upon mechanized warfare and
upon anti-tank defense is yet to be realized. We can surely expect light
battle planes of all kinds to affect both tank and anti-tank in some
measure. It is generally thought in all armies to be a costly business to
use combat planes against ground troops from low altitudes. But China
and Spain seem to be proving two points in this regard: The low-flight
attack is unhesitatingly used (i) when the target is important enough
to warrant the risk of heavy air losses, and ( 2 ) when no great amount of
antiaircraft fire is expected from ground troops. In any case it is hard
to imagine the use of fighting planes to hunt out and attack specific
anti-tank units, habitually scattered to front flanks and rear as they are,
in attack, defense, or bivouac, or during a march. Any anti-tank unit,
of course, may happen to be within the general area of an air attack like
any other unit. When that happens they can only make the best of it,
taking their hammering with the rest, and contributing such small-arms
fire as they can to the general hail of antiaircraft reply. They will, of
course, receive a stout incidental antiaircraft protection from all near-by
ground units.

What the plane may eventually do in direct combat against the tank
has been suggested in another article. The gun plane is not merely a
distant possibility but probable and feasible as an immediate develop-
ment of air warfare. When we remember that tanks stick to linear move-
ment on roads in order to obtain high speeds and to cross streams,
swamps, and rugged country, and that when they are off roads they
can move only as fast as the ground allows, it seems highly probable

82 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

that the gun plane will turn out to be a wicked tank foe. While armies
continue to build light tanks by the thousands, can we afford to pass up
a development which would convert anti-tank into an offensive element
of warfare and extend its reach for hundreds of miles?

Both tanks and anti-tank units in all probability must fight their every
battle in any new war through an atmosphere contaminated with gas.
To consider persistent gas first, it is doubtful whether tanks will be able
to pass throu^ contaminated areas with full protection to their crews.
Air-filtering devices will be necessary to keep tanks clear of non-persistent
gases. This means that they must be tightly sealed with eye slits covered
with thick unbreakable glass. Hence, with or without the need for wear-
ing masks, visibility from within the tank would be hampered.

Anti-tank units subjected to gas will be hampered by masks and to
some extent by protective clothing. But since anti-tank units will be
motorized, the degree of interference to their activity would be far less
than that imposed on foot troops. Anti-tankers should often be able to
carry out their missions effectively in spite of persistent gas.

Again, it might at first thought seem as if mechanized onslaught pre-
ceded by gas planes drenching large areas in mustard is a method of
modem warfare that offers success. But, in the first place, low-flying gas
planes are vulnerable to antiaircraft fire from all ground troops. In the
second place, we may always doubt gravely that an enemy will con-
taminate ground over which he will later attempt to operate. And finally,
all ground troops can become accustomed to carrying on war under con-
stant risk of exposure to chemicals in all forms, just as they once did
in 1917 and 1918 (although we seem to forget that fact). We are also
likely to have a more effective individual and collective anti-gas protec-
tion in the next war. In fact, our greatest danger, from the viewpoint of
mechanized or any other kind of warfare, lies in our present neglect
to consider chemical warfare as the probable normal state of affairs —
as a common, day-by-day experience instead of a condition that may
exist only from time to time, or not at all.

The present high degree of development of the anti-tank mine is too
well known to do more than touch upon it in this article. We need to
note chiefly that mines are a substantial aid to anti-tank defense which
the tank so far has little to offset. A single platoon of engineers can
establish an effective mine field on a half-mile front in one hour. If
infantry can be trained to help in this work (and certainly infantry needs
no specialist training to assist in carrying imarmed mines by hand), this
time can probably be cut in half or better. The mines, moreover, can be
rapidly unarmed and collected and used again and again. The fact that
the modem German division, a somewhat smaller unit than ours, carries

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 83

thirteen thousand such mines is a strong indication of the part they may
play in modern warfare.

Comparative Effect upon Morale

There is a tendency to claim much for the moral effect of a tank
attack. The roaring charge of mechanical cavalry spitting bullets by
thousands is certainly more fear-inspiring than any ever made with horse
and saber. And men fled before that charge until they were sure that
the weapons in their hands could repel it.

Give an army an effective anti-tank weapon^ powerful enough to
disable any tank the enemy may use, and give it in sufficient numbers,
and there will be no diminution of morale in the face of tanks. It will
then be within the tank, and not outside of it, that morale is destroyed.
A single battle with great tank losses will be enough. Men will realize,
as they did in Spain, that a tank which cannot keep out the shells of the
enemy is worse than none at all and is nothing more than a deadly trap
of battle. Sabotage followed attempts in Spain to send poor tanks back
over the battlefield against good anti-tank guns. It would be surprising
if the same thing did not occur under similar circumstances in any army.

A tank crew is under a terrific strain when its tank comes under heavy
fire. The shock of high explosives striking close to a tank may alone be
enough to injure the whole crew, even without a direct hit. The rattle
of small-arms fire against the armor and around the eye slits adds noth-
ing to composure. But perhaps the greatest strain comes from being under
fire from a source difficult to locate.

If a tank can reach a point from two hundred to one hundred yards
from a gun, the balance of morale will swing to the tank. [Not neces-
sarily so.] For its crew can then see what it is doing, and the anti-tank
crew will come under an intense fire. On the other hand, it should be en-
tirely possible to train anti-tank gun crews to duck into deep round fox
holes, in the manner now taught at Benning, until the tanks have passed
over. This measure of protection should form a firm bolster to anti-tank
morale, since hostile tanks will ordinarily be content to destroy an anti-tank
gun by crushing, and will hardly stop to dig individual soldiers out of their
fox holes.

On the whole, the highest morale will be on the side that has the
greatest confidence in its weapon. And there is no good reason why that
should not be the side with an effective anti-tank defense.

It may be that in the end there will be found some better means of
defense than the gun — ^the gun plane, perhaps. Or possibly some new
type of ammunition may prove far more effective than high-explosive

84 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

shells. The application of heat by thermite or similar shells^ in order to
drive tank crews into the open^ is a manner of engaging tanks that de-
mands exhaustive experiment It is a historical fact from the World
War that the heat of gasoline burning on the outer surface of a tank
soon becomes more than the crew inside can endure. Reports from Spain
have indicated the same thing. How much more effective, then, might
be the tremendously greater heat of thermite (3,700 degrees F.) splashed
upon a tank by a shell. If this proved to be practicable it could well be-
come the prime means of anti-tank defense.

But there is only one main conclusion to be drawn at present. Anti-
tank has the edge over the tank; and if we give anti-tank its full due and
create that new and vital “framework” in abundant measure, we will
have neutralized the greatest ground threat of modem warfare.

This does not mean that we should turn from the tank. The tank, even
when anti-tank has been made truly effective, will be of great value.
It will be of great use in rapid counterattacks to limited objectives and
in pursuit of a beaten foe, and against horse cavalry if any foe should
be so foolish as to use it in modem battle. Indeed, against any enemy
whose anti-tank defense is inadequate, the tank will always be a mighty
weapon.

But by all means let us concentrate on our own anti-tank defense until
we know that it is unbeatable by anything that moves on wheels or
crawls on tracks.

TANK TORPEDOES

By Major (now Brigadier General) E. D. Cooke

O937)

When the greatest British fleet since Scapa Flow steamed into the
Mediterranean a school of Italian sea sleds met and cut facetious capers
around and about His Majesty’s ships.

The possibility of a two-man powerboat being capable of sinking many
million dollars’ worth of battleships by means of torpedoes not only gave
British naval offlcers a severe attack of the jitters, but introduced to the
world a new weapon of offshore defense.

The exploitation of this idea should not be monopolized by the Navy.
Our land battleships, or tanks, have the same relative strength as their
seagoing cousins and are just as capable of being destroyed.

Heavily armored vehicles prefer open and comparatively level ground
for their op>erations. Tanks could be met by smaller and faster vehicles,
equipped with tubes and self-propelled land torpedoes. These mines on

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 85

wheels could be driven by small clock engines and carry sufficient burst-
ing charge to disable or destroy a tank.

Such projectiles could be used in stationary as well as moving defense.
They could break up any tank attack over open, level ground and be
particularly useful on hard-surface highways.

Imagine a hostile mechanized force in pursuit of a supply column
or convoy with both clinging to a concrete highway to attain greater
speed. A small vehicle darts in behind the fleeing column, aims a tube,
and sends several swiftly moving torpedoes scooting to meet the pursuing
armored cars. There is no doubt of the result. Just as England’s navy
left Mare Nostrum to II Duce’s playful sea sleds, so the hostile pursuit
would abandon that particular road — or else.

THE MISUSE OF AIR POWER
By Dallas D. Irvine
it 937)

Radical innovations in the art of war are almost invariably the product
of desperation, for it seems that nothing else can tear the military profes-
sion from its habitual slumbering in the voluptuous embrace of ways that
are old and familiar. Sometimes the desperation is more purely military,
being inspired by the terrible anger of a nation against a trusted profes-
sion which has been demonstrating itself, monotonously, to be incapable
of obtaining reasonable results with given resources. At other times the
desperation is national, being the result of a predicament in which a
nation’s ordinary resources for war cannot furnish adequate insurance
against early defeat. In either case extraordinary expedients are likely to
be conceived and adopted. Since desperation is not very conducive to
wisdom, however, a majority of these expedients are likely to be very ill
advised even if some may prove to be really revolutionary.

One of the reasons why modem Germany has been fertile in military
innovations has been the desperate predicament in which she is placed
geographically, being virtually encircled by other great nations, a majority
of which are either chronically hostile or possessed of inimical interests
that make their friendship unreliable. Not all of the innovations to which
Germany has had to resort in order to offset this encirclement have
worked out to her credit, whether one judges on moral grounds or on the
basis of effectiveness in the exercise of intelligence. The invasion of Bel-
gium, the introduction of gas, and the resort to unrestricted submarine
warfare are outstanding examples.

One German innovation in the World War was the purposeful aerial

86 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

bombardment of great cities not in the zone of land operations. Such
bombardment was not confined to installations of particular military im-
portance but was directed against the civilian population in the hope
of obtaining important moral effects. Important moral effects of the sort
desired were certainly not obtained. But there was one important result,
and that was to fix the attention of a horrified world on the potentiali-
ties in this mode of attack.

The fact that air raids were of little effect in the World War could
be attributed to the relative imperfection of aircraft at the time. Since
the war the capabilities of aircraft have been vastly increased in almost
every respect. The tendency has been, therefore, to assume that their
greatly augmented destructive power may be of important or even deci-
sive effect in future war if used for direct attack upon enemy population
and civilization. The prospect of air power being so used has naturally
inspired an intense horror, and this horror has made the prospect a matter
of terrible fascination, even for military men.

Hyperimaginative alarmists and air-power enthusiasts in great numbers
have screamed themselves hoarse for half a generation over the danger
from the air, and the skeptics and conservatives have been unable to
answer them effectively because the capabilities of the latest types of air-
craft have never been put to the test in a major war. Consequently
civilian populations are mentally numb with dread and inclined to orient
their military policies in expectation of the worst. This psychology favors
emphasis on air power as a means of defense and preventive attack.

Because of the extraordinary attention which has been focused on the
possibilities in the use of aircraft for waging war on civilian populations,
the whole military profession in European countries has been deeply
drawn into consideration of just what those possibilities are. This has
involved study of the manner in which the airplane may best be used for
war on civilian population, since only on the basis of such tactical study
can the real potentialities be judged. But once in this favorite field of
tactics the military mind is lost! It seems never to' have occurred to the
dervishes of air power to inquire whether attack on civilian population
can really be effective in achieving the political end of war, which is the
destruction of the enemy’s will to resist.

It is not intended to question the power of the airplane to effect exten-
sive material destruction, although the exact extent of this power is
debatable. It may merely be pointed out that material destruction is
eflFective only as it contributes to destruction of the will to resist. The
military art has long since recognized that destruction of material power
to resist, if sufficiently extensive, is certainly destructive of the will to
resist. Therefore, in so far as aircraft can be used for this purpose, there
can be no question of their utility as an instrument of war. There re-
mains, however, the question of whether material destruction having no

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1

important effect upon the enemy’s power to resist can have any important,
effect otherwise in diminishing his will to resist. It is obvious that such
an effect must be expected through the creation of fright and discomfort.
Wanton destruction can therefore hope to be effective only in the same
way as direct attack on civilian life, namely, through breaking a people’s
morale.

The aeromaniacs assume that direct attack on civilian population may .
indeed be effective, and even decisive, in breaking a people’s morale. In
this assumption lies a most extraordinary fallacy. How anyone familiar
with the fortitude shown by the human species among the horrors of
war in the past can make this assumption is not easy to understand. The
theory that the determination of a people to carry on war can be broken
by mere punishment rests upon the grossest misunderstanding of the
social psychology of war. Since exactly that theory is finding credence
today, even in the circles of military supreme commands, it is desperately
necessary to impress upon the minds of all who are thinking about future
war that the determination of a people to prosecute a war is dependent
not at all upon the punishment to which that people is subjected, but
upon two things: (i) its belief in the justice of its cause, and (2) its
belief that it has a fair chance of winning or, in any case, of avoiding
defeat. For substantiation of this assertion let one study the causes of
the German collapse in 1918.

If those who think and speak so much about attacks on civilian popula-
tion can only be made to grasp this simple truth, the world may be saved
a great deal of bootless misery. There is no more sense in the idea of
such attacks than there would be in that of massacring all prisoners of
war. Quite aside from the certainty of retaliation, can it be supposed
that the killing of all prisoners would terrorize an enemy into submission?
On the contrary, such action would reinforce the opposing people’s be-
lief in the justice of its cause to such a degree that the difficulty of subdu-
ing that people would be enormously increased. One of the main objec-
tives in war must be the weakening of that belief by political strategy,
and it would be madness to destroy the possibilities which lie in this
direction by resort to wanton violence. The proper conduct of war de-
mands, on the contrary, that every effort should be made to weaken the
enemy’s belief in the justice of his cause by magnanimously abstaining
from all acts of cruelty which cannot have an important effect in weaken-
ing material power of resistance.

Let it be remembered that Germany’s cause was ruined in the last
war by the covetous invasion of Belgium and the resort to unrestricted
submarine warfare. It was the moral indignation against such “immoral”
actions which brought the lethargic Anglo-Saxon peoples wholeheartedly
into the crusade against Germany. The morale factor may easily be
decisive in modem war, into which many nations are all too easily drawn.

88 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The nation that is wise will go out of its way to avoid attack on civilian
population in the hope that the great force of moral opprobrium may fall
upon its less astute enemy. For thus may its own will to victory be rein-
forced and the passive or active support of other peoples obtained.

The only proper use of violence in war is for taking away a determined
people’s hope of victory, and this can be accomplished only by destroying
or neutralizing that people’s material power for attack or resistance in
whatever degree is necessary. The proper objective for interior air raids
is, therefore, the mechanism of supply and communication and not the
populace.'

Two points may be made in conclusion. In the first place, if attack
upon civilian population were effective in destroying will to resist, such
attack did not have to await the advent of the airplane. It has almost
always been possible, yet, as the result of painful experience, the race had
learned, before the aeromaniacs frightened it out of its wits, that such
attack was both ineffective and unwise. Hence the well-known and for-
merly respected rules of land warfare. In the second place, if the military
profession is inclined to resort to mere punishment as a mode of prosecut-
ing war, it will do well to refer to our existing knowledge in the field
of penology, where will be found abimdant proof that brutality of punish-
ment has never been effective as a deterrent to the human will but rather
a provocative stimulus.

THE GUN PLANE
By Captain X
(1935)

Very recently there appeared in a foreign military magazine an account
of firings from an airplane with a small cannon. There has, in fact, never
been any good reason to suppose that this could not be done. For years there
have been planes in existence large enough to carry at least a 37-mm.
weapon, or even one somewhat larger, and strong enough in construction
to support the recoil of such a gun. But now that a small artillery piece
has actually been carried, aimed, and discharged in the air, there is little
doubt left that any nation can build artillery planes if it so desires. This
being the case, I suggest that a complete investigation of the possible
uses and effect on warfare of such planes is worth our immediate
attention.

It requires little imagination to see that a gun plane (let us call it that
for short) is, above all, the natural enemy of the tank. If an attack air-
plane can carry four machine guns and twenty-four hundred rounds of

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 1 89

ammunition — ^in addition to two defensive guns — as modem attack planes
do, it can surely carry at least one automatic 37-mm. or slightly larger^
piece, and fifty to seventy-five rounds of armor-piercing ammunition.
With any kind of marksmanship at all, firing at tanks from a short dive,
a single gun plane should be able to make several hits on one tank, or
hits on several tanks, within a very few minutes’ time.

The speed and mobility of the tank would be of little avail. A 20-, 40-,
or 6o-mile-an-hour machine whose activities are confined to a single
plane — ^the surface of the earth — could make a poor job at best of dodg-
ing an enemy operating in the air at 150 to 250 miles an hour.

One of the most exciting minor battles of the World War proves this
point if, indeed, proof is necessary. In 1918 off Vrieland, Holland, twelve
German planes attacked a fleet of six British motorboats. Both planes and
boats had machine guns. The best speed of the planes was less than
one hundred miles an hour, and the boats could make nearly thirty-five,
a ratio of speeds even lower than what we could reasonably assume for
tanks and planes today. In less than twenty minutes the planes, diving
time after time at the circling, scattered, zigzagging motorboats, put
them all out of action, sinking three. The crews of the boats continued
to fire their guns almost as long as there was a man left capable of doing
so. But the exceedingly unstable conditions of firing made accuracy im-
possible, and the Germans lost only one plane.

What steps, then, could be taken toward defending tanks against gun-
plane attacks? Armor, of course, can be made thicker. (Or can it?) But
aside from this moot step, there is at least one other that could be taken
to excellent advantage. The tank turret could be constructed with a cover
that could be swung clear from inside the tank, and one machine gun —
possibly two — could be placed on a mount that would pop the gun and
gunner up to the open turret top like a jack-in-the-box in order to engage
an attacking plane.

Since it is not improbable that the gun plane might carry a machine
gun to deliver covering fire, the tank antiaircraft gunner might well
be armored against such fire. Assuming that his head and shoulders
would be above the turret top, a small plate of armor attached to the
sides of the gun would protect him except from the eyes up.

The antiaircraft fire from such a gun would be aimed directly at the
diving plane for some two or three seconds every time it attacked. Hits
upon the propeller and engine of the plane would be well-nigh certain.
Planes not attacking the tank could also be engaged, although with less
effect, since leads would be necessary.

Here we shall stop visualizing the air-tank war, with the final remark
that in the tank the airplane has a target undoubtedly worth its while. A
tank costs as much to build as several airplanes. I leave the methods by
which gun planes are to find their tank enemies, and the methods by

90 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

which they are to be controlled before, during, and after their attack, to
be worked out by the Futurist Board, reconunended in a previous issue of
the Infantry Journal,

How else can the gun pl2Lne be used to advantage? It should be, for
one thing, a superb means against balloons. One hit, and any inflammable
gas would ignite, which is not always the case with even special small-
arms ammunition.

This use of the gun plane su^sts its employment against such rear
installations as gasometers, water tanks, ammunition dumps, and other
targets that are hard to hit with bombs and receive little damage from
machine-gun fire. For the one big advantage of the gun plane is that of
placing accurate, if brief, fire upon targets that require more penetrating
and detonating power to damage or destroy them than small-arms
bullets afford.

Against other ground units than tanks the gun plane would be less
effective than present types of attack planes. But against other airplanes,
especially larger and less maneuverable machines than the gun plane, it
might be exceedingly valuable. When we stop to think that a .50-caliber
armor-piercing bullet will tear completely through the cylinder banks of
an airplane engine and render it completely useless, the effect of a small
gun is not difficult to imagine.

INFANTRY CATERPILLAR CLUB
By Captain (now Colonel) Wendell G. Johnson

i^93^)

We were mildly startled when we read about a year and a half ago
of the descent of battalions of fully armed parachute jumpers behind the
enemy lines in Soviet maneuvers. Apparently the idea isn’t as wild as it
first appeared, for we now learn that the conservative French are to
have two parachute companies. And, like the Russians, they are encourag-
ing parachute jumping as a civilian sport.

Is it just a novelty, a new toy for war games, or are there suitable
missions that individual and group parachute jumpers can accomplish?
The World War teems with examples of intrepid individuals who carried
out hazardous missions behind the enemy lines. Both the Allies and the
Central Powers sent envoys by air to blow up ammunition dumps, air-
dromes, and factories. These agents were set down by planes in the
vicinity of their objectives and did their dirty work alone, or in collabora-
tion with spies operating in the district. If still alive they were picked up
and flown back to friendly territory several days later. This was the

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 91

modus operandi when military aviation was passing through the diaper
stage. Today such methods seem naive when compared with Russia’s
trained battalions of parachute jumpers. These fighters^ whose missions
will be hazardous enough, are not going to float gently earthward and
afford the enemy some fine target practice in the process; instead they
are going to fall like hailstones. Red Army parachute jumpers are trained
to drop from great heights with parachutes closed until the ground gets
dangerously close. Thus they form poor targets, are not overdispersed by
the wind, and can rally quickly after landing to accomplish surprise
missions. It is said that the Red Army already boasts several thousand
parachute jumpers.

The French plan is to have one company of parachutists in Algiers
and the other in France. If the scheme proves successful there will prob-
ably be one company for every “air region” of France.

In the February issue of the French Revue d'Infanterie Lieutenant
Colonel Desr6 discusses the future of these two companies. In war they
will have two primary missions — covering and destruction.

A suitable covering mission might involve the seizure of an important
crossroads or defile for a mechanized force making a stab at a distant
objective. They might also be used to distract attention from a wide
envelopment, or to cover the descent of a large force by air transport. -

Among rear-area destruction tasks we have bridges, factories, dumps,
nerve centers — the list is endless.

It would seem that the parachutist must be first of all a ground soldier,
a doughboy. Next he should revel in demolitions and have an abiding
love for TNT blocks, and lastly he needs enough flying and jumping
with delayed action on the cord for it to become routine business for him.
Infantryman, engineer, parachutist, he is really a hybrid trooper, but
one, however, that could easily be produced from doughboy stock. With
the incentive of a 50-per-cent increase for flying pay there would be no
shortage of applicants for the 70th Infantry (light parachutes).

DEFENSE AGAINST AERIAL ATTACK
From article by Colonel Louis Jackson, British Army

{19^4)

. . . Or should there be an organized airplane patrol at night? Flying
is more difficult at night than in the daytime, but we are told that they
are practicing it in France to guard against dirigibles. Shall we lay this
additional burden on our airmen? If it is asked of them they will certainly
do it.

92 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The question needs consideration and is no doubt getting it. A dock-
yard is a large object to hit, and twenty simultaneous fires would over-
tax the resources of the fire brigade. Direct protection is not possible.
You can give a measure of protection to a ship by netting, but you can-
not roof over a whole dockyard. The main point is that a dockyard is
worth special and expensive measures of defense.

Of the great centers of population, London is for us the prime object
of consideration. Destruction and panic in the largest of provincial towns
would cause trouble but need not affect our national policy. London in
this respect stands alone, that it is not only the habitat of a large frac-
tion of our whole population, but the seat of government, the center of
our financial and business systems, and the nerve center of oiu* military
and naval forces. A serious blow aimed at London would be more effec-
tive against the national life than in any other capital of the world.

We are now, beyond doubt, face to face with the new era in war. If
you have granted my assumptions with regard to the range of action and
offensive power of the aircraft of the immediate future, those assump-
tions must hold good for one object as well as for another.

If a Geneva convention were sitting now and the point were to be
raised that a capital which is easily accessible to the enemy may claim
exemption from attack on the ground that it is unfortified, would not
the answer be, “Yes, provided that it is prepared to submit, and not offer
resistance, to the enemy’s armed forces”? And whether the armed force
takes the form of troops ready to advance, or of the power to destroy
resistance by attack from the air, the principle is the same. After all, war
is a game that governments play to win, and we could hardly expect the
most chivalrous enemy to refrain from striking a blow at the heart of
the country, merely because we have chosen to leave it unprotected. Can
any student of international law tell us definitely that such a thing as
aerial attack on London is outside the rules; and, further, that there
exists an authority by which the rules can be enforced?

It seems to me that we cannot help accepting the fact that in three
years or less London will be exposed to the form of attack I have in-
dicated. What is the defense? In the first place, taking into account the
size of London, it seems that no system of aerial patrol could prevent an
attack by a dirigible balloon. A deliberate attempt to destroy a given
building might perhaps be prevented, but if the balloon’s gas were ex-
ploded and she fell in flames with all her cargo of explosives, the remedy

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1 93

might be as bad as the disease. Airplane attack on London is feasible but
is not so formidable or so easy. Airplanes coming by day might be seen
and engaged by our own patrols. As for night attack, I should think that
maneuvering over London in the dark would be a dangerous t ask in
present conditions. Perhaps some aviator will tell us if it is practicable,
and if not, whether it is likely to become so. In brief, however, I do not
think that any system of patrolling can entirely prevent aircraft from
reaching London and doing damage when they get there. The only
practical way of meeting this danger is to provide enough of our own
aircraft to make it at least difficult and risky for the enemy’s craft to get
through and to be able to undertake a vigorous offensive. If no measures
of actual defense can protect our capital with certainty from a dangerous
attack, then the remedy must be found in offense. Armed airplanes are
the natural balloon destroyers, and I think they should be provided in
sufficient numbers to hunt their quarry out of existence.

INTERCHANGE OF PEACETIME DUTIES
From an article by Major General William C. Rivers

(^950

The present continued isolation of the several branches of the Army,
with the isolation of the several postgraduate schools, and simply theo-
retical study of the work of other arms, as well as only theoretical study
on maps of the work of divisions and brigades, without opportunity for
officers to serve with other than their own arms or to carry on their peace-
time study at times in contact with a brigade or division in being, will
produce just one kind of army. It must inevitably be an army that will
not be at a reasonable state of efficiency in an emergency; an army with
officers lacking in knowledge and experience and flexibility and mental
keenness and power that could well be given them in time of peace at no
appreciable additional cost to the state.

With modern methods of mobilization and transportation, war is a fast
game and demands officers of high and ready mental caliber. Indeed, if
the small extra cost to transfer officers to serve with other arms be a
barrier to improvement, there will be many who have a keen memory of
what they went through in our preparation for recent wars who will have
little doubt that the saving to the budget might better be made by having
fewer officers and men ordinarily — a smaller number of better-grade and
better-trained officers might be, in time of need, a great national asset

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

THE INFANTRY MIND
Editorial by Captain X

The accusation was so often repeated in the first months of the war that
the Infantry and its leaders were accustomed to thinking in terms of mil-
lions of men with rifles on their shoulders that the Infantry Journal
despaired editorially over the ignorance of many who were writing about
the Army for the general public and who performed a disservice to the
country and their Army through the use of catch phrases. As the war
went on these writers and radio commentators gained a broader back-
ground and a fairer conception of military things, and their comments and
opinions improved accordingly.

Those who have been in charge of the Infantry Journal have for a great
many years believed that the infantryman, like other fighting and service
specialists in the armed forces, needs to know a great deal about all phases
of warfare — ^not simply his own. This is the reason why much that is in
this Reader doesn’t deal with Infantry but with Army matters in general.

No part of the combat team that makes up an army can operate effi-
ciently unless it understands the share of the other parts of the team. As
a result of one irritation following another, and the impact of one espe-
cially pompous and misleading reference by a military expert to something
he was pleased to call “the Infantry mind,” the magazine from which this
book is made carried the following editorial with that title in January
1942. It was referred to in Congress and picked up in hundreds of news-
papers and widely reprinted in the Army.

Somebody mentioned ^‘the Infantry mind” to us a few days ago and
since then weVe been doing some thinking as to just what “the Infantry
mind” is.

The Infantry mind is a mind that thinks men are the essence of fighting
power — ^that the tougher and harder and keener and abler the soldier,
the better the army. It thinks that it is men who win wars and that those
who think armies can get along mainly on brains and mechanical ability
are already defeated. It thinks that the iron fighting will of men in the
mass is the heart of an army, whether they do their fighting in planes or
in tanks, or gain their ground by the yard by the use of the ground. It
thinks that “men in the mass” means every fighting man and every man
who helps him fight.

The Infantry mind is a mind that wants every weapon and gadget
sought for and adopted that will add strength and power and speed
and sureness to the whole fighting force. It is a mind that thinks an army
must have such weapons in the numbers it appears to require and a few
more still. For it wants to be sure there are enough. And it wants no time

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 1

to be wasted on argument about what shall be done with new weapons. '
It wants them to get into the hands of any partner in the fighting team
in the shortest possible time so that new power can add to the strength
of the team.

The Infantry mind is a mind that thinks only in terms of a strong,
ready, all-out support. If it’s Infantry doing the supporting, then the
Infantry mind is constantly ready to add to the fight every ounce it has of
drive, speed, and technical ability expressed in fire power and maneuver,
to help the troops it is supporting. If it’s Infantry that is getting the sup-
port, then the Infantry mind looks for this same kind of help — ^for co-
operation without thought of collar ornaments — from every supporting
man and his weapon of ground or air.

The Infantry mind doesn’t care how it gets to the battle so long as it
gets there in time. In time to surprise and in strength to match and out-
fight the enemy. It is eager to use the plane, the truck, and the jeep to
cover the ground and get its men and their weapons wherever ^eir
attack can hit hardest and go farthest. It thinks that the fighter in the
tank and the plane must have this same unalterable thought of striking
where their powerful blows will do most good.

The Infantry mind is a crafty mind, not merely a charging, fighting,
assaulting mind. For it knows that a stroke that strikes weakness is a
stroke that tells heavily, and that every particle of driving power must
then be applied. But if it knows that the enemy’s weaknesses must be
sought, it likewise knows that the enemy’s strength must often be over-
come first to create a weakness. And it knows that when there is a job like
this it takes more than ever the fighting heart of the soldier himself, of
the single man and of men in the mass — of men on the ground, in planes,
and in tanks.

For the Infantry mind is a mind that thinks men are the essence of
fighting, that the heart and the guts and blood of soldiers win wars, and
tl^t bombers and tanks and jeeps; howitzers, guns, and mortars; grenades
and pursuit planes and rifles are tools in the hands of men, of fighting
men, and can never win wars by themselves.

The Infantry mind, so the infantryman thinks, must be the same mind
as the Air Forces mind, the Armored Force mind, the Quartermaster
mind, the Field Artillery mind, the Ordnance mind, the Coast Artillery
mind, the Finance mind, the Cavalry mind, the Chemical Warfare mind,
the Signal Corps mind, the Engineer mind, the Medical Corps mind, the
Morale Branch mind, and the minds of chaplains and inspectors and
adjutant generals. One mind there must be — one single mind, with one
single hard-driving aim— the defeat, the crushing defeat, of the enemy.

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

AIR FORCES

From an editorial by Major (now Colonel)

John R. M. Taylor

I have no idea when the thought of a separate air force was first ex-
pressed. But one of the earliest suggestions in this direction was the follow-
ing Infantry Journal editorial^ here given in part, which appeared in
August, 1918.

The United States of America has embarked on the most stupendous
undertaking of its existence. The efforts of the entire country, as well as
those of our allies, are now being devoted to the one task of overcoming
the Germans.

The fighting strength of this country now comprises the land forces and
the naval forces. More than ever before in their history are these two
forces working in unison. . • •

Recently . , . the Air Service has come into being and is fast assuming
proportions far beyond that of a branch, or arm, of the land service. The
personnel of this Air Service, owing to the nature of its work, is of a
different sort from the personnel of which it is now a part. Because of the
natiu^ of its duties the personnel is much younger, and at present, at
least, promotion is much more rapid. The element in which this service
operates — the air — naturally places now, or will place in the not distant
futiu-e, the Air Service in a category analogous to the land forces and
the naval forces. It seems but reasonable, therefore, to assume that before
long the Air Service will have outgrown its present bounds and will de-
mand administrative facilities to compare with the present War Depart-
ment or the Navy Department Possibly the Air Department will be a
necessity presently.

It is true that the greatest co-operation is required between air forces
and land forces, but no more complete co-operation than is required be-
tween sea forces and land forces nor between sea forces and air forces.
The operation between the fighting forces of the country (land, sea
and air) is a governing body which is able to co-ordinate the efforts of
supply, administration and control. In other words, it appears that the
time is fast approaching when for proper control and unification of effort
of these three forces of the United States, a great General Staff composed
of individuals from all three forces and acting directly under the Presi-
dent or his representative — ^War Minister or whatever his title may be —
will be a necessity, and plans should be perfected with as little delay as
practicable with a view to enactment of whatever legislation may be
necessary for its inauguration.

Better Ways of War

In A SENSE this second section is a continuation of the first, for it also
contains articles that look ahead. But in this second group of Infantry
Journal selections the authors are dealing more with improvement of
existing methods and griping at peacetime hindrances than in more
drastic suggestions. The same tone is there — the voice of the soldier who
sees that his army could be better, must be better, and who fears the
unnecessary losses in dead and wounded in the next war if improvements
do not come before it comes.

Here, as in other sections of the Reader, there are many pieces written
under pseudonyms. Naturally the editors of the magazine always knew
who the authors were. There has always been, in fact, the customary rule
that nothing submitted for possible publication will be considered for a
moment if it is fully anonymous. But a junior officer might have some-
thing he wanted to express with some force and might be under a senior
who would discourage such articles. More often the reason was diffidence
— the desire not to be considered “a writer rather than a doer.” This
attitude, which completely overlooks the value of language as a military
tool, has been a strong one in the Army. This confusion between writing
as purely literature and writing as a skill every commander needs from
the beginning of his career probably has its origins in many places, but
chiefly in the high-school teacher of English who bases her course chiefly
on the literary appeal. The historical fact of Caesar, Marshal Saxe,
Napoleon, Frederick the Great, U. S. Grant, and many other soldier-
writers, some of them professional writers, is overlooked, and so is the
almost daily value of clear expression to every commander. And the wish
to be known as a “doer” raffier than a “writer^* has led many soldier-
authors to use pen names.

Perhaps the intense criticism and desire to see better ways of war has

98 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

been, in the circumstances, strengthened by an editorial policy of this
kind.

THE BATTLE-WISE FIGHTING SOLDIER
Editorial

. . . Teamwork is of utmost importance. The welding of troops together
into a co-ordinated fighting unit leads all other training. But it isn’t the
whole of training. The soldier as a single fighter must be thought of right
on through to battle and till our war is won.

The battle team is the big team, and no fight can be won without it.
But the whole story of Luzon, Bataan, and Corregidor doesn’t lie in the
battle achievements of units alone. To unit citations we must add the
awards that single fighting soldiers won — the awards to men whose train-
ing and ability as individual fighters came to fulfillment where it was
meant to — to men whose deeds not only reflected their guts but told of a
soldier’s grasp of a soldier’s part in a fight.

We have read what they did, these men. We’ve seen their citations for
awards and we’ve read the fine stories about them the battle cor-
respondents have sent us. We know that they stand with the best of the
fighters our Army has seen. We know them for soldiers.

And we know when we think of it thus that the trained soldier is not
only a part of a team but also a fighting unit — almost a one-man fighting
team — in himself.

The men who win medals stand out. But beside them are plenty of
others who fight just as well but whose fighting deeds go unnoticed, per-
haps, or are only less striking. Beside the men who are cited are plenty
of others we know for soldiers.

The fighting man’s confidence must rest on three things — his leader,
his weapon, and himself. His leader can often do little to guide him
once battle is on. His weapon cannot make him a smaller target to the
aimed or unaimed fire of the enemy. Only the man by himself, through
knowledge of what a trained fighter must do to live and fight, can handle
himself as he must if battles are to be won.

The inspiring leader and the powerful modem weapon are not by
themselves enough. It takes soldiers too. The inspiring leader who is

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

followed by men who are sure of their weapons but who lack the habits
of battle wastes their lives and weakens his army. His undertrained and
overconfident troops stop bullets by dozens that should never strike a
mark. A first success may be gallantly won, but there aren’t enough
fighting men left to go on to a second.

The battle wisdom of a soldier, his true basis for confidence can only
be gained through repeated, hardening practice. Dirty, tiring, but utterly
necessary, lifesaving work. The dirt of the ground is the soldier’s friend in
battle just as much as his weapon. The closer he can keep to the groimd
as he fights and advances, the more professional his fighting is and the
more he will live to accomplish for his army, his country, and himself.

The leader of fighting men must never lose sight of the continual
training it takes to perfect his troops as individual fighters. He receives
them well trained from the training center and then it’s his job to perfect
them. He must constantly see, during all of his unit’s training, that his
troops form the fighting man’s crafty habits. He must give them hours
for special training in these things as they need it. He must take quick
steps of criticism and even punishment to rid them of careless, over-
confident, and unrealistic habits in training that would invite unnecessary
death in battle. He must see that his unit grows into a fighting team made
up of soldiers.

There is fighting to do in this war — ^it has only begun. And a lot of that
fighting has got to be done on the ground. And if it’s going to get any-
where it has got to be done by trained, hardened, battle-wise soldiers.

COUNSEL FOR THE DEFENSE

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Lieutenant General)
Joseph W. Stilwell

General Joe Stilwell, who was Chief of Staff in Burma to Generalissimo
Chiang Kai-shek, has always believed in plain words on war. In early
1933, when he wrote “Counsel for the Defense,” he was a member of the
staff of the Infantry School. He could, and doubtless still can, argue just
as forcefully regarding new methods of attack as well as of defense.

To ATTEMPT A DEFENSE of anything at all debatable will probably be
considered a faux pas for a man whose first case as counsel resulted in a
sentence of four years in jail for his client. However, as I remember it,
the defendant, far from being griped, even thanked me cordially for my
perspiring, if ineffectual, oratory before a somnolent court. Anyway, there

100 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

isn*t anything debatable to be brought up here, and if angels fear to
tread, somebody has to rush in.

In inviting a scrutiny of the generally accepted methods of conducting
the defense, I want to start by recalling certain things that presumably
we all agree on. First, let us examine the basic idea of defending along
one long line. If we could make our single line strong enough to resist
successfully everywhere, the defense would win, and everything would be
very pleasant for the rear echelons. But we know that the attacker can
mass enough means at any given point to break in. Besides, if we pack
our strength forward in defending, we merely increase our casualties
without doing compensating damage. Everybody knows this, of course. A
defense along one long line is inherently weak — ^we cannot possibly make
it strong enough to hold everywhere. Let us form two lines, then, one
behind the other— or three — or four. This was the development at the
outset of the World War, and it gave greatly increased resisting power to
the defense.

But with such a defense, what happens? The enemy selects a point of
attack, breaks down the first line, as we admit he can, and pours through
the hole. The rupture causes the breakdown of the whole line for a con-
siderable distance on either side of the penetration. The elements sta-
tioned on either side are taken in flank or rear and fall back on the second
line. If the enemy is determined, the same operation is repeated on the
second line, and so on. The first line broken, the only opposition now is
the fire of the second, aided by a few elements in rear. But if the rem-
nants of the first line do not stand, they will largely mask the fire of their
comrades in falling back. And if these comrades insist on firing anyway,
there will be a lot of hard feeling aroused. If the first-line warriors get
back to the second line at all, there will be confusion and mixing of units.
Also, subordinate commanders on the first line are left in doubt as to
whether to go back or stay where they are. The parts of the line not
ruptiu^d cannot help the units that are broken. The artillery can only
continue to shoot ahead of the so-called main line of resistance. We are
opposing to the enemy’s blow a series of obstacles which he can crash
successively. This is about what we are in practice doing, and as usually
performed, our defense is thus a rather stubborn delaying action. And it
is based on the naive hope tfcat the direction of the enemy attack will be
perpendicular to our front.

The Germans found out, beginning with the Somme battle, that this
kind of defense was not so good, and they developed the idea of a defense
in depth, so arranged that the attack, although it would probably meet
with initial success, would gradually be disrupted and brought to a stop
by increasing resistance toward the rear. This was accomplished by plac-
ing defensive elements at irregular intervals through a greatly deepened
defensive zone. These elements were organized for all-around defense and

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

101

were thicker and stronger around the vital points to be held. The holding
of a few yards of ground was considered of no consequence, if a proper
toll could be taken and the push finally brought to a standstill before the
key points were captured. The difference between the two ideas is roughly
indicated by comparing the gradual compression of a spring and the
rupture of a series of light boards.

Well, but didn’t our people learn that, and isn’t it all in the Training
Regulations? Yes, it’s all there, mixed up with a lot of other things, to all
of which we must assign their proper emphasis or else we’ll go astray.
Experience with several classes at the Infantry School shows Aat some-
how this emphasis has shifted too far, and it would be well to look things
over and see why.

In the first place, we have the main line of resistance. We are told that
it is the front edge of the combat elements. If you will put yourself in the
shoes of the emergency officer earnestly struggling in a limited time to
learn a mass of things entirely strange to him, I believe you will agree
that the term “main line of resistance” will mean to him the line of main
resistance. He will want to make his best fight along it and he will push
up to it for this purpose all his available means. Just what we don’t want
him to do. It is queer that we make such a point of being unmistakably
clear in orders and yet retain in general use terms which can easily lead
a man astray. As a matter of fact, the main line of resistance at the be-
ginning of a fight is the line of elements first struck, but immediately
afterward it is something else, and from then on it is always in a different
location. At any given time it is the irregular line where the enemy is
being opposed. We would be better off if we said nothing about it or else
used some other term that would not confuse the boys.

In this connection are we not looking at the defense almost entirely
from the viewpoint of the higher command? Of cause the corps com-
mander and the division commander will draw a line on the map or
designate two or more terrain features and say, “That is the main line of
resistance.” Of course. But as we go farther down and finally reach the
battalion and company, conditions change. Take that line that the corps
commander draws across his map with a pencil and put it under a micro-
scope. It is no longer a continuous line of little breadth. It is now a wide
series of smears and blotches irregularly disposed, with numerous intervals
here and there. These smears and blotches are the dispositions of the
junior commanders, and it is the resultant of them all that makes up the
main line of resistance that the higher commander is thinking about. The
piece of the corps commander’s line that the battalion commander gets
to defend is, from the viewpoint of the latter, an area. It will usually be
an area for the regimental commander too. When the higher commander
assigns the line he may also amplify his instructions by saying that this or
that terrain feature is important or must be held. If he does not, then

102 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

farther down the line someone must. It is the ground itself that de-
termines the dispositions of the smaller units, and, based on an evaluation
of the ground, the junior picks out the important features and arranges
for their defense. After his dispositions are made, the so-called main line
of resistance becomes apparent — ^it is a line tangent to the fronts of his
forward combat groups. But in these small units it results from his dis-
positions — ^his dispositions do not grow from it.

There is another idea firmly implanted in our minds about the necessity
of a continuous band of fire across our front. Certainly we should like to
have it, and with the enormous concentrations of artillery we saw in the
World War, with the adoption and issue of a suitable light machine gun,
and with a big increase in our mortars, we might be able to get it, but as
things stand, with one mortar per battalion, with no good substitute for a
light machine gun, and with only three batteries backing up a regiment,
it is simply out of the question without packing most of our weapons close
to the front. And the more we close them up, the more we favor a quick
rupture by the attack. Our elements up front are those most surely
located by the attacker, and we must not forget that at any given point
he can get superiority of fire. In the great majority of cases a little ground
gained or lost is of no consequence. What we want is to disrupt and dis-
organize the attack, keep it constantly under pressure, and finally, by
getting at it from unexpected directions, bring it to a stop. We want to
gain time enough to be sure we have located the main thrust and get
reserves back of that point. We should be willing to bend if we can keep
from breaking. This requires that we establish points all the way back
around which the attack will drape itself but beyond which it cannot
pass except at a price. We want a series of snags to break the control and
cohesion of the assault. Thereupon, when it halts we can counterattack.
The necessity of giving the assault no rest requires that our weapons be
disposed in depth and that enfilade fire of machine guns and the prepared
fires of light artillery be utilized to the greatest advantage. We should be
able to fire within the position as well as in front of it.

This matter of artillery fire is important. Where now do we plan our
artillery fires except in advance of the position? We cannot fire within it
without endangering our own people, who may be movihg back any-
where in the area. To get the most of our support we should prepare for
fires within our position and arrange so that our own troops will stay out
of such locations. The artillery fire can then be brought down on them —
the areas, not the troops — ^at any time, and what is now the artillery de-
fense of the main line of resistance will be continued back through the
position. If it is claimed that this is being taken care of I plead ignorance
and lack of experience with units so well instructed. I have never seen it.

Again, by occupying a line we face in one direction, and although we
are well disposed if the attack comes in as expected, we are greatly handi-

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103

capped if it develops in another direction. The organization of switches
helps us somewhat, but we are always exposed to the danger of infiltra-
tion, and any line is then subject to attack from the rear. If the attack is
at an ailgle to our line, then surely the continuous-band-of-fire idea will
not be effective, and surely, also, the effect of a rupture will be to add
materially to the probability that the line will be rolled up. If we could
jump around like ants on a hot rock and readjust our dispositions during
the assault, it would not be so bad, but no one will question the state-
ment that a realignment in a defensive position while under fire is a very
difficult if not impossible operation. What we want is to make such dis-
positions that we cannot be badly hurt if the direction of attack is un-
expected.

Assuming the patience of the reader up to this point, just what is it we
do want? First, something simple, easy to teach a big emergency force.
Second, something based on an evaluation of the ground. Third, some-
thing that will allow the maximum effective use of supporting fires.
Fourth, something that will stand up if we guess wrong about the direc-
tion of attack. Fifth, something that gives definite missions to every unit
down to the smallest.

We will get a simple solution as soon as we approach the problem in
a reasonable way — by adjusting our means to the ground itself. Only a
trial will convince you, but it appears to work at Benning. The funda-
mental decision is, “In my area what are the vital points that I must
hold?” The answer to that question determines the dispositions. It re-
lieves the natural anxiety of the commander to cover everything and
allows him to use scanty means to the best advantage.

If enemy action dictates our dispositions we have nothing to worry
about. But if we have a choice it must be based on what he may be able
to do, and that depends on the ground — where and what the cover is,
what the favorable approaches are, where the best fields of fire are, what
is the best observation, etc. Since we do not know how his attack may
develop, we plan against probabilities, but we must be prepared for all
contingencies. Our defense of the main approaches may be successful,
and yet a penetration may occur elsewhere. Such a contingency must not
break down our whole plan. The direction of attack may be unexpected
— ^this must not necessitate a rearrangement of our dispositions. The
enemy may make considerable progress somewhere. Our supporting
weapons must still be able to work on him. Our artillery particularly
must be prepared to put down fire anywhere the attack is threatening.

And all concerned must know exactly what to do. Units in the front-
line battalions must give up any idea of moving around. They must give
one another mutual support. They must expect that the attack will get
by them and they must therefore be ready to resist from flank and rear.
The loss of an adjacent combat group should not break down their own

104 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

resistance. There is no question of their withdrawing; they must fight
in place.

Of course if the very idea of defense is obnoxious to all of us free and
hardy Americans, what our doctrine is on the question doesn’t matter
much. We preach the offensive — ^we’re going to attack and let the other
fellow defend. That’s what we did in the World War. But somebody did
a lot of defending before we got in, and perhaps the next time it will be
on us quickly and we won’t have a year to get ready to attack. If we
accept the idea that somebody may attack us, then we had better clarify
our ideas so that we understand what we are trying to do and can give
definite and simple missions to all concerned.

TRAINING FOR THE NEXT WAR
By Corporal (now Captain) Leon F. Denis

{1936)

Learning from past experience and knowledge of the psychology of the
average American from 18 to 35, I am much in disagreement with a lot
of present-day “eye-wash” that is presumed to be a basis of “training” of
the American soldier for the battlefield — which is, after all, the “raison
d’aitre” of the entire military establishment.

Too much stress is laid upon a lot of “by-the-numbers” means of
execution of much of the daily routine of the American soldier today;
that in a theater of operations will serve no purpose whatever, in fact it
will be more of a hindrance; in short, a lot of stuff is being taught in
peace times that will have to be “unlearned” in the face of realities of
battle that no amount of “book” can prepare for.

The Tentative Infantry Drill Regulations of a few years back that were
tried out in certain sections by the Army is about the full extent of so-
called close order drill; or, disciplinary drill that there will be any time
for when the sad day arrives that the pressing call will be “Men, more
men.” Why these same new drill regulations were thrown into the dis-
card, to eventually be forgotten by all but a few old noncoms who tried
them out by unlearning “Squads East and West” is beyond me. [They
were brought back. Corporal Denis is talking about the simplified close-

Editorial Note: This is the only article that has ever escaped the ruthless blue
pencil. Not even a punctuation mark has been added, changed, or deleted. It was
the unanimous opinion of the editorial staff that a revision or a rewrite would de-
stroy the vigor and earnestness of Corporal Denis* paper.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

105

order drill, which abandoned “squads right” and other complicated
parade-ground maneu’fers. This drill was tried out for a year, early in the
thirties, then dropped but brought back early in the emergency period
which preceded the war.]

Not enough time, energy and practice is given to that important phrase
of Jeb Stuart’s: to “Get there fustest with the mostest men” by which I
mean ordinary marching under full field equipment over all sorts of
terrain and in all sorts of weather, until such time as all your men can
cover 30 miles per day over average country without anyone falling out.
In addition to this there is too much tendency in the “field” to take every-
thing along from the barracks that is movable including almost the pool
table from the recreation room. Nothing, other than that provided by the
TBA [Tables of Basic Allowances which list official campaign equipment.
Army units acquire much “company property” such as easy chairs and
pool tables in time of peace], should be permitted in the field or on
practice marches; and they, should be frequent — that men and equip-
ment be always in a state of readiness of proper “shake-down.” By the
foregoing I also mean the abolition of a lot of junk that is brought along
by officers, from special equipment for a separate mess to Morris chairs
and what-not. Bedding rolls and shelter tents are all that the TBA pro-
vides; and they may as well get used to it from the very start, as well as
eating out of mess kits the same food that the men of their organizations
have to eat.

As to “taking the field” you would get quite an eye-opener if you
stopped at most any Army post and asked the C.O. to sound “call to
arms” unknown to anyone else at 2:00 a. m. some morning. The garrison
would be lucky to be in ranks by 5:00 a.m. in most cases I’ll venture, and
even then a lot of equipment would be missing; nobody knowing why
or where.

For the marching part, even Hitler with his Youth movement and
Mussolini with his young Black Shirts is giving us a lead that we will have
a long way to go, to catch up to in the future; when they even train
school boys in the art of marching with full pack — ^whereas we don’t even
give our regular soldiers sufficient training in this self-same subject. There
is a laugh somewhere; but certainly we are not the ones to be in a posi-
tion to do the laughing — at least not now.

A certain amount of “display” or so-called “garrison soldiering” may
be necessary I’ll grant if only for the purpose of “showing ofF’ to digni-
taries; all of which can be restricted to a few units at a few posts — ^which
units would not normally be included in the first increments ordered to
the field in a major emergency. Otherwise, all this “display” and “eye-
wash” could as well as not be eliminated entirely. In this connection we
are too much like women who are not satisfied with the way nature made

106 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

them; can’t stay “natural” but our vanity works as bad as theirs does with
rouge, facials and permanents.

At the present time, too much effort, time and expense is devoted to
“polishing” this and that, that should be used to much more advantage
in tactical training. Any dumb cluck can learn to polish a pair of shoes,
shine a belt or brass buttons; but, that same dumb cluck most certainly
can’t learn in a few weeks to take a squad and properly dispose it on the
firing line and secure “fire superiority” promptly.

In this same vein, altogether too many men in the Army really think
that an “outpost” or Cossack post is part of a fence; for which there is
absolutely no excuse whatever. This condition prevails more in Head-
quarters [Headquarters companies, largely made up of clerical personnel],
machine gun, and other specialized organizations; which calls for correc-
tion. The training of men of these organizations should include all that
the rifleman in the rifle company is normally expected to know; in addi-
tion to which he is called upon to train in his “specialty” so-called,
whether he be a switchboard operator or a supply office clerk should not
make the slightest difference. He may, some day, find himself suddenly
thrust in a rifle company for some reason or other; and if he has not
learned the rudiments of a rifleman’s training what good will he be to
anyone or himself?

As to “fire superiority,” it is freely admitted that our present system
of instruction in “marksmanship” can hardly be improved upon; but,
after all, do we really want so few “expert” shots as a result of so much
training time; or, do we want men to know how and where their rifle
shoots, in large numbers in preference? The system utilized early in the
World War just prior to entering the lines for the first time early in 1918
seems to offer a solution to this problem of producing a quick, self-
reliant method of instruction in shooting — not, mind you “marksman-
ship.” The two subjects are entirely different.

Each individual sort of had to teach himself; knowing full well that
results in future would either cost him his life or save it. Little personal
instruction was afforded anyone — ^there was no time for it anyway had
we wanted to. All the empty tin cans were gathered up from the com-
pany kitchens and taken to the “range,” which was nothing more or less
than a flat space at the foot of some hill with a little bank at the base of
the hill upon which the cans were set with the bottom toward the firing
line — ^which was 75 or 100 yards away. The firer had to adjust his eleva-
tion and windage by himself until such time as he could hit his can
several times successively without changing sights. Having accomplished
this, he had a “zero” for his rifle as we now call it and was practically
ready for the trenches as far as his weapon was concerned. If more time
was available he was allowed to train in following his can as it bounced
along from shot to shot; which taught him more or less how to hit a

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

107

moving target. The foregoing method of training in “shooting^* (not
marksmansUp) most certainly told on the ^^shock troops’* of Germany at
such places as Seicheprey, Apremont and Chateau-Thierry, and else-
where.

With “marching^* and “weapons” in mind as the paramount basis of
trainings new men or units should spend their first six weeks under canvas
(in the field) to be followed by the next two weeks in garrison then
another six weeks in the field; imtil proficiency is attained.

As to equipment, at the present time there is too much tendency for
individual commanders to dictate their own personal ideas as to how
equipment should be kept and cared for; in some cases going to the
extent of articles almost losing their original identity. These articles are
purchased in a certain condition under certain specifications and it is
quite safe to assume that it is intended that they be kept in just that
condition and no other; whether they look pretty or not. As long as
equipment is “clean” that is all that is required and should be asked of
anyone. In this connection, I would forbid Post Exchanges from dealing
in any of this “bucking material” that at the present time keeps most of
the enlisted men broke. [By “bucking material” the author means fancy
non-regulation uniforms, belts, shoes, and so on, which a soldier could
buy to outshine other soldiers when it came to the selection of the com-
manding officer’s orderly each day at guard mount.] The same could be
applied to an overabundance of tailor shops, shoe shops and the like; all
of which can be done within the organization at less cost, and, to a
greater benefit to the organization fund as well as that of the poor in-
dividual soldier who does the spending. Cobbler kits are issued and if
organizations maintained their own cobblers, barbers and the like, much
less “collection sheet” trouble would be a result. [The “collection sheet”
is the list of credits given to enlisted men during the month to be taken
from their pay on payday.] As to leather, saddle soap is issued; it keeps
leather clean and pliable hence is sufficient for all leaffier including shoes.
If it had been intended that all this “bucking material” be essential parts
of a soldier’s equipment and much of his time devoted to its use; it is safe
to assume the same would have been issued is it not? Well, then let us
leave well enough alone and not be so feminine.

Not enough time and effort is devoted to “understudy”; few men and
officers are taught to temporarily at least fill the shoes of someone higher
up during field exercises or maneuvers; where the art of “command” may
more readily be assimilated than elsewhere by juniors. This art of “com-
mand” is one of our greatest shortcomings and was in 1918 as well as
previously. It is one thing that all the books in the world cannot ever hope
to teach anyone, bar none; hence opportunity to exercise it frequently
and “teach himself” through the medium of his own and other folks
mistakes should be afforded all ranks in training.

108 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Only recently Mussolini gave us an example of “training^* that is a bit
far fetched, but then again the right idea is behind it. That was when
some of his Infantry was wounded and killed by their own Field Artillery
in real “war condition” maneuvers. I do not advocate such measures
exactly; but Infantry could be required to fire at moving targets while
sandwiched in between batteries of artillery, also firing by which means
each branch would come to a realization of what havoc the other can do
in battle. Also this would quickly dispel that ever present “buck fever^*
so prevalent in the rifleman when first close to artillery fire. Closer co-
operation and co-ordination between supporting weapons would naturally
result from the foregoing as well and the individual soldier would quickly
get an idea as to “what the score is.”

The soldier, first of all must know how to march — and reach his
destination without being all fagged out; ready for action; then, how to
take care of himself and his equipment in the field; then, how and when
to shoot and what at, also hit what he aims at. He must know something
of the general scheme of events of the moment; in other words, “what the
score is” to act intelligently on the firing line. Don’t withhold all the in-
formation you have regarding the situation ; you may get killed and some-
one else may have to carry on — ^provided they know “what the score is”
to start with — ^see.

When your individual soldier can do these things almost instinctively
without being ridden or harassed; then you have something of a soldier,
not before.

BATTLE PRACTICE
By Sergeant Terry Bull

Pull up over there by that big tree, Gunther, and we’ll park the platoon.
Don’t slap on your bnikes like that, man! You might need ’em bad
some time.

All noncoms up!

Your carrier needs another coat of mud and leaves on the front plate,
Callahan. I can see the paint from here. You got to watch your camou-
flage when we’re doing cross-country work. The brush knocks it off.

All up? You get a load of this too, Jiminez.

Today we’re going to start our combat firing. The time’s so short I
asked the Old Man to let me skip the usual target-range “enemy on that
line between those flags, look out for the siuprise target” bunk, and I’m
going to put you into a real war starting now.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

109

Knudsen^ your section^ with a light-gun squad attached^ forms a com-
bat group up on the side of that wooded ridge, anywhere between that
large white boulder and the stone fence line. YouVe got to be able to
cover this valley from the burned bam on your right front to that
wrecked tank on the hill yonder.

Remember, you’ve got to have all-around defense by every man, team,
and squad in your section. I’ll look over your position later, and any man
that hasn’t got a good field of fire in at least three directions I’ll put out
as a casualty and give him another chance after supper.

Dig in? Of course you dig in. And at the end of thirty minutes you pick
out the poorest dug-in man of each squad as a casualty, and we’ll arrange
some special instruction for him too.

Now, Lenoir, take your section with the other light-gun squad up
through those woods on the other ridge and dismount ’em in the pine
grove on that highest knob. Then put ’em in battle formation and ad-
vance through the woods and across this valley. You can move anywhere
in the area between that large spreading oak and the white boulder on
your left and the stone fence line on your right. We’ve got to watch our
safety angles, see, but that’ll still give you plenty of maneuver room.

Jiminez, you follow the Second Section with your load of targets until
they take cover. Then stand by until I get there.

Now this is a game and we play it like this. Knudsen has his section
dug in almost anywhere in that four-hundred-yard stretch of woods —
you can’t tell just where — so he can cover his sector with everything
he’s got.

Lenoir, you and your merry men are Japs or Nazis, whichever you
want to be, and you’ve got the job of crossing part of that sector in your
zone of advance. You don’t know where Knudsen is — ^you don’t even
know if the ridge is defended. So you’re advancing, pretty well thinned
out, in battle formation.

Knudsen, you have this blank in your gun. You’re watching Lenoir
come across the valley, and when his outfit gets to the point where you’d
open fire, shoot the blank.

When you hear this shot, Lenoir, your outfit drops to cover — ^just like
they would if Knudsen’s section was to cut into ’em with everything
they had.

Everybody got it?

No, that’s all you need to know for now, Lenoir — ^just drop to cover
and stay put.

Let’s see, it’s seven-thirty now — give you an hour all told — ^at eight-
thirty the war starts. That means your men drop their shovels, Knudsexi,
and Lenoir’s crew starts leaving the pine knob.

Jackson, since your guns are all attached, suppose you go with Lenoir
as umpire. See that none of his outfit drops behind or climbs trees, peek-

110 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

ing at Knudsen’s position — till eight-thirty. I’ll go with the First Section
and keep them honest.

Move out!

Wind her up, Gunther.

Well, Knudsen, so your young men are all ready to massacre the mur-
derous Japs! All right, let’s take a look around.

I see that none of your light guns are placed to cover that back slope
up there.

Sure, your sector is out yonder — ^but wouldn’t you be surprised if I’d
whispered to Lenoir to come bouncing in your back door? Take the bolt
out of his gim — ^and put Corporal Borisov down for a little instruction in
gun-siting — conducted by you personally.

Notice that both your mortars can cover the front beautifully but no-
where else? Put one of ’em in the middle of that little clearing twenty
yards back and he can drop his puffballs anywhere. Let’s have your firing
pin, Simpson, and after this check for an overhead opening for your can-
non.

Who’d you pick for the worst dug in? O.K., pull their bolts and give
’em hell. Then come up here where we can get a good view of Lenoir’s
crew.

Load? Hell no! You’re not loading, are you? Well, don’t until I give
you the word. You see, this isn’t a real war; it’s just combat firing.

About eight-ten, eh? Lenoir ought to be showing up soon.

No, I didn’t see him. Oh, sure, by that burned snag. And there’s an-
other! Well, would you commence firing now? Why not?

Quite a few of ’em in sight now — ^scouts well ahead — ^and they’re doing
pretty well, too, picking those draws and the high grass. How about it?
Would you cut into ’em now? Why not?

Looks like that’s the last of ’em trickling out of the woods. Yes, here
comes Jiminez with the targets. Scouts at about two-fifty now. By gad,
seeing ihose birds bobbing in and out of sight fairly gives me the creeps —

reminds me of Coffin Comer when they were coming over

BANG!

For God’s sake, Knudsen! Why don’t you blow your horn or hold out
your hand before you blast a round off right at a man’s ear?

Oh, so that’s where you’d have your section open fire? O.K., call your
men all up and rest easy till I get back.

Gimther! Twist her tail.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

111

Nice going, Lenoir — ^looked pretty good from where I sat. Have your
carriers come on up.

Ho, Jiminez! Over here with those targets.

Jackson, you go with Jiminez all over the section area, putting out one
target for every man. Look at their positions. Any man that’s in a good
concealed position that he can shoot from gets a prone target. Anybody
that got caught out in the open when Knudsen fired gets a kneeling
target. And every man that’s so far down under cover that he couldn’t
fire on Knudsen’s outfit gets a standing target — stuck up full length.

Lenoir, have your men write their names on their targets and drive
’em in the ground right where they are now. When they get ’em drove,
assemble, mount ’em up, and move up on that nose of ground on Knud-
sen’s left to watch the show.

All right, Knudsen, Lenoir’s gang is all clear and your heroes can do
their worst.

Now the picture is that you men have dug in here for a defense of this
ridge line. There’s other combat groups within covering distance, but
you can’t count on ’em for sure, ever, so you’re dug in all around.

You’ve seen the Japs or Nazis slipping down out of the woods over
there. You’ve watched ’em close, full loaded, and with your trigger fingers
twitching, but that’s all. You haven’t done anything about it yet because
you want to knock down a dozen or so with your first blast — ^and Sergeant
Knudsen’s promised to shoot any man that squeezes one off before he
blows his whistle.

Finally he gives the word “400.” Notice that 400 is a bit low. Well, he
was pretty cagey — let ’em keep coming until their scouts were at about
two-fifty, and the bulk of ’em were caught short of the stream and clear
of the woods. Then he blew his whistle; that is, he fired a blank, and you
guys started blasting. Get it?

Now we’re ready to go on from there.

You’ll get loaded and all set to fire. Then Knudsen will really blow his
whistle, and for one minute by the clock you’ll cut into ’em. You cor-
porals keep an eye on me. I’ll be holding my arm up while you’re firing,
and when I drop it, cease fire right now.

By the way, Knudsen, return those bolts to your “casualties.” I forgot
that it would mess up the lieutenant’s formula. Give ’em extra instruction
instead.

Any questions?

Certainly you men in rear fire. You’ve qualified on the target rang^
haven’t you? Well, if you can hit a ten-inch bull at two hundred yards

112 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

prone, you ought to be able to miss one of your friends at fifty yards. Just
be damn careful.

Targets? There’s a target out there for every man in the Jap section,
and they’re placed so you can hit every one of ’em, if you can figure
where the other fellow is apt to be. Of course you can’t see but half a
dozen of ’em, but I never knew a Jap or a Kraut to stay out in the open
for very long, either. This is combat firing, sonny.

Now the idea to follow in combat firing — or battle — ^is this. When you
fire your first shot at a man, he’ll dive out of sight and you’ll swear you
hit him. You probably didn’t. So you put another bullet where he dis-
appeared. Then you have to figure on where another Jap would likely be,
and you put your next bullet through that spot. Never fire more than one
shot — burst for gunners — ^in the same place until you’ve covered ’em all.
Then start over again.

That way it isn’t safe for a Jap anywhere out there. What between
your poor guesswork and lousy shooting, he’s in great danger no matter
where he goes or what he does.

One thing that don’t apply to this problem — ^when you see one of the
bastards get up and make a rush, don’t be a sucker and try to catch him
on the fly. You’re not good enough, and he’ll be down before even a
good shot can draw a sight on him. Just mark where he settles, put two
bullets or a burst in there, and then come back to it ever so often with
one more bullet.

Any other questions?

All right, Knudsen, have ’em take posts, set sights, load, and when
they’re all set, toot your whistle.

Any time, Knudsen.

T weeeeeeet!

{The rippling, rattling, irregular crash of twelve rounds per second,
punctuated by the metallic coughs of the rapidly served mortars, instdntly
answers the shrill bleat of the signal. Sergeant Bull, with arm upraised,
is standing beside a large pine tree, in a position cannily chosen as being
out of the line of fire of the wildest rifleman in rear. As the second hand
of his watch jerks toward 45 , the scaly bark of the tree near his Hairy
left ear apparently explodes, and the sergeant disappears behind a
near-by boulder with the unhesitating celerity of long practice. The firing
dies.

After some moments of deafening silence have elapsed our hero cau-
tiously comes out from behind his fortress, brushing pine needles from his
^'slaughter suit^' and bark splinters from his lacerated cheek. His baleful
glare alternates between the battle-scarred pine and the wide-eyed re-
cruits occupying the rear area of the combat group.)

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

113

Jackson!

Take a squint along that bullet track and bring me the zombie you*ll
find in a rifle pit directly in line with it.

Knudsen! Send for your carriers, check to see that you’re all clear, and
count ammunition.

Ah, Simpson, so it was you? Well, what I’m most curious about is,
were you aiming at me or the tree, or between me and the tree, or just
what the hell were you aiming at? Don’t bother to answer now — ^poor
judgment, lousy shooting, jitters, or criminal intent — bit’ll be about the
same in any case, but you can be figuring on your alibi until we see the
Old Man.

Pull his bolt, Jackson.

Knudsen, mount your crew up and bring ’em down to the target area.

Crank up, Gunther, and let’s go — ^by Lenoir’s section.

Ho, Lenoir! Bring your section down to the targets. Let ’em mill
around and see what happened to ’em.

T weeeeeeet!

Everybody up! Second Section, bring your own targets in with you!
Start a pile here, Lenoir.

Jackson, score the targets hit and total hits. Sure you count ricochets
— count everything. Anything that goes through a Bristol-board target
will go through skin and make a casualty out of any man — even a Jap.

At ease! Take a look at this target. That is, or was, Popopagous. He
dived behind a pine tree instead of out in the grass, and just look at him
now. A hole in his pasteboard chest you can put a size-ten hand through,
and the rest of him bristling with six-inch pine splinters. Remember that
trees were good cover back in the days when grandpa was fighting In-
dians, but stay away from ’em nowadays. They draw fire and won’t stop
AP.

Here’s Smith, G. W. He took a beautiful position with his head sticking
up from behind a rock. Cowboys do it in the movies. And then somebody
bounced a bullet off the lip of the rock.

This is Levine. He got himself caught right out in the open. Sixteen
holes — count ’em — sixteen!

There’s fifteen of you birds that are casualties — fifteen out of one sec-
tion in one minute’s time. No, forty-five seconds it was; Simpson cut it a
little short. How many of you’d be left in an hour?

We’re going to have several of these battles, and for every time you
birds get hit you’ll do a couple of hours of scouting, taking cover, and
advancing by rushes — ^just as life insurance.

Forty-two hits on fifteen targets; not bad, Knudsen, considering it’s the

114

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

first shoot for most of your men. Not bad at all. But it’s got to get a hell
of a lot better before we go up against real Japs or Nazis. Most of you
guys in the First Section were shooting high. Look at that limb hangings
lopped off eight feet above the ground.

You’ve got to learn to comb the grass roots. That’s where you’ll find
Japs. If you’re not sure of your target or range, shoot low. When you
miss high, the Jap hears the pop and that’s the end of your bullet’s use-
fulness. But when you shoot low, your bullet flattens out, kicks up a cloud
of gravel, bounces, screams like a wildcat, keyholes, and is apt to cripple
anybody in the neighborhood beyond. Kicking up gravel isn’t as foolish as
it sounds. If a man gets hit by a chunk of rock he’s very apt to think he’s
been killed, and if you just kick dust in his eyes he’s going to be awful
allergic to lead for a few minutes.

The score for the First Section is — ^here, Jackson, help me out with the
decimals —

ScoTt— ^ range to nearest Jap X targets hit X total hits
”” Seconds time X small-arms rounds fired X targets

100 X 250 X 15 X 42 -

= z 1 8.9

45 X 513 X 36

That isn’t bad, but it can stand improvement.

Now we’ll change sides. Lenoir, you’re defending and know what
you’re to do. Knudsen, take your men up to that pine knob and be past-
ing targets until the war starts.

It’s nine forty-five now — at ten forty-five we go.

Bear in mind I want a score of at least twenty out of you men in the
Second Section — and you birds in the First watch your cover so you don’t
get slaughtered like the Second did.

TRAINING AREAS

Editorial by Major (now Colonel) Robert C. Cotton

{^ 9 ^ 9 )

No MATTER WHAT the military establishment may be, it is essential that
organizations and troops must be trained in selected areas. The old garri-
son or post system of training should not be considered; the experiences of
the war have fully proven this. The selected areas must be in the nature
of training centers and technical centers. The training center should
comprise camps, cantonments, firing areas, maneuver areas and school
areas. The technical center should comprise technical and special post-
graduate school areas. In addition, there must be combined maneuver
areas which should be of sufficient size to enable large bodies of troops of

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

115

different arms to operate in combined maneuvers and with service firing.

These training and technical centers are necessary to enable the troops
to function properly and at the same time to enable the officers and men
to maneuver and drill in an atmosphere of their arm of the service. In
addition, a means is offered whereby the necessary esprit de corps of the
arm may be developed and increased.

The location of these training and technical centers is most important.
They must be located in districts which will afford open weather through-
out the year, thus giving the greatest possible number of days of outdoor
work. Since the day of each arm operating independently is over, and
since, to operate successfully, the different arms of the service must have
a knowledge of each other and must be trained in combined maneuvers,
the training areas of the different arms must be situated in close
proximity. Ii{ addition, to secure the best result in this connection, the
officers of one arm must be trained at various times with organizations of
other arms.

In order to insure proper co-ordination and results, the training centers
and technical centers, as regards training, instruction, education, and
tactical inspections, must be under the general supervision of the Train-
ing and Instruction Branch, General Staff.

These are the general conditions which must be met, but it is not going
to be easy to work out the detailed plans, without which any general
statement will not carry us very far. We shall find that it is easier to
establish a training camp than it is to abolish one, for training camps at
once create local interests because they bring money. There is no com-
munity in the world which is not glad to have money spent in it, and
there is no really live community which will not fight to have the con-
tinuance of that spending secured.

THE BATTLE OF THE FLAGS

By Major Whitenred and Captain Blackanblue

In the days of starvation rations as to Army strength, the enemy on
maneuvers was often represented by a few men with flags. Sometimes the
system of flags was elaborated imtil it was pretty complicated, as this
gripe of 1937 shows.

They were tattered, they were torn;

From many a battle were they worn.

Old Ballad

Did you ever hear how one tired platoon captured a fresh, full-strength,
high-spirited regiment? Well, it happened one bright day in May some

116

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

four years ago. The platoon was covering the right flank of a division —
covering it on foot. Since daylight it had crept through brambly bushes
and around swamps, working ever farther to the flank to find an enemy,
if any there was. About noon, sweating and thom-scratched, the forty
men of the patrol struck a fine wide road — sl road, fortunately for the
footsore, which had to be investigated.

A few hundred yards down the highway, just over a rise, the point saw
fifteen reconnaissance cars parked well off the road. Hurrying back to
the patrol commander, the point leader reported this news.

The patrol commander was young, vigorous, intelligent — a man, more-
over, full of modern, if still somewhat vague, ideas on mechanization and
motors. Here, if ever, was a chance to prove out modem war.

He crawled forward over the rise and looked. Through his field glasses
he could see drivers lolling sleepily in the reconnaissance cars. Some little
distance from the road he spotted thirty or forty officers eating their
noonday meal under two large tent flies. They looked for all the world
like a bunch of umpires refreshing themselves after strenuous labors.
(That’s what they were, in fact.)

The patrol commander went back of the rise and gave hasty orders to
his men. The patrol closed up in an irregular platoon column and fol-
lowed the leader over the rise, moving slowly and cautiously.

A hundred yards from the reconnaissance cars, at the commander’s
signal, the platoon ran forward and captured the cars. With rifles at
their breasts the drivers were compelled to drive off down the road at
full speed. As the cars pulled out cries arose from the assembled group
under the tent flies. The platoon leader thought he heard someone yell,
‘‘You can’t do that!”

The now-motorized patrol sped down the road at forty-five miles an
hour. At a crossroad that should lead approximately toward enemy head-
quarters the leader signaled a turn.

Ten minutes more of speeding and there appeared, under a grove of
trees, the hostile command post. It must be. For there were flags every-
where — red, white, red with white centers, white with red centers—'
speckled reds, speckled whites, flags leaning against bushes and trees,
bundles of them lying on the ground.

The leader ordered his driver to head directly in toward the com-
mand post. There he halted, and as the other cars closed up and stopped
he yelled, “Grab the flags and get back in the cars!” In ten seconds the
job was done.

About that time a colonel came running toward the cars. “You can’t
do that,” he shouted. “Your men are all dead. You’ve come through two
outpost lines.”

The patrol leader didn’t argue the point. His driver merely stepped
on the gas, and the other fourteen conSformed. They tore out of enemy

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 117

territory by another road and in due course reached their own C.P.,-
where they delivered their load to their regimental commander.

The war was definitely over, for that day at least. It couldn’t go on
without the flags. All afternoon and far into the night the Blue and Red
commanders and their staffs wrangled with the umpires and with each
other.

The troops had a good rest.

The Blue commander finally convinced the chief umpire that in this
day of motors initiative was just as valuable in warfare as in any bygone
day. “Moreover,” he said, “a raid is a raid, and when a raid hits through
to enemy headquarters it’s bound to startle somebody — and turn things
bottom side up. Hell, the only thing I blame my patrol leader for is not
bringing the whole Red command and staff in as prisoners.”

As this story (a true one) indicates, a method of combat training in
which the enemy is represented by flags has been in vogue ever since
things began to settle down after the World War. At first flags were used
in a simple logical way. Big flags marked the assumed flanks of the enemy
disposition, a representation that was reasonable enough for uncompli-
cated small-unit maneuvers. But gradually refinements were added until
now we often find something akin to chaos. We may find red flags repre-
senting machine guns, blue flags a line of infantry, square-centered flags
a 37 -mm. gun; when two flags are crossed they mean one thing; when
vigorously waved they mean still another, and when they droop they
mean something else. The variations are endless.

The business of memorizing what each flag and its gyrations stand
for is a man-sized job. In fact, the unit that boasts the best memories,
or whose commander schools it the longest in the flag codes, has the best
chance for recognition and commendation, regardless of its tactical skill.

In a maneuver the flags move forward and the troops fall back; the
flags retire and the troops advance. This is fantastic; it is a military
minuet that has no connection with war. But, nevertheless, umpires
solemnly critique the situation and tell trained organizations wherein
they committed grievous errors in their phantom combat with the flags.
Has anyone stopped to consider that the bewildered troops who fight
these Alice-in- Wonderland battles have little, if any, idea what they are
all about? For example: One lone flag may be captured by an alert patrol
using excellent patrol methods. But the patrol finds to its chagrin that
it has actually captured a battalion. After a severe lecture from the
umpire the patrol is allowed to return to its parent unit, so that tomorrow
all hands can again take part in the military minuet.

What must the soldier think of all this? And how does he get any great
training from it? Unless he is a memory giant he will never remember
what all these fluttering flags to his front mean. He can only wait dumbly
for someone to tell him what to do. For that matter, many an officer

118 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

has to thumb through his mimeographed poopsheets to find out what a
flag means before he can decide whether the situation calls for a hasty
retreat or the dispatch of a squad to gather in a sniper.

It is no easy matter to bring a salutary reality to the maneuver field,
but we can certainly avoid such absurd and unreal devices as a flag-
waving enemy. In no war will soldiers peer intently for, or at, flags. Flags
fluttering or flags still will not determine the movement of assaulting
troops. This will be determined in large part by the fire action of hostile
men — ^men who are concealed. Each soldier will watch for men, and lead
slugs from enemy weapons will determine his actions — not flags. So, too,
officers will issue orders based not on flags, but on such things as terrain,
cover, areas under fire, casualties, and similar elementary realities.

The argument that we resort to flags because we do not have enough
troops is fallacious. A regiment of three battalions can install one in a
defensive position and attack it with the other two. This will offer at
least some of the elements of a war problem. The men know they are not
contending against a line of perplexing flags but against other men who
may be outwitted.

If three battalions are not available, then let us use what units are
available. A platoon maneuvering against a section gets real training.
So far as the individual soldier is concerned, his action in a small platoon
problem is identical to what it would be if he were taking part in a divi-
sional attack.

By playing unit against unit and by using blanks umpires will be
needed only to point out the areas under fire and, when necessary, to
control the maneuver. In this way we approximate realities. Of course it
is not a close approximation, but it is a far better method than battling a
bewildering array of flags.

But what about the staffs? How can they be trained without troops,
or flags to represent the troops? It is difficult enough to train any large
unit without a full complement of troops, but the problem is not made
simpler by converting a significant proportion of the command into
Chinese bannermen and using the remainder to train staff and com-
manders. Need it be said that a good command-post exercise laid out on
the ground will work any staff into a lather and make most commanders
do a little sweating besides? Meanwhile, the troops can be engaged else-
where learning the combat duties of small units. When a section knows
how to use its weapons and advance skillfully over varied ground, or
knows how to dispose itself for defense, it has the essentials of a com-
petent combat unit. The higher commanders have only to utilize this
training. Their primary part is to make reasonably correct decisions as to
how, when, and where these units will be used.

For a conclusion let us move on to 1942. [This piece was written, re-

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 119

member, in 1937.] The scene is a company command post in battle. A
sergeant has just reported to his company commander.

Captain; What did your patrol find, Sergeant?

Sergeant: Well, not much, sir. We got near enough to that hill to our
right front to see enemy soldiers all over it. Then we went farther out to
the right — six hundred or eight hundred yards, I guess, sir — and couldnH
find a thing.

Captain: Hell’s fire. Sergeant, that sounds as if you located the flank!

Sergeant : No sir, it wasn’t no flank, sir.

Captain: Why not?

Sergeant: Because there wasn’t no flag out there, sir. We looked all
over hell and couldn’t see one.

The moral is: Even if we go back to using flags simply to indicate
flanks, a good deal of explaining will have to be done. I^ldiers know a
flag when they see one, and if they see flags often enough they’ll know
for sure when they don’t see one.

BOMBARDMENT AND PURSUIT AVIATION
By Major (now Major General) Claire L. Chennault

The general impression obtained by reading all the articles the Infantry
Journal ever printed on air warfare is simply that the ground soldier has
wanted to see as clearly as possible the place of aviation in war. He hasn’t
been ready to believe that war could be fought mainly by machines. But
he has believed they would have a big part in the whole combat team.
What follows is selected from two articles by General Chennault dated
1935 and 1936.

The bombardment airplane is strictly an offensive weapon, but it fights
tn its own element only on the defensive. It is not designed or intended
to seek combat in the air. When forced into combat by a hostile airplane,
it adopts one of the defensive formations. These formations are adopted
solely for defense against an aerial attacker and are not assumed in the
presence of effective antiaircraft artillery fire or for precision bombing
operations. Having assumed a defensive formation, the bombardment
unit depends upon mutual fire support, volume of fire, and its charac-
teristic of speed for its defense.

A great volume of fire is available for the defense of a bombardment
unit. Each airplane in the formation is capable of carrying three pairs
of machine guns, a total of sixty flexible machine guns for a ten-plane
squadron. However, it will seldom occur that more than twenty of these

120 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

guns can be directed upon a hostile force attacking from any given direc-
tion. This limitation is due to the fact that the traverse and elevation
or depression of each pair of guns are restricted by the structure of the
airplane. The effectiveness of bombardment’s volume of fire is further
reduced by reason of the fact that flexible gunfire from an airplane is
rarely effective at ranges greater than one hundred yards. The size of the
individual airplanes prevents the simultaneous delivery of effective fire
upon any one point by all the units of the formation.

The speed of the bombardment unit contributes to its defense by reduc-
ing the time available for combat and by making it more difficult for an
attacking force to engage in concerted attacks with elements approaching
simultaneously from several directions. Speed also reduces the probability
of the defending force intercepting the invading bombardment unit.

It is generally accepted that bombardment will enjoy a considerable
superiority of fire in any combat where hostile pursuit employs the World
War method of diving to the attack with small units firing successively.
Under such conditions the bombardment force should succeed in pene-
trating to its objective.

The greatest danger from bombardment aviation lies in the possible
failure of military authorities to appreciate its power. It may prove of
decisive importance in any situation where adequate measures for effec-
tively opposing it have not been taken.

These measures must be taken in peacetime; the declaration of war is
too late for their initiation. Essentially they consist of the organization
of an efficient aircraft reporting service, the maintenance of an adequate
number of defensive weapons of modem types, the preparation of de-
tailed passive measures of defense, and the maintenance of an effective
land-based air force capable of, and charged with the responsibility for,
conducting both offensive and defensive aerial operations.

The mission of pursuit aviation in the Army zone of action then is
twofold : first, to support all claB^ of friendly aviation and, second, to
deny freedom of action to all classl||^f hostile aviation. Pursuit aviation,
properly equipped and employed, i^apable of accomplishing this two-
fold mission due to the relatively limited area of operations. Employ-
ment will depend upon the circumstances of the campaign, but offensive
action only will assure effective results.

Today the consensus is that pursuit has two broad functional missions :
first, the denial of hostile bombardment and, second, the support of the
operations of ground forces. It is also generally agreed that pursuit re-
quires two types of airplanes for these missions.

For the denial of bombardment, an “interceptor” type is required.
The interceptor should be light, have a high rate of climb, should not

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

121

require a high degree of maneuverability, and should have heavy guns
capable of being fired accurately at long ranges at large, non-maneuver-
ing targets.

For the support of the operations of ground forces a fighter type with
the maximum degree of maneuverability is required. The fighter need
not have the maximum rate of climb but should climb as fast as observa-
tion airplanes. It does not require heavy armament, for most of its com-
bats will be at close ranges and of the maneuvering type. Rather than
heavy guns, it should have small-caliber guns capable of extremely rapid
fire. The fighter should carry more fuel than the interceptor to enable
it to remain in the air for longer periods.

We have endeavored to avoid the expense and inconvenience involved
in the development and employment of two types of pursuit airplanes in
the past by developing a compromise “interceptor-fighter” type, or all-
purpose pursuit plane. Recent improvements in both bombardment- and
observation-airplane designs indicate that this compromise type will be
ineffective for at least one, if not both, of its two general missions. A
highly specialized pursuit airplane is required for each mission. The
interceptor with its high rate of climb, wide radius of turn, and limited
endurance is not suitable for close combat with maneuvering observation
and fighter aircraft. Relieved from the requirement of close combat and
violent maneuver, the interceptor may be built lighter with improved
climb and slower landing speed.

The trend of technical development indicates that the time has arrived
when a distinctive, highly specialized fighter airplane must be developed
for the support of the operations of our ground forces. Failure to do this
will result in those forces being compelled to attempt operations without
adequate aerial observation while exposed to the attack of all classes of
hostile aviation.

Certainly no commander would relish such a prospect, yet the Ger-
man Army at the battle of the Somme in 1916 found itself in exactly
this situation. With almost an equal number of airplanes, the German
air service was helpless because a majority of their planes were not of
the proper type and could not carry out the missions assigned them.
Later an insignificant number of single-seater pursuit fighters brought
down from the Verdun front under the command of Boelcke were able
to restore a satisfactory measure of freedom of action to German observa-
tion and limit the operations of ail classes of British aviation.

This situation may develop in the future unless the fundamental prin-
ciples governing the functional employment of fighting-type airplanes are
thoroughly understood and timely measures taken to provide the proper
types and trained personnel. Should we go to war today, eighteen months
must elapse before we could furnish effective support for our aerial
observation. Furthermore, we could not prevent hostile aviation, from

122 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

operating freely in the Army zone imtil our deficiency in fighter-type
pursuit could be reinforced.

The pursuit complement of our G.H.Q. Air Force is designed primarily
for the interception of hostile bombardment. It is neither large enough^
nor is it properly equipped for the support of ground operations. It con-
sists of only three groups — as compared to a conservatively estimated re-
quirement of nine groups for the support of four armies. Its principal
mission is generally stated as follows: “To provide security from hostile
aerial attacks upon our air force, airdrome areas, or bases.” Certainly a
pursuit force of the interceptor type is required for this mission, and it is
equally certain that a force assigned this mission will not be available
for other missions.

MOLLYCODDLING THE ARMY
From an article by George T. Fry
(1918)

If all of the misdirected energy that is being wasted on plans to rescue
the morals of the young fighter and protect his chest, throat, indigestion,
and home-cooking appetite from ruin were devoted to providing the
essential things for a real army, the aggregation that followed Old Man
Xerxes over the plains would look like the Salvation Army compared
to the Army of Freedom, and the Boche would be sending out distress
calls in advance.

I can say, with absolute truth, that the amount of money spent in the
country for the hire of press agents alone to exploit the various schemes
for raising money for military “charities” exceeds the total cost of main-
taining the German General Staff.

That is true enough, but on the other hand, they will know what war
really is. It will be no abstraction to them. They will be like dwellers
on the slopes of a volcano who have lived through an eruption. They
will not forget that what has been well may be again.

If we are not to be lapped by a tideless sea, then we must prepare
against a new flood tide. Shall we do it by universal training? Shall we
do it by the intense training of a selected and scientific group who pre-
pare themselves to deal out death from more efiPective weapons than the
world ^has ever seen? Shall we close our eyes and go back to the old

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

123

dreams? Even if the decision cannot be made now, it should, at least,
be considered now, unless peace is to find us as unprepared as the present
war.

HOW TO READ THE GROUND

By Captain (now Lieutenant Colonel)

James W. Bellah

{^ 94 ^)

Your men are going to drive the automobile, not manufacture it. So
in teaching map reading forget the classroom, field manual, and training
film and get your men out on the ground. If you throw the agonic line
and polyconic projection at them in the beginning you kick them off
balance, frighten them, and confuse them needlessly with terminology. So
don’t do it. Later you can use Field Manual 21-25 {Elementary Map
and Aerial Photograph Reading) and Training Film 5-12 {Map Read»
ing)y but at first use the ground.

Reconnaissance on the terrain itself and so-called “map reading** are
one and the same thing. They are not closely allied — they are unified.
One without the other cannot exist in the well-trained military mind. It
is your job as S-2 to force this unification and to do it in the most
simplified, rational way possible.

So at the start march your detachment out to the nearest available
terrain (right in the area will do) and bang three major principles into
their heads. And bang them in!

( 1 ) To know where they are on the terrain — always,

(2) To know how to locate other objects on the terrain — ^in relation to
(or in terms of) where they are.

(3) To know how to transmit that information to a third party who
isn't present.

When you have done that you have done your job, for in spite of all
the books, lectures, and films in the world that is all there is to it.

So start with it. Halt the detail.

“All right, Goldfarb, where are you?**

“Me, sir? I*m right here.**

“That*s fine, Goldfarb — and it’s a solution to the problem. But it*s not
the solution because it only makes sense if I am right here with you so
that I can look in your Erection and actually see you standing there
when you say, T*m right here.* If I can’t see you when you say, T*m right
here,* you might be on the road from Dakar to Timbuktu or on top of
the Empire State Building for all the good it does me to hear your voice.
So let’s suppose for the sake of the problem that I haven’t said, ‘Where

124

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

are you?* but that I have asked you the question in a written message
from a position ten miles away from you. Obviously if you write back^
‘Me, sir? I’m right here,* it won’t mean a thing to me, will it?”

Let’s hope that Goldfarb agrees.

“So, then, Goldfarb, in order to position yourself to me when I am
ten miles away from you (or far enough not to be able to see or hear
you), it becomes necessary for you to tell me where you are in relation
to something else on the terrain — something that I can see or something
of which I know the position.

“To do this successfully you have to give me two items of informa-
tion — ^the distance you are from the object and the direction you are
from the object. Simple?

“Now, Goldfarb, if you pick a cow for the object she may move away,
so pick something a little more settled in its ways. Gan you see the
number of that mess building behind you?*'

“Building iio6, sir.”

“About how far are you from it?”

“About fifty feet, sir.”

“So, then, your first item of information — distance — can be stated as
follows: ‘I am about fifty feet from Building iio6.* Now, will you agree
with me that the fiery yellow disk in the sky directly behind you as you
stand facing Building iio6 is the sun? Thank you. And will you agree
also that it has been the consensus for a great many years that the sun
rises in the east and sets in the west? Thank you again. Will you now
look at your watch and tell me the time?”

“Eight-thirty, sir.”

“In the morning, Goldfarb?”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t smile, Goldfarb. a.m. and p.m. are most important items in a
military communication— or were until recently, when the twenty-four-
hour system went in.

“That being the case, Goldfarb, the sun is still m a general easterly
direction from Building i io6, and as you are standing between Building
iio6 and the sun you also are east of the building. So you have your
second item— direction — ^and your position on the terrain becomes ‘fifty
feet east of Building iio6.* Now, if I know where Building iio6 is, I
know where you are, even if I am a thousand miles away. And that, men,
is the entire essence of map and terrain work. That is the basic prin-
ciple — ^all else is merely a further refinement of distance and direction.

“So now we shall start to refine direction. As I pointed out to Gold-
farb, it has been the consensus for thousands of years that the sun rises
in the east and sets in the west. Or, to put it more simply, it rises in
approximately the same place every morning and sets on the opposite side
of the horizon from the place of rising. Any savage, any child gets that

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 125

firmly established in his mind because the sun is a dramatic phenomenon
that forces its attention on all human beings early in life. You men get
it firmly established now because the consideration of direction begins
and ends with the sun. East — or whatever other word in a primitive
language was first coined to indicate that point on the horizon where the
sun rises — ^was the first ‘compass’ point known to man in his attempt to
describe direction to other men. West — or where the sun sets — was the
second. In the beginning there was no north or south because nothing
very dramatic happened in the north or in the south.

“Then one day something dramatic did happen. Someone floated a
sliver of magnetized steel on the surface of a cup of water (later on some-
one else balanced a similar needle on a brass fulcrum), and both men
discovered that the needle always pointed approximately halfway be-
tween sunrise and sunset — that is, in the direction you faced if you kept
the rising sun on your right. Where the needle always pointed became
known as north. The point on the horizon opposite north became known
as south.

“After that the sun no longer had to be visible in order to help man
to know his directions. He carried a compass instead.”

(Produce the magnetic compass and issue one to each man.)

“Now we call this instrument the magnetic compass for the very prac-
tical reason that its needle is caused to point in a northerly direction by
magnetic attraction. Something up there in the north country — some
huge deposit of iron ore somewhere near the top of the world — ^makes
that needle point to it.

“But, whatever that something is, it isn’t exactly at the North Pole.
Get that firmly fixed in your mind now, for it’s vitally important. The
needle points in a northerly direction, hut it doesn't point to the North
Pole,

“We can’t help that slight imperfection of the compass any more than
we can help the slight imperfection of the sun itself which, as the seasons
change, rises progessively farther south of east in the wintertime and
progressively farther north of east in the summertime. If you use the
sun to determine your direction you allow for this difference in summer
and in winter.

“So allow for it with the magnetic compass. Remember always that
the north the compass needle points to is that ore deposit, not the North
Pole.

“We call the ore deposit the Magnetic North.

“We call the North Pole the True North.

“Remember both terms and what they mean.”

You have now laid the foundation for a demonstration of annual mag-
netic change later on. Don’t go into that refinement now. Get on with
the general principles.

126 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Now move your class away from Building iio6 into a new area*
(Change terrain frequently to keep a class alert — to keep their minds
active. Using the same terrain deadens them.) Disperse them so that
no man is closer than fifty feet to another man. In rotation have each
man, by reading his compass and judging his distance, position himself
on the terrain in relation to his closest neighbors. (Spend a lot of time
on personal tutoring in this basic exercise and your time later on will
not have been wasted. Don’t terminate the exercise until you are sure
each of your men knows the fundamental principles of distance and
direction.)

Your next step is to form the class in march column, each man with
his compass, and slog through the area (this can be your physical train-
ing as well, as you can walk fifty paces and dogtrot fifty paces and thus
harden personnel), changing direction frequently. At intervals you halt
and call on men at random to position themselves verbally in relation
to any near-by object that they pick out — ^by distance and direction.

The final step in this preliminary work is to mount up in vehicles and
run through the same exercise (not stopping) at twenty miles an hour
with a sub-instructor in each vehicle checking each man. Get rid of
any man who can’t get the knack of it after reasonable coaching. He
won’t do. Vary the vehicular work by firing a continual stream of ques-
tions at different men in rotation for testing general alertness. How far
are we from that bald hill? Estimate the number of men in the truck
column we just passed. How far back is the nearest gas station?

You are now ready to let them handle maps. Get out of the area and
seat your class on open terrain and make a map issue. Disperse the class
so that no man has the distraction of a close neighbor.

*‘Now, men, what you have in your hands is a map. I don’t care a
damn if you never learn the definition of a map, but what I want you to
get firmly fixed in your minds is that maps serve as form messages for
the transmission of information about the terrain. They are a drawing of
the terrain with a lot of prepared information printed on them.”

Spend a few minutes reading everything on the border of the map
and see what you can make of it. Read everything and remember when
the question period comes that diere are generally three kinds of ques-
tions students ask:

( 1 ) Questions that show up their own ignorance.

(2) Questions that show up the instructor’s ignorance.

(3) Questions that show off.

Skip all of them and ask only for what you want to know.

*‘A11 right, Warburton, what have you found out about the map from
reading the printing on the border?”

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 127

‘*WelI, sir, it was prepared under the direction of the Chief of Engi-
neers, U. S. Army.”

“Therefore, you are justified in trusting the information it gives you?”

“I think so, sir.”

“I think so too. If it was prepared by the Latvian Army I wouldn*t be
so sure that I could. You, Meiklejohn — ^what does the border of the map
tell you?”

“It was made in 1942, sir.”

“Good — that means it’s pretty well up to date. All right, men, two
initial points to remember. Always check to see who made the map and
how long ago it was made. What’s troubling you, Jones?”

“Sir, there are three arrows on the lower right-hand comer of the
map’s border all joined at the bottom but all pointing in slightly different
directions. One says ‘Magnetic North* on it, and that has half an arrow-
head at the top; the next one

“Never mind the next one, Jones. Stick to that one for a moment. Tell
me what you think it is there for.”

“It has something to do with that ore deposit that isn’t at the North
Pole. Something to do with Magnetic North — ^the point my compass
needle points to.”

“Jones, you’re getting dangerously close to the Officers* Candidate
School. What has that arrow got to do with Magnetic North?”

“Well, sir, obviously it doesn’t point to Magnetic North as I hold the
map, because my compass needle is pointing to Magnetic North all the
time and my compass needle is pointing in exactly the opposite direction
to the arrow on the map. But if I turn the map around I can make the
arrow marked ‘Magnetic North* point to exactly the same place that my
compass needle points.”

“Do just that, all of you. Turn your maps until the arrow marked
‘Magnetic North* is parallel to your compass needle.” *

(Here get in a stiff plug about interference with that compass needle
by local ore deposits, the tin hat, rifle, heavily shelled terrain, presence
of artillery pieces, etc.)

“Now then, what you have done quite simply by turning your maps
so that they lie before you in the same relationship that the actual terrain
lies before you is described in the Field Manuals by the word ‘orienta-
tion.* You have ‘oriented* your maps. It doesn’t make a particle of dif-
ference to me whether you remember that word or not, but it is important
that you remember what you have done to the map because you must
always do that to any map before you start to work with it. You must
turn it and so place it before you that it lies as the ground itself lies
before you.

“As you look at your maps now every point on them lies in exact rela-
tionship to every point you can see on the terrain before you. Three

128 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

inches above the point of that arrow marked ‘Magnetic North* on the
map, for instance, you sec a lot of little square black dots fuzzing the
intersection of four roads. That’s the town of East Prairie on the map,
and you will see a wavy blue line. That’s Gunner’s Creek. Now look up
at the smoke again and look to the left of it where the ridge slopes down-
ward and you will see the sunlight glinting on water. Well, that is the
actual water of Gunner’s Creek.

“Now, Jones, let’s take up the other two arrows that are bothering
you. The second one, instead of half an arrowhead on top, has a star
on top. I’ll tell you in advance that the star is symbolic of the North
Star. Where do you think that arrow points to?”

“To True North, sir. Right toward the North Pole.”

“What could be simpler? And now the third arrow — and one more
north to remember. The third arrow isn’t really an arrow on your maps —
it is a continuation of a line that goes right on across the map to the
top. This line, with lines parallel to it and lines at right angles to it, cuts
the entire map into three-inch squares. Where the line is extended down
to the other two arrows on the border of the map it is marked ‘Grid
North.* This is the third north to remember. Grid North, men, is merely
the top of any map when you hold the map before you in a position to
read the printing on it.

“Remember Grid North.

“We have now traveled a long way in the science of practical terrain
work and map reading and we have not, as yet, read a book. I will a little
later give you reading assignments, but nothing that you read will he
anything more than a further explanation, a further refining of these
basic principles which you have already applied.

“Now to scales. The map you have is about two feet and a half across
and two feet from top to bottom. The terrain as you look at it stretches
for miles in every direction about you. The map is a small diagrammatic
drawing of a portion of that terrain — and it is drawn in exact proportion
to the terrain.

“This is where you are on the terrain.”

(Mark each man’s map; or, better still, have him mark his position
and check for correctness.)

“Now the road to East Prairie is right there at the edge of this field.
Our trucks are standing on it headed toward East Prairie. Mount up
in the trucks now and each one of you take the reading of the speed-
ometer of your truck before you climb aboard. I am going to move the
convoy from here to the town square of East Prairie, where you will dis-
mount again and again read your truck’s speedometer — and then tell
me how far it is on the terrain from here to East Prairie. This is an
A-B-C exercise, but let it make an impression on your minds because it
is the essence of all scalework. Mount up.”

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 129

At East Prairie the speedometer readings show that the distance trav-
eled was three miles.

“Now look at your maps and tell me in inches by actual measurement
how long the line is that represents that straight road from where we
were to where we are now. Three inches. Good. The scale of this map,
then, can be stated in this way: ‘One inch on this map equals one mile
on the actual ground.’

“If you will look at the bottoms of your maps you will see that scale
drawn there for you. You will also see it drawn in yards and in feet. You
will also see a fraction which reads: Scale gjldT important

thing is that you have just proved to yourselves, by actual movement on
the terrain and actual measurement on the map that one inch of distance
on the map represents one mile of distance on the ground.”

(Later you will further refine scales for them, giving them half a
dozen different maps of different scales and discussing representative
fractions, but for now you will still carry on with the basic principles.)

As you move the convoy to East Prairie you will quite possibly cross
a railroad track. Halt there, show them the track, and with a stick draw
in the dirt beside the road the map symbols for single and double tracks.
Draw them four feet long. At a bridge draw the bridge symbol. In East
Prairie point out a school with its usual flag and draw the school symbol.
Ditto — church. Ditto — a house. Do this for the purpose of dramatizing
the logic that pertains in the entire system of map symbols. They are
then ready for Field Manual 21-30 to complete their education in
symbols. Later you will further refine the matter of symbols by calling to
their attention the fact that practically all Japanese and German map
symbols are identical to United States Army symbols, but that the mean-
ing in many cases has shades of difference and that eventually they must
acquaint themselves with those differences for purposes of working with
enemy maps.

“I told you previously that maps serve as form messages for the trans-
mission of information about the terrain — that they are a sort of drawing
of the terrain with a lot of prepared information printed upon them. We
will now use them as such. You have in previous map walks and rides
positioned yourselves without maps by giving your distances and direc-
tions from various objects. We will now position ourselves on these
maps by reference to the terrain. You are all in the town square of East
Prairie. You can all find that point on your maps and put a pencil on it.
Now, when you mount up, watch the roads the convoy takes, keep a
running reference to them on your maps, and be ready at any moment
to put a pencil on those maps at the exact position you occupy on the
terrain. Mount up.”

Now twist and turn the convoy completely around the area at about
twenty miles an hour, changing direction frequently and checking each

130 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

man’s ability to have himself positioned on map and on terrain inter-
changeably. Sub-instructors in each truck.

Your next step in this important preliminary work is a brief run-
through on the subject of co-ordinates. Make this simple. Pin a map to a
blackboard in front of the class and square it off in blue crayon first.
Mark each square by letters or numerals and show how information can
be transmitted by reference to arbitrarily numbered or lettered squares if
two such maps are identically prepared. From that go into the Military
Grid System with as little talk on the genesis of the system as possible
because they don’t need it. They only need to know how to position by
co-ordinate readings.

After your talk, which again should take place on the terrain — ^keep
out of classrooms — give them another moving-convoy exercise on posi-
tioning by co-ordinates.

By this time — ^by the expenditure of possibly ten to fifteen intensive
hours of vital work — ^you have done your part of the job — done it well
and done it soundly. Take your men into a theater now and run off
Training Film 5-12 {Map Reading) for them. This is a magnificent tie-up
film for them and should clarify in their minds any small questions that
may be bothering them.

Follow it by supervising for another two hours a contour exercise in the
field on an actual hill, with a map showing that hill in contours. Walk
up and down that hill — ^better still, walk up and cover it and down the
other side with continual reference to the map. Mark the actual hillside
at the points where the map shows contour lines and thus pound that
subject home, which invariably bothers most people no matter how
much map and terrain work they have.

Your next tie-up is an exercise on working out differences between
Magnetic and True North and Grid North — combining with that the
running of Magnetic, True and Grid azimuths.

Close with your final scale talk and a demonstration of various scales.
Keep this simple and as free of technicalities as you can, but drive all
of your points in simple words, with simple, dramatized examples — ^and
allow the men to do ihe work themselves.

You now have an intelligence detail that has the simple rudiments
of terrain and map work firmly fixed in its minds by demonstration and
actual doing.

We have omitted so far only one fairly important item. This war, we
are coming to believe, is no longer the Spanish-American War or World
War I (whatever that was), but is, instead, this war (whatever this war
is) — ^and it is, among other things, more of an aerial-photograph war
than it is a map war. Furthermore, every time you get away from the
territorial limits of the United States the map supply falls off radically.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

131

the quality of maps goes rapidly downhill^ and the large-scale map
practically ceases to exist. When you have air, however, you can almost
always get a presentable photo map and get it quickly.

So take the maps away from your detail now and substitute photo maps
and polish them off by running through the whole exercise quickly once
again with the photographic representation of the terrain. Teach them its
limitations and its advantages, but, above all, teach them to prefer it to
the drawn map— because we are only a short step from the three-
dimensional photo map, and when it becomes general in its use most of
our map and terrain problems in warfare are solved.

Finally, teach your men the sanctity of a map in combat. Impress
it upon them that their lives and their comrades* lives may depend on
one map. Keep that map from wear and tear; protect it from weather;
mark it sparingly — cherish it always as a valued possession from the very
start, because many a man alive today and many a man who still lives
tomorrow will owe his life to the care of his map and the carefully
acquired ability to read it and read his terrain.

TACTICS ISN’T COMMON SENSE
By Impertinax
{ 1937 )

“There’s nothing to tactics but using common sense.”

Well, old soldiers never die, they say. And since phrases are notoriously
longer-lived than their originators, presumably that one, like the babbling
brook, will go on forever. Certainly, whenever and wherever tactics is
mentioned someone comes out with it. You even hear it at service schools
where they should know better.

Usually the someone proceeds to prove the worth of this pearl by
quoting the formula of successful generalship credited to General Nathan
l^dford Forrest: “Git thar fustest and with the mostest.” As if this
second catchword proves anything except that the general probably pro-
duced it on the spur of the moment [There is good reason to believe he
never said it at all.] in order to silence some simpleton who plagued him
with demands for the secret of his victories. Nevertheless, the listeners
nod agreement and try to look wise and full of homely common sense.

Now, a good phrase is a dangerous thing. To cite but one example,
“Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion” cost James G. Blaine the presidency.
The trouble is that, true or false, people tend to believe a well-turned
saying, however specious. Especially is this so if it caters to vanity or pur-
ports to be the signpost of a primrose path leading to success. And, of

132 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

course, using the second aphorism to bolster the first makes an appeal
to both human failings at the same time.

You say to yourself : “Hell, I’m just chock-full of good, sound, ordinary
sense. I’m the possessor of normal intelligence. Why should I waste my
time studying, endeavoring to evolve rules for a science that has no rules?

“Look at Forrest. He had little formal education and no military. Yet
he got along. Even Jackson, Lee, Grant, and Napoleon received but a
scant military education compared to mine. Obviously, the secret is com-
mon sense. Therefore, when the squeeze is put on me, I’ll just dip into
the old horse sense and clean up.”

It sounds good, brethren. But I can’t believe it. I’ve spent years swal-
lowing yams like that, but this time I pass. I won’t even try to believe it.

To be sure, the illustrious gentlemen mentioned above were not edu-
cated officers after the modern fashion. But I deny that any of them,
even General Forrest, lacked a higher military education. The point is,
their Leavenworth and War College was that hard school whose tuition
is casualty lists, lost battles, and the fate of whole peoples. Tme, Forrest
had no military background, but he had what was infinitely better — an
alert brain. He learned fast. Long before the Civil War ended he had
mastered the principles of his own peculiar brand of warfare and con-
stantly applied them.

It is ridiculous to say the solution of a tactical problem is a matter of
common sense. Regard the other four of our list. “Mad Tom” Jackson
rode against the foe with a Bible, Napoleon’s Maxims, and a sack of
lemons jostling each other in his saddlebags. In his fanatic heart reigned
an iron god. His stern, gray eyes perceived every enemy weakness and
refused any human weakness to his men. In his brilliant, dour mind
revolved the plans that changed “Mad Tom” to “Stonewall.” Do you
name Lee the apostle of common sense? The gambles he accepted, the
plans he conceived would never even have occurred to a general of com-
mon sense, but only to one of uncommon sense. Yet Lee was a fine tac-
tician; his battles were the bulwark of one nation and almost the bane
of another. Then Grant is your man! “I’ll fight it out on this line if it
takes all summer!” So stuffed with common sense was Grant that he was
a middle-aged failure until the Civil War brought problems that de-
manded an unusual star. The man who dreamed of condensing Europe
into an empire. The man who married a Josephine and divorced her to
establish a dynasty. The general who confounded his common-sense
opponents. Napoleon’s intellect bore the same relation to common sense
that an eagle bears to an ant: namely, they are not even the same species.

To carry this farther. Field Service Regulations, U, S. Army, 1923,
contains military principles derived from experience just as are an
actuary’s tables of mortality. Both eliminate the errors of common sense.
They are mathematically true over a period of time. Does your com-

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

133

mon sense tell you that “a strategically defensive mission is frequently
most effectively executed through offensive action”? Does your common
sense tell you that the safest place you can be is your home? Any insur-
ance company can prove by figures that the contrary is true.

Let us, then, quit classing as a basic ingredient of tactical ability the
type of intelligence that tells you to come in out of the rain. Let us admit
that a high, even an unusual, order of intelligence is a requisite. At the
same time we should remember that the ability to think straight and to
the point requires exercise. Intellect grows.

We should stop doping ourselves with, “There’s nothing to tactics but
using common sense.” Instead, our young officers should be told :

“Tactical ability is founded upon a clear understanding of tactical
principles. It requires high intelligence and hard study to gain that under-
standing to the degree necessary in modem warfare. Even then, please
understand, you won’t be a Napoleon. But you will be an asset to your
country.”

DONT OVERDO SOMETHING

Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel (now Major General)

E. F, Harding

{^ 937 )

The highest rewards in the military profession go to men of action.
This is as it should be, for armies are essentially instruments of emergency,
and emergencies require timely, positive action. The soldier who cannot
make decisions promptly and act upon them vigorously is not qualified
to lead troops no matter what other talents he possesses. There may be a
place for him in the military world, but it is not a place of command.

All this being universally accepted, our Army training emphasizes the
“do-something” doctrine. Since many — ^we nearly said most — of us are
prone to procrastination, we heartily endorse the idea. But it should be
recognized that there is some danger in it. For often the urge within and
the pressure without is to do the one thing that reason tells us is all
wrong.

Since wars began, this “do-something” obsession has driven leaders
of all grades to order attacks that had no prospect of success. Military
history teems with examples. It was the “do-something” urge that im-
pelled McDowell to launch his abortive offensive at Bull Run against his
better judgment. It drove Burnside’s Grand Divisions against the heights
of Fredericksburg in one of the most senseless frontal attacks on record.
At Gettysburg it sent Pickett against the Union center in a costly attempt

134 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

to salvage a battle already lost. The billy-goat tactics of the Western
Front furnish hundreds of case histories — ^and not all of them are from
foreign sources. Ask any American who participated in the fighting along
the Vesle.

The fault is not with the slogan but with the distraught commander
who interprets it to mean that he must seek a major decision forthwith.
His mission is to defeat the enemy in his front. The higher commanders,
the head of the state, the people at home, all expect it. The enemy’s
position is immensely strong, but our masters are impatient. We attack,
and the history of military disaster is enriched by another bloody repulse.

We can reduce the butcher’s bill of future wars by educating officers
to interpret our typically American watchword intelligently. For instance,
we might make it plain that its implication may sometimes be served
merely by sending out a few patrols or making a personal reconnaissance.
Above all, we should stress the point that “do something” doesn’t neces-
sarily mean to fight.

By way of clearing the ground for a better understanding of the “do-
something” shibboleth, we might stop parroting that fallacious catch
phrase, “It is better to do the wrong thing than to do nothing.” The
only excuse for such advice is that doing nothing is sometimes worse
than almost any positive action. But, like all half-truths, this one can
lead to serious error. The danger in it lies in the encouragement of hasty,
ill-advised activity. Moreover, it completely overlooks the fact that the
need for positive action in many situations may be fully met by purpose^
fully doing nothing at the moment.

INFILTRATION

By Captain E. E. Hagler and Captain (now Colonel)

A. R. Walk

(1930)

“Infeltration!” With what sinister, almost occult significance the word
was first regarded. It was applied by the American troops in the Marne
salient early in June 1918 to describe the method by which the enemy
began his counterattack, working as snipers, small patrols, and finally
increasingly larger bodies between our deployed units . . . particularly
where they had become slightly diverged. About this time infiltration was
made the subject of a general order, which indicated counterprecautions.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

135

The French had already become practiced in this to such an extent
that after July it might almost be called their normal method of advance.
It is curious that of all the French units, those most adept in this style
of fighting were the colonial divisions and those troops who had seen
service in Africa. Our own “extended order” is a development of Indian
fighting, and infiltration is nothing more than this same Indian fighting
specially applied to meet such modem weapons as the machine gun, auto
rifle, hand grenade, and rifle grenade. It is directly in line with the whole
history of American infantry methods.

CO-ORDINATION OF THE ATTACK
By Major General J. F. C. Fuller, British Army

General Fuller is one of the foremost writers on war in the English
language. His many books, all written with force and clarity, contain a
greater body of sensible discussion on the hundred aspects of war than the
works of any other living writer. The article appeared in the Infantry
Journal for January 1931.

As A BRIGADIER it occurrcd to me one day, after the close of the collective
training season of 1930, to consider what I had found to be the weakest
link in the harness of my regimental officers. I soon came to the conclu-
sion that it was planning, and more particularly planning in the attack,
which today includes so many uncertain factors — ^increased fire power,
new arms, and imaginary ones. I feel that as regards this weakness most
brigadiers will agree with me, and though I in no way pretend to be
an expert of any kind, as a basis of thought and argument I have written
the following brief paper. In it I do not intend to go into detail, but,
instead, to elaborate a few general rules of guidance which are common
to most forms of attack.

First, it must be recognized that co-operation between the arms is
largely the result of co-ordination in the plan; second, that an attack is
like any other physical operation. For example, take carpentry. A car-
penter has an idea in his head; he has tools to work with and material to
work on. In the attack there must be an idea in the mind of the com-
mander, an idea as to what he intends to do; there are various arms — ^his
tools — and the material is represented by the enemy and the ground.
There is, however, one great difference: part of the material — ^the enemy
— ^is alive and working against the plan. His plan is the unknown
quantity, like immensely exaggerated stresses and strains in the carpenter’s
wood.

To co-ordinate simply means to work, to plan — that is, in harmony —

136 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

for no plan is purposely elaborated to create discord. If fighting were
altogether like carpentry a plan could be an exact one, like a blueprint
or a drawing; but this, in fact, is exactly what a plan cannot be, and
because the material is alive it has to be, instead, not an inexact, but a
flexible plan. That is, one which can be adjusted to circumstances — ^and
be it remembered that common sense is nothing more than action adapted
to circumstances.

The plan must also be a simple one or as simple as possible, because if
simple it can be more readily adjusted. How simple it is depends almost
entirely on the object of the attack. A carpenter may be called upon to
make a packing case or a cabinet; the one is a much simpler piece of work
than the other, yet the simplest piece of work can be done in a com-
plicated way should the carpenter possess little understanding. Simplicity
in war is one of the tests of efficiency because, as in carpentry, it saves
time and material.

We thus arrive at three fundamental ideas in planning, namely :

( 1 ) The plan must carry out the object;

(2) It must be as simple as possible;

(3) And as flexible as possible.

If soldiers will remember these three points, a foundation of rock will
be laid to their planning.

What, now, is meant exactly by flexibility? Flexibility is like elastic; it
is power to move where you want to without shattering your plan.

If the enemy can stop your plan working, in seven cases out of eight
your command will become rigid and fixed. Conversely, to fix the enemy
is the first step toward gaining flexibility. Therefore, flexibility is gained
by so distributing your arms that the chances are that you will fix the
enemy before he fixes you.

How is this done?

The first thing to do, which is obvious, is to find the enemy and find
out all you can about him, and never rest content that you know enough
of his affairs, and never suppose that you know all of them. Never paint a
mental picture of what the enemy is going to do— that is, imagine some-
thing which you do not know for certain — and then act as if it were a
true picture. Buying fakes in war, as in the salesroom, is not a paying
proposition, and when you create your own fakes and “mug” yourself
into believing that they are masterpieces, no one will sympathize with
your loss.

The second thing to decide is where you intend to attack and with
what force. You have got to attack to hold, and you have got to attack
to hit. Should you surprise the enemy you will hold him morally in place
of physically and greatly economize your force. But in such cases remem-
ber that should your surprise fail, lack of physical clinch may bring the
whole of the enemy’s forces on top of you; therefore, the more risky a sur-

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

137

prise is, the stronger must be the reserves wherewith to meet the unex-
pected, and they must be located in such positions as will enable them at
the shortest of notice to clinch.

Thirdly, you have got to protect your attacks. All attacks require a
defensive, or protective, base to work from. “The whole art of war,” says
Napoleon, “consists in a well-reasoned and extremely circumspect defen-
sive, followed by rapid and audacious attack.” The protective troops are
the bow and the offensive the arrow of the attack, for though the protec-
tive troops do not propel the offensive ones forward, they do break down
the resistance to their advance, which is much the same thing in the end.

Lastly, you must be prepared to meet the unexpected; therefore, you
will require reserves.

There arc consequently three categories of troops in every attack:

(1) The attackers divided into those who hold and those who hit;

(2) Troops which protect the attackers;

(3) And reserves.

Your plan of attack is therefore an equation between these three forces,
the object, and the enemy. Consequently it needs much working out. The
usual mistake is to look upon the attackers as a close-up and the reserves
as background detail. This is altogether wrong and may be compared to
fishing with a rod, the top joint of which is heavier than the butt end. It
almost always leads to loss of control. Napoleon once said: “I attack to
be attacked.” What he meant was that he threw forward a small fraction
of his forces for the enemy to bite on, and when his adversary’s jaws were
fixed he moved up his large reserves — the capital of his tactical bank —
and struck his real blow. Here is another saying of his : “Victory is to him
who has the last reserve.”

Now comes what would appear to be a difficult question to answer.
Where is the decisive point of attack? For this point is, so to say, the
pivot of the entire operation.

The decisive point is the rear of the enemy and not his front. It is
always the rear, and when it is impossible to attack the enemy’s rear,
then the point selected must be in relationship to this true goal of the
decisive attack. That the rear of an enemy’s army is the point to hit at
should be obvious. If I can stab a man in the back, that is the safest way
to kill him. Should he see me coming, and should I be able to maneuver
him into a bog, and so fix himself, I can equally well carry out this opera-
tion. This should accentuate the stupendous value of fixing an enemy in
war. The vital point in an army is its rear, just as the vitals of a man are
in rear of his skin. If I hit a man on the jaw it is to upset the rear of his
head; if I fire a bullet at him it is to hit his vitals and not his skin — ^to
scratch an enemy only annoys him.

Frequently an enemy has a very strong jaw and a very tough skin, and
as its front more often than not protects its rear, it is impossible to strike

138 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

directly at the vital point. In such cases a flank should be chosen — ^that is^
a spot near to the rear — ^and when this is impossible and a frontal attack
has to be made, then its object is not to destroy the enemy’s front but to
penetrate it so that flanks may be created and a way opened to his rear.

We thus obtain three orders of attack, which in importance are :

(1) The rear attack;

(2) The flank attack;

(3) And the frontal attack.

Whichever is decided on, then that part of the enemy’s army which
it is not intended to envelop or penetrate must be held back and pinned
to its ground so that it cannot move toward the point of attack.

Now we must turn to another equation, that of our force in relation-
ship to the nature of the ground and the enemy’s force.

To take the ground first. It can either assist or resist you; also, it can
assist or resist the enemy. Its assistance and resistance is threefold in
nature. It can facilitate or impede.

(1) Observation;

(2) Protection;

(3) And movement.

The advantages of gaining and restricting observation are so obvious
that I will examine only the last two characteristics.

Today we have two main categories of attacking troops — armored and
unarmored, or petrol-driven and muscle-propelled. The first carries its
own protection; the second does not. The second, however, as far as in-
fantry are concerned, can move over more difficult ground than the first,
but their average speed over normally good going is far less. Surely, then,
it is obvious that :

(1) Tanks should be used over the open spaces;

(2) Infantry should be used on the broken ones;

(3) And tanks should be employed for outflanking operations.

A carpenter uses his tools according to the nature of the work and the
material he is working on. He may sometimes ush a chisel as a screw
driver, but only if he is lacking the latter tool. Each of his tools has a
purpose, so also has each weapon. By means of a combination of tools he
fashions his packing case or cabinet; so also in war it is through a proper
combination of weapons that battles are economically won. Every tool is
paramount in its own proper sphere, but no single tool is paramount
over all other tools — so also with weapons; there is no God Almighty in
the Ordnance Department.

Use weapons according to ground and you cannot go far wrong.

To turn now to the enemy’s force. You may or may not know what
the enemy intends to do; nevertheless, the ground and his communica-
tions will often tell you what he is likely to do. Step into his shoes and
look at the ground from his position. As you are going to attack him^ he

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

139

is probably on the defensive. Should he not be, then you must force him
to defend himself before the decisive blow falls. The weakness in the
defense is that the defender cannot be certain where the blow will fall.
As long as he can move he may be able to frustrate the attack; therefore,
fix him.

This now becomes your first problem. What part of your force will you
require for this operation? It does not necessarily follow that you will
require an equal or a superior force to the one you intend to fix. The
whole art in this operation of war is to fix a large force by means of a
small force. You can do one of three things:

(1) You can attack him;

(2) You can threaten to attack him;

(3) You can bluff.

Now as to your second problem, not the attack proper, but the reserves.
What reserve force will you require? What are reserves for?

(1) To meet the unexpected;

(2) To support the attack or the defense;

(3) To pursue or cover a retreat.

When you have settled this point you can then turn to your decisive
attack and see what you have left over for it.

It may be said, ‘This is a very cautious way of proceeding.” My an-
swer is that nowadays there are so many bullets flying about on a battle-
field that caution has become a high virtue, as high as, if not higher than,
courage itself. Few things are so expensive as a shattered attack. Large
numbers in the decisive attack are not usually essential, but the following
factors are :

( 1 ) Surprise, which morally multiplies numbers ;

(2) Concentration of force, which means superiority of weapon power
at the point of attack;

(3) The fullest possible protective power to safeguard the attack.

Having settled all these points, we must consider two other factors

without which co-ordination can remain but a theory. These are control
and supply.

The brain is the chief controlling organ of the body. Note where it is
placed. At the forward or top end of the body. In battle the force head-
quarters represents the brain, and they should be as far forward as it is
safe to put them, and all the subsidiary headquarters — artillery, tank,
and cavalry — should be close up to them. Remember that the force head-
quarters controls all the arms and services; remember also that every
yard of cable which is unnecessary holds within itself a possible break-
down. Distance in war is not so much a matter of miles as of communica-
tions. What is your power to communicate? That will tell you what your
radius of action is. In your plan of attack you must remember this, for
loss of control means paralysis.

140 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Lack or loss of supply may mean starvation, and in battle itself supply
is largely a matter of getting ammunition up and its converse — ^getting
the victims of the enemy’s ammunition down. It is no good launching an
attack which cannot be supplied; and remember also that in this day of
aircraft, armored forces, and motorcars the front of an enemy does not
necessarily protect its supply services. To cut these out is like removing
the stomach from the body. They are the ultimate goal of the decisive
attack or pursuit, for an enemy without bread and beef is soon reduced
to a starving mob.

Co-ordination in the attack, which may be defined as the intimate re-
lationship between functions, while co-operation is the intimate relation-
ship between actions, depends on:

(1) Correct distribution;

(2) Rapid control;

(3) And adequate supply.

Distribution is arms fitted to ground in relation to the enemy and the
object. Its aim is:

(1) To pin the enemy down — ^initial attack;

(2) To keep a reserve in hand — ^for unexpected attacks;

(3) And to carry out the decisive attack — ^final attack.

Control depends on :

(1) Full information of the enemy;

(2) Full information of our own troops;

(3) And rapid communication of orders.

Supply depends on:

( 1 ) Adequate transportation ;

(2) Good and safe roads;

(3) And traffic control.

If these four trinities are remembered, the result will go a long way
toward establishing unity of action, which is the ultimate goal of co-
ordination in the attack — “United we stand, divided we fall.”

MACHINE GUNS

From an article by Captain (now Major General)
Alexander M. Patch

(1920)

In opposing our present methods of machine gunnery I am conscious of
an unpopular and unsympathetic task. The kicker is rarely a welcome
figure; more particularly is this the case when the burden of one’s theme

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 141

is a subject concerning which there exists a pronounced lack of general
interest.

It is a significant fact that, of all accessible literature on military sci-
ence, that pertaining to the subject of machine gunnery is the least
definite and instructive. The technical aspects of the machine-gun science
have been covered in clear and comprehensive form and may be found
in various texts and independent articles, but treatments touching tactics
and organization are, in the main, meaningless and unconvincing. Mod-
ern machine gunnery is a new science whose prominence and vital im-
portance is a development of the late war, and obviously there is a
pressing need for sound and understandable literature dealing with all of
its phases. Yet this is only possible after the service has come to the point
of general agreement and accordance concerning the fundamental
principles of the subject.

ARMORED INFANTRY COMBAT TEAMS

From an article by Colonel (now Brigadier General)

T. J. Camp

General Camp was editor of the Infantry Journal from 1931 to 1934.
The following is from a 1942 article.

It seems more and more clear that time and space will wreck armored
forces unless relatively small units are combined into balanced combat
teams. Any tank commander who has to send back for help may lose out
while help is coming. But if he has his whole team at hand time is in
his favor.

TOWARD AN IDEAL
By Invigtus
{1937)

The fact that the much-maligned efficiency report has remained sub-
stantially unchanged for all these years is prima-facie evidence that no
better instrument has been devised. But in spite of this the hue and cry
persist, and this certainly argues with equal eloquence that something is
wrong. In this brief paper I intend to show what that something is and
at the same time suggest a practical, workaday corrective.

First, it appears desirable to clear the ground in order that my footing
may be apparent to all. To this end I make two admissions. First, I con-

142 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

cede that there are now and that there always will be a few officers who
allow their prejudices to run away with them. These will submit reports
in which they deliberately underrate or overrate their subordinates. Sec-
ond, I agree that there still remain a few die-hards who refuse to admit
that anyone short of Bonaparte could meet the War Department defini-
tions of “excellent” and “superior.” Fortunately these two groups are so
small that in a broad consideration of the subject they are virtually
negligible. It is my considered belief, then, that all other oflScers con-
scientiously attempt to make the efficiency report an accurate and im-
partial appraisal of character.

And there is precisely where the system breaks down. The War De-
partment evidently assumes that by the time an officer is called upon to
evaluate his brothers he will be a qualified judge of character. Just how
far from the truth this is is best evidenced by the riotous and ridiculous
inconsistencies that mark nearly every officer’s efficiency file. Of course in
theory every officer is a leader, and it is the business of the leader to
know men. But we are blind, indeed, if we accept this pronouncement of
a theoretical idea as an axiomatic truth.

We are members of a practical profession. We do not take kindly to
theory, nor do we traffic in assumptions that cannot be proved out of
hand. We place our faith in schools, in training, and in salutary indoc-
trination. Since these things are true, it is strange, indeed, that we are
willing to rely on a species of intuition in dealing with the most difficult
and most important branch of military knowledge — the human psyche.

I am aware that this statement will be contradicted. It will be pointed
out that from the first day of our service we begin our study of man; not
out of a book, but in a laboratory of practical experience. That conten-
tion is only a half-truth. The laboratory is there, but the number of
officers who consciously apply themselves to a study of the specimens it
contains is amazingly few. We observe the men and the junior officers
with whom we work in much the same manner that we observe a body
of water. We see only the surface and the manifestations of the surface.
We have no idea what lies beneath. It is because we base our character
appraisals on these surface manifestations that the efficiency graphs do
such an erratic dance.

Let me put it another way. How many of us deliberately set out to
study the character of those who work under us? Do you, for instance,
make it a matter of duty to discover the weak points and the strong points
of your subordinates? Do you examine their daily conduct through a
psychological microscope to determine their emotional range? Do you
study their action and reaction under the stimulant of success and praise
and under the depressant of failure and rebuke? Do you interest yourself
in what they read? In what they think? In what they admire? In what
they fear? In what they dislike? And in the “why” of all these things? Do

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

143

you consider the amount of leisure at their disposal and find out how
they utilize it? Now be honest with yourself. Do you really do these
things? Do you know anyone who does? I’ll leave the answers to you.

In any event, I think you will agree with me that only through such a
searching and continuous study can we arrive at a true evaluation of our
subordinates. The question, then, is this : Can we train those officers who
are now growing up in the service and those who have already grown up
to probe beneath the superficialities of character and discover the true
man? I think so. Here is the method I propose.

First,, let us deal with the newly commissioned officer. The responsi^
bility for his training devolves upon the company commander under the
direct supervision of the battalion commander. The regimental com-
mander is at least morally charged with the duty of seeing that his subal-
terns are properly trained. Henceforth a fundamental part of that
training should consist of a directed and continuous study of man and
his behavior.

This is the way that study should be conducted. The new arrival must
first of all be shown that the theory of leadership virtually presupposes
an intimate knowledge of human nature. The fundamental necessity of
this knowledge must be emphasized. The intelligent company commander
will buttress his explanation by citing striking examples culled from his
own experience in peace and from the experience of others in war. He
must be particularly careful to underscore the point that this knowledge
is not intuitive but comes only through conscious and continuous study.

Following this, the captain must explain the efficiency report. He must
show the young officer that in effect it is a military character sketch of
one man by another. He must stress the fact that it is the controlling
factor in an officer’s career and that the responsibility devolving upon
the reporting officer is a grave one indeed. He must show that in order to
discharge this duty equitably a profound knowledge of man is necessary.

After some such orientation as this the new lieutenant will be told that
his training in this difficult subject will start immediately. The noncom-
missioned officers in his platoon will be the initial subjects for study. At
the end of three months he will be required to submit a complete effi-
ciency report on each of these men. He will be warned that the company
commander will require him to justify (either orally or in writing) every
entry he makes on these reports and that his own ratings in “judgmept**
and “intelligence” will be materially influenced by the soundness of his
justifications. It must be made unmistakably clear that the mere process
of filling out the reports is relatively unimportant, the big thing being the
thoroughness and accuracy of his detailed observation during the three-
month period as evidenced by the justifications he will be called upon to
make in defense of his ratings.

This training procedure should be continuous throughout the ten years

144 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

an officer is required to serve in the grade of Keutenant. By the end of
that period he should be a capable judge of character. His powers of ob-
servation should be needle-sharp. The process of studying those under
him should be a matter of second nature. In addition to these manifest
advantages he will have made out hundreds of efficiency reports with the
knowledge that every entry had to be justified in detail and that no glit-
tering generalities would do. Can anyone successfully contend that ten
years of such training will not produce a tremendous improvement in an
officer’s ability to justly evaluate his brothers-in-arms?

^ But this merely provides for the lieutenants. True enough, the system,
if universally applied, will eventually result in an officers* corps thor-
oughly indoctrinated with the ideas I have tried to present. This, of
course, is the goal to be sought, but in the meantime isn’t there something
we can do to quicken the judgment of those who already occupy the re-
porting grades? I believe so. I believe we need merely modify the method
I have already outlined and move up a step or two in the chain of com-
mand.

This is what I suggest. Let each regimental commander assemble his
battalion and company commanders and tell them that he intends to
institute a training device designed to encourage a more accurate evalua-
tion of subordinate officers. This device is in no sense to be construed as
an infringement of a reporting officer’s right to evaluate a subordinate
according to his own judgment. It is merely intended to aid him in
achieving greater accuracy. To this end battalion commanders will sub-
mit jawbone reports on their company commanders to the regimental
commander, and company commanders will submit similar reports on
their lieutenants to battalion commanders. These reports will be sub-
mitted about January lo and will be held in strict confidence. As soon
as they have served their purpose they will be destroyed.

In each instance the first concurring authority will require the report-
ing officer to justify every entry he makes on a report. Generalities will
not be accepted as satisfactory explanations. When an officer is unable to
give a clear-cut, logical, and factual explanation of an entry it should be
pointed out to him that that entry is unfair, whether it be superior or
unsatisfactory, for it shows a complete lack of detailed study and observa-
tion. This should be remedied before the official report is rendered, or
the reporting officer will clearly show himself deficient in several items
imder which he himself must be graded. This is not a threat. It is a state-
ment of fact. The officer who can give no adequate reason for an entry
he makes on an efficiency report can scarcely be regarded as a man of
soimd judgment or satisfactory intelligence.

This device properly used should produce worth-while results. If, how-
ever, the overzealous convert it into a threat or seek to use it as a means
whereby they, rather than the responsible officer, dictate the report, the

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

145

whole purpose will be defeated. Used as a training medium and as a
practical method of forcing reporting officers to study those under them
as they should be studied, it will work.

I have discussed this proposition in considerable detail with one regi-
mental commander and one battalion commander. Both have been enthu-
siastic over its possibilities and both have decided to put it into effect in
their commands. Certainly, in justice to the individual and in justice to
the service, it merits a trial. That trial will undoubtedly disclose collateral
benefits that I have not touched on in this paper. Thus I commit to your
hands an idea that has lived long in my mind. I trust that it will not die
a-borning.

A BAS ELIGIBILITY!

By Major General Johnson Hagood
( 1937 )

The army has a predilection for tying its hands by establishing rigid rules
of eligibility that eventually interfere with the most effective use of
military personnel.

The procedure for regaining the freedom of action that is properly the
prerogative of those responsible for the efficient administration of the
Army varies. It may take the form of expanding the eligibility lists until
they are meaningless. Otherwise the obstacles to placing in key positions
the officers whom those in authority consider best qualified must be cir-
cumvented by a resort to technicalities. For instance, officers who for one
reason or another are not eligible for detail on the General Staff are
attached to the General Staff and serve in such capacity at almost every
corps-area headquarters. They do the General Staff work, but they can-
not wear the General Staff insignia or enjoy the prestige that attaches to
serving on a General Staff detail. Some of them lay down their tools and
go off to school to qualify for the same work they have been doing in
superb fashion.

There was the case of an officer who served on the General Staff be-
fore the World War. He was re-detailed on the General Staff and served
in that capacity in France during the entire period of the World War,
He received the Distinguished Service Medal for his wartime General
Staff work (he also received a Silver Star Citation). He was a distin-
guished graduate of the Infantry and Cavalry School, a graduate of
the Staff College, and a prewar graduate of the Army War College.
After the war, while serving as chief of staff of a corps area, he received
word that he was not on the General Staff Eligible List and for that
reason would be forthwith relieved from duty with the General Staff,

146 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

This blow was somewhat alleviated by the statement that he would
shortly be subjected to a purifying process. He would be sent back to the
Army War College to take over again the course in which he had already
graduated and would by this means be made eligible to perform the duties
that he had already been performing with marked distinction for a con-
siderable period of years. And that is what was done.

The common-sense practice of utilizing capable officers in staff posi-
tions regardless of technical disqualifications for the performance of such
duty brings to the fore the whole question of eligibility.

Now the purpose of an eligible list is to isolate certain supermen espe-
cially qualified for some particular class of duty. In theory all others are
thereby excluded from performing that work. The inherent difficulty is
that the smaller the eligible list, the greater the number of qualified men
excluded therefrom. And the larger the eligible list, the less excuse there
is for its existence.

I hold that the average American Army officer is qualified to perform
any duty in the Army (line officers are excluded from medical work, but
medical officers are not excluded from line work) . When I say “qualified”
I mean that they are better qualified than the average of those who have
performed corresponding work in the past or will perform corresponding
work in the future in time of war. In a great war we will have to have
from three to five hundred thousand officers. Is it not ridiculous, then, to
say that there is any type or class of ordinary routine peacetime duty
that cannot be well performed by the average young officer of the regular
forces? I say “young” because, in my opinion, age and other physical
infirmities are the only limitations. It is an advantage for an officer to
have had a college education, to have gone to West Point, to have been
graduated from the service schools, to have exercised an independent
command, to have had duty with the civilian components, to have served
under the tutelage of able superiors. But Napoleon had none of these
advantages, and no one of them is necessary to fit^an officer for the per-
formance of routine duty.

A man’s qualification to perform staff duty is a matter of fact or a
matter of opinion on the part of the man who wants to use him. It has no
relation whatever to any artificial set of human standards established by
law or regulation.

Up to 1920 we had no General Staff Eligible List. Prior to that date
General Staff officers were selected by main strength and awkwardness.
This system brought to the fore men like Colonel E. H. Crowder; Lieu-
tenant Colonel Henry P. McCain; Majors George W. Goethals, William
P. Duvall, and Montgomery M. Macomb; Captains John J. Pershing,
Peyton C. March, Joseph T. Dickman, Charles H. Muir, Charles T.
Menoher, William G. Haan, Dennis E. Nolan, and others of the original
1903 General Staff who today might be classed as military illiterates, since

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

147

they were never educated in a Greneral Staff school. They, like Bell, Lig-
gett, Craig, McCoy, Malone, Moseley, Fox Conner, and others, crashed
the General Staff for a period of fifteen years, but still the Army and the
country managed somehow to survive. In the World War, civilians and
ex-Quartermaster sergeants served creditably — even with distinction —
as General Staff officers. Then with peace came the sudden realization
of the importance of protecting ourselves by an eligible list.

And consider our experience in the selection of general officers. Evi-
dently the old-fashioned method of picking out such men as Grant, Sher-
man, Sheridan, McClellan, Lee, Jackson, Beauregard, Johnston, Pershing,
Wood, March, and Bliss was all wrong, for we now have a law providing
that generals should be selected only from colonels carried on the eligible
list.

It would be difficult to name the particular American officers who
served with greatest distinction during the World War. But merely on an
ex officio basis we may be excused for suggesting the following:

The commander of the A.E.F i

The army commanders 3

The corps commanders who had active service at the front 7

The commanders of the S.O.S 2

The American representative on the Supreme War Council (Bliss) i

The chief of staff of the Army (March) i

The head of the War Department Supply System (Goethals) i

The author and administrator of the Draft (Crowder) i

The commander of the Army of Occupation (Allen) i

The commander of the Siberian Expedition (Graves) i

The father of preparedness (Wood) i

Total 20

None of these except Liggett and Bliss had ever been prominently
identified with the service schools. The significance of this would appear
to be that intrinsic character is more important than the ever-changing
military technique taught at Leavenworth. The schools are tremendously
important, but there are other things that count.

Every ambitious officer in the Army wants to go to school. He will
sacrifice anything for a school detail. But he does not thirst for knowl-
edge. What he really wants is to get the schools on his record. And the
sad part of it is that many of the best officers in the Army are eating
their hearts out because Father Time has beaten them out in the race.
While serving in the grade of captain they become forever ineligible for
promotion to general. At least that is what they fear.

The present CJeneral Staff with troops is picked by corps-area com-
manders, by chiefs of staff, by Gs, and by others who, without access to
records, paw over the voluminous eligible lists. In many cases they ask for

148 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

men whom they would not recognize if they met them on the street. The
original General Staff of 1903 was picked by a board of officers who knew
their men. That day may come again.

It is all right to have a preferred list. It is essential to have men slated
in advance for high command in war. It is of prime importance that we
should develop in time of peace a system of selection that we could use
in time of war. But we should not have a fast-running stream of eligibility
which carries down the great mass of mediocrity and leaves behind in
the eddies some of the best men in the Army.

THE LEGION OF THE LOST
By Invigtus
{^936)

In the 1 930s the facilities for attendance at the higher Army schools,
such as the Command and General Staff School at Fort Leavenworth,
Kansas, were so limited that it was not possible to send for the intensive
years of instruction even all the officers of the Army of appropriate age
whose records were superior. The result was that some of the finest officers
in the Army who stood a little down from the top in actual record grew
more and more deeply disappointed. For it was then believed, with good
reason, that an officer who did not receive the higher education would be,
to all intents and purposes, barred from promotion to general. Invictus,
then (in 1936) a captain, made the most forceful statement of the situa-
tion to appear in print in the article below.

Invictus did, however, in the end, attend the Command and General
Staff School. He is today commanding a combat regiment. And it has
worked out in this war that able men are having their chances at battle
leadership and high promotion with little regard to^ their education in the
higher military schools. The period of preparation has been long enough
for those who have it to show their stuff and receive assignments of increas-
ing importance. The higher schools are daily proving the value in future
wars of their command and staff training. But those with ability who miss
the schools, owing to the artificial limitations discussed by Invictus, are not
being overlooked by any means.

I HAVE NOT BEEN to Leavenwoith and, barring an act of God, I am never
going. The reason is immaterial : it may be too many “satisfactories,” or
too many bad breaks, or too many years. It may even be some dismal
little ghost that clanks its chains whenever an adjutant general ap-
proaches my 201 file. But that is all unimportant. The only thing that
counts is this : I am not going to Leavenworth and I know it.

With those words and that knowledge I automatically qualify for

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

149

permanent membership in that thriving and fast-growing brotherhood —
the Legion of the Lost. Frankly I would sell my membership in this order
for a song, for I find my fellow legionaries a sorry lot. Their shoulders
sag; their eyes are lackluster, and they continually weep in their beer.
This was not always so. For more years than you need know I tramped
the long infantry road with these same men. They were a different lot
then. Their step was elastic, their eyes bright, their jaws firm, and they
downed their beer to a rollicking soldier song. Yes, they were a different
lot then, and it was an honor and a pleasure to share the dusty road with
them. But now they are fit company for nothing better than the perpetual
enjoyers of ill-health; they have abandoned their claim to the proud pro-
fession of the soldier.

Because I know these men and their worth, and because I am dis-
tressed at the dry rot eating out their hearts, I am going to give them
hell. If they retain even a vestige of that sturdy common sense that char-
acterized them a few years ago they will recognize the justice of my in-
dictment on the one hand and on the other will see that their situation is
not as hopeless as they believe.

Let’s approach this whole Leavenworth question on a solid basis of
facts. These are few and simple. The Command and General Staff School
can accommodate just so many students and no more. Of that number
the Infantry quota is about seventy-six. To select these there has to be
some basis of comparison. At present there is only one — the efficiency
report. Therefore, the efficiency report is used. These records are divided
according to the age brackets; the thirty-eight officers in each bracket
who have the best records go. And that is the beginning and the end of
the Leavenworth selection, despite your fine rumors of influence, political
and otherwise.

There are your facts, and not all the bellyaching in the world will alter
them one whit. Therefore, you have only one course left open to you —
accept them.

Very well, you accept them. But that doesn’t help your morale at all.
If anything, it steps it down another notch, for in the very acceptance
you acknowledge the fact that the Leavenworth door has swung shut on
you and that your career is at an end. Let’s examine this career angle a
bit, for therein lies the root of all this monstrous bitterness.

Now I could well start off by reminding you that our old friends, the
Great Captains, worried along to their immortal niches in history with-
out benefit of service schools. But that will not soothe you because you
will immediately point out that there were no service schools in those
robustious days and that if there had been this gentry would have made
the very first list. Oh, would they? Are you sure of that?

I wonder if the undisciplined, hard-drinking, hell-raising Alexander
would have made the grade in our democratic Army? How many

150

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

superiors would the eflFeminate, army-hating young Frederick pull down
today? Would Caesar, whose military activities did not begin until some-
thing after forty, ever see his name on a Leavenworth list? How far
would the monumental intolerance and contemptuous attitude of the
aristocratic Wellington advance him in this day of higher military educa-
tion? And how would the one-eyed Hannibal fare, or the hump-backed
Luxembourg, or the undistinguished Grant, or the illiterate Forrest? No,
my fellow legionaries, I am forced to the sorry conclusion that these
great and near-great soldiers and hundreds like them were not Leaven-
worth caliber. That is an item that merits a little thought when you can
spare a moment or two from your discussions and damnations of the
current selections.

But let’s get back to the matter at hand. You are not going to Leaven-
worth; what are you going to do about it? At present you are doing a
number of very silly things. First, you are bellyaching that fact night and
day to anyone who will listen. You have become past masters of the alibi
and apologists par excellence. Curiously enough, you appear ignorant of
the fact that your unwilling audience is generally bored by your harrow-
ing tale of injustice and usually contemptuous of the individual who dis-
plays his emotions for public inspection.

Second, you are tearing into those fortunate and decidedly worth-
while men who have made the list as if your own career depended upon
the thoroughness with which you demolished both their professional and
private reputations. Friendships of long standing are forgotten, and for-
gotten also is that ancient act of Congress which proclaims you officers
and gentlemen. In passing, it might be worth while to remind you that
the venomed word seldom reaches its target but always its originator.

Third, you take particular delight in exposing the absurdities, the
fallacies, and the injustices inherent in the existing method of selection.
Surely you must know that those grave deficiencies are thoroughly recog-
nized by the War Department. In fact, it is likely that they can point out
many flaws that have never occurred to any of us."

There can be no question that they would welcome a new and fool-
proof system. Yes, I ^ow you have one, and it’s a honey; it would land
you out in Kansas at the beginning of the next school year. If, however,
you put it up to a vote it would pull down only a handful of supporters —
those who would directly benefit by it. The rest of the Army would howl.
Actually I am willing to lay a bet that any ingenious soul who can devise
a more equitable system will be rewarded with one of the much-coveted
Leavenworth scholarships.

Your fourth current activity is entirely in keeping with your first three.
Those of you who feel that you still have a chance, no matter how re-
mote, are deliberately turning on the heat. You confront your immediate
superior with the statement that your future lies in his hands. You must

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

151

have a superior report or you are through. Those who have grown shame-
less in their desperation put it up to their commanding officers blimtly;
the rest do it by indirection and innuendo. It is a shameful thing to see
an officer divest himself of the pride and dignity of his position and
adopt the role of mendicant. Think it over, my brothers, and try to
visualize the contempt you would hold for such a beggar-at-arms. But, in
addition to that, consider the position in which you place your com- ‘
manding officer. In effect you tell him that by one word he can forever
damn you. That is a terrific load for any man to shoulder, even when he
knows that the supplicant is far from the definition of a superior oflScer.
And unfortunately the responsibility has been too great for many a re-
porting oflScer. At the present rate it will not be long before we have the
absurd situation of an officer corps that is solidly superior.

The fifth and final consideration applies to those of you who know full
well that Leavenworth will never be graced by your presence. You have
accepted that fact and with it you have adopted an out-and-out defeatist
attitude. “What’s the use?” you say. “We’re licked. We’re through.” And
your work reflects your words and your thought.

Now, my confreres, this fifth point is the real reason for this paper. If I
can convince you that you are not licked, that you are not through, then
this unprecedented mass hysteria will gradually subside and with it will
go the ridiculous and unsoldierly practices that I have already enumer-
ated. Of course, if you have closed your mind to the matter and take a
certain masochistic pleasure in your self-appointed martyrdom, then
neither I nor anyone else can induce a more rational state of mind. And
indeed I am not at all sure that it would be worth while if we could.
Therefore, it is only to those who have not yet reached the ultimate
hinterland of defeat that I offer the following observations.

For the past few years I have been conducting a one-man Institute of
Public Opinion. To pink-cheeked second lieutenants, to leather-necked
colonels, to sour-pussed legionaries, to graduates and non-graduates of
Benning, of Leavenworth, of the War College, I have asked this ques-
tion: “If war broke tomorrow and you had any choice in the matter,
what duty would you elect?” To date there has been only one answer —
“Command duty.” Even when the subject at hand was noted as a cork-
ing good staff officer and notorious as a poor troop leader, the reply was
the same — “Command duty.”

This merely illustrates the well-known fact that we came in this man’s
army to be leaders of men and we still cherish that idea. When the drums
start the long roll we fion’t want to be trapped in a swivel chair behind an
imitation-mahogany desk. Now the question is this: To whom will these
command plums fall on M day? The Leavenworth boys? Well, let’s see.

Two years ago the coiuse at that famous school was cut to one year

152 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

in order to double the number of graduates. This was not, as many of
you seem to think, a benevolent gesture on the part of a paternal War
Department. Armies are not run by altruistic motives. Actually the
Leavenworth output was doubled because it was discovered that there
were not enough graduates to man even half the staff positions in the
major units of a wartime army.

So what? So this — ^you uneducated barbarians of the legion are going
to roll to battle at the head of fighting commands — ^battalions and regi-
ments. And that, mind you, is only a beginning as I hope to show you
in a minute or two. But meanwhile where are our Command and General
Staff School friends? If you call the headquarters rosters of our wartime
divisions, corps, and armies, you will locate them nearly .to a man. Their
fighting tools will be ranged about them — ^maps, Humphreys scales, road
rollers, colored pencils, typewriters, and that great god of modem war-
fare — ^the mimeograph. Will they be content with this role of glory?
Well, would you?

Now so far you agree with me, but beyond this point you have objec-
tions. You are willing to admit that you will fall heir to a battalion or a
regiment, but to a higher command — ^never. If you base this assumption
on a month or two of war you are perfectly correct unless, of course, the
existing system is changed, as it may well be in the event of a major scrap.
Yes, the brigade, the divisions, and the corps will undoubtedly go at the
start to the alumni of dear old A.W.C. But if the war goes on for a while,
as wars usually do — ^what then?

You know the answer to that one too. France, Germany, England,
Russia, the United States — ^all of them learned the answer in the Great
War. They found that the hot shots in peace were too often just that —
hot shots in peace. The result then and the result tomorrow will be the
same : the roads to the rear will glitter with fallen stars.

And where will the new stars blossom? On the worthy and deserving
shoulders of Leavenworth’s old grads? A few will, but only a few. To dis-
cover the reason for this you need no more than a superficial knowledge
of human nature. These men will be passed over because of two things —
because they are too good or because they are too bad. If a commander
finds his G-men batting close to i.ooo he will move heaven and hell to
keep them with him. He can’t advance them beyond the grade ap-
propriate to his staff or he will lose them. Nor can he celebrate them too
widely lest they be taken away by some higher commander for his own
staff or to head a fighting unit. Therefore, with rare exceptions, the
better the staff officer, the smaller his chance. You needn’t take my word
for this; verify it yourself by the people who know Vhat happened in the
last war. As for the others, the washouts, they are either herded back
toward the S.O.S. or sometimes given a chance with the line. But at the
best they have two strikes against them and they know it.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 153

All of this brings us back to the question asked a moment ago — ^where
will the new stars blossom? And the answer is pat and final. Most of
them will fall to you howlers in the outer darkness who have established
your claim to them by preparation in peace and performance in battle.

At this point my colleagues will manage a hollow laugh: this prepara-
tion in peace — ^where will it come from with the halls of higher learning
forever closed to us? That question, actual or implied, marks the curious
blind spot of the average Leavenworth shutout. Today, with service
schools or without, an officer’s professional knowledge is limited by only
two things — ^his will to learn and his ability to learn. Never in the history
of this country or any other country have there been such opportunities
for the student of war. Military libraries abound. Invaluable books on
the art of war are published at popular prices. Current thought of foreign
armies is abstracted in English, indexed and cross-indexed, and published
four times a year for the mentally thirsty. Month by month the service
journals interpret the past, proclaim the present, and attempt to divine
the future. And finally out of hallowed Leavenworth itself come the ex-
tension courses — the heart and soul of that very learning you pant for.

Now, my brothers, if your talent be so sickly that it must be spoon-fed
by those highly competent practitioners at Leavenworth or die, then it
is better for the Army’s sake and for the country’s sake that it die now.
Do not delude yourself with the idea that that great school can make a
Frederick out of a Daun or even a Daun out of some of us. Not all the
schools in Christendom will ever make a great commander; the great
commanders will make themselves with, without, and possibly in spite of
schools. When Gibbon says, “The power of instruction is seldom of much
efficacy except in those happy dispositions where it is almost superfluous,”
he speaks a fundamental truth. The Legion would do well to keep it
in mind.

But peacetime preparation does not begin and end with cerebral ac-
tivities. Physical and moral preparation are at least equally important.

Of the physical side I need say nothing: its necessity is self-evident,
and our profession itself is admirably adapted to building and maintain-
ing a robust health. I mention it here only to remind you that it is still a
talisman of successful battle leadership and that without it you might just
as well reconcile yourself to a noncombatant role.

On the other hand, moral preparation does require a few words by
way of explanation. At the present writing few of you legionaries are
morally equipped to wage war, no matter how great your erudition or
how stout your health. The Leavenworth madness has eaten away your
moral resiliency. In your overemphasized adversity you have gone down.
You have lost the will to succeed. You have forgotten that anyone can
give a dazzling performance on the crest of the wave but that only the
morally great can fight their way back to that foaming crest after it has

154 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

broken over them. In war only the morally strong survive. The battle-
fields of the world are littered not so much with men who were defeated
as with men who admitted they were defeated. Had our Revolution been
led by a man less endowed with this moral quality than Washington we
would probably be part of the British Empire today. Had little Prussia
had anyone at the helm but Frederick she would have gone the way
of Poland.

Today you are confronted by a situation that is fundamentally artifi-
cial. Its importance exists more in your minds than in actuality. If your
moral stamina is of such a saffron hue that it cannot surmount and
subdue this specter of peacetime failure, surely the most elementary com-
mon sense must tell you that you are not morally equipped to dominate
and lead a fighting command.

I can offer no sovereign remedy for this moral jaundice. It is not a
collective problem. It is an individual problem, and the individual must
solve it himself. If he does not solve it he is no more prepared for battle
command than a six-month-old child.

In summary, then, your peacetime preparation falls logically into three
interlocking spheres — ^the educational, the physical, and the moral. Prove
yourself in these and I think you need have no concern about your destiny
in combat. If you succeed there, your rise to the major command roles
will not be predicated upon graduation from any school — ^not even gram-
mar school.

And so at long last I come to the final question: What if there be no
war? For the benefit of any of our pacifist brethren who might happen
on this essay I hasten to explain that this query is not a lament for war.
No, whatever else the legionnaire may be, he is not a death-and-glory
boy; the years have left that behind. With that momentary digression at
an end, I turn to the matter of our remaining years on the assumption
that peace endures.

First, then, a dip into prophecy. Regardless of the merit of the present
system of selecting students for our two senior schools, the fact remains
that it is enormously unpopular. Year by year the opposition grows, and
that opposition does not spring exclusively from the ranks of the legion.
Therefore, I foresee the day, and that not far off, when this rigid system
must and will be discarded. In its place I look for some adaptation of
the out-and-out competitive method used by the French in connection
with their Ecole Sup6rieure de Guerre. Whether this be better or worse
than opr existing system is relatively unimportant. The important thing
is this : it will, at a single stroke, excise the cancerous growth that afflicts
our officer corps today. And for that reason, if none other, it is coming
and coming soon. Thus for many of you the door that now seems irrev-
ocably closed may yet swing open.

Of course I realize that you will not accept me in the role of prophet.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

155

But even if you did it would scarcely elicit any enthusiasm if you happen
to be in your late forties or suffer from ulcers of the duodenum^ fatty
degeneration of the hearty or kindred ills of the flesh. So then I discard
the prediction and have at the matter as it stands.

Now, my worthies, a little G-2-ing reveals three thoughts that nourish
this Leavenworth lunacy. They are:

(1) No Leavenworth — no prestige.

(2) No Leavenworth — ^no hot detail.

(3) No Leavenworth — ^no War College — ^no stars.

Since these things disturb you I award them a few paragraphs.

I think you will agree with me that prestige is not absolute but relative.
Moreover, you will admit that there are two types of prestige: the
prestige that goes with a position such as the presidency of the United
States or the command of a regiment, and the prestige that accrues to
an individual as the result of an outstanding performance in some posi-
tion. For instance, you may have established a considerable reputation
as a company commander, or S-3, or rifleshot. So long as you occupy that
particular role and continue to measure up to past performance, just so
long will you enjoy the prestige that accrues to a highly competent com-
pany commander, S-3, rifleshot, or what have you. Remember this:
prestige does not accrue to the person who is theoretically best but to the
one who actually demonstrates that he is best. I rather imagine that there
were a good many men much better qualified theoretically for Forrest’s
job than was Forrest, and yet Forrest seemed to hang onto it without any
difficulty.

That’s one point, and here is another, Leavenworth breezes off with
the reinforced brigade, bears down hard on the division, and tapers off
with the corps and Army. The War College starts off in the military
stratosphere and ends there. All this is very fine and very necessary, but
when these graduates return to compete with you as company and
battalion commanders I fail to see wherein their knowledge of the corps
and Army is going to be any great help in the jobs they are going to be
called upon to do (General Staff assignments are something else again).
When the Old Man looks over your outfit and your competitors’ he will
look for results — ^not diplomas. You still enjoy a fair field and no favorites.

A final word on this prestige business. How many of you know, as a
matter of fact, whether your battalion or regimental commander is a
graduate of either Leavenworth or the War College:* My poll showed
that darned few of you knew or cared. Those officers were your seniors
and they enjoyed the prestige and the respect that went with their posi-
tions regardless of their school record. If they acquitted themselves well
they enjoyed the second type of prestige I mentioned earlier. All of this
should suggest that the Army is not pointing a finger at you and saying.

i36 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

••Yah, Bill Jones didn’t get to Leavenworth.” No, my brothers, memory
is brief and interest transient tmless preceded by the little word “self.”

Now for the hot-detail question. Perhaps I should preface this with
the hoary observation that “one man’s meat is another man’s poison.”
Failure to make the prep school for the War College blocks you from
the General Staff Eligible List and so from all the staff jobs open to
those boys. Fm sorry, but I can’t get around that one. If your heart
yearns for a desk job in a corps-area headquarters in a big city you have
my sympathy but not my understanding. With our own troop commands
plus National Guard, Organized Reserve, and R.O.T.C. assignments, we
have a field that no one man can master. What matter if some Guard or
Reserve outfit demands a Leavenworth man? There are plenty of other
outfits that don’t, and it’s a big country. You will find plenty of hot details
in those four categories, not to mention others that occasionally pop up
for the deserving, such as a tour with the faculty or tactical department
at West Point, a language detail in China or Japan, an attache job if you
are well heeled, and so on. You will gather that I am not convinced that
the hot detail is reserved exclusively for the Leavenworth alumnus.

This brings me to the third thorn in your flesh — ^no peacetime stars.
Right you are, my lads; there will be no peacetime stars for us. But as a
matter of interest how many stars are reserved, say for the current
Leavenworth class? That class is some two hundred strong. Less than
half will get to the War College. And of these about six will wear stars.
Meanwhile, compute if you can the years of fantastic labor, scarred by
worry, envy, and bitterness, that end in heartbreak for those who ran well
but not best.

Finally, I suggest that you conduct a thoroughgoing self-examination.
It is just possible, you know, that you might not be Leavenworth material.
And if you discovered that fact yourself it might help you to soften your
opinion of those who discovered it a long time ago. Of course there are
many of you who have more than met all the requirements for this school
and yet will never go. Indeed, it is said that in the Infantry alone the
munber of eligibles comes close to the thousand mark; this year seventy-
five go. The deduction is too obvious to make.

But whether you be deserving or undeserving, you must somehow con-
trive to evolve a personal philosophy that will restore your sense of values
and your sense of humor. We have many years left before us. There are
still fine things to be done. There are still good soldiers to lead. There are
still rousing songs to be sung, tall tales to be told, and good company to
share. And if all these things leave you unmoved I offer you this last
thought: At the end, though we boast neither the heavy-hearted honors
of war nor the tinseled badges of peace, the flag will cover us as closely
and taps will sound as sweet.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

157

THE GOVERNMENT OF THE ARMY

From an editorial by Captain (now Major General)
George A. Lynch

(1916)

. . . Even the best-intentioned man may become so blinded by his own
personal interests that he will in all sincerity advocate fallacious meas-
ures without a suspicion as to their fallacy. “Doctrines/* wisely said Colo-
nel Montaigne, “are the offsprings of emotions.** He might have added
that their professors often have no idea as to their real parentage. Cer-
tainly the emotion of self-interest has given birth to some strange doc-
trines of national defense in our Army. Self-interest places before the eyes
a veil that makes it extremely difficult to see clearly on any military
subject.

As we have already said, it will not do to brush aside this question of
personal interest as a matter of inconsequential detail affecting the in-
dividual only and having no bearing on the efficiency of the Army as a
whole. Without unity of purpose on the part of individuals there is no
such thing as collective efficiency. Unless our military system can be so
modified that individuals are constrained by interest to seek for the same
ends, it is idle to talk of military eflSciency. Our first and greatest problem
is to devise some means of harnessing all this energy that spends itself in
the advancement of purely personal interest, to the chariot of military
efficiency, or at least to prevent it from clogging the wheels.

OVER, SHORT, & DAMAGED
By G. V.

In time of peace military property causes many a headache — to the
careless officer. Practically all military property except “expendable” mate-
rials — ^things used up at a steady rate — ^have to be accounted for peri-
odically. Every item with a book value is “signed for” by some officer.
Thus when a commander of an infantry company, for example, is trans-
ferred to other duty, the new commander has to count the property and
sign for it in order to relieve the first commander of his actual money re-
sponsibility for it. In terms of money the property in the possession of
every such unit as an infantry company and artillery battery, or air
squadron or cavalry troop may run into six figures and is always a matter
of five figures.

158

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The problem often came up of taking over property from a close friend.
The friend who was leaving was usually anxious to get away on leave of
absence before going to his new duties, and the friend who took over — ^if a
bit weak-minded — ^might hurry through the count of the property and sign
up and then three or four months later regret his haste when he had to dig
several hundred dollars out of his pay to make up for shortages.

The following piece, dated January 1938, is one officer’s solution to this
situation.

In all the years I have been reading the Infantry Journal I do not
recall having seen an article or even an editorial squib dealing with the
painful yet unavoidable business of taking over property. Some time ago
I hit upon an idea that seems to help when turning over the keys of the
royal storerooms, so I offer it for what it is worth.

Of late I have made it a custom, whenever it has fallen to my lot to
count “screw drivers, rifle,” and “chests, carpenter, tool, w/contents,” to
sit down beforehand and compose a letter to the responsible incumbent
soon (and painlessly, he invariably hopes) to be relieved. The following is
what I write:

My dear Captain Blankfile:

(It is best to hold to this formal tone, wen if you have known the bird you are
relieving for the past twenty years.)

I once knew a supply sergeant who was considered a Napoleon of supply. His
greatest feat was to convince a salvage officer that two wom-out sheets were, re-
spectively, a somewhat bleached and shrunken “tent, wall, small,” and its ac-
companying “fly, tent, wall, small” — worn out through the customary fair wear
and tear in the military service. Unfortunately for us both, but on this occasion
particularly for you, I am aware not only that this prodigy of supply has long
since left the service — ^to turn his talents toward more remunerative rackets — ^but
that his like does not exist within our ranks today, although your own supply
sergeant is no doubt nearly as hot.

I am also aware that you are in a sweat to get your clearances and go on leave
and that you feel confident that I will do my best to make the severance of your
ties with Company B as painless as possible, since we have always been on the
best of terms and have settled any small wrangles we may have had amicably
and unofficially. But, again unfortunately, I have to inform you that since 1929
it has been my lot to keep the wolves from the respective doors of no less than
seven brothers and sisters and their families, not to mendon suppordng my own
aged parents and also those of my wife. Thus it is that I must hereby warn you
that I shall count your property as it stands. I shall take all the dme I need
to count every item on your memorandum receipts at least twice, and anything
of real value, thrice. Moreover, I shall not be able to imagine that a “screw driver,
7-inch,” can magically assume the proportions of a “screw driver, 13-inch.” Or
that your numerous china, chipped and cracked, is safely covered by your allow-
ance. [There was a money allowance for this, but it was minute.] Nor shall I feel
called upon to spend the next three months pleading with the quartermaster to

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

159

change my (your) nomenclature [of property items so that something not listed
but on hand could be substituted for something similar that was missing], or in
working out a system of fines through which 1 can make up for your china. Nor
shall 1 feel it incumbent upon me to swipe tablespoons out of my own per-
sonal kitchen table to replace any of yours that may be bent, broken, or missing.
And finally, I cannot accept, in lieu of anything you may be short, anything that
you may be over — ^for example, “3 tent poles, odd,” for a “boiler, lo-gallon,
w/faucet.”

In fact, much as I hate to say it, from the moment I step into your supply
room tomorrow to begin my count, friendship ceases — but only, I hope, tem-
porarily. And I shall emerge on the third, fourth, or fifth day thereafter with the
most accurate over, short, and damaged list you will ever be privileged to
examine.

If my count jibes to a hair with yours I shall rejoice doubly. But if it doesn’t,
I shall also have to tejoice in moderation, for yours will be the funds that go for
the shortages and not my own.

The most courteous thing that occurs to me as I close is to hope that you may
someday have the pleasure of taking over property from me in turn.

Yours very sincerely,

G. V.

AH’S HAPPY
By Captain Tracklink
(1937)

Everyone’s howling about uniforms — ^how they should be cut, worn,
and tinted. Everyone, that is, except yours truly. Nope, ain’t nobody writ
on my efficiency report: “This officer shows a marked aptitude for
whistling down rainspouts, imitating Napoleon, and hooking rides on ice
wagons.” To date many have questioned but none have proved my sanity.
Why, then, do I like my uniform? Bueno, I show you.

pr, coveralls $ 2.50

pr. drawers 50

pr. socks 25

cap 1.25

pr. shoes or laced boots 4*75

leather jacket 8.50

Total $ 17-75

That little sum will just pay for one good garrison cap and postage!
Here I am all dressed up and nowhere to go, but just for the hell of it
I’ll go into the field. I want to sleep. O.K. I sleep — ^as is — ^and when the

160 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

stillness of the night is shattered by the bark of a motorcycle all I have
to do is yell, “Turn ’em over!” I am all dressed and ready to listen to the
latest dope from the front.

If not sleeping I am eating. I reach into my pocket and pull out three
sandwiches made with buns, not slices of bread. This type of sandwich
can be stepped on, rolled on, and compressed to rice-paper thinness
without losing any of its desirable characteristics. From the same or
another pocket I pull a Bull Durham sack of tea, swirl it around in a
can- or cupful of water. While the resultant mess may not be the nectar
of the gods it is wet and hot or cold as conditions permit. Sack of tea lasts
about a week.

Another thing I like about my costume — ^pockets, plenty of them. One
for maps, pencil, message book, and notebook. Another for a change of
underwear and socks. Plenty of room left for pistol and ammunition,
first-aid kit, cigarettes, and odds and ends.

For a touch of swank I sport a web belt with pistol and canteen and
two dabs of white paint on each shoulder. The latter to prevent Private
Bogie from saying, “Git th’ hell outta my tank,” when verily it is my
tank, as my insignia show.

I used to look pretty crawling across the parade ground in a two-
hundred-and-forty-dollar o.d. uniform, teaching scouting and patrolling,
but now! I am not pretty; I have B.O. (also T.O. and E.O. — transmis-
sion oil and engine oil) ; my costume is wrinkled and tom and scattered
with grease, but, by golly, I am

(1) Comfortable;

(2) Cool or warm, according to the weather;

(3) Ready to fight, frolic, or foot-race;

(4) Ah's happy.

SHIRTS, WOOLEN
By Captain Tenderhide
{1937)

The notion that a service uniform should be designed to meet the condi-
tions of service in the field is slowly finding recognition. Eventually our
Army may be ready to go to war minus constricted circulation and slow
strangulation. There is one garment, however, that no one has yet seen
fit to attack with the asperity it deserves — the woolen o.d. shirt.

Next, perhaps, to the shirt of hair, with which monks of olden time
kept the flesh at bay and the spirit humble, no coatlike garment can be
more uncomfortable. Possibly in cold weather the wool shirt causes no
great discomfort except to the sizable percentage of us who find harsh

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

161

wool irritating and itchy at any temperature. But when the sun beats
down and the wool shirt becomes wringing and impermeable with
sweat, shutting out every slightest seepage of air to the pores — ^then is
when it inflicts an inexcusable torture upon the hides of those who must
wear it. Solid areas of prickly heat break out on chest and back. Scratch-
ing and wanting to scratch use up one third of the energy that would
otherwise go into training and fighting. And plain overheating from
lack of air to the skin uses up at least another third.

Once it was believed that a woolen shirt kept a man from cooling off
too suddenly and thus prevented pneumonia or some lesser respiratory
attack. It was supposed to have some virtue, too, like the woolen belly-
band, in warding off dysentery. Both are old wives* tales. Dysentery, we
know well enough by now, must be swallowed to catch it. And the heat
exhaustion to which the wool shirt makes a man liable in hot weather
gives him a far easier entry to pneumonia than an ordinary chill. This
was clearly demonstrated by experiments conducted in Panama more
than ten years ago.

What do the fifty million men of the United States do when they get
hot in summer? They take off their coats whenever custom permits, or
leave them off entirely if custom doesn’t bother them. And what do the
fifty million do when they feel cool? They put their coats on again. Cer-
tainly they do not, in the midst of a heat wave, wear a thick-woven,
scabrous, heat-retaining garment on the off-chance that the coming of
sundown or a sudden thundershower will bring on a chill. Even an
athlete waits until his exertion is over before he throws a sweater around
his shoulders.

As a matter of medical fact, the risk of chill to a man not near the
point of exhaustion, however hot he may be from exertion, is a small one.
We seem, most of us, to suffer little damage from electric fans and air-
conditioned buildings on the hottest days. And if a man has performed
his exertion in light, suitable clothing — a cotton shirt — he will not be as
near the point of exhaustion as if he had been ironclad in sodden, heavy
wool.

In cold weather the wool shirt gives us little additional protection. In
extremely cold climates perhaps it may be desirable in combination with
woolen coat and overcoat. But this, too, is debatable. For in a warm
building the wool shirt is almost as uncomfortable as in midsummer.
And you can’t take it off when you go indoors.

What we need in place of the wool shirt is a light, tough jacket of
wool or leather that we can slip on and take off as we need to, like the
rest of the fifty million — a garment that can be folded into a small space
and carried on the belt or in the pack or musette bag. This would be
ample protection against chill in summer. It could even be made of the
same material as the woolen shirt, so long as wearing it was left largety

162 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

voluntary and the cotton shirt became standard for summer service in
garrison and in field.

WHEN WINTER COMES
By Captain Trenchcoat
(1938)

Now that we seem to be approaching common sense in uniforms, I hope
that one of the most cumbersome and costly of our garments — the woolen
overcoat — ^will not be spared by those who determine what we shall wear
at work and play.

As a garment for fair weather in peacetime winters the overcoat has
some virtue. But we are chary of taking the field in freezing weather,
which makes us forget that the warmth of an Army overcoat is gained
at a cost in weight that can be ruinous on campaign. Even when dry the
coat weighs far more than need be. In a few hours of rain or snow its
weight doubles and its warmth is reduced by half, if twenty pounds of
wool and water can be said to give any warmth at all.

I once served on a post where the winter uniform regulations were
rigidly enforced — ^in fact, well beyond the letter of the law. After a cer-
tain date in October the overcoat simply had to be worn for protection
and warmth. But one winter happened to be mild and exceptionally wet.
Within two days after winter had set in by order, my own overcoat
dripped for an hour every time I hung it up. I soon saw that I would
need two overcoats if I were to approximate a decent appearance, and
so eighty dollars went into a new one. All winter I wore one while the
other was being dried out at the cleaners, whose bill for the season would
have gone far toward buying a third. Indeed, on- the basis of my own
bill and those of my company as they appeared on the collection sheet, I
estimated that the post — a fairly large one — ^was spending around four
hundred dollars a week out of its private pockets in an almost fruitless
attempt to keep its overcoats free of wrinkles and water. By spring, more-
over, every greatcoat in barracks and quarters looked as if it had been
slept in through months of hard maneuvers.

Actually there is one way of converting an Army overcoat into a wind-
and water-breaking garment of real warmth, and that is by wearing a
light Alligator-type raincoat over it. But this is a poor compromise, al-
though it does bring out the correct principles for the design of a winter
coat — a warmth-giving layer on the inside and a windproof and water-
proof layer on the outside, which keeps the inner layer reasonably dry.

Thus what we need is not a woolen greatcoat but a trenchcoat and

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 163

preferably a coat with a detachable woolen lining. (For extreme cold
a double lining or one of fleece would be needed.) I have such a coat
now. It cost one fourth of what a good overcoat does, and when it is
dry or wet its weight is roughly one half that of an overcoat. In either
case it is far warmer, Moreover, if appearance is as vital to a working
garment as it seems to be, the trenchcoat has, if anything, more style and
dash to it than the other.

If we do turn sensibly from the expensive cramping tailored blouse
and belt to a jacket it will be but half progress unless we get rid of that
spongelike cloak of ill protection which now forms our burden when
winter comes.

CHEVRONS FOR INSPIRATION
By Lieutenant Chevron
{193S)

The present chevron distinguishes one enlisted man from another
by visually indicating his rank. This is as it should be. A corporal, for
instance, wears chevrons showing that he has gained recognition for his
leadership and judgment and that he ranks several million private sol-
diers in every army throughout the world, which is not a mean distinc-
tion. But do these chevrons also serve to inspire the recruit to put forth
some honest sweat toward obtaining his own?

Today’s recruit is not a soldier because he wants to be a soldier more
than anything else in the world. He is a soldier because there’s a war
to be fought and it’s his time to be a soldier. If once in a while he elects
to feel miserable about it, then it’s up to us to do something constructive
for him.

Opportunities by the score are available in our Army for anyone tough
enough to make the opportunity a reality. When I say “tough enough”
I have in mind the simple story of a country boy named “Useless Sam”
Grant who at one time in his life lost his commission, lost his trade,
could not support his family, and took to hauling cordwood through the
streets for a living.

Why don’t we simply take a Napoleonic precedent for our own use
and make a personal and inspirational approach to the new soldier?
I propose that hereafter when the quartermaster procures and issues
shirts, overcoats, blouses, dungarees, and overalls, they be manufactured
with the printed outline of master sergeant’s chevrons on each sleeve in
the regulation position. Then, when a recruit draws his first shirt from
the supply sergeant, he can see with his own eyes that the Army holds a
chance for him to advance himself to the top and is challenging him to

164 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

do it. He’ll believe at least half of what he sees and he’ll realize his future
in the Army is up to him.

When he gets to be a corporal he’ll sew his two stripes within the out-
line where they belong. If he doesn’t get to be anything and goes on leave
with $126 worth of base pay on his sleeves in empty outline, let him
explain it. He’s no baby.

Incidentally, such an indelible outline on a uniform sleeve would posi-
tion the chevron uniformly throughout the Army as the regulations in-
tended when they were written. Also, it might prevent the enemy from
picking off noncoms and it would certainly stop GI shirts from being
tabbed for officers. These thoughts are of the merest incidence to the idea
that the mechanical advantage of an indelibly imprinted outline of master
sergeant’s chevrons on all sleeved garments would have considerable
day-by-day inspirational value.

But whether this chevron and morale idea is worth a damn or not,
let us put full faith in Johnny-come-lately. Feed him, lead him, and treat
him right. Like the Rebels and Yankees who marched this way before
him, he’ll do his job.

ARMY CHOW

Academic minutiae are to be found in military schools also. The two
articles that follow .(dated 1939) were written about an argument at the
Infantry School as to the proper designation for the noonday meal of the
soldier.

^‘DINNER ” NOT “LUNCH”

By Mess Officer

That was an excellent piece about better cold lynches in the Journal
for January-February. But I disagree heartily on one point. What a
soldier eats at midday — or any other time — should not be called a
“lunch.”

In the first place, it sounds too much as if war were thought of as a
picnic and not as the serious business it is for all concerned. In the
second place, the very word “lunch” carries the meaning of something
light, something grabbed from a soda fountain in a hurry, something of
no real substance. In other words, a bite or two to stave off hunger until
the next square meal comes around.

In peacetime when a soldier sits down at mess it is not to eat a “lunch”
but an honest, solid dinner. It’s not a snack he expects; it’s a full meal.
The last one he had was six hours before, and there’s been a stiff morning
of drill or fatigue in between. And so at noontime the main meal of the

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 165

day weighs down the table with good substantial food. It’s time for
“dinner,” not a mere lunch, when the morning’s work is done.

Even more so in war. The infantryman attacks at dawn, and by noon-
time, if he’s not a dead or badly wounded hero, he wants as big a meal
as he ever ate. No matter whether it gets up to him hot from the kitchens,
which it rarely does in the midst of battle, or comes out of his haversack
cold and squashed, it’s a “dinner” he needs and wants, not a “lunch.”

The idea of using the word “lunch” thus inappropriately arose some
years ago. When you sit at a desk all morning working with your brain
instead of your body, doubtless a “lunch” will do come noon. There
was strong protest from some of the hardier field soldiers against replac-
ing the word “dinner.” There was even an attempt to compromise mat-
ters by calling the fresh food the soldier carries on his back a “cold meal.”
But the “cold lunchers” won out, and as the word has spread throughout
the Infantry, cold dinners have shrunk unmistakably into cold lunches.

As long as we think in terms of lunch, that is exactly what the troops
are going to get — a couple of flattened-out sandwiches and a small
pickle — not enough calories to campaign on for an hour and a half at
most. But begin to order cold dinners issued once again, and jolt the
cooks’ elbows a few times to get them back in the habit, and there won’t
be any more grumbling stomachs at 2:30 p.m. Call it “dinner,” and give
them dinner. They earn it, in peace or war.

CALL IT HASH
By Hungry

“Mess officer” in the Infantry Journal for March-April slipped up on
his victuals when he intimated that “cold lunches” had won out over
“cold meals.” And apparently he does not know that once upon a time a
controversy involving those two phrases all but wrecked the tranquillity
of our Infantry School.

It happened when an embryo editor, fresh from Leavenworth, en-
countered a “cold dinner” in his first edit. He unhesitatingly red-penciled
the last word and substituted “lunch.” This aroused vehement protests
from the original author, who insisted that, theoretically at least, he had
a perfect right to issue cold dinners any time he wanted to. But the
guardian of the school’s rhetoric contended that two stale crusts enfold-
ing an oily slab of cheese, such as had frequently been issued to him
in the past, scarcely constituted a lunch, let alone a whole dinner.

This discussion quickly grew into a free-for-all argument involving
many sedentary citizens of Fort Benning. Sides were taken, and a good
deal of verbal sniping went on up and down the noble halls of learning.

166 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

And while words became more and more heated, cold dinners and colder
lunches flew back and forth like custard pies in a Hollywood comedy.

It got so bad finally that in order to preserve some semblance of
academic dignity a conference became necessary to bring the two schools
of thought together on a common moniker for what old-timers simply
call “chow.” The feud, however, had gone too far for arbitration. Squab-
bling became so violent, the head conferee was forced to eliminate the
smaller fry and withdraw to his office — ^where he conducted a meeting
of lesser headmen behind closed doors.

For an hour or more all waited with bated breaths. Then came the
momentous decision. To all and sundry it was announced that the
apples, sandwiches, or what have you issued to troops immediately after
breakfast (and usually eaten or otherwise disposed of prior to 9:00 a.m.),
thereafter, in the Infantry School at least, would be known as “a cold
noon meal.”

That took care of the paper work. But the very next day this humble
writer was assigned as umpire on an outdoor exercise. At the proper
time he extracted and unwrapped the waxed paper which contained,
according to the day’s menu, a chicken sandwich. Expectantly peering
beneath the upper lid, his disillusioned gaze came to rest on the sad-
looking, scrawny, and none-too-well-cooked neck of an aged chicken.

And so I for one say to hell with these academic discussions. Let us
pay less attention to titles and more to actual chow. Let the food-dis-
pensing fraternity put out a worth-while ration and we may rest assured
that the name of the meal will take care of itself.

AIR SUPPORT IN TODAY’S WAR
By Colonel (now Brigadier General) Aluson J. Barnett

{^ 94 ^)

There is no point in beginning an article on air support with the state-
ment that such support is of great importance to infantry and other
ground troops. Actually that was axiomatical of air units by igi8, though
it took a second World War to establish the fact plainly to all. But the
ground leader who discounted the growing power of the air arm in
past years because he didn’t take the time to make a thorough and
unbiased study of it, or the airman who was perhaps overenthusiastic in
his claims — ^both have forgotten since December 7 any petty differences
they may have had. And it doesn’t make the slightest difference, anyway,
what any of us may believe about the final place of air in relation to
ground. The air is so big and so vital a part of modem warfare that the

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 167

only thing we need to be sure about is having plenty of air and ground
forces both, and full co-operation between them.

We know well enough how vitally necessary in today’s war the close-
ness of teamwork is between ground and air. Here is what Greneral Mar-
shall said about it recently:

“The technique of 1917 is outmoded today. The specialized training
for a particular type of operation gives way to the necessity for perfect
teamwork in fast-moving operations over any type of terrain. A high
degree of technical and tactical knowledge is necessary, from the in-
dividual soldier to the commanders of the highest units. Skilled initiative
is a mandatory requirement. The complicated co-ordination of fire power,
ground and air, must be managed at top speed, and for a surprising
variety of weapons, with little or no opportunity to rehearse the pro-
cedure or to gain familiarity with the ground.”

Our own announced doctrines also bring this out forcefully. In the
first place, there has got to be a thorough familiarity on both sides. The
commanders of ground forces have got to know just what the air units
supporting them can do and what they can’t do. Staffs have got to
have air logistics and limitations at their finger tips. And in the air units
likewise there must also be a full familiarity with the whole job in hand.

Now let us see how an air support command works in action. The
Twentieth Army, let us say, takes the field. General Headquarters ar-
ranges for the 20th Air Support Command to be attached or assigned
to its support. The observation groups of the support command are now
decentralized and attached to the different corps of the Twentieth Army,
with the army group held under army control. The corps commanders
likewise decentralize, designating a light squadron to observe for each
division and, if at all possible, for the division with which it has trained.
These squadrons are not, however, attached to divisions. With the ob-
servation units thus decentralized, their employment then depends upon
the G-2 and artillery requirements.

The proper use of such units needs plenty of explanation and emphasis,
judging by recent maneuvers in which many ground officers demon-
strated much lack of understanding of them. For one thing, observation
units cannot be employed for continued surveillance of hostile groimd
forces in the face of enemy air opposition. Any observation plane that
tries to stay in the air over enemy dispositions for more than a very short
while can be counted as a plane that is lost. There is nothing whatever
theoretical about this. It has been proven a fact. And it must therefore
be thoroughly understood.

168 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The observation squadrons that are to observe for infantry divisions,
as stated above, are being equipped with pursuit- and liaison-type planes.
The pilot-observer flying the pursuit-type ship carries out missions over
hostile territory. These must be clear-cut missions that can be accom-
plished rapidly — emissions that simply involve flying to the area from
which the information is to be obtained, getting it and returning, all at
full speed.

A pilot and his airplane used in this manner should, with any luck,
continue to be available for mission after mission in support of his
ground force. But a pilot and plane required to take part in continued
surveillance will soon be lost.

The pilot of the slow and vulnerable liaison-type airplane must be
given no job that will require him to cross his own front lines in the face
of air opposition. The main usefulness of this plane, often referred to as
“puddle jumper,” is primarily in rear-area courier service.

When elements of an air support command are attached to or are
assigned to the support of ground units, commanders of the supporting
units, under the present system, retain command of their organizations.
Under the old system attached aviation was commanded by the chiefs
of aviation of armies and army corps and by air officers when observa-
tion aviation was attached to divisions. Now, however, the function of
an air officer, or chief of aviation, is that of a staflf officer only, and it is
probable that in the future Air Corps officers will not be detailed to such
staff assignments in units of the field forces below the army or armored
force. In that event their role will be taken over by the commanders of
supporting air units and air liaison officers.

To the ground commander with the right conception of modem war-
fare, air support by combat aviation means counter air action — until the
air forces opposing him are neutralized. The greatest single contribution
to the success of a ground operation that supporting combat aviation
can possibly make lies in clearing the air of hostile airplanes. The first
task must be to destroy the hostile planes and the fields they operate
from. It is even better to destroy the factories where they are made, but
that is a job not for air-support units, but for our air forces with their
heavy long-range bombers.

It follows that we must not expect our support aviation to attack that
enemy column approaching in our direction, or help us capture that
resistance on Hill 608, or blow up that bridge across Big Creek, if any
of these jobs are going to take away a single plane needed for the big
job, the primary all-important air mission.

But when the hostile airdromes on our front have been neutralized
and airplanes no longer threaten our operations, then our air-support
units can begin to pound at targets not so far fipm our front. And ^eir
power may eventually be turned in large measure to our close support.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

169

Once close air support is attained, perfect co-ordination becomes im-
perative. How we get it is of utmost importance to ground commanders.

When preliminary arrangements for an operation are made, the com-
mander of the air support command establishes the rear echelon of his
headquarters near one of his important airdromes to facilitate communi-
cation and control. He also establishes an advance control post near
the command post of the unit he is supporting. At this air-support control
all requests for air support are received and the decision made as to
whether or not bomber attacks will be made in response to such requests.
Thus it is an important establishment and must be manned by experi-
enced personnel. An assistant G-3, selected for his judgment and knowl-
edge of tactics and his ability to think clearly in battle, clothed with
full authority, must be at this control at all times when air-support mis-
sions are to be dispatched. The air-support commander, or a representa-
tive he has designated, must also be at the air-support control at all
times when calls for air support may come in. This control has every
available means of communication, including radio to planes in the air.

To prevent casualties to our own ground troops a bomb-safety line is
designated short of which no bomb from support aviation must fall. This
line must be kept posted up to date, and every pilot must know its
location.

The commander of the air support command knows at all times what
the situation is at his bomber airdromes. There are two types of alert —
air alert and ground alert. Air alert requires planes to be in the air with
full bomb loads. This method, though it insures the delivery of a blow
in the minimum time, is costly in gasoline and in pilot fatigue and has
still other objections. A call may come when much of the gas in the
planes has been used up. Or, since the type of target is not known when
the bombers take off, the bombs they carry may not be of the kind most
suitable for the eventual mission.

We can best see the general advantages of the other type of alert
through an example. Let us assume that when a call comes in a certain
per cent of all available bomber pilots are on ground alert. Their aircraft
would be fully serviced and armed; all equipment would be at hand
and the crews near by and ready to go. The representative of the ground
commander at the air-support control receives the request for bombs
on a suitable target. He consults with the air-support commander, or
his representative, who advises that the mission be dispatched. The re-
quest is then approved for the ground-force commander by the G-3
representative and passed to the air-support representative, who com-
municates with the airdrome, giving the nature and location of the
target, the approximate time of attack, and the number of bombers and
type of bomb to be used.

When the mission is received at the airdrome the air-unit commander

170 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

or his operations officer designates the airplanes to do the job and gives
the other instructions clearly wd briefly. While the pilots are getting
this information, mechanics are starting the motors and other men are
loading the bombs, if any change in bomb loadings is necessary.

All of this requires only a few minutes. The time required for deliver-
ing the attack will depend almost entirely upon the distance to the target
and the difficulty in locating it after the bombers arrive over its vicinity.
Targets in or near villages or farmhouses are easily found. But when
there is no reference point clearly visible from the air it is exceedingly
difficult to locate a target. In fact, the ideal method of directing support
bombers to an exact spot of this kind has not yet been determined.

It is probable that bomber attacl^ in response to call or request will
be more applicable to armored forces than to infantry. Air support in no
wise takes over the role of field artillery when field artillery is available.
Air support should be called upon for close support against resistances
impeding the advance of assault troops only when the ground-support
weapons are inadequate for the task at hand.

There is no need to emphasize the power of air support as an aid to
groimd forces. But in general a ground commander will get the most out
of it by giving his air-support commander much latitude. It has also
been demonstrated over and over in modem battle that, with such lati-
tude, the air-support commander will discover and attack many im-
portant targets beiore their presence is known to the ground troops. As
one ground commander of high rank put it a few weeks ago, “Give the
air-support commander a job to do, and let him do it.’*

NLD

By Staff Sergeant (now Lieutenant Colonel)

J. R. Ulmer

Every point suggested by Colonel Ulmer in this 1937 article on the
disciplinary aspects of venereal disease in the Army is now in effect. The
fault of the old way of handling the matter and the reasons for the new
are strongly presented by this writer, who is now associate editor of the
Infantry Journal,

Our hope of control lies in breaking the chain of infection at its weakest link —
the early case. Dr. Thomas A. Parran, Surgeon General, United States Public
Health Service.

More and more do the words “venereal disease” appear in the public
prints. Moreover, they are being spoken right out loud in precincts where

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

171

they were hitherto taboo. Our people are belatedly acknowledging these
scourges of the flesh and are co-operating with the United States Public
Health Service in the fight against them. If the follow-through is strong
enough, the campaign will bear fruit; optimists even hope that we may
attain the excellent results gained in Sweden, where syphilis and gonor-
rhea are virtually unknown.

For years the Army has had to concern itself with venereal disease, and
as a consequence its approach to the problem is far more realistic than
that of the general public. Moreover, iht Arm/s procedure for reducing
the venereal rate has met with marked success. The results are testified
to by statistics and cited by public-health officers to show what can be
done. Even if we concede a liberal discount for undetected cases the
figures are impressive.

But however successful the Army’s method of control has been, it can-
not be said to be truly scientific as long as the twin clouds of prudery
and punishment hover over it. Until they are dispelled we cannot say
that we are fighting disease in the most enlightened manner. Touching
on this point. Dr. R. A. Vonderlehr, assistant surgeon general. United
States Public Health Service, had this to say at the recent conference
on venereal-disease control held at Washington.

One of the chief reasons why success has not been attained in bringing syphilis
under control is because of its unfortunate association with morality. Health
officers must take the lead in teaching the public to regard syphilis as a disease
and not as a form of moral delinquency. The disease, like many others, is a com-
municable one, and the fact should be so treated at all times, [Dr. Vonderlehr’s
italics.] The fact that it is spread chiefly through sexual intercourse should be
given no special prominence in the application of control measures.

The victims of these ailments are diseased — ^not disgraced. That is the
viewpoint of modem public health. The Army might well review its
methods in the light of Dr. Vonderlehr’s dictum.

Let us first examine a few of our control measures to see if they square
with what we know of the psychology of “single men in barracks.” We
shall concern ourselves only with the questions of education and admin-
istration. The cure of the infected we may safely leave to the doctors.

The regulations prescribe that, by way of education, every soldier shall
receive a course in what is euphemistically called “sex morality.” Gen-
erally it is given in the form of a lecture to recruits, and its character is
determined by the knowledge, good humor, imagination, or garrulity
of the officer who gives it. Usually it includes a description of the social
diseases, a pious hope that the hearers will exercise restraint come pay-
day, and the address of the nearest prophylaxis station. This last shows
that the lecturer has his fingers crossed.

The present-day course is the lineal descendant of one given during

172 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

the World War. Then, also, no soldier escaped it; some heard it three
or four times as they were transferred about with the carefree abandon
of items in a wartime budget. Some of these much-harangued soldiers
built up an immunity to a sex-morality lecture that was truly astonishing;
they could sleep profoimdly through the loudest oratory. Their 1937
counterparts are no less subject to the anesthesia of repetition.

In theory the course is sound, but in practice it faib of substantial
accomplishment. Made a bit less sketchy and perfunctory, and given by
an officer who patently believes what he is saying, the lecture can do
some good.

But let it be said here and now that the preparation of a good sex-
morality discussion, either oral or written, is a difficult task. I have never
listened to or read one that struck just the right note. The paucity of
good literature and oratory on the subject of venereal disease is not con-
fined to the military. After years of experience in social-disease-control
work. Dr. N. A. Nelson, assistant director, Division of Communicable
Diseases, Massachusetts Department of Public Health, is rather gloomy
on the subject:

I have yet to discover [says he] the story of syphilis (or any part of it) written
in such a way that it could be used by the Health Department and would arouse
the interest of the man in the street.

If any one of us were granted an appropriation tomorrow for the employment
of a single sane and unemotional lecturer who knew anything about syphilis,
where would one be found? I would like to borrow a half-dozen talks . . . which
are not dry and uninteresting tables of statistics, or emotional eruptions on sex,
or too vivid descriptions of the anatomy involved, or the too frank discussion of
the unpleasant signs of the disease. Who has them to lend? There is neither
materid nor anyone with both interest and ability to produce it.

About the only advice one can offer in regard to the sex talk is that
it should leave the moral side of the question strictly alone — this for the
simple reason that when you talk to a soldier about the state of his
morals you immediately get a hostile reaction. You can gain his con-
fidence only by denuding the talks of prudery and sophistry. And let
them be given by his own officers — company commanders preferred.

As an adjunct to the World War campaign to control venereal disease,
we had the sex-morality movie. This, while a step forward, failed in some
respects to win the confidence of the troops and for curious reasons. Since
we may expect movies during the next war, a backward glance may not
be amiss.

A scenario titled Fit to Fight was hurriedly written by some unknown
genius, and a few soldiers and feminine war workers were pressed into
service as actors and actresses. A ukase went forth that no soldier was to
escape seeing this epic. As in the case of the lectures, many thousands

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 173

endured the film several times, and the more hardened snored gratefully
through the second and subsequent performances.

Fit to Fight concerned itself with the fortimes of a quartet of likely
lads who had ’listed for the wars. First they were rapidly seen out of cits
into uniform (under a running barrage of critical comment from every
soldier audience as to the superior style and fit of Army clothes furnished
screen soldiers). Then the heroes idly stroll the city’s streets.

Here they are accosted by a foursome of Jezebels whose motives are
obviously immoral and pecuniary. Soldier A promptly scorns their ad-
vances. Soldier B compromises by stealing a kiss and departing. Soldiers
C and D hesitate — possibly they have heard the sex-morality lecture only
once. Be that as it may, they do not heed the pleadings of A, and they
fade out in company with the pavement pounders. A vanishes from the
picture in a close-up, wearing a look of regret and self-righteousness.

The next reel shows what happened to G and D as a result of yield-
ing to the flesh. Indeed, we are shown with such a wealth of physiological
detail and pathological exactitude that at every performance a few of the
chickenhearted give up their preceding meal.

Nothing happened to D because he was sagacious enough to take out
insurance at the prophylaxis station.

The showing of this shocker was usually marred by the comment of
the unregenerate upon the app)earance of the bogus courtesans. A few
would always loudly swear that the gals were too lacking in comeliness
to engage in such commerce with success. Accordingly, let that oflicer
who spends the i>eriod of the next war in the unhappy business of pro-
curing for a celluloid bagnio require a reasonable amount of pulchritude
in his actresses, in order not to overstrain the credulity of the troops.

Dr. John H. Stokes, professor of dermatology and syphilology, Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania, in discussing his efforts to educate the physician
along these lines, estimates the potential value of exhortative or informa-
tive talks as second to that of motion pictures. And he is not too greatly
impressed by the work of motion pictures, for he says : “Of pictures, still
and moving, I can only say that years of medical barnstorming and
experiments performed in my own classes have convinced me that they
are beguiling but comparatively ineffective.”

As a possible accompaniment to the talks and pictures, it may be that
we have not made the most of pamphlets. These should be in simple
terms and well illustrated. A booklet will be carried away physically,
for a short distance at least, and there is always the chance that it will
be read. It would be helpful to leave pamphlets about in dayrooms,
libraries, and other places where soldiers foregather.

So much for the educational field. On the administrative side we en-
counter a procedure that the experience of the public-health services
of all coimtries has shown to be a cardinal error. Its name is punishment

174 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

We say to the soldier: “If you are fool enough to get infected go on
sick call at once. If you turn in early enough we can virtually guarantee
a cure, and in later life you will be spared the serious consequences that
follow neglect.

“Of course we will court-martial you if you haven’t taken the prophy-
laxis, and during the period you are unfit for duty we will confiscate
all but five dollars of your pay per month.”

At least that’s the way it sounds to a soldier.

Consequently many try to beat the game. They hide their ailments and
tinker with self-treatment. The less intelligent fall for quacks or pin their
faith on the fifty-cent pills and lotions advertised in the latrine of any
well-conducted poolroom. Those who lack the stability of a few hash
marks may even go over the hill. In their eagerness to escape punishment
they disregard the serious consequences that follow neglect or improper
treatment. Such men have not been touched by the educational program,
nor does the threat of court-martial and loss of pay serve any other pur-
pose than to keep their names off the venereal report — ^if they are clever
enough or lucky enough to escape detection. And it is too much to expect
that men so lacking in regard for themselves will show any for others.
They become spreaders of the infection they carry — a menace to the
health of the command and the community. These men must be brought
under control even if this involves a complete about-face.

What shall we do about it?

As an initial step, abolish the trial by court-martial. Next, repeal the
law prescribing forfeiture of pay. In brief, treat these infections as dis-
eases and label them “line of duty.”

What would happen?

The removal of the threats to purse and reputation would result in a
greater number of venereals being treated — ^more would turn in. There-
after the treatment rate should stabilize at a higher level, pending that
happy day when the rate for the country as a whole will diminish.

This won’t look so well on the monthly report, but at least it will show
the true state of affairs. For all but the naive know that the treatment
curves for organizations stationed under the same conditions do not
necessarily present an accurate picture of the venereal situation. Often
those which indicate a relatively low disease rate actually reflect a high
rate of concealment.

One gain from a more rational attitude toward the Army’s social
disease problem would be an improved officer morale. No longer would
a dismayed company commander survey with concern for his record a
mounting venereal court-martial rate which he could control only by
putting his command under lock and key. Moreover, there would be less
work for the courts, whose members are harried enough by their normal
duties.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

175

But these are only incidental benefits that we may reasonably expect
from a policy designed to encourage men with venereal disease to turn
in promptly. More important is the fact that such a policy would save
from their folly and ignorance many who might otherwise suffer penal-
ties out of all proportion to their offense. But the greatest benefit of all
would result from bringing under control many sources of infection that
might go undetected.

The main objective of the campaign of the Public Health Service is
detection^ isolation, and treatment of the infected. The Army already
stands on that objective, but there is still some mopping up to do. The
surest and quickest way to get it done is to abolish the penalties that
operate to keep many cases under cover. Legally the failure to take the
prophylaxis after exposure is a military offense, but from a medical view-
point it is bad business to treat it as such.

WAR IS THE MAIN GAME

Anonymous

This anonymous explosion about peacetime athletic abuses was pub-
lished in November 1935. It doesn’t need much explanation. The writer

has been a steady contributor to the magazine for many years.

Thus we play the fools xvith the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the
clouds and mock us, Shakespeare

Only if the rifleman be trained to move unrestingly forward by walking, by
rushing, by crouching, by crawling, by creeping, ever on and on, will the period
of his travail be reduced. Major General H. Rowan-Robinson

There is a small but convinced minority within the commissioned grades
of infantry today that is bitter on the subject of military athletics. I am
one of them, and I believe our viewpoint is worth listening to.

It is only fair to say in the beginning that in my own case there is
reason for prejudice. But the very reasons that have brought me to the
point of writhing when I hear an infantry squad compared to a football
squad are excellent illustrations of the very objections that I, and others
who hold similarly, have to college athletics in military settings. Con-
sequently a brief recounting of what has happened to me in twelve or
fifteen years forms the first part of this considered gripe. The second part,
since the editor of the Infantry Journal says that problems posed in these
pages must be accompanied by a solution, will be, 1 assure you, a solution
with a vengeance.

At the first post where I served as a lieutenant 1 roomed with the

t76 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

athletic officer. We were friends, and good ones (we still are) .

My duties consisted of all the spare-part jobs and the command of a
machine-gun company. The property on my papers totaled just short of
a million dollars. I made a lot of mistakes, but I had good noncoms in
most of my offices. The engineer sergeant slipped once, and I had to pay
for three pairs of gloves for handling barbed wire. But my ordnance,
recreational, post-library, police, post-painting, and corps-area-library
assistants, and the noncommissioned staff of my company helped me
through a year without other cost than a good deal of overtime work. I
was also survey officer and, with the help of a kindly warrant officer at
corps-area headquarters, managed to make a few others pay without pay-
ing anything myself. There were also boards and courts, which as a rule
sat at night. Special duty, however, made drill a daily farce at the com-
pany, and so often was there no drill at all that I had frequent mornings
in which to catch up on other things.

In that first year I learned much that is still of value, and I was not
called on the carpet once for lack of attention to duty or for doing things
wrong.

In the meantime, my athletic roommate, who was one of the best I
have seen at his job, increased the number of athletic events at the post
to an average of three a week. In fact, I watched many a boxing match
and basketball game that year, when night work did not keep me home.
And I accepted without a single doubt the faith that fine athletes are
fine soldiers.

My roommate did little besides his athletic duties. He was assigned to
a rifle company, it is true, but his company commander seldom saw him
except for an hour or two in the morning. He was continually organizing
teams, matches, bouts, and meets, and making trips with this team and
that.

My unconsidered acceptance of all this was strained a little in the
summer of my second year. I found myself in temporary charge of the
baseball team for three weeks while my roommate went on leave. I knew
nothing about baseball that would help a team, and to expose my igno-
rance for once and all I told the soldier manager, “You run the team and
I’ll back you up.”

Three days later I found most of the team drunk at practice. Not very
drunk, but drunk enough to show it. I formed them up and marched
them down to my company, and all of us, drunk or sober, had three
cups of coffee; then we went back to practice. There was no more trouble.
And when the athletic officer came back from Kansas I was still orthodox
on athletics.

My friend did not go unrewarded officially for his good work. His re-
ports for those two years were all largely “superior,” and he had several
nice letters to file where they would do the most good. His many civilian

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 177

contacts were also valuable, perhaps. He left that post eventually for
foreign service in China.

I saw my own reports for those first two years more than ten years
later. They were all “average.” There were no remarks pro or con. Long
before I saw them, however, I had made up my mind about athletics.

My own second station was on foreign service, too, although not in
China. I had been with my new regiment only a few weeks (in a rifle
company), when the regimental commander sent for me. “Fm going to
turn over H Company to you,” he said. “I hear you know something
about machine guns, and I need your company commander up here at
headquarters. You won’t have another captain for two or three months.
But you’ll find you’ve got a fine company. It contains all the regimental
boxing squad, many of the swimming team, and half the baseball team. I
wish I could command that company myself. You know, Mr. Jones, I
used to take part in athletics a good deal myself when I was younger. In
fact, I used to be a regular bundle of muscle. It’s my belief no soldier
should be made a corporal unless he can knock down every man in his
squad. Nearly every noncom you’ve got in H Company is a boxer.”

This colonel was one of the gentlest and pleasantest in the conduct of
his regiment I have ever seen, but that is what he said.

I went down to Company H feeling proud of the outfit already and
glad that machine-gun officers were scarce. But what I found in the
course of three months as the company commander of seventy-odd prima
donnas of the squared circle, tanlc, mat, track, and so on, I shall not
attempt to tell in the detail it deserves. The previous company com-
mander had played first base on the ball team. Most of the company
called him “Steve.” There was not a single noncommissioned officer who
would have known the mil formula if it had punched him a sharp left
to the solar plexus. Two noncommissioned officers complained direct to
the adjutant because I cut out morning work in the gymnasium. The few
non-athletes in the company were doing three quarters of the fatigue and
kitchen work. The stables were frowzy with filth, and over half the
animals had bad feet. Beyond a little close order and gun drill and the
bare knowledge of how to harness and lead — enough to get by at parades
and reviews — the company knew nought of machine gunnery.

But I found one line sergeant — ^the first-ranking one fortunately — ^who
was not punch drunk and had had wartime experience in a machine-gun
battalion. He proved from the beginning — ^and to the end too — the only
noncom in the company, not excepting the first sergeant, who was willing
to play my kind of ball. By all the others, there was unanimous resistance.

Even so, my changes were not extreme. I simply began a schedule of
four hours’ machine-gun work on five mornings of the week, and for an
hour or two each afternoon turned out the handful that might not be
playing games by regimental or battalion order to scrub the stables and

178 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

animals into some kind of shape. I showed a decent interest in the sports,
too, but always as an apparently proud observer, and never to the
sacrifice of military affairs or my own regular round of golf. I did not play
first base, and the captains of the various teams, let alone the players, did
not call me “J™.”

My battalion commander was a fat, fussy man who had been a certified
accountant in civil life. His only passion was company fund books. He
would not accept one with a single correction. He observed my handling
of Company H for three or four days and then called me in to warn me
that I was not only driving the company too hard but was not making
neat entries in my fund book. *^You are neglecting close-order drill too.
At least half of your drill time should be close order, whatever your total
hours scheduled may be.”

So thenceforth my schedules showed two hours of close order, although
I admit that I frequently stole much of that time for other drills — all of
it, whenever I knew that the major was safely away from the post or
auditing fund books.

One day in the middle of my first effort to teach the finer points of
fire by direct laying, the major and the colonel came by. They watched
awhile. Then the major said with a hearty laugh, and loudly enough for
the whole company to hear, “Well, just give me enough riflemen and
you can keep your damned machine guns.” The colonel laughed, nodding
agreement, and both walked away.

As we began to touch upon fire by indirect laying in the company
training, I found that the war plans called for the actual defense of the
post under certain possible conditions. So I asked what part in the de-
fense had been assigned to Company H, The plans-and-training officer
told me that the battalion had a sector to defend but that there were no
company setups. On learning this I fitted into the company drill the
problem of defense and eventually completed indirect data for firing on
every possible approach to the post.

I took it to the battalion commander. But he was interested only in
addition, not in the multiplication and division involved in the mil
formula. He handed it back to me, not knowing what else to do with it.
Then he spoke again about the company, warning me that I was going
over the men’s heads and attempting to teach them something of no
practical value.

I left as soon as I could, went up to regimental headquarters, and
gave my data to the plans-and-training officer. The next morning I foimd
it on my desk with a note, “Very interesting.” I still have the data and
the accompanying maps. It is no longer of value since new ammunition
has come in.

At the end of three months a captain came and took my boxers, swim-
mers, et al., out of my care. I went to another company. My report for

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 179

that period says “average” in every entry, and at the bottom, “This young
officer is inclined to be too hard on enlkted men.”

During the remainder of that tour of foreign service, after my first-
hand introduction to the ideal that “fine athletes are fine soldiers,” I be-
came much better acquainted with what athletics can accomplish. Then,
and later on at other posts, I saw these things:

I have seen officer referees hissed and booed by halls full of enlisted
men.

I have seen the bitterest of rivalry, and often the bitterest of feelings,
as the result of the attempted wooing of soldier athletes from one organi-
zation to another.

Many times 1 have seen a decent standard of military efficiency sacri-
ficed to a high standard of athletics. In one regiment, when there was
only two weeks to go before range season, and preliminary training had
not yet begun, I saw six out of ten drill mornings devoted to a regimental
volleyball tournament. Yes, a volleyball tournament! (Nor am I a marks-
manship fanatic.)

I have seen great glass cases of cups and trophies in the orderly rooms
of companies whose conditions of military training — and whose interest
in that training — ^would not for a moment stand comparison with those
of a well-drilled troop of Boy Scouts.

I have seen the entire season of a regimental baseball league, with
every game played at ten in the morning and everybody but one cook
and one K.P. per company attending.

I have seen the entire effort of a brigade devoted for three weeks to a
single athletic meet.

I have seen an officer stand to lose four thousand dollars of his pay
because of his overzealous efforts (he was impelled by directives from
higher authority) to make an athletic meet a financial success.

I have seen great honor rolls at the entrances of beautiful barracks
bearing scores of names, not one out of ten cited for sound military
accomplishments.

I have seen a field officer sitting in a grandstand, curse, groan, and
well-nigh weep over the errors made by his battalion team.

I have seen a score of young officers — athletes of note at the Military
Academy or other universities — spoiled, pampered, and encouraged to
continue their participation in games. I have seen an excellent company
commander relieved because he required such an officer to read and re-
port briefly on three hundred pages of military history in the course of a
month and because he mildly punished the same young athlete for a
slight although deliberate neglect of his company duties. (I also saw the
battalion commander’s wife sympathize with this lieutenant, at dinner in
the presence of many guests, regarding his hard existence.)

I have lent my saber to an officer who told me he had not worn one

180 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

for eleven years. He had been on athletic duty of one kind or another the
entire time.

But this is enough to show what I hold against military athletics. I
realize that some of these abuses were exceptional. But I also realize that,
in general, they do not give a false picture. The reader who doubts, I
gently refer to the first sergeants of any infantry regiment. These men,
better than any others, know what happens; and these men, with a few
athletic exceptions, are as much against the glorification of soldier
athletics as I am.

And now for a solution. I believe there is one, and a very good one. I
have given this heavy gripe a personal tone so far; hence I will finish in a
similar way, by telling what I would do if through some extraordinary
act of God or Congress I became a regimental commander.

My whole program, in fact, would consist of one simple change. I
would remove all the emphasis on college-athletic sports I possibly could.
I would place that emphasis on military accomplishments. I do not mean
that there would be no sports. There would, in fact, be plenty of them.
But the cups and the trophies would go, not to the man who could run
the fastest mile, but the man who could crawl the fastest hundred yards
over rough terrain while keeping his head down ; not to the winning foot-
ball squad, but to the rifle and machine-gun squads with the best per-
formance; not to the company that won the most games in the baseball
league, but the company that could come in in best condition after a
long day’s marching, crawling, rushing, and resumption of marching.

At the same time I would not overemphasize military competition as
such. I would set a standard of performance and find no fault with units
that met it. This applies to marksmanship too.

And finally, these definite rulings would obtain within my regiment:

All college-type athletics would be on a purely voluntary basis, both as
to units and individuals.

There would be no athletics of this kind until after the offlcial day was
over until I was satisfied with the state of training. (That would probably
be a long time later.)

For six months at least there would be no regimental teams competing
with teams outside the regiment, and none thereafter at any great cost of
energy, time, or money.

There would be no playing officers.

No officers would coach except in an advisory capacity.

Stress, if any, would be placed on such games as volleyball, company-
playground baseball, large-group relay races, and other games that turn
out large numbers of players.

Above all, I would stress, in the training of the regiment, the condi-
tioning of all men to contact with the hard ground that Mother Nature
has put imder their feet. A man who can creep, crawl, clamber over

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

181

rocks^ and force his body through undergrowth for hours on end, without
excessive fatigue, is as good a man and a far better infantryman than
the soldier who can run a mile in record time or pitch a shutout game.
Some athletic sports harden men properly, but only a few men at a time
and at much too great an effort. Infantry is not infantry, in this day,
unless every fighting soldier’s body is resiliently toughened to the ground
he must accept full-length as his plane of combat if he is to last through a
single hour.

Naturally I would try not to drive my regiment over the hill en masse
by trying to toughen them up overnight. I would begin by substituting
short periods of crawling exercises at half the periods for setting-up exer-
cises, and then increase gradually. And I would have my staff submit
every idea that came into their heads as to means of adding interest to
this training.

Here I conclude. My mind is not closed on this subject. I am distinctly
not an opponent of athletics in general. I simply believe, with a number
of others, that we have sadly failed to bend them to the best military re-
sults and have often let them run away with us. But the athletic enthu-
siast is like any other. As Major General Sir H. Rowan-Robinson says in
the same book quoted at the beginning: “Able and conscientious men,
imbued with a profound conviction of the value of the branch in which
they have specialized, not uncommonly, if of commanding character, suc-
ceed in persuading the authorities to allot to it a length of course, a
quantity of equipment, or a number of men disproportionate to its true
value. The enthusiasm is admirable, but it is advisable to guard against its
evil effects.” Athletic enthusiasm as we commonly see it is even worse, be-
cause it is misdirected energy that all too often shoves the military into
second place, and often a poor second at that.

TEACHING HORSE SENSE BY MAIL
By Captain (now Lieutenant Colonel) E. G. Piper

About a year before the war began, when the Army started to bring
into active duty large numbers of reserve officers, there was a good deal
in the newspapers about “correspondence”-school officers. The term was
used in a derogatory — and thoroughly ignorant — ^manner for the most
part. The fact that tens of thousands of reserve officers had spent many
hundreds of hours, which would have been hours of relaxation from their
civilian jobs, in hard study of the very thorough Army Extension Courses,
which the law required of them in part qualification for reserve promo-
tion, was entirely overlooked by the self-appointed critics who cast off on
them.

The Extension Courses had their shortcomings, as Captain (now Lieu-

182

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tenant Colonel) Piper said in 1937 in the article below. But as appropria-
tions were in those days, there was no other earthly way of teaching the
military arts to the tens of thousands of earnest members of the Officers*
Reserve Corps.

Genghis khan conquered half a world in an age when fighting men
knew little of the written word and nothing of typewriters, mimeograph
machines, maps, calorics, and similar modern military curiosa. Those
robustious days are over and gone. Now even that semi-professional, the
reserve officer, is required to know something of all these things and
many more. Since the source of this knowledge is the Army Extension
Courses, let’s cast a bilious eye in that direction.

In addition to a knowledge of combat principles, the AEG offers in-
struction to Infantry Reserve officers on how to run a mess in four lessons
and an examination, the care and operation of motor vehicles in five
lessons and an examination, and the care of animals and stable manage-
ment in seven lessons and an examination. This instruction is free. All
the officer has to do is sign his name to a form and hop to it. Some hop
reluctantly and have to be pricked upon the behind, but some also hop
far and furiously, as witness :

There was once upon a time a first lieutenant of Infantry Reserve — ^in
the course he might have been called Lieutenant A — ^who had com-
pleted the 60-series and was ready, so far as the Army Exten§ion Courses
were concerned, to wear eagles on his shoulders. Lieutenant A was just
naturally smart and a hard worker to boot. His instructor was so proud
of him that he used to point him out in meetings as a paragon. Of course
some persons looked upon this lieutenant with deep suspicion, as ignora-
muses are wont to look upon their betters. But then the instructor’s
opinion was worth something, for everyone knew that he was a gentle-
man, a scholar, and no fool.

Somewhat later the brilliant Lieutenant A was detailed to duty with
the CCC and handed the humdrum chore of looking after two Dodge
(Fargo) trucks driven by a pair of wild-haired CCC-ers. It was before
the day of the governor, and the young Jehus of the reforestation army
probably drove sixty miles an hoiu: over rough roads when no one was
looking. At any rate, it was not long before both trucks developed a
misery in their innards and were sent to a garage for repairs.

A trusting soul. Lieutenant A did not get an estimate on the repair
job. When the trucks came back from the shop he neither looked nor
listened closely. He merely approved and forwarded to the quartermaster
for payment an invoice in three figures, said invoice claiming that services
had been rendered which one does not render on the Dodge truck on
account of how Mr. Chrysler did not build them that way.

When the brass hats at District got the invoice they gnashed their teeth

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 183

and tore their hair. One brass hat, the one who wrote letters on motor
transportation, asked me, “Do these people think I am a damned fool?”
I allowed they did and left hurriedly as he started writing on a pad either
to the lieutenant or the garageman; I never knew which.

Eight months later I ran into Lieutenant A. In the course of our con-
versation he told me that the trucks he had caused to be repaired at.
great expense to the taxpayers had gone to the salvage pile shortly there-
after and that “they” were trying to make him pay the repair bill
personally.

Psirallels to this little incident are an everyday occurrence. I suspect,
although I cannot prove this, that too many reserve officers who can
move regiments here and there with the greatest of ease cannot fit shoes
properly on the feet of Private Willie Jones, much less move a platoon
of Willie and his playmates from here to there on a real piece of ground.
As for stopping a riot engaged in by Willie and his playful pals, you
guess what they would do. I have no idea.

Now this is not an attempt to pan the Army Extension Courses be-
cause they do not teach horse sense. They were not designed for that
purpose. They assume that a reserve officer who enrolls already has some
horse sense. A lot of them have. But it may be that too many officers
who take the subcourses and pass them with nice high marks do not
have much horse sense, and that no one discovers this deficiency until it
is too late to do much about it. Whereupon, as the old lady said with a
sigh, “There you are.”

My knowledge of the 50- and 60-series of the subcourses offered by
the Extension Course of the Infantry School is, to say the least, hazy. All
I know is that I have seen my betters sweat over them for hours and
come to no conclusion. They are, I will bet you, tough.

Nevertheless, our friend. Lieutenant A, passed them all, and yet be-
cause it was not written down in the book at that time — ^it has been
written since — ^he didn’t know enough to make Christians out of his
truck drivers, or to get an estimate on a repair job before he authorized
it, or to talk to enough mechanics and salesmen to find out how his
motors were put together.

A little teaching and testing of horse sense is indicated. Horse sense
and intelligence are not the same thing. Horse sense is the ability, among
other things, to handle simple situations simply and directly, without re-
course to approved solutions, texts, and manuals. And since horse sense
implies an attitude of mind or a way of thinking rather than just the
ability to think, it can be developed in the pupil by an instructor who
believes in the horse-sense method himself.

The following changes in the AEC setup might have kept Lieutenant
A and others of his ilk from making asses of themselves and paying repair
bills from their personal funds:

184 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

( 1 ) Make the subcourses shorter and easier, increasing the number if
necessary. Reserve officers are civilians who play with military affairs as a
hobby. Problems that are too difficult or go in for long-drawn-out require-
ments, impossible to conclude at one sitting, are not sufficiently interest-
ing to hold the interest of the amateur. After three or four interruptions
on the same problem the reserve-officer student loses interest and goes to
the picture show or reads a magazine in which people shoot each other
without benefit of contours and road junctions.

(2) Allow no officer to enroll for a subcourse in a series higher than
that required for his certificate of capacity for the next higher grade.
There was no point to Lieutenant A’s taking on anything more difficult
than the 30-series.

(3) Require a written examination at the completion of each sub-
course which shall be taken in the presence of an examiner or instructor,
preferably an officer of the Regular Army. At this examination no texts
or other aids are to be used. This means that the examination must be
relatively simple and not an endurance contest.

(4) Require an oral examination in addition to the written examina-
tion, all approved solutions or “answers” for both oral and written
exams to be retained by the examiner and not divulged to any student,
regardless of whether he passes or fails the test. This is not an insinuation
that officers might cheat. But it is only natural for human beings to help
their friends over the rough spots.

The oral exam is more adaptable to the teaching and testing of horse
sense than any other. For instance, as one item in the oral examination
following subcourse number 12 (Military Discipline, Courtesies, and Cus-
toms of the Service) this problem might be offered: “It is wartime. Your
outfit has just been organized and is filled with recruits who are wild and
woolly. Your noncommissioned officers are nothing but recruits them-
selves. A riot or free-for-all fight breaks out in one of your barracks. You
and your first sergeant are the only people on hand who have enough
courage to try to stop it. What do you do?”

Following the subcourse on mess management, this simple problem
might be offered: “The quartermaster has made a forced issue to your
mess of 120 number- 10 cans of prunes at a cost of 55 cents the can.
Dehydrated fruit costs 10 cents a pound. Your men do not like prunes,
and you figure that at the rate you normally feed prunes for breakfast
these 120 cans will last you at least four months. What do you do with
the prunes?”

After subcoiurse number 15 (Military Sanitation and First Aid) the
oral problem might be this: “You are in command of an outfit which
has just been recruited and you are located near a large town. Things are
not yet well organized. You and your officers are in something of a fog
trying to discover what the war is all about, and your noncommissioned

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

185

ofBcers are not sure either. The chances are that unless you exercise a
little foresight a number of your men will rush right out and catch them-
selves a venereal disease. What do you do to prevent this? Don’t tell me
that you would buy easy chairs and pool tables or have the chaplain
make a speech. Fve heard both of those before.”

The oral questions are offered by an amateur and are presented only
to illustrate the spirit of the horse-sense method. It seems reasonable to
suppose that an officer of the common or garden variety had better learn
how to quell a riot rather than how many guns to fire if a major general
heaves into view, assuming that he has not time to learn both. It might
also be observed that generals do not come around without being
heralded from afar. Hence someone usually has time to look up the
regulation that covers their proper reception. Rioters are often not so
considerate.

The suggested questions have nothing to do with the theater of opera-
tions. They deal with preliminaries. But the prelims always precede the
main bout and must be gotten out of the way.

As for the preparation of the exam, I am sure that a clever officer who
knows his onions will be able to concoct some snappy orals which horse
sense, applied to a knowledge of fundamentals, can solve without map,
pencil, or paper. Or, if the clever officers can’t do it, call in the grizzled
first sergeants. I am a reader of the pulps and I have faith in the grizzled
first sergeant. He can do anything.

WAR IN PLAIN LANGUAGE
By G. V.

One recurrent topic to be found in Infantry Journal articles is the mili-
tary language. A few in the Army have worked and fought toward a more
ready understanding of the military arts and sciences for the new soldier
through a revision and reduction of military jargon. War and preparation
for war, like any other major occupation, demand a special terminology.
They do not, as a writer in the Infantry Journal said in 1935, demand “a
language that too often enabled a military writer (like the Emperor of
Ethiopia, who enjoys a private language of his own) to couch his thoughts
in words and phrases whose true meaning is known only to himself — ^if
even to him.” But the professional soldier, like the professional educator,
doctor, and lawyer, has gone right on preserving his mysteries with a pro-
tective fog of jargon until the war began to prove to him that the Army
could be augmented far more rapidly and efficiently if as much plain
language were used as possible. The tendency now, in the second year
of the war, is away from the stilted military phraseology which, after all,
as another Journal writer pointed out several years back, quoting Pareto, is

186

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

a part of the torrent of such verbiage that has rushed tumultuously down
across the ages.

“War in Plain Language,” by G. V., appeared in October 1941. He
presents the broad thought that the language of the Army may have
contributed in large part as a banier to the lack of military interest in the
United States as a whole during the twenties and thirties.

Another viewpoint by Captain (now Colonel) Russell Skinner and two
by other writers follow the first article.

Even now, a year and a half after the beginnings of our defense effort
on a great scale, it is still most apparent that there is a lack of general
understanding of the Army and how it operates on the part of the non-
military citizens of the nation. It is true that there has been a great im-
provement in the accuracy and realism of articles, news stories, and
books written about military matters. Some few of the “experts” are well
along the road to becoming actual experts. (Only a very few were that
far along when things began to hum.) And in the work of all who report
to the country on its Army, the military man, when he gets a chance to
look at a paper, sees far less pure nonsense than he did a year ago.

This improvement has been due to the efforts of writers and reporters
to build up their backgrounds in order to write something that makes
sense to citizen and soldier alike. Regardless of the criticism an article
may contain, it makes the Army man who reads it feel that an honest
attempt is being made to understand him and his difficulties, if only the
facts are straight and the implications sound. This improvement has ako
been due in no small part to the effort of the Army itself to make all
non-secret facts available through the Bureau of Public Relations and
the public-relations officers throughout the Army. Not perfect yet, but
endeavoring constantly to study and meet every problem of making in-
formation available, t^ greatly expanded setup should — or so we might
think — cleave little excuse for the writer or editor who continues to feed
mistaken or twisted stories on the Army to his readers.

It is apparent at the same time that some of the best-known newsmen
and article writers in America, as well as many a reporter who doesn’t
yet write under a by-line, have not yet acquired the requisite knowledge
for the military reporting they attempt. For they cannot have done so
and still write as they often do. There is some lack of attention to fact
and often much distortion in what they produce. In fact, there is so much
of error, especially in comment involving training and tactics, that it k
worth while searching beyond the seemingly obvious reasons why this
shotild be for some more basic reasons.

A further obvious place to put the blame k upon editors. For surely
editors are even more to blame than writers if they neglect to acquire for
themselves the background, the references, and, where possible, the spe-

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

187

cial advisers that will help them recognize distortion, false implication,
and plain error of fact. When a national magazine of tremendous circula-
tion, whose editorial policy appears to be mainly to stir up thought, prints
a succession of articles containing many misstatements, there is reason to
believe that the fault may lie largely in editorial neglect.

I am not speaking here of the editor who may be operating under a ,
directive to play up the errors and weaknesses of our immense expansion,
or to slant all stories toward headlines for sales. The great bulk of Ameri-
can editors want to put out to their readers honest reporting and criticism
of military affairs, and nothing in the policies under which they work
should prevent them from doing so. And I*m not for a second implying
that criticism founded on fact, and not on ignorance or distortion,
shouldn’t be normal today. Every man in uniform must realize that open
criticism plus straight, accurate reporting on the basis of readily available
facts is what by far the greater part of American editors are now trying
to give their readers. But too many of them aren’t succeeding. Too many
of them who try hard to do so aren’t succeeding.

Isn’t there, then, some more underlying reason for this situation? Isn’t
there some basic explanation for the lack of understanding of what an
army must be trained to do, and how it does it? Doesn’t it lie somewhere
in the field of communication between military and non-military minds?
Suppose we look into this side of things for a possible clue.

It is now several months since the new Field Service Regulations:
Operations (FM 100-5) issued to the Army. In the three hundred
pages of this volume of FSR, of course, is the “doctrine,” the teachings
on warfare, that govern all military training and all operations in war if
we fight. It is not the final word, because methods and weapons con-
stantly change. But at the time it came out it was the best-considered
thought of the Army on American warfare. It was a general guide for
training, campaign, and battle.

At the time this new FSR came off the government presses there was
issued by the War Department to all interested newspapers, magazines,
and individual correspondents and writers a release of several pages.
This release emphasized some of the main modem doctrines covered in
the new military bible, and also a number of points that might add color
to any article or news story about it.

There may have been, somewhere in the United States, some able
articles written about the new FSR, There may have been an attempt
by some one writer to provide for the readers of his newspaper or maga-
zine, or his radio listeners, a clear explanation or intelligent criticism on
this most vital of all American military documents. But a search of a
score of the country’s leading newspapers and more than a score of its
magazines finds no adequate treatment of this one most important

188 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

source of military information and background. For the FSR tells how
we are going to fight if we have to. And is there anywhere a much bigger
story?

There was, it is true, one immediate story in most papers on the new
FSR. Many made good use of the release on the book but treated it as
just another side-light story on the Army. Some managed to botch up
parts of the release into nonsense. Editorial comment? Practically none.
Intelligent discussion and criticism? Practically none. Or none yet, for
there may still be some on the way. Reviews by book reviewers? None.

As for the 150 or more other current manuals in the series issued by
the War Department for use in training troops, some of them highly
technical, there has been hardly more attention paid to any of them.
The Soldier*s Handbook, which contains the fundamentals for all men in
military uniform, was perhaps the one exception, though a few others,
such as the Army Cook, have been the basis for a few articles.

In short, this series of books — the greater part of them available to the
public for purchase — the books that tell what our troops are supposed to
be learning and what they will do in battle if a war is fought, are gen-
erally neglected as source material by those who are writing millions of
words every day on the Army in training. As far as I have been able to
ascertain, there is only one newspaper in the country that has purchased
a complete set of these official broks for purposes of reference. Some few
newspapers and magazines have obtained the more important of the
tactical texts such as Field Service Regulations, Infantry Field Manual,
the Soldier^s Handbook, and Infantry Drill Regulations,

Now almost certainly there is some reason beyond indifference or
diffidence for this general lack of attention to these basic sources. For
these books do contain in full detail what the Army is endeavoring to do
in training and what it will be doing in war. The real reason, it is
probable, lies in a remark made by a member of the staff of the leading
illustrated weekly of the country. “Why are your Army books written,”
he asked, “in such fearful language? I thought I knew something about
military things. But these manuals, especially the ones on tactical matters,
stump me. Why can’t the stuff be put out in plain language? If it were I
should think it would be just that much easier to teach new officers and
men the things they have to learn.”

The series of field and technical manuals issued during the last two
years and still being issued is beyond question the most complete and ex-
haustive set of training documents our Army has ever had. It is true that
many of them have been put out under pressure of emergency. Hence
there are some faults of haste to be found. But they do cover our military
fields of technique, tactics, and strategy with remarkable completeness,
and we have never had anything half so complete before.

But they are, with very few exceptions such as the Soldier^s Handbook

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

189

and Arctic Manual, written in the language of the military. They require,
practically all of them, some considerable background of military educa-
tion or experience, or the assistance of an instructor, if they are to be
readily understood by those who read and use them. It has been said, in
fact, that they come closer to being “officers* handbooks” than texts for
the military beginner. Except for a few of the elementary manuals such
as the Soldier^s Handbook and Infantry Drill Regulations, it is probable
that these books were not, in the first place, especially intended for the
acquisition of military knowledge without an instructor’s aid. Even the
IDR, it is worth noting, has been considered sufficiently hard for un-
drilled citizens of intelligence to understand, to warrant the publishing
of at least one book carefully prepared for the sole purpose of explaining
it in simpler language.

Since every other profession has its special language, its jargon, it is
natural enough for the military profession to have one. As a matter of
fact, our jargon has phrases in it that go back to the Greeks and the
Romans. The military man can read Vegetius and Caesar and find an
occasional turn of words still present in our manuals. And many another
word or phrase has come down to us from other Great Captains and
military writers of different periods. Through the centuries the soldier
has thus acquired the special language in which he expresses his profes-
sional thoughts.

But I suggest that there is now the soundest of reasons for asking our-
selves whether this language isn’t in several ways a barrier to under-
standing and a hindrance to national defense. Doesn’t it form the main
reason why so few of the writers outside the Army who are writing con-
stantly today about military things have undertaken to comment on the
basic tasks and duties of troops as they are explained in readily available
books? Isn’t this also the reason why there has been so little comment on
the official books themselves? And why so much that is written about
the Army sounds absurd to the ear of a soldier?

But farther than these questions lie even broader ones. When unit
leaders by tens of thousands and troops by hundreds of thousands must
be trained in a period of emergency, wouldn’t it save much training time
if military books, particularly the ones that teach men how to fight, were
written in the main like first-rate modem popular introductions to other
sciences and arts? And wouldn’t we find young men all over the country
reading such books — thoroughly readable military books — ^long before
their numbers were up? And other citizens, too, of non-military ages?

Since the emergency began many a publisher has hastened to press
with what he thought was a good popular book on the Army. These have
been aimed, the greater part of them, toward the new American soldier,
but some toward what the citizen should know. Most of the publishers
were wrong in their judgments despite the excellent sales that some of

190 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

these books have had. Those who have followed the reviews of military
books and the listings in the Infantry Journal have been able to get some
idea of how much written about the Army has been indifferent or bad
and how little has been good, even when they haven’t had time to look
into the books themselves. But suppose the Army itself had been pro-
ducing books on the Army all the time, better than anything else obtain-
able, or at least as good as anything else?

Indeed, let’s take the thing to its broadest implication. Let us suppose
that instead of writing every military manual in the jargon of our Army
it has been a consistent military policy for the last two decades to pre-
pare thoroughly readable Army texts. Isn’t it possible that the very
availability of such books would have held the gap that grew between
the nation and its military forces to a span considerably narrower? And
hence far easier to leap when a new emergency came?

And to be thoroughly frank, wouldn’t we in the Army read our own
new books as soon as they come out? Instead of dreading and putting
off the duty until it becomes a necessity? There is no denying that our
own general attitude toward our books as reading matter shows plainly
why “the language of regulations” is a byword for dry and often difficult
reading.

If through the years there had been kept current even one fairly com-
plete and readable book on the Army for general distribution to libraries,
colleges, schools, and to newspapers and writers in general, members of
Congress, and all others who might have read it or used it for reference,
communication between the minds of citizens in general and their Army
would have been far closer than it was when the present emergency
arose. I am not suggesting here simply a descriptive handbook on the
Army. I mean a text that would have spoken at some length of strategy
and tactics. I mean a book that would have told what an American Army
is for and how it must fight if it must.

Well, there is no such book even yet. And now -that we’re down to the
desperately serious business of making an army in much less time than it
takes, we need such books. We need to have every one of our military
books done as well as they can possibly be done. We need this to help
speed the training of our troops and the understanding of our citizens as
to what our Army and the wars it may have to fight must be like.

What I am going to suggest must in no way be taken as finding fault
with our military books as they stand or expressing criticism of the abili-
ties and hard, grinding work of those who wrote them. Those who wrote
them have often done so with a good deal of clarity — ^but in the language
in which they were accustomed to think and write — the military lan-
guage. There was no direct effort, except in the Soldier^s Handbook and
a very few others, to use a broader language, a language less dependent
upon oiu: habitual military phraseology, this for the sake of eidier the

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 191

intelligent or the average-minded military beginner or non-military
reader.

But let us now make a broad supposition. What if the military authori-
ties sought the pick of the writers of the country to write its military
books? What if they assigned each book, as far as this could be done, to a
writer appropriate to the subject, with instructions somewhat as follows: -
“Here is your material. Give the subject matter interest and put the same
general emphasis on different points now given them in the book you are
going to rewrite. Make no attempt to write in an extensive, special
military vocabulary, but use all the military terms you need to, explaining
them clearly as you go. Army men who know the subjects thoroughly
will be available to help you by explaining all military points you may
not clearly understand and by pointing out to you where you distort the
intended accurate meaning through lack of military background.”

There are a good many official manuals which at first thought would
hardly seem to lend themselves to this suggested treatment. For example,
it might seem hard to get much life into the many separate volumes on
the technique of different weapons. But here we merely have to remem-
ber some of the splendid popular books of the last few years on different
sciences. And when it comes to manuals on such weapons as the rifle and
pistol, there are a dozen thoroughly readable and fascinating books now
in print on shooting. Army books would require a different treatment to
get war into them, but they could be written just as well. And why
shouldn’t it be readily possible to write the same kind of books on the
use of 155-mm. guns and howitzers or on any weapons of any size?

There should be no trouble either in doing a bright, lively job of writ-
ing on such technical manuals as Aircraft Engines (TM 1-405) , the Motor
Vehicle (TM 10-510), Automotive Lubrication (TM 10-540), Meteor*
ology (TM 3-240), Utilities (TM 10-220), and Standard Stream Cross*
ing Equipment (TM 5-270). For a long time now the trade magazines
of the United States have known that technical articles, written in-
formally and even lightly, are what interest many of their readers most.
There is a fine example of this right in the Army today, the magazine
Army Motors^ published at the Holabird Quartermaster Depot. Its
articles are practically all in a most informal style and often contain
humor and current slang. But it’s very probable that the voluntary read-
ing of Army Motors by officers and enlisted men who have to do with
military vehicles has resulted in ten times as much sound instruction as
the voluntary reading of all the field and technical manuals on motor
transport there are. The handling of meteorology in such a book as Safety
in Flighty by Assen Jordanoff (Funk & Wagnalls, 1941), shows how
clear this technical subject can be made through a combination of simple
writing and modern diagrams and drawings. Indeed there is no technical

192 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

field pertinent to military instruction in which there are not to be found
examples of clear and accurate popular presentation.

There are a number of specific writers on the sciences whose aid could
be sought. Weekly for years in the New York Times, Waldemar Kaempf-
fert has been covering the scientific field in language the layman can
enjoy and understand. In Scientific American, Henry Norris Russell has
been writing for years on such abstruse subjects as astronomy. In Popular
Science Monthly such writers as David M. Steams present one technical
topic after another in simplified scientific language. For the readers of
Harper^ s Magazine, George Gray has long been covering new develop-
ments of science in a most readable fashion. Mathematics for the Million,
by Lancelot Hogben (W. W. Norton & Company), an extremely able
popular work, with large sales in Great Britain and the United States, is
being used in both the Royal Air Force and the Royal Engineers as an
instructional text. Such writers as these could make over the field and
technical manuals on map reading, surveying, and the larger weapons —
all books that contain such mathematics — ^into books that would be far
easier to study and learn our technical business from. Likewise with the
manuals on signal communication. They are accurate, workmanlike jobs
as they stand. But bring in some of the writers on radio who contribute
their popular technical articles to the radio magazines, and you would
have books that would be avidly read and used.

Some of our books would fit readily into the abilities of writers in the
field of sports. Physical Training is obvious. Suppose it were written by
Grantland Rice or (Jene Tunney and had the name of the author on the
cover. Or suppose we gave the job of rewriting the field manual on the
hand grenade to such a writer on sports as John Kieran or Moe Berg.
Who could tell the new American soldier better, once he had grasped the
thing himself, exactly how throwing the hand grenade differs from throw-
ing a baseball, and how to make use of knowledge of sports in lobbing
grenades into an enemy position?

Manuals on medical subjects? There have been several excellent
popular books by doctors in the past ten years. Paul de Kruifs Microbe
Hunters and other works; Logan Clendening^s The Human Body; Karl
Meninger’s The Human Mind. ,

Manuals on animals, such as Dog-Team Transportation (FM 25-6)
and Animal Transportation (FM 25-5) ? How about Albert Payson Ter-
hune, or Rex Beach, or Peter B. Kyne to give a hand with these?

The technical manual on tractors (TM 9-2777: Track-Tractor, Heavy,
Diesel Model TD-18)? William Hazlitt Upson, through his Alexander
Botts in the Saturday Evening Post, has told this country more about
tractors than all the textbooks on them ever written.

But what of the most important books of all, the many tactical manuals
and the Field Service Regulations itself? These, I suggest, could be

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

193

broken down into parts to best advantage. And it might not be necessary
to go far beyond the Army itself for writers to produce many of the
sections, except for the fact that the names and abilities of nationally
known writers would doubtless carry the work to a far wider audience
of readers. Perhaps the best way here is to combine the work of national
and military writers. For certainly such forcefully realistic writers on
battle as Major William S. Triplet (“Terry Bull”), Lieutenant Colonel
Edward S. Johnston {Portrait of a Soldier, The Day Before Cantigny,
Building an Army), Colonel Ira C. Eaker {Winged Warfare, together
with Major General H. H. Arnold), Lieutenant Colonel Elliot D. Cooke
{We Attack), Lieutenant Colonel John U. Ayotte {Infantry Combat
Training, Red Meets Blue, A Mirror for Umpires, The Small Fights
Count), Lieutenant Colonel Thomas R. Phillips, author of many articles
in military and other publications. Major Charles T. Lanham {Panic,
Where Angels Fear to Tread, Fifty Million Frenchmen Can Be Wrong,
and in part Infantry in Battle), Lieutenant Harvey S. Ford {What the
Citizen Should Know about the Army) should not be passed over in
working out such a project.

Among the well-known writers qualified to help with such a task, such
men as James Boyd {Drums, Marching On), Harold Lamb {Genghis
Khan, March of the Barbarians), Stephen Vincent Benet {John Brown* s
Body), Fletcher Pratt {Ordeal by Fire, Road to Empire), Kenneth
Roberts {Rabble in Arms, Northwest Passage), Franz Werfel {The Forty
Days of Musa Dagh, a classic of defensive combat), MacKinlay Kantor
{Long Remember, one of the best books dealing with the Battle of Gettys-
burg) Ernest Hemingway {For Whom the Bell Tolls), Leonard H. Na-
son, writer of battle short stories, who lately discovered that war isn’t
nearly as funny as he once made it sound, and a number of others have
shown themselves masters of combat analysis and description.

Can we grant perhaps that the FSR itself must remain outside of this
scheme because of its central importance? I shall not attempt to say.
There may be sound military reasons why the bible of the Army must be
written in military language readily comprehensible only to the Com-
mand and General Staff School graduate or to his equivalent in military
knowledge. If there are such reasons there could certainly be a parallel
book interpreting for all others, military and non-military, the main
doctrines which the FSR contains. It seems probable that if such a book
were prepared we would find it the one of the two books covering the
same subjects which would be more in use in the Army itself — ^the one
that was actually studied and read.

There is already a sound precedent for what I am suggesting. The
Army has been making movies as aids to its training ever since the first
World War or before. This work has developed a number of officers and
enlisted men experienced in moving-picture techniques. Nevertheless,

194 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

there has been no hesitancy in the present emergency in seeking and
accepting the best obtainable movie assistance. At the present moment
the Army and the best minds in Hollywood are working out one good
military picture after another for training, for morale, for any objective
that will help the national defense, directly or indirectly.

But if we turn to the experts of Hollywood for help in producing their
kind of training material, why shouldn’t we with the same eagerness seek
out the writers of the nation for the special aid they can give?

It will, of course, take more than writers alone. Illustrators, layout
men, editors, publishers, and experts in the rising science of semantics
would all be needed. For there is a long series of detailed technical steps
between the completion of a writer’s manuscript and the issuance of his
book that is seldom realized by those who read and use it.

There are already a number of photographers of high rank both work-
ing for agencies of national defense and taking pictures of military
activities for newspapers and news magazines. The experience and ability
of the photographic sections of the Signal Corps and the Air Corps added
to the work of such artists as Tommy McAvoy, Carl Mydans, Marian
Post, Roy E. Stryker, Robert Y. Richie, and others who have been spe-
cializing in defense photography for the past two years would be most
essential to proper illustration of the work. The Army of the United
States, the one adequate official job of describing the Army done in re-
cent years (1939) was superbly illustrated with photographs, only half
of which came from Army sources. The bulk of the others (sixty-five
pictures) were supplied through the courtesy of Life magazine, a number
of them shots that had not appeared elsewhere before. And other com-
mercial sources also made their contributions.

First-rate technical artists would also be needed. This present war
has developed a number, but there are not many in the Army. We have
but to glance at the maps and simplified drawings the newspapers and
magazines use every day to see how much their Work would contribute
to ease of understanding.

The work of layout experts to design the appearance and sequence of
the books would likewise be essential in producing books that would offer
the greatest facility of use. Director of Typography Frank H. Mortimer
and his layout section at the Government Printing Office have been
doing first-rate work of this kind for several years — ^when they are given
the time to do it in. The reason why field and technical manuals are not
better jobs of printing, the reason why their illustrations are often not
clear is not that the work couldn’t be done far better by those who do it.
It is simply because of the pressure of haste. The Army of the United
States was an excellent job of layout and printing and so has been many
another book and pamphlet done in recent years by the Government
Printing Office.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

195

Now, however, that huge agency is jammed with work. Consequently
it would in all probability be necessary to farm out new Army broks to
commercial publishing houses, perhaps in much the same manner as
now done to the two publishers who have been producing sound military
books right on through the years of peace. The work might also well re-
quire the supervisory assistance of experienced publishers right in the
War Department in co-operation with the agencies there now handling
publications.

Editing is an extremely necessary evil — ^it is anyway an evil from the
viewpoint of most writers — ^in the production of any book, whether Army
manual, textbook, biography, songbook, or novel. Somebody has to see
to it that the author’s slips of fact are caught before printing, that his
occasional errors of language are corrected, that his spelling and punctua-
tion are reasonably sound, and, in expository writing of the kind we are
considering, that he makes his meaning constantly clear. It is the editor’s
task thus to correct and co-ordinate. And in the project I have been sug-
gesting it is possible that joint military and non-military editing would
have to be done. The one would see to it that a writer somewhat un-
familiar with military things introduced no false military notes into his
work. The other would endeavor to make certain that military ideas were
expressed in reasonably simple and readable language. The main aim, of
course, would be to avoid our customary military jargon, “the language
of regulations,” in the process.

But such is the state of our military language today that this could
hardly be accomplished without much aid from experts in semantics.
Semantics is the science that has, above all, for its study the improve-
ment of accuracy of communication between mind and mind. It is the
science that studies the shades and the shifts of the meanings of words.
They are not dictionary makers, these people. Their aim is, through ques-
tioning and clarifying and simplifying language, to improve and perfect,
as may be, the ability of one human being to understand accurately what
another tells him through speech or writing or signs.

Experts trained in this science would discover and help us to solve
many a puzzle of meaning in our present military language, many a block
to understanding that hinders our training and our discussion of war but
that we seldom realize to exist, if we notice them specifically at all. They
would discover for us confusion of expression and inadequate and over-
lapping terminology which we do know exists but haven’t yet been able
to remedy in full. Semantic assistance could be so important that it is
worth a separate study at length. The center of this work in the United
States is the Committee on Communication at Harvard, where I. A.
Richards and others are working out practical applications of what has
been, up to recent years, a science more in the phases of preliminary
study and development than of practical application.

196 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Well, there is the idea. In it there is no question of disagreement with
the contents of our official Army books and manuals. As the manuals
were written, there was doubtless difference of opinion, and some of
these differences must still exist. But that is how any doctrine is arrived
at and how revisions of doctrine are made. There would be no military
health in us at all if there were not constant differences of opinion, argu-
ments, and discussions over the development of new tactics and tech-
niques. With these things, however, the project I have suggested would
have no concern. Its only aim would lie in what can be done through a
rewriting of our military books by the best obtainable writers in order to
make them clear and readable and readily understood by any reader,
within the Army or without it, who will apply his mind to their con-
tents. In the more fundamental books writers like those suggested should
give us military texts that would explain every fascinating side of war in
language so vivid and clear that the reader new to military matters might
understand it the first time over. And the reader experienced in military
matters would understand some things far better than he ever had before.

Let us think once more, in conclusion, of one of the gravest faults of
our national life — our lack of understanding of military things, our feel-
ing that the military is something apart, something that must be toler-
ated because it is necessary, but a strange and unpleasant and possibly
bloody sort of business that in ordinary times carries on its existence
away from the world on military reservations. Think of how far the
Army and Navy, without which there can be no nation, had gone from
the minds of the rest of the nation during the past twenty years. Think
of the refusal of intelligent men {otherwise intelligent men) to include a
national defense in the scheme of things they saw for the world. Think
of their belief that the world could conceivably be controlled without
some great and efficient military force to police it. Would this fore-
shortened outlook have developed if military lore had been on every
library shelf, in every bookshop, and thus in many a home — Thornes of
congressmen and carpenters, professors, businessmen, and clerks — ^in
volumes written by writers who could reach the minds of all citizens if
something like what I have suggested had been done long ago? Has there
ever, indeed, been another way of making certain that our country ac-
cepted the military side of its national life as an integral, unquestioned
part of that life?

Any step that can add to the rapidity with which military knowledge
is absorbed and to the interest with which it is gained is an important
direct measure of national defense. But above all, it will lead us in the
direction of a broader familiarity on the part of our people with their
armed forces, with what these forces do and how they think, and with
what they need if they are to protect the nation. It will help them to

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 197

know and remember how constantly vital a part of the national existence
and the national strength these military forces are.

ANIMADVERSIONS ANENT ANFRACTUOSE
AND OBFUSCATORY LOCUTIONS

By Captain (now Colonel) Russell Skinner

(1935)

In the past few years many of the Army officers who are radio fans
have listened to Andy talk with Lightnin’ and have enjoyed his plentiful
use of four-dollar words to impress him. Probably none of them felt that
they had ever been guilty of such a thing or that they ever could be.
And yet as I think of certain words that officers have adopted for their
use I’m not so sure.

Note the eagerness with which the officers who went to France picked
up the juicy foreign terms they heard the French and English using.
The word “liaison” is an example. It may have been appealing for the
slight air of the bedroom that hung around it, but mostly it seems to have
been popular because of a childish liking for a high-sounding expression
among the staff.

Or consider coming to call a “headquarters” a “command post.” There
was never anything to be gained by it except a feeling by its users that
they thus proved themselves military big-leaguers. It’s foolish to call it a
headquarters until a battle starts and then give it another name merely
for the duration of the fight. They began calling a “lookout” an “observa-
tion post” too. Plainly, the only reason for that was to give the officer
doing it such added importance in his own eyes as was to be gained
from using an Andyish expression instead of a common one. It’s to be re-
membered, too, that it had always to be “established”; it couldn’t just be
“put out” ; that was too ordinary.

Some time ago the writer of a paragraph in the Journal criticized the
use of the term “axis of signal communication.” Rightly; it’s a horrible
expression, invented imdoubtedly by a signal officer who hoped to prove
by its use that he was the real McCoy among military high-brows. Not
that the Andys are confined to the Signal Corps or any other one branch.
Far from it. The cavalry, with a reputation in the past for plain speaking,
aren’t content to call a thing by its name any longer. For instance, when
a tank is assigned to them it becomes a combat car. Shades of Tommy
Tompkins! [The most plain-spoken cavalryman who ever served in our
Army.] At that, the worst may not have happened yet. Who knows but

198 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

that at any moment they may start calling it a sturm-panzerkraftwagen
in imitation of the Germans. The artillery, too, have invented their share
of verbal horrors. In fact, one of them is probably the most ear-grating
of any, the one they use when they say the artillery will ‘‘displace”
forward — a bumptious substitute for the plain word “move.”

The inventor of that Andyism, “hill mass,” is unknown, but though we
may not know his branch or who he is, we can be sure of this about him:
he’s an officer who thought if he called high ground by a more impres-
sive-sounding name he’d prove his right to a seat up among the mighty.
“Terrain corridor” is another term of recent appearance, apparently
adopted only because it is high-sounding. Once it was called an avenue
of approach; soon who can tell but that we may hear it spoken of as a
“boulevard of accessibility.” How refreshing if instead someone began
calling it an alley. The “compartmenting of the terrain” is another phrase
to be met with frequently nowadays. Nobody but an army intellectual or
a German Ph.D. could have thought of such an awkward and would-be
imposing group of words as that. [He’s wrong; this one came from the
French.] There’s no end to them: “group” becomes “groupment”; “waste”
turns into “wastage” (the addition of an unnecessary syllable is a favorite
practice of the Army Andys) ; “alert” is used as a verb (to alert the
reserves) ; “terrestrial” is used in place of “ground”; “infiltrate” for
“seep”; “retrograde” for “backward,” and so on and on and on.

It. may seem at first as if, since these expressions are simply the product
of childish vanity, there is no particular harm in their use. Sometimes
that is so, but more often they are positively bad in that they substitute
a strange word for a good old one about which there has grown up a
host of associations, each of which is an aid to deep and thorough under-
standing of its meaning. The use of “observation post” for “lookout”
illustrates this harm. Except for the expression “getaway man,” there is
no more satisfactory term in military use. Merely to designate a man as a
lookout is partially to teach him his job. The use of “liaison” is harmful
for the same reason also. If a man is told to keep in touch with the unit
next him he understands completely what he is to do, as he seldom will
if he is directed to “maintain liaison” with it.

A particularly regrettable substitution is that of “morale” for “spirit.”
“Spirit” is one of the tingly words in our language, rich with accrued
meanings. When it is used the listener immediately interprets it in con-
nection with other spirited things he has known: spirited horses. Spirit of
* 76 , etc. How different when the word “morale” is used. It has no such
associations for the English-speaking person; to him it is as flat and as
lacking in vital meaning as a mathematical equation.

These are merely examples. In every issue of every service magazine
there are dozens more. The authors, who in informal conversation often
describe events in simple language which is yet racy and graphic, once

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 199

they start getting something ready for formal presentation^ get as solemn
as owls; they outdo a Negro preacher in silly pomposity. It’s a pity.

“AUXILIARY” AND “SECONDARY” ARMS

From an editorial by Captain (now Major General)
George A. Lynch

... It IS UNFORTUNATE that in our Army there has been a tendency to
confuse the function of the different arms with their importance and to
consider the term “auxiliary” as equivalent to “secondary.” This confu-
sion has become evident in recent suggestions that the term “co-ordinate”
should be substituted for “auxiliary” as being more in accord with the
relative importance of the arms. The description of an arm as aimliary
has, however, nothing to do with its importance but relates exclusively
to its tactical function. The term “co-ordinate” does not express any
functional idea whatever, if not indeed a false one. For it does not define
the direction from which the co-ordination must come. . . . But the
term “co-ordinate” conveys no idea of the tactical bond that should exist
between the arms. We conceive that in the realm of anatomy the right
and left legs are co-ordinate, but we cannot comprehend that the same
relation exists between the heart and the lungs.

MILITARY ENGLISH
By Captain X
{m?)

Is OUR PROFESSION SO abstract that the matter of its instruction and regu-
lations falls naturally into a ponderous and murky style? Are its outlines
so blurred that its language must also be hazy? And is the composition
of its written matter so secondary in importance that inaccurate termi-
nology and ineffectual, careless, and even meaningless verbiage make no
difference?

Far from being one of the duller sciences, military science is one of the
most interesting and fascinating of all. Its bases, at least, are specific and
lend themselves to the utmost precision of statement. There is every rea-
son to write of military things in language so clear and words so cai^ully

200 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

chosen as to be unmistakable in their intent. For upon the clarity of
military language may depend the success of an army and the existence
of a nation.

ABBR

By B.V.D.

(^937)

“Properly framing orders is an important feature in the exercise of
command,” says the War Department.

“Its purpose is to enable the plan of the commander to be quickly
understood,” continues Leavenworth.

“The contents and method of issue depend upon the situation,” adds
Benning.

“So what?” asks the reader.

So nothing! But have you seen the new type of telegraphic field orders?
The kind reading — “ist Tk Co (less 3 plats) div res Taney town.”

A snappy way of saying that the ist Tank Company, minus three of
its platoons, will go to Taney town as part of the division reserve. That’s
O.K. The abbreviations are authorized by Staff Officers" Field Manual.
But some of our enthusiasts want to do better. They have begun to
improvise.

Catch this nifty that recently came into a rear echelon during
maneuvers :

Fwd Ki and W Sup to RDP at W Tk N ist Div Rd dark Nt 16 Oct.

By which was meant that someone wanted his kitchen and water
supply forwarded to his ration distributing point at the water tanks north
of the 1 st Division Road under cover of the darkness on the night of
October 16 . But what kind of a way is that of saying so?

After all, if everyone has to carry around a list of abbreviations in his
hip pocket we might as well resort to code. Deceiving the enemy is all
right, but there is no sense in trying to confuse our own people. We have
a hard enough time understanding orders that are completely written.
What chance have we against an assortment of trick abbreviations?

Abbreviated orders look very well in our textbooks, but they are not
the product of field conditions. They are written and rewritten by an
instructor; cut, sliced, and amputated by a murder board; checked and
double-checked by an editor, and after weeks of preparation appear as
we see them. What will they look like when written under pressure,
punctuated by high explosives, and subjected to the ultimate test of
battle?

They might turn out all right if we were not such a nation of faddists.

201

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

But give us radio and we outtalk the world. Get us started on abbrevia-
tions and we will outabbreviate the abbreviators. We will adopt a secret
vocabulary that will put all previous jargons on the salvage pile.

Someone had better call a halt. Leave shorthand to the stenographers.
Let’s spigoty English.

POLYSYLLABIFICATION
By Tongue-Tied
(^ 937 )

B.V.D.’s GRIPE on abbreviations is only half the story. I agree that short
cuts in language are bound to turn into a code after a certain point. But
is a code any harder to learn than its opposite — a list of terms each of
which fills a line?

Look at these:

regimental ammunition distributing point
regimental machine-gun company commander
special-weapons battalion commander
commanding officer 2nd Field Artillery Regiment
(tractor-drawn)
outpost line of resistance
mechanization and motorization
advance guard when contact is imminent

The strange thing is that we already have abbreviations for most such
terms and titles, but we don’t use them. Visit our academic halls, or
examine our regulations or the instructional matter that our schools pro-
duce, and what do you find? Abbreviations are limited to diagrams and
combat orders. You seldom hear them spoken or see them written. Great
mouth-filling terms strike your ear or your eye, every one of them halting
comprehension until the parade of their syllables has passed.

Only occasionally does an instructor become so informal as to speak
or write of an ammunition distributing point as a DP, and I have yet to
hear one call a line of departure an LD, or an outpost line of resistance
an OLR.

I am not suggesting a wholesale adoption of abbreviations such as B.V.D.
inveighs against — only the use of them where they seem reasonable. We
need them worst, perhaps, for titles, where we have the excellent prece-
dent of G-i, S-4, etc. S-4 is actually the “regimental staff officer for
supply,” but no one ever calls him that. Extending this practice a little
farffier, we could call the four battalion commanders CO-i, GO-a, etc.,

202 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

and use CO-A to CO-M for the company commanders. True, all this
could not go on forever, but a little more of it might help.

As for MLR, LD, and such terms, we have only to m^e more use of
what we now have. And we could easily learn to speak of such things as
AA and AT defense for “antiaircraft** and “anti-tank,** thus to extend
simplicity a little farther.

The only objection I can think of to my suggestion is the difficulty it
might put in the way of our emergency officers. But suppose you ask a
civilian friend, the next time you see him, what NRA, HOLC, or RFC
stand for. He may not be able to tell you, but he knows what they mean.

MILITARIST OR PACIFIST?

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel) John W. Lang

(^ 93 ^)

Green shades off imperceptibly into blue at one side of the spectrum
and yellow at the opposite. Green is neither blue nor yellow, though it is
both. Blue has many symbolic connotations which vary from low in
spirits to the poetical symbol of freedom. Yellow applies to richness as
well as to cowardice.

So, too, have pacifism and militarism many connotations. Like propa-
ganda, through loose usage they have become terms of reproach. Each
has many shades and, combined, they produce many variations of
thought

The statesman should have a bit of both. He should be an advocate
of arbitration as a means of settling international misunderstandings, yet
he should be disposed to provide for the strength and safety of the coun-
try by maintaining adequate military force. He shpuld heed the words of
John Adams, who in his Fourth Annual Address to Congress on Novem-
ber 22, i8oo, said, “We cannot, without committing a dangerous im-
prudence, abandon these measures of self-protection which are adapted
to our situation and to which, notwithstanding our pacific policy, the
violence and injustice of others may again compel us to resort.** The
statesman should weigh the costs of war and preparation against it in
the balance against the probable costs of defeat and the loss of our hard-
won liberty and prosperity, just as the businessman weighs the costs of
insurance premiums against the value of his property and the risks to
which it is subjected. He must remember that the friend of today may be
the adversary of tomorrow.

Thus we see that the ideal statesman has in his mental make-up the
thoughts and qualities which will prompt one group of extremists to call

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 203

him “pacifist” and another group to hurl at his head the opprobrious
name “militarist.”

Thus is indicated how, in oiu* living language, the contradictory terms
“pacifism” and “militarism” are loosely used, even to the extent of being
applied to the same person for an identical act. To Webster the terms
are antonyms.

WITHOUT BENEFIT OF STENCILS
By Major (now Colonel) Arnold W. Shutter

(1936)

Oh, I wish I had had a commission
With J. Caesar’s legions of old,

When the mimeograph, as we know it,

Was a story that hadn’t been told.

The orders were then mostly verbal,

And they seldom took time out to write;

For the bulk of an officer’s duties
Lay in teaching his men how to fight.

When they fought with the sturdy Helvetians
A man who was absent was missed,

For they hadn’t put half their damned army
On the Detached Officers’ List.

They carried their banners to Britain,

And the Britons had no cause to laugh.

But I’m told that it wasn’t accomplished
By the use of the mimeograph.

Now I sit in a big city office

That’s furnished with tables and chairs.

And the orderly falls down exhausted
When he’s dragged my mail up the stairs.

He deposits his load in the comer
And then he is done with his chore.

While I have ten hours before me
Just reading the memos from Corps.

Now back in the days when J. Caesar
Marched from the Rhine to the Rhone,

They had to get out special orders
With a mallet and chisel on stone.

204

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

There were no carbon copies of that stuff
To bother the staff and the line.

And yet, so historians tell us,

His doughboys just got along fine.

The Senate once sent him a letter,

The kind many readers recall :

“Explain, by endorsement hereon, sir.

Results of campaigning in Gaul.’*

So he chiseled a snappy endorsement:

“I came and I saw and I won.”

Put that in your pipe now and smoke it.

You pink- whiskered son of a gun!

Now if I should write such an answer
And send it, through channels, to Corps,

The chances, my son, are a hundred to one
That I’d not have to write any more;

For they’d hold a conclave on my record
And I’d be Class-B’d in a day;

And then they’d withdraw my commission
And stop all the rest of my pay.

Each day, as I sit in my office.

With my shoulders acquiring a stoop,

I wish that I had a commission
In J. Caesar’s headquarters troop.

And yet I could die well contented
Should this be my true epitaph:

“Here Lies the American Soldier
Who Abolished the Mimeograph.”

MUMBLERS, DRONERS, AND SINGSONG READERS

By D. S.

U940)

It is impossible to create a competent platform speaker by the mere
issuance of an order. Yet every time a new instructor is ordered to a
service school and he reports for duty, it is taken for granted that he is
capable of climbing to die platform and keeping wide awake a hallful
of students by the clarity, emphasis, and persuasiveness of his powers
of speech.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

205

This official assumption that an instructor — ^any instructor — is
equipped by Nature with a loud, clear voice and a platform presence
simply stultifies a good third of every course presented at the schools of
our arms and services. The mumblers, the droners, the singsong readers,
and the speakers who have no ear for emphasis make the hours of their
lectures and their illustrative problems into hours of stupefying misery
for the classes that sit before them. Most of them make enough noise for
sleep to be difficult. And if it were possible to measure the wanderings of
the students* minds, the total would at least circle the earth every fifty
minutes.

Few of these speakers are unaware of their inadequacy. Most of them
are as uncomfortable on the rostrum as their hearers are in their seats.
They try hard, too, most of them, because they are interested in their
jobs and their topics and would like to put their stuff across to eager
student minds so that one day it might be recalled to advantage in the
midst of combat. But their handicaps are too great.

Nor can professional eagerness on the part of the students offset these
handicaps. You may be avid to hear and learn, but if you can*t hear you
can’t learn. And even if you can, the distraction of a poor delivery re-
quires a superattentiveness that few possess to offset it.

Our service schools offer too much that is invaluable and their objec-
tives are far too important for a large fraction of their instruction to be
nullified by feebleness of platform presentation. There is, moreover, no
sound reason why such unappetizing mental fare should be offered. A
rearrangement of instructors’ duties would easily remedy the fault and
notably improve instruction.

Every school has a certain number of instructors who might have been
preachers, professors, or possibly politicians, if they had not chosen to
wear a uniform. These are the ones who actually like to lecture, and
most of them do it well. Some of them are so good they can talk on any
topic and hold full interest to the end. One such officer gave a fifty-min-
ute lecture describing the Army Extension Courses to a body of mature
students and received loud and long applause as he closed.

These — and no others — ^are the people to put on the platform. Let the
best speakers give all the talks and handle all the illustrative problems.
Reduce their preparatory research accordingly and let them spend most
of their time in perfecting their presentations. Those to whom no amount
of training could give a reasonable fluency — let them work up the
materials and let them be present, in their capacity of experts, to help
out speaker-instructors during the question periods. But for the sake of
school efficiency — and, yes, for the sake of the national defense — ^keep
them off the platform.

206

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

COMMANDING GROUND
By G. V.

(^938)

So much of war is fought in time of peace on maps rather than on the
actual ground that there is a tendency toward the cut and dried at all
military schools. One of the maps commonly used is that of the Gettysburg
region. Contrary to the belief of many who have heard about this use of
the Gettysburg map, there has not been — during the past twenty years at
least — any relationship between the Battle of Gettysburg itself and the
use of maps of the same ground for tactical instruction. The Army simply
had good maps of that area. The area contained all kinds of ground,
including mountains, rivers, lakes, flat terrain, rolling terrain, and sea-
coasts and arms of the sea. The paper battles fought were modem battles,
not Civil War battles.

The splendid maps on which we do most of our military studying tell
us much about the ground of our paper wars. We pin these substitutes
for miles of battle terrain upon a study wall or spread them on a dining-
room table. Then, at will, we emulate that olden hero, CJeneral Jackson;

General Jackson had an army
Of forty thousand men;

He marched them up a hill

And he marched them down again.

Yes, we can look at the map and find a hill suitable for anything. And
not one, but a dozen if we need them.

This bringing of mountains to Mohammed is all to the good, provided
one thing is true — that the contours on the map give everyone the same
mental picture. But this is not the case.

I do not mean simply that the average Army Extension Courses [cor-
respondence courses for reserve oflScers] student, who seldom gets a
chance to compare map with ground, may not do a fair job of terrain
visualization. He often does. But even we, who have had ample oppor-
tunities to peer at a hill while our forefingers indicated the same bump of
ground (approximately) on a map, are also liable to error when worUng
with the map alone. This is particularly true when we have to estimate
slopes and visibility of ground by eye. And of all people, those who offend
worse in this respect should never do so; I mean the authors of map
problems.

Let me cite one example — St Luke’s Church. Not a week ago I heard
a service-school instructor say that St. Luke’s Church stood on com-

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

207

zxiandirig ground. The Gettysburg map shows this decent place of worship
to be about one mile southeast of Bonneauville at the top of a gentle
slope. The ground drops precipitously away from the church at a rate
of some twenty feet per five hundred yards on the steepest side. How far
you can see in any direction, if at all, would be debatable, except for the
initiative of a Benning instructor some years ago. He got so tired of argu-
ing that the vista of St. Luke’s Church was distinctly not “commanding^’
that he drove up to Pennsylvania to see for himself.

He sent back five snapshots, one taken toward each cardinal point of
the compass, and one of himself standing in front of the church. On the
back of that one he wrote, “Here I am standing at St. Luke’s Church
enjoying the magnificent view of thirty yards in every direction.”

Yet I believe it was decided that there must be a good view from the
steeple, anyhow. This, perhaps, was justifiable, if the church actually has
a steeple and if General A happens to have a ladder with him so he can
climb to the roof and watch his brave lads capture Gettysburg by wide
envelopment.

And so this quiet country church continues to lend its name to terrain
exaggeration in many a map problem. And many a similar misinterpreta-
tion can be found. The only way out is to give our school instructors a
course in contour chasing [mapping] every two or three years. Or else take
some more photographs on the ground to prove them wrong. Or else
make General A’s ladder standard equipment.

SHOTS, BIG AND LITTLE
By William Tell
(^95®)

When Private Josiah Simpkins swa^ered away from the firing line he
knew what he’d made before the official caller of shots turned in the re-
port. Josiah was no mean caller of shots himself. “Expert” was the
answer.

In token of his skill with the U.S. rifle, caliber .30, M-igo3, a grateful
republic kicked his salary five dollars a month for a year and gave him a
badge to wear. The government got back part of the sixty dollars, because
Josiah invested most of his raise in the pink tax stamps that accompany
Laughing Hyena bourbon — 18 months in the wood, no neutral spirits
added. The badge got a lot of the home folks to thinking that Josiah was
now really a big shot, and a man who ran a shooting gdlery called time
on him after he had knocked loose four packs of cigarettes in rapid suc-
cession. In short, a good time was had by all.

208 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Consider^ now, Corporal Frank Merriwell. Frank is an earnest lad, and
ambition just exudes from his pores. The while Josiah is downtown,
giving the girls a treat, Frank studies Extension Courses. He wants to be a
reserve officer, a second lieutenant of infantry, no less. This takes a little
time; there are a half-dozen or so subcourses to work off, and they’re
not any too easy. Three or four months’ night work — on his own time —
and the trick is turned. Frank goes before a board for the final practical
test.

He stumbles over a gobboon by way of making an effective entrance to
the room where the board sits in judgment. It doesn’t even get a smile.
For the next couple of hours the board puts Frank over the jumps and
quits only when they have him, as the saying goes, sweating profusely.
On the way out he stumbles over the same gobboon, having made it a
point to remember to avoid it.

About a month later Frank finds out what the board was up to after
he made his exit. A letter, signed by a man with mighty poor hand-
writing, informs him that he is now a full-fledged shavetail of United
States Infantry Reserve. From an insurance standpoint this job is so poor
that Frank won’t get anything but a horselaugh from an underwriter in
the event of what some people quaintly call “a national emergency.”

It would be nice if we could tell you that next payday Frank was re-
warded by a raise of at least five dollars and a quarter by the same repub-
lic that pays Josiah sixty bucks a year for plunking holes in a bull’s-eye.
But we can’t, for this is a true story. True stories generally wind up with
the hero cutting a rather sorry figure.

Or maybe Frank wasn’t the hero. Maybe it was Josiah. It’s all so
confusing.

NEW TRICKS— BY ORDER
By Temporarily Abreast
(t937)

This is a gripe about the lag between the up-to-date tactics and tech-
nique taught at the service schools and the official distribution of the same
information to the troops of the Army in general. Hundreds of officers
would learn new methods of war each year at the schools and then, on
being assigned to a regiment, would often find that it would be another
year or two before the same news would reach the regiments officially.
This was, in general, caused by the fact that it took that long to get out
a new field manual with the new stuff in it Editorial staffs were small
and many approvals had to be obtained.

The packers are in my quarters, and in a few days I shall be heading
for my new regiment from this, the greatest Infantry School in the world.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

209

Naturally enough^ I am full of hot, up-to-the-minute infantry informa-
tion, absorbed during the past nine months. And when I reach my new
outfit I hope that I will be permitted to help bring it up to date on some
of the excellent new methods the Infantry School has just taught me.

But all I have is a hope — ^and a mighty faint hope at that. The chances
are five to one that when I join my regiment somebody will pin back my
ears with the utmost ferocity the very first time I even suggest that “they
don’t do it that way at Benning any more.”

I have seen that happen too many times, of coiuse, to other enthusi-
astic juniors fresh from the Upatoi’s sandy banks [a river at the Infantry
School] to go sounding off like a new tactical or technical Messiah. I
fully intend to be non-assertive and tactful. I shall not appear as a yoimg
know-it-all. I shall make only suggestions, not recommendations. But I
am dead certain that unless I am very lucky and come under com-
manders anxious to put the latest ideas into effect, I might better keep
my mouth shut from the beginning.

“We won’t fool with new Benning stuff until it comes out in regula-
tions.” That is the common attitude. In free translation it simply means:
“We won’t make a single damn change until we have to” — or else, “The
old way is plenty good enough.” At bottom lies either laziness or mistrust
—or sometimes sheer obstinacy.

It would not be hard to break this inertia down with a little help from
high quarters. It is only a matter of getting the new methods early to the
troops through authoritative channels. The simplest, cheapest way to
accomplish this would be for the Infantry School to mark plainly all
instructional matter suitable for immediate service use: Tentative — To
be used for service instruction. One copy of each document so marked
should then be sent to all infantry regimental commanders through the
office of the Chief of Infantry.

In this way new doctrine and new methods would reach every unit
early. There would be no choice about keeping up to date. Regulations
written in 1923 could no longer be the refuge of the cautious, the listless,
the hardheaded, and the comatose. Development and progress would not
be limited to the eager minds. It would be impossible for there to be a
hiatus of three or four years between Benning and the service in general,
as in the case of the simplified machine-gun indirect laying methods just
now reaching the service officially, although taught at Benning since 1933.
And not least, perhaps — the greater part of the 150 young officers who
leave Benning every year would not go through the discouragement of
having their commanders crown them for exhibiting a reasonable degree
of professional enthusiasm.

It would be better still, of course, if late Benning information could be
distributed direct, in sufficient copies, for every infantry officer to have
one. This, however, would require more funds for reproduction and dis-

210 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tribution than are now obtainable. But one copy per regiment^ with the
official O.K. of high infantry authority upon it, would do the trick. Suit-
able training matter appearing in the Infantry School Mailing List or
the Infantry Journal might also be indicated as having official approval.
Anything — any way — ^to jar us out of our postwar wagon-wheel ruts on
to a speedier track.

ANCIENT SYMBOLS OF CAMPAIGN
By Captain Tentage
{1938)

I PROPOSE A RmoLE: What is it that covers but discloses? What is it that
makes a farce, time after time, of maneuvers in which air observation
plays a part? What is it, indeed, that an air observer looks for, by night
or by day, to determine the presence of a maneuver force? I’ll give you
one guess.

The answer is : tents.

You can see a nice clean light brown tent twenty miles away on a clear
day. Nothing else on the ground resembles it at all — not even a haystack.
At night you can see one with a gasoline lamp in it for at least fifteen
miles, if not for twenty. And yet there must be some kind of shelter
available for the rheumatic bones and tender skins of command and staff,
which are not always perfectly inured to sun and rain. We need shelter,
too, for maps and pencils of many colors, for typewriters and mimeo-
graphs, for telephones and radios, and for unit journals, message-center
records, and the great white blankets of forms on which G-j 2, G-3, and
G-4 estimate their respective situations and formulate their multifarious
plans. And lunpires, too, need shelter for snacks and snores between
decisions.

In peace, unhappily, the Constitution prevents us from discommoding
such theoretically ever-obliging gentlemen as Messrs. A. Trostle, M.
Rudish, J. Spangler, Mcllheny, and A. Plank. Nor are Luth. T. Seminary,
St. Joseph’s Academy, or even Mt Vernon School and St. Luke’s Churdi
readily available except for the purposes of imaginary war. [The above
are names of farm owners and places which appear on the series of maps
covering the Gettysburg area, much used in theoretical military work at
service schools.]

In lieu thereof, the quartermaster provides us with tentage, that ancient
symbol of the rigors of campaign. And so long as self-advertising tentage
is issued we may be certain that it will be used. But surely it would be
no great expense or trouble to change the tentage specifications to some-

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 211

thing reasonably camouflaged. We might even stumble over the fact tha^
camouflaged tentage would serve to hide motors as well as men.

WHO FIRES AMMUNITION—

THE RIFLE OR THE MAN?

By SA.R.

(1936)

Some thirty-three years ago, when the United States Army took the
bold step of adopting the Springfield rifle, many an old-timer shook his
head. To their concreted minds it made no difference that the Springfield
was a splendid weapon, mechanically tough, and more accurate by far
than any shoulder piece the Army had ever had. Nor did any amount
of conclusive proving ground and service tests bear weight.

Their first basis for viewing with alarm was simply the fact that a
change was to be made. Something new was to take the place of some-
thing old. That, of course, is reason enough for distrust. But bolstering
up this. primary prejudice came a second hue and cry: “You’ll never be
able to get enough ammunition forward for those rifles. They can be
fired too fast.”

How familiar are those words to our ears at the present juncture! How
frequently they are heard, now that we are about to follow at long last
in the footsteps of the Mexican Army and adopt a self-loading rifle.

It may be granted that any Infantry School demonstration of the new
weapon firing nearly a round a second is well calculated to bring up
visions of difficulties in ammunition supply. But before we despair at the
radicalism of adopting such a rifle I suggest that one brief comparison
should be made.

In the excitement of battle a half-trained recruit, equipped with the
semiautomatic rifle, could fire all the ammunition he carries in less than
ten minutes. In fact, he could come near doing it in five if he were strong
enough and his rifle functioned to perfection.

But — ^mark it well — the same recruit, with a Springfield at his shoulder,
could spread the same number of wild shots over the landscape in less
than twenty minutes.

Thus there is little difference if an hour or two must pass before more
ammunition can be obtained. If either weapon has an advantage under
the conditions assumed, it is the semiautomatic. It is so much easier to
fire a self-loader than to pump a bolt handle that the fire of the self-
loader is bound to be a little more accurate.

In the end it comes down to a matter of training and not of excessive

212 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

mechanical perfection. The untrained soldier will waste ammunition with
a muzzle loader. The trained man, with any weapon, will conserve am-
munition until he really needs it. But when he does begin the rapid fire
of battle, a semiautomatic, with twice the fire power of a bolt-action rifle
available at one quarter the expenditure of energy, improves him tre^
mendously as an element of combat.

BLAZE OF GLORY
By Captain Brass
{1936)

His cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold.

Destruction of Sennacherib. Byron

In The Army in My Time Major General J. F. C. Fuller says, “Once,
as a subaltern, I worked out how many hours in his service a soldier took
in ‘cleaning up.’ I forget now the astronomical figure I arrived at. . .
These words brought back to me a succession of scenes that my occasion-
ally practical mind inevitably conjures up a dozen times a year. Of these
scenes I shall recount only three.

(1) In Panama some years ago — ^nearly a thousand Springfield rifles
borne by as many soldiers of the Coast Artillery at evening parade, every
rifle polished to a mirror surface, bereft, even around the screwheads, of
every least coating of gun metal, shining in the sunlight like the spears of
Sennacherib’s cohorts. Who paid for bluing them again I never learned.

( 2 ) A day of ninety-seven in the shade — even the New Jersey apple-
jack trees are drooping. Guard mount at four o’clock — the troops droop,
too, even at attention. They spent last night until midnight — and more
than one night before that — scraping, rubbing, scouring. Nothing that
was brass beneath its sensible coating of o.d. paint now remains un-
polished. What, nothing? Well, hardly anything. The general rides up to
the guardhouse and after the customary honors have been rendered
inspects the guard. In the rear rank his all-seeing eye finds an eyelet
under a first-aid pouch — ^AN EYELET UNPOLISHED! The entire new
guard is thrown off. “Captain New O.D. [also company commander of
the unit furnishing the guard], report to your quarters in arrest. . . •
Your lieutenant [new officer of the guard] also.”

( 3 ) One day in Georgia. A new lieutenant comes to me, an old lieu-
tenant. “We have been told by our company commander that we are to
contribute ten dollars each toward nickel-plating a machine-gun cart. I

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

213

can’t afford it. The men are to pay two dollars apiece and the officers ten.
Since my last kid came it’s tougher than ever to keep out of debt. Do you
think I should dare to refuse? Fve only been commissioned a year. The
whole job is to cost about $350. The company commander wants us to
go on a note, too, to cover payment until all collections are in. I hate the
whole idea, but I guess I’d better pay and forget it.”

I said I’d give you only three fond memories, but here’s a fourth for
good measure :

(4) The Philippines. I fly in a simulated attack formation against an
infantry regiment. As we hunt for the regiment I try my amateur eye at
observation. I do my best to keep my mind on the appearance of the ter-
rain below and off my queasy stomach. A glint, a flash, several glints and
flashes, then many, down there on the slightly swaying ground. The pilot
turns and grins back at me beneath his goggles as we rush down a steep
channel of atmosphere to simulate an attack.

I have no personal antipathy to glinting brass and gleaming leather,
but I am utterly certain that the whole business is wrong. The very idea
it upholds is antagonistic, not only to the elemental habit of camouflage
that modem warfare demands, but to the thoughts of military necessity
that we endeavor to place in the minds of our citizens who bear no arms
now but will, soon enough, when the need arises.

The greatest absurdity of all is the belief in the necessity for brassy
splendor, however modest, to set off equipment and uniform. Does any
uniform lend itself better to a soldierly appearance than our own com-
bined with darkened insignia, a shoulder or waist belt of web, and leg
and footwear of dull, rough-finished leather? I like the pretty brightness
of brass — on door handles — ^but I am positive that shining equipment is
(i) unnecessary to a fine, businesslike, military appearance; (2) contrary
to the essential principles of modem warfare, and (3) slightly ridiculous
when viewed with a calm mind.

DON’T TINKER WITH THE GOVERNOR
Anonymous
(^942)

Any of you drivers ever see a Chinese fishing with cormorants — ^you
know, those long-necked birds that dive into the water from the lx)at
and snafile the fish? Did you ever wonder what kept them from eating
the fish, instead of taking them back and laying them in the fisherman’s
lap?

Damn clever, these Chinese! They put a governor on the bird’s throat

214

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

— 2L ring big enough to let the small fish slip through into the belly, but
small enough to keep the big fish out so they can go into the fisherman’s
pot. The cormorants get enough chow to keep them happy, but not
enough to get a bellyache.

The governor on your truck works the same way. It gives the engine
enough gas to keep it happy, but not enough to ruin it. But some zombies
in this man’s Army think they’re pulling a fast one when they jimmy the
governor. Soldier, it doesn’t do you any good at all, but you probably
won’t believe it until we show you. O.K., Missouri, here goes :

The Army won’t buy a governor that cuts the horsepower of an engine
more than 5 per cent until the governor starts to cut out. Most of the
governors now being bought hold the horsepower loss to 2 per cent. This
means that the only thing a governor does is prevent excessive engine
speed. With the exception of the 2-per-cent loss, a governor doesn’t aflFect
acceleration, pulling power, or anything else. Of course it stops your ac-
celerating when you’ve hit the top governed road speed, but no one but a
cowboy needs to step on ’er at that speed anyway.

Maybe you didn’t know this: the rate of wear in an engine increases
by the square of the engine speed. Which means that when you double
the engine speed from 1,500 to 3,000 r.p.m., the rate of wear increases
four times, and when you double it again to 6,000, the rate of wear jiunps
to sixteen times. To prevent this tremendous wear, most governors cut in
at about 200 r.p.m, above the maximum horsepower speed of the engine.

And another thing: when you jimmy the governor you’re not helping
yourself a darned bit. The restriction is still there, and you have the same
power loss. What do you gain? Nothing, soldier, nothing.

Actually the whole reason for a governor is not to limit your top truck
speed, but to limit the top engine speed — and the only reason for that is
to stop the engine shaking its guts out when you’re in low gear. If you’re
ever hauling a load up a hill and find the governor cutting in and out,
you can bet you’re in too low a gear and overrewing the engine. So shift
up a notch and see if you don’t get the same results without punishing
the engine.

Remember this: the governor can’t control the speed of a truck when
it’s going downhill. It controls the throttle all right, but it can’t control
the engine speed because momentum has taken over and the wheels are
driving the engine, instead of the engine driving the wheels. So if you’re
in too low a gear, the truck may have enough momentum to push the
engine speed into the danger zone. This is happening plenty, either
because some clucks don’t know this or don’t give a dam.

If any of you are interested, here’s how a governor works. Most Army
trucks have velocity-operated governors, which have no connection witlx
any moving parts of the engine, need no lube and very little maintenance.

These governors are operated by the velocity of the fuel mixture as it

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

215

is sucked by the intake manifold vacuum through the governor housing.
The throttle shaft of the governor is slightly offset from the center line
of the throat and operates the throttle plate. Both of these are similar
to the carburetor shaft and throttle, except that the governor throttle is
set at an angle so that the flowing fuel mixture will move it. The harder
you step on the gas, the faster the fuel mixture flows and the harder it
hits the governor throttle, which starts swinging closed. The spring at-
tached to the throttle shaft is adjusted so that its pull just equals the
force of the fuel mixture on the throttle at the maximum engine speed
desired. When you start pushing the accelerator beyond this set speed, the
force of the fuel mixture overcomes the pull of the spring, and the
throttle closes.

That’s all there is to it, and if you want to go to heaven like a good
gorilla, leave that governor alone!

AT LEAST A TECK
By Captain I. W. Turner
{194s)

“It’s like I’ve told you previously,” remarked Corporal Breen, the act-
ing mess sergeant; “I should be at least a Teck [technical sergeant] with
the ideas I’ve got. But my ideas are so simple nobody with complicated
minds, like most brass hats, can appreciate them. There’s no doubt about
it that simple things is the essence of simplicity, which is what we need
more than anything else.”

“I could go for another bowl of that coffee,” said Sergeant Jones, “and
it’s about time them pies were out of the oven.”

“It’s easy to see you think in a straight line and got the advantages of a
one-rut mind that leads right in here to this mess hall whenever our ovens
is ready to expel pie.”

“Well, what I’ve got to listen to every time it’s a rainy day and I come
in here requires at least pie with coffee to give me strength to get out
again.”

“Anyway,” said Corporal Breen, reaching for one of Sergeant Jones’s
cigarettes, “with my ideas I should be at least a Teck, And yet they pick
clucks who can only whittle. I guess it just comes from being a lucky
yokel from the wheat fields of Tennessee.”

“You mean Nebraska.”

“What I mean is that a cluck with practically nothing but whittling
ability should get a break and go to a service school, which ever since I

216 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

got transferred from the Ordnance to this outfit three years ago I been
trying to do.”

“You didn’t have to transfer.”

“And you bet your life if I’d-a known just because some cluck of a hill-
billy from Nebraska could whittle out a wren house and put it in the
Old Man’s yard that the Old Man should say a week later, ‘That bird-
house you put on my shagbark hickory is got wrens living in it, so you
are a perfect example of the material we are looking to send to school.’ ”

“Hillbillies comes from Tennessee.”

“Anyhow, I should of stayed in the Ordnance and developed some
ideas I was working on. 1 can tell you I would now be at least a Teck at
some very fine installation, instead of breathing this bad air from cheap
government coal and worrying myself gray because the laundry is short
four sheets.”

“You got plenty of time now to develop ideas,” said Sergeant Jones, “if
you got any other ideas except smoking all my cigarettes just because I
am sociable and come by for a bowl of coffee, which I will say is the best
coffee of any company we got here.”

“You know why? Because of a development I made to dry coffee bags
so no goop is left in the seams. Which is why our coffee is not fit to put
in storage batteries, and a child could drink it with no harm.”

“Well, it is very good coffee, but I would wean no kids on it unless I
wanted ’em to grow up and join the armored force.”

“Now, thafs where I should be because I have developed an idea on a
type of grenade to stop tanks, and they would eat this idea up and make
me a Teck at least.”

“They got more land mines now than they know what to do with.”

“But they ain’t got a real good one. What I got is so good a six-year-old
kid could use it. Do I want to blow a tank all to hell? No! All I want
and got the idea for is to stop ’em by maybe gumming up a track or a
bogie. And when they pile out to fix it I will look over my log and twist
one right between their eyes, which you know I can do any day with a
rifle even with a bigger head than I got right now after payday.”

“Just what’s this mine or grenade like a six-year-old kid could use?”

“It is very simple. What you got to do first is arm every man with two
of them, and I would include platoon and company commanders. I got
to admit I ain’t worked all the details out. I haven’t developed it very
much yet because ,of the simple reason I don’t intend to give out unless I
get credit to be at least a Teck — which any one of my ideas is worth,
counting the no-good ones. But in a training program for the use of my
mine, every man has got to be able to handle a stalled or disabled tank,
which even if I ain’t got a plan for now I will work out later. What has
got to be positive is that every man armed with an individual weapon
should be able to use it because he will be so hopped up about my mine

BETTER WAYS OF WAR 217

he will always be mumbling to himself that he’s got no interest in life
except to gum up tanks.”

“Listen, Corp, I got lots to do besides listen to a guy whose old lady
got scuffed with a taxi just before you were born and got a prenatural
instinct against wheeled vehicles.”

“I don’t know nothing about that, but I will someday tell you about
my nephew who’s got a strawberry on his shoulder. But anyhow, every
man by the thousands would each have two of my ideas on his person
and put them in suitable places, which I will work out later, and when
them armored vehicles come along they will find themselves unable to
proceed when they run over one of my ideas, and they will stop. When
they are stopped, if I never make no plans on what to do next, they are
almost lOO per cent no good.”

“That’s all O.K., but I am still on pins and needles from not knowing
what the idea is, and I am due for another bowl of coffee.”

“It’s very simple,” said Corporal Breen as he filled the bowl. “My mine
is five feet long and it’s made of something flexible that looks like a heavy
garden hose, and the ends hook together so it is a loop and slings over
your shoulder like those Mexican bandits wear cartridge belts. It is a
very simple tube filled up with granular TNT, and every six inches there
is a detonator. So you can see if it is laid on the ground it goes off when
it is run over. And if it ain’t run over you pick it up. You keep it with
you on all advances, and when them tanks and vehicles come your way
they are sure as hell going to run into some of them, because if men is ten
yards apart, and two each of my grenades are properly placed by each
man, it is too bad when they lose a track or a bogie or get busted.”

“That is all right. But now you got them tanks stopped, what the hell
do you do next?”

“That is something I got to work out.”

“Well, if you’ve got some other idea you can work out for that, it will
be very fine.”

“Yeah, but for me very fine is to be at least a Teck, which this idea by
itself is worth any day.”

TEAMWORK
From an editorial by

Major (later Major General) Merck B. Stewart

(^ 9 ^ 7 )

. . . Some years ago the Infantry reached over the field of sport and
plucked a word which it transplanted in its Drill Regulations. It was a

218 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

good, old-fashioned American word which has grown in favor not only in
the Infantry but in the service at large. That word is “teamwork,” an
excellent inspiring word, one to conjure with. It presents a vision of loyal,
determined, shoulder-to-shoulder co-operation which hesitates at nothing,
brushes aside obstacles, and with one steadfast, united effort smashes its
way to the goal. . . .

FIDDLERS

From an editorial by

Lieutenant Colonel (now Major General) E. F. Harding

(^ 957 )

In more than one organization useful work is subordinated to modem
piddling that is on a par with the best developed in the good old days.
Some is imposed by the caprices of immediate commanding officers; some
draws its authority from post orders; some is buttressed by Army Regula-
tions. Piddling manifests itself in eyewash, undue emphasis on competitive
athletics, excessive supervision by command and staff, useless paper work,
unnecessary reports, requirements that all officers attend all drills, mul-
titudinous administrative checks, daily officers’ calls indefinitely pro-
longed, and a hundred other time-consuming non-essentials that have
nothing to do with training for war. If an officer is exposed to only one
or two of these plagues he may escape the mental paralysis that afiiicted
the piddlers of the old Army, but real danger lurks in those garrisons
where all or most of them are endemic.

Piddlers of other days were self-made. Today an officer on duty with
troops runs the risk of acquiring the habit by order. That risk cannot be
eliminated unless commanders of all grades forego those requirements
that contribute nothing to combat efficiency. Should this be done —
which, of course, it will not be — energetic officers will still find more than
enough to keep them busy. But even if the rapid worker should be able
to squeeze a little time from the crowded day, he can spend it profitably
in study and reflection on things an infantryman should know. Not all of
them would devote it to that purpose, but what of it? Better an afternoon
of golf or even an occasional hour of bunk fatigue for the devotees of
recreation and rest than that the zeal of the careerist be worn thin on the
grindstone of a deadly routine.

BETTER WAYS OF WAR

219

ALL THE TEAMS MAKE ONE TEAM
Editorial
{^ 94 ^)

There’s a lot written and said about combat teams as we train our
fighting units for this war. But it doesn’t mean much unless everybody
thinks and trains daily in terms of combat teams — everybody from Army
commanders down to squad leaders.

“Combat team” means the same thing for every leader of fighters, no
matter how many stripes or bars or stars he wears. It means a number of
fighting men or outfits, with many different weapons, all doing their
utmost to help each other get one job done. Yes, just one big job of fight-
ing — the smashing of the enemy.

The sergeant and his rifle squad are a combat team in themselves.
Garands, autorifles, carbines, hand grenades, and rifle grenades — ^these
are the five first-rate, powerful weapons for killing used by the fighting
team in the rifle squad.

But the squad is a part of another team, the team of the platoon.
There are deadly 6o-mm. mortars and light machine guns, and two more
rifle squads — all fighting along with that first rifle squad to attack or
defend, and to kill while doing either.

You can carry this idea right on up, and every modem fighting
infantryman needs to do so. For a squad is not just part of a platoon
combat team.

It’s part of a company combat team — ^for the battle job of the Si-mm.
mortars is teamwork with the squads and platoons.

It’s part of a battalion combat team — for the battle job of heavy
weapons is teamwork with the squads, platoons, and companies.

It’s part of a regimental combat team — ^for the one battle job of the
regimental weapons, the AT guns, the 75s, and the 105s is to work with
the battalions, the companies, and the platoons — ^and the rifle squads
with their Garands, their autorifles, their carbines, and their hand and
rifle grenades.

You can take the thought of the combat team still higher — ^right on
up to the top — ^and it still makes the good sense of modern war. The
bomber and the fighting plane, the tank of every size, the gun of every
caliber, the chemical mortar with its smoke (and its gas if it comes to
that), the engineer fighter with his TNT are fighting members of the
same great team as every rifle squad in a fighting force is, wherever the
force may be fighting.

You don’t have to start with a rifle squad to show these many teams.

220 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

You can start with the crew of a single plane, a single gun, or a single
tank. And you reach the same simple fact. There are small teams and big
teams and teams in between. The smallest are part of every other team
all the way to the top. And all of these teams — there isn’t a single tactical,
technical, or “special” exception — ^have one sole purpose, to surprise, to
outwit, to kill, to overwhelm, to stamp out the tough, able, coldhearted
fighting men in the planes and tanks and ranks of our enemies.

A leader who ever forgets these things is a poor excuse for a fighting
man.* The leader who forgets the team, who lets his lower leaders try to
win the war by themselves, should never be permitted to get to battle. He
will lose fights and waste lives if he does get there.

This applies to the rifle-platoon leader who constantly keeps those
deadly little mortars of his in reserve because he hasn’t the energy and
brains to get them in place where they’ll be some good to his squads —
who thinks they are only of use on ground perfect for observation and
defilade.

It applies to the infantry battalion commander who doesn’t find use
for his big mortars every time they can possibly help his companies
forward in the drive of their attack.

It fits, also, the regimental commander who wastes unrecoverable min-
utes by making the contact man from his supporting artillery or other
supporting units wait till he can remember the Infantry has such power-
ful support.

And it fits, exactly as much, every man in the Army whose pride in
the branch insignia he wears on his collar outweighs for a moment his
pride as a member of the whole fighting team.

There has already been, in this war, one superb example of American
combat teamwork — the troops on Bataan. Writing last month in the
Journal, the inspector general who was with those troops said: “I never
once heard of any friction of any kind between the different fighting
teams. . . . The whole fighting force pitched in, and there weren’t any
hitches due to different collar ornaments. And this extended to the naval
units and marines and air units, which operated as ground troops after
their planes were gone. An army is supposed to work as a combat team, ac-
cording to all the tactical doctrines taught in our military manuals. Well,
the teamwork was there, in our force on Bataan, from beginning to end.”

Bataan was a tough, desperate defense which welded every unit to-
gether. It’s got to be the same in our attacks — ^in every one of them. In
modem war you don’t get places unless you hit the enemy with every-
thing you’ve got from H hour on. And you can’t hit them with every-
thing all at once unless every combat team from squad to Army is click-
ing, and knows it can count on every other member of every team, and
knows to perfection how to work in battle with every other team, as one
fighting part of the big fighting team made up of the whole hitting force.

Ill

Leadership

and Discipline

The thoughts of a soldier who rises to any rank or grade of command
must be intent upon the ways in which he can improve his own ability
as a leader. Therefore, Leadership, spelled with a capital, is the first of
all themes for military writers. Articles on leadership written by soldiers
of experience often turn out to be mere lists of qualifications desirable in
a leader. Sometimes they speak of the Great Captains, all the way from
Alexander to those rising from today’s war, showing the super-traits they
possessed, apparently under the assumption that raw young leaders, still
uncertain of their fitness at heart, can build within themselves by inspira-
tion the same traits which the great leaders had.

But leadership, military leadership, is at least 50 per cent a matter of
practice, accustoming one’s self to dealing with men, remembering the
modes of speech and action that will win an extra degree of loyalty and
hardest work beyond that inherent in command of itself. The “natural
leader” is mainly so because he acts like one. He acts like a leader only
because in some capacity he has already done so or has seen others per-
forming as leaders or, to a much slighter degree, has read how others be-
fore him have led.

Thus written discussion about leadership has greatest value when there
is within it something which the now-rising leader may be able to adapt
for meeting his own problems. In its thirty-eight years of publication the
Infantry Journal has carried all kinds of articles on battle leaders, some
of the best of which are given in this section. Much of what is said in
these articles will be of help to new leaders as long as there are troops to
be led in war.

221

222

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

THINK IT OVER

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel) L. M. Guyer

This article (July 1942) and the one following it (March 1943) have
had a wider distribution than any other article the magazine ever printed.
Nearly a year after it appeared requests were still coming in for per-
mission to reprint for official use. The editorial note with which the editors
preceded it in the magazine explains further about it.

To THE UNIT commander:^

You are a leader of men, at war against an enemy who is cunning,
determined, well supplied, and highly trained. He has been prepared for
this war by concentrated, all-out training measures which have made
him individually and collectively a skilled and ingenious enemy. In the
words of a flight lieutenant who was recently in Malaya : “These fellows
know more tricks than will ever be learned by the Germans . . . the first
attack, believe me, will surprise you.”

Your enemy knows his job. He knows his equipment and how to use
it. He knows how to overcome obstacles by utilizing any and all im-
mediate means at hand. He is not going to be stopped either by halfway
preparations or halfway fighting. When the attack begins he’s ready.

^Editor’s Note (as it appeared in the magazine) : This is the finest piece of
official writing we have seen in this war. There have been forceful directives pro-
duced by every army fighting our enemies, and those the Journal has been able to
find have appeared in its pages. But this is the best of all.

It was issued simply as “Notes on Training” by a general with a Coast Artillery
command in an overseas theater. We’d like to name him. And we’d like to name
every man who may have contributed to the writing. Often the written materials of
training are the work of several official pens. But the sustained power of this one —
its direct, vigorous assault upon faulty leadership — ^probably shows it to be the
writing of a single man. [The name of the actual writer was learned later.]

Our first idea, when we saw that it was directed at the leaders of a Coast Artillery
unit, was to edit it over and give it an Infantry slant. Then we decided it was too
good to change, just as it stood. We figured that Infantry Journal readers wouldn’t
have the slightest trouble applying it, without any change, to themselves or their
units wherever it happened to fit.

Directives with the strength and clarity of this one do more to reach the minds
and hearts of an army than a thousand pages of the usual official material. We’d like
to bet big odds that here was one issue from the mimeograph that every officer in
the outfit read — and took to heart. Orders can be issued this way by every com-
mander who will seek out the man in his outfit who can put them down in words
that get out of the rut of official writing and reach into the minds of his men. He
may not equal these “training notes,” for they are superior indeed. But he can
come near them.

LEADERSraP AND DISCIPLINE 223

The question is: Are you equally ready? Do you know your job? Do
your men know theirs?

And do you honestly realize that readiness for battle is a matter of
hard and intelligent training? Or are you waiting for the fight to begin
in order to find out?

As the responsible commander of your men, do you know they are
ready — or do you simply think they are? Or hope they are? Is your unit
one of those in which inspections revealed there were men who had never
seen a first-aid kit opened? Who did not know how to set their rifle
sights? Who knew little or nothing about scouting, cover, and conceal-
ment? Whose gas masks had broken eyepieces? Whose bayonets would
not fit on the studs of their rifles? Do you think the bayonet of the
Japanese soldier is not going to fit when he needs it?

Are you driving hard every possible hour to train your men individually
and as a unit to be more than a match for their enemy? Or are you loiter-
ing, leaving to chance your duties as a leader, your responsibility to every
man in your command to teach him to outsmart and outfight any enemy,
both as an individual and an artillery team?

Higher authority can and does plan the scope of training which will
properly train your men and your unit for combat. But the implementing
of this training is yours — ^you are the unit leader who has the final re-
sponsibility and the ultimate close contact with the soldier himself.

Refer to your training directive. Study it carefully; comply with it
exactly. It has not been hastily written or written just to fill time, to get
out another memorandum. On the contrary, it has been carefully written,
every word of it. It has been the subject of much thought and planning.
It is based upon the long experience of your commanding general, who
is not guessing at what needs to be done to train both you and your men.
He knows. He knows also the difficulties you are up against, the time you
have available, and the urgency of the mission before you. And these,
too, have been carefully considered in assigning you a training task you
must accomplish.

The training objectives as stated in the directive are a vital goal to be
attained by you in training your men as individual combat soldiers and
your unit as a combined combat team. You would do well to frame these
objectives and put them up where you will never lose sight of them,
where you will see them daily, confronting you with a direct and honest
question: “Am I accomplishing these objectives — all of them?”

The Coast Artillery individual and battery are no longer protected
“concrete” soldiers facing a single seaward front. The initial attack may
come from any direction. It may be made by air, by massed infantry
advancing from the rear, by paratroops, by heavily armed infiltration
units. You may well find yourself engaged in an all-out ground battle

224 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

before you have ever seen a hostile naval vessel or fired a single artillery
shot.

Consider the objectives stated in the training memorandum. Visualize
the individual soldier standing before you. Visualize him from head to
feet. Have you taught him that the inside headband of his helmet is
adjustable, or does he neglect wearing it because it pinches his head?
Have you taught him the location of neck arteries, or is another soldier
someday to die because this man of yours didn’t know how to apply a
tourniquet? Have you taught him to wear his identification tags; do you
inspect to see that he does? Have you taught him how to adjust, wear,
and care for his gas mask? How to use his bayonet? His rifle? Have you
taught him what armor-piercing small-arms ammunition is for and why
it is issued? Or is your automatic rifleman going to fire at a landing boat
with ball ammunition, while the armor-piercing he needs remains in his
belt — or in an ammunition storage box somewhere? Have you inspected
his shoes, taught him the importance of caring for his feet? Or are the
soles worn half through, and would this soldier soon be without any shoes
at all if he were suddenly cut off from his unit and isolated in the field?
Can he scout, make his way as silently through brush as the Japanese?
Could he use a compass if he had to? Can he dig a foxhole, a hasty
trench? Does he know whether the barbed wire in front of him is properly
or improperly strung to protect him? Can he throw a grenade? Identify
gas? Carry a message and get to his destination? Have you taught him,
every man, enough about the machine gun and automatic rifle so that
if his own weapon were gone, or if a regular machine-gun crew became
casualties, he could step in and load, sight, and fire those weapons?

Have you taught him gunnery, or merely how to operate mechanically
an instrument without understanding it? Can your deflection-board
operator also operate the range-percentage corrector? Could the chief
of breech become gun pointer if he had to?

Have you taken advantage of the God-given intelligence of the Ameri-
can soldier and taught him the WHY of some of these things? Or are
you still in only the who-what-where-and-when stage? Do your men
generally know the principles of a defense plan? Do they know coast-
artillery tactics? Basic infantry tactics? Do they know the mission of your
own unit and how you propose to accomplish that mission? Have you
passed on to them vital intelligence information about the enemy? How
he operated in Malaya, and Singapore, and Java? How he is equipped?
How he attacks? The ruses and trickery he has displayed — ^and will dis-
play again? Do your men know, for example, that the Japanese from
boyhood practice and pride themselves on use of the bayonet?

The same type scrutiny may be made of your unit training as a whole.
Have your men practiced your local defense plan, or is it just on paper
or still in the talking stage? Do your men as a unit know the principles

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

225

of ground combat? Have you ever actually practiced them? Do you
know with certainty that you can carry on your primary artillery mission
no matter what happens, or is your artillery drill a peacetime routine?
Can you conduct fire if all communications go out? And do you know
that at Hong Kong this was exactly what happened? Could you conduct
fire under a simultaneous air or gas attack? Could you adjust fire based
on only such spotting as you, yourself, can accomplish at the guns? Do
you realize that naval targets may be fast-moving, fast-maneuvering, and
smoke-screened? Have you trained your first sergeant, your next senior
sergeant, and the next senior sergeant to fire your guns skillfully in case
you and your other officers become casualties? Have they ever actually
practiced doing it? Have you given your enemy credit for knowing your
battery location, your methods of fire control and adjustment? Have you
tried to visualize every emergency that may arise and prepare for those
emergencies? Have you drilled and trained your unit in what to do when
these things happen?

These are some of the objectives, and their accomplishment all has
the same answer: the training you give your men and how you conduct it.

Consider the training memo again as to conduct of training. The man-
ner in which good thorough training is conducted is as important as the
nature of the training itself. There are vital precepts which inexperienced
officers all too seldom know.

The first and foremost is “know your stuff,” know your own job.
Never get up before a group of men and read to them from a field
manual or other text. To do so is an admission of ignorance and inability
on your part. If the material to be covered is new to you, study it before
you begin instruction. Ninety per cent of leadership is the confidence
men have in their leader that he knows his job and knows what he’s
talking about.

Supervise your training. Supervision means actual physical presence
and participation. It does not mean staying in the battery office or per-
forming other duties. Neither does it mean an assembly of two or more
officers standing off to one side and chatting while a noncommissioned
officer conducts the training.

Keep a record of training progress. Elaborate charts and colored pins
for the battery office may look well, but they are too often not an honest
record of accomplishment. What the unit commander needs to know is
the exact training status of every man — ^has Brown finished gas instruc-
tion? Has Smith completed bayonet instruction? If instruction has been
only partial the record should so indicate. If a man has had no instruction
at all the fact should stand out. Otherwise someday Brown is going to be
the first gas casualty, and Smith is going to be bayoneted.

Utilize the value of training films and slides to the utmost possible ex-
tent. Remember that one picture is worth ten thousand words. But also

226 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

remember that pictures and words by themselves will not sufEce. All
theoretical instruction must be followed by practical application. No man
ever learned agility and skill in use of the bayonet just from pictures
and words.

Note carefully the list of training topics attached as an enclosure to the
training memorandum. These have been carefully selected. They will be
given top priority. Many of them have been broken down into subtopics.
One reason this was done was to indicate to you that most field manuals
contain vastly more information of value than you realize. Dig into your
manuals. The title that shows from a bookshelf is not even a partial in-
dication of the many important subtopics that lie within.

Gunners* instruction pamphlets are valuable aids if you use them
properly. But if used only to teach a man to parrot the printed answers
to the printed questions, they are worse than valueless. For his answers
will indicate a knowledge he does not possess.

Do not assume that a man is trained because he once qualified as an
expert observer or once had rifle marksmanship in a replacement center.
Training is an unending procedure, and plenty of “experts” have a lot
left to learn.

Take advantage of spare moments. How many of you, for example,
during the dark of early alert periods, have utilized this period to talk to
your men, to instruct them, to teach them how they can determine direc-
tion by the North Star, or to discuss night tactics or night fire control?

The general plan in the training memorandum allows time for ample
“breaks” or rest periods. Take advantage of these. Training that becomes
tedious defeats its own end. Ten minutes of hard, alert, energetic work is
worth two hours of dawdling and tedium. For the same reason vary the
instruction given. Demand that your men pay attention during instruc-
tion and realize that it is part of your job to keep them interested.

Never bluff. You won’t fool an American soldier — not for long, any-
way. If you don’t know the answer to a question be frank and admit so,
and say you will find out the answer. Above all, be sure that you do
find out.

Plan your training to be progressive. Select an important topic your
men need to know and see it through. If your training schedule is just a
printed list of assorted topics to look busy and imposing, you will be no
farther along next month than you were this month.

There is still a further point to effective training, and that is the wel-
fare and high morale of your men. You cannot expect a man to respond
enthusiastically to instruction when he is uncomfortable, carelessly fed,
dirty and deprived of a bath, poorly quartered even under field condi-
tions, or dull-spirited because he has had no relaxation. Look to your
men’s comfort, their mess, their quarters, their recreation, their every
need. Especially look to the welfare of those men in isolated stations and

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

227

positions. Would you like to be serving up at the end of some of those
long upward trails, day after day without being relieved, unbathed and
without a place to bathe, night after night without a light to read by, a
place to write, a comfortable place to sit?

Don’t say these are war problems that can’t be licked. They can be
licked. A good unit commander who has the interests of his men at heart
has the eye to see what’s needed and the energy and resourcefulness to
see that it’s supplied.

And don’t stop halfway either. “Eyewash” may be a term you last
heard in peacetime, but it has a wartime value as well. It has a direct
and immediate effect upon the morale and organizational pride of your
men, and the impression which others get of the general condition and
efficiency of your unit. A little paint on the inside of bunkhouse walls,
men’s names neatly lettered on signs before their tents, racks for clothes,
holders for knickknacks, a neat log railing around an outdoor drinking
fountain — ^whatever name you call them, eyewash or not, they raise men’s
morale. They turn a camp into a home. They change dreary surroundings
into something pleasant to look at and cheerful to endure.

You have a big job to do, a hard and vital one — a life-and-death job
that nobody else can do for you. It is beside the point to think in terms
of victory or defeat. If you think in terms of your men all else will take
care of itself. Think of Private Jones, a soldier in your unit. Tomorrow
an attack begins. Have you seen to it that Private Jones is ready and
trained to do his job? Are you willing, after it is over, to think back on
the duties and responsibilities you had and to carry for the rest of your
life the knowledge you failed to meet them? Are you willing, after it is
over, to face the mother and father of an American soldier named Jones
and answer the question they are going to demand of you?

“Johnny? Yes, I knew him. He was in my battery; he was one of my
men. He didn’t have a chance. A stud was bent— on his rifle — ^his own
bayonet wouldn’t fit — there was a machine gun near by, but Johnny
didn’t know how to use one. I failed him.”

Think it over.

‘THIS PLATOON WILL . .

By Major (now Lieutenant Colonel) James W. Bellah

{1943)

The health and the resilient life of an army throbs in the hearts of its
junior officers — or dies there. In them is reposed the immediate and close
command of the men — they lead the attack personally. After all the plans

228 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

are laid and the details are worked out, it is the lieutenant who faces the
men and says, “This platoon will . . and it is the lieutenant that
platoon follows while it does what it will do. And it is the lieutenant
who leads the platoon, because the lieutenant is there and can lead it.
No captain in the haze of combat can at all times lead or even see his
entire company. No battalion commander can lead or see his entire
battalion — certainly no CG can personally lead his division and control
it by personal contact. But the lieutenant can, does, and will control the
men through personal, visual, and, if necessary, physical contact.

No disparagement is intended to the sergeant or to the other noncom-
missioned officers, nor should any disparagement be assumed, for in the
Army today they furnish the next crop of lieutenants — that lowest grade
of the breed in whom, “Know Ye, that reposing special [mark the word]
trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities of [the
lieutenant, and every other commissioned officer] I [the President of the

United States] do appoint He is therefore carefully [mark the

word again!] and diligently to discharge the duty of the office to which he
is appointed by doing and performing all manner of things thereunto
belonging.”

That is the ancient wording of your commission. Lieutenant — ^whether
you have actually had that paper put into your hands with your name
on it, or whether you have merely been informed upon graduation from
OCS that you are a commissioned officer.

You are the lowest but, by the ever-increasing numbers of you, the
most important grade of that breed which holds a direct contract and an
implied gentleman’s agreement with the President, the government, and,
hence, the entire people of the United States — the most important, be-
caiise from the great mass of you will come the high-ranking leaders of
next year’s and the year after that’s and perhaps the year after that’s
armies of the United States:

A gentleman’s agreement.

In a democracy no word is more abused than the word “gentleman,”
nor is it more maligned at times, pooh-poohed or less understood.

The word can be defined in many ways and is. Sometimes it is confused
with manners. “He has the manners of a gentleman.” But there is an
instinctive realization that this is inadequate because we have coined the
phrase, “one of God’s gentlemen,” to define the rough diamond of no
particular manners or breeding who still has within him that inner spark
of something that makes the gentleman. Sometimes arrogantly you run
across the old feudal definition, “a gentleman’s son.” That definition
will satisfy the College of Heralds but precious little else. Ladies have a
habit of assuming that the word comes from the word gentle** and,
hence, invariably confuse the whole business with the moral issue. So,
once and for all, let’s settle it.

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

229

The word comes from gens, which is Latin for “people.” And a gentle-
man, therefore, regardless of his manners, morals, clothing, breeding,
conduct, or previous condition of servitude, is a man — not of, necessarily,
but a man for the people.

How adequately that now fits the phrase, “an officer and a gentle-
man,” and how thoroughly it explains why that expression has lasted
through the military ages despite facetious attempts to tack “by act of
Congress,” or “temporary” onto it.

The first concern of the officer, and especially of this lieutenant, is for
his “people” — ^his men. If he fails in that, he faik in everything and
becomes nothing more than a travesty in uniform, a figure at a costume
ball, a mountebank at a lodge meeting.

The lieutenant knows his men as soon as he possibly can. Their capa-
bilities and individual limitations. Their temperaments and even the out-
side worries that militate against their working efficiently. He solves these
outside problems for them when he can, by advice, by investigation, by
solution through welfare agencies, if necessary and possible.

He is vitally concerned with the continued high morale of his men.
Their sleeping arrangements under all conditions of garrison or campaign.
Their food. Their health. Their recreation. Their punishment. Their
rewards. Their training.

He is more concerned that they do not die in combat through their
own ignorance or his ignorance or carelessness in failing to instruct them
adequately and continually — so that he can lead them intelligently in all
conditions of combat that may arise.

A dead soldier who has given his life because of the failure of his officer
is a dreadful sight and a crime before God. Like all dead soldiers, he was
tired before he died, hungry undoubtedly, dirty, wet, and possibly
frightened to his soul. And there he lies — dead needlessly, on top of all
that — never again to see his homeland. Don’t be the officer who failed to
instruct him properly — who failed to lead him well! Bum the midnight
oil. Lieutenant, that you may not in later years look at your hands and
find his blood still red upon them!

Now then, as a part of his contract with his President, his government,
and through it with the entire people of the United States — and perhaps
as a compensation for this deep, all-pervading obligation to his own
“people,” his men — the lieutenant has certain privileges.

If you will examine those privileges you will see that they are given for
well-defined reasons — to free him from certain details of his own living,
to isolate him to a small degree for thinking and studying, and to erect
around him a modest individual niche and a low pedestal from which to
exercise the dignity of his function of command.

And yet with ail this the green lieutenant has been the butt of the
military joke since the beginning of time, and in many cases ri^tfully

230 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

80, but the lieutenant of today’s Army of the United States is a shavetail
of a different color in many respects — or should be.

Because very shortly he will enter combat — ^at the head of his men —
and his worth will be weighed once and for all time in terms of the
eternal values of life and death.

Where does this lieutenant of today come from?

In comparatively small quantities he still comes from West Point —
where four arduous confining years have prepared him for his blooding.
In larger quantities he comes from civilian colleges all over the country,
where a less confining and less thorough four years of R.O.T.C. work
have given him a barely adequate grounding in the fundamentals of his
job. He comes from “tin” colleges in small numbers and even from “tin”
preparatory schools (as young as eighteen in some cases), where his
application to military life and study for four or five years lets him com-
pare favorably in education and military background with the West
Pointer. And he comes from OCS, where his background may be any-
thing from comparatively long-service regular noncom to a short-service
selectee. He has all variety of education from merely high school, through
college to two or more degrees — ^and all variety of previous jobs. His age
is from eighteen to thirty-five for service with combat troops, but his
average age is about twenty-six.

He has, however, one thing in common when he serves with combat
troops. He will lead those troops personally into action, and on his shoul-
ders will rest the fate of the United States! And he will be successful in
serving the future of the United States only in so far as he is successful
in securing the present welfare, in all things, of his men — ^as an “officer
and a man for his people.”

No other job is left for him — ^no excuse can be offered for not doing
this job. On the seventh of December, 1941 , when the first Japanese
bomb hit Hickam Field, the past, the present, and the future of the
United States stood still, just as if a film had stopp^ in a projector. The
worth of the past lay solely in how much it could inspire, influence, and
activate men to face the daily, soul-searing grind of the present— on all
fronts — that by facing it and forcing it to final hard-won victory a new
future might unfold again.

And that. Lieutenant, is the story.

What you wear on your collar or your shoulder is a part of the govern-
ment and the destiny of the United States. It is not yours personally for
any grace that is in you — but it is the insignia of the militant people, the
fighting government of your country. It implies a “special trust and con-
fidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity, and abilities” that are in you.
The stripes of your corporals and of your sergeants, the bars of yoiur cap-
tain, and the stars of your general are also an integral part of the militant
people and the fighting government of this country — all graduated plainly

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 231

in terms of responsibilities, accountabilities, and command functions of
the ageless military hierarchies of all armies.

Look at that bar a moment as you peel off your sweaty shirt tonight.
You’re tired and maybe you can think of a hundred places you’d rather
be; you have private worries — ^a wife, a girl, homesickness, a younger
brother who needs your guiding hand, a frightened old mother. You are
fed up with the stupidities you have had to contend with today. You are
firmly convinced that that so-and-so. Major Dumbjohn, ought to be shot
You’ll be double-tied if you’ll keep on training men and then have them
cadred away from you or sent to OCS. (You young fool, you’ll still be
training in the midst of combat, and this kind of expanding army where
you lose your best men continually is the best training for combat, where
all men are expendable.) And everyone else gets promoted but you.

All right — ^look at the bar again, gold or silver, look at it in the light
of your blacked-out flashlight or your desk lamp in cantonments — there
it is still, like the Hound of Heaven you can’t escape! A part of the
militant people — the fighting government of the United States — ^and it’s
on your shirt. So take a relaxing drink if you think you need it — but not
the twenty that will put you on the road to town, staggering before your
men and the taxpayers — and sit down and think of your thirty or so men.
Have you given them that added something that is required of a military
gentleman? Are you prepared for tomorrow, for next week, for combat?
Will some of them die because you are not?

Reach, then, to your bookshelf with the young hand that is still clean
of their blood and take down that field manual for a few brief moments
before you sleep, because you won’t be a lieutenant forever — ^not in this
Army. Next month, next spring, you’ll be a captain. By fall you’ll be a
major, perhaps, and before the last shot is fired you may be throwing
armies around. But you won’t be any of it or do any of it unless you
fortify yoxu* professional knowledge and your inner spirit now and always
against that dark night when your decisions will be right or wrong in
terms of hot red blood — ^unless you spread your knowledge everywhere
you go, so that those who are privates and corporals and sergeants imder
you today may be tomorrow’s lieutenants.

But whether you face your job now, while there is yet time, or whether
you scotch it; whether you realize the worth of this advice or dismiss it as
the old malarkey, remember just one thing:

Prepared or not, worthy or not, competent or not, when the time
comes —

“This platoon will . . .'’

— ^and for better or for worse before the inexorable gods of battle, you’ll
lead it, Lieutenant!

232

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

PRACTICAL PEACETIME LEADERSHIP
By Major (now Major General) O. W. Griswold

In this article, published in 1931, General Griswold, now a corps com-
mander, used the case method of discussing leadership. What he says is
entirely sound for the new Army.

Leadership cannot be learned from a set of rules. However similar
soldiers may be in the mass, individually each man has a distinct per-
sonality. In battle, in the face of danger and death, the soldier is stripped
of all superficial attributes and reverts to the elemental man. The herd
influence then becomes predominant. He ceases to think and then reacts,
as a matter of habit, to the things learned on the training ground.

In peace such factors as education, previous occupation, race, ante-
cedents, and home training make soldiers more individualistic. There is
not present that common danger, as in war, to bring them all together.
In peace, too, the application of disciplinary measures to suit the particu-
lar case may be efficacious as a deterrent. But in battle no disciplinary
punishment, less than death itself, will affect any man who is crazed
by fear.

The lives of Napoleon, Scipio, Hannibal, Caesar, Grant, Lee, Stone-
wall Jackson, and many other great soldiers abound in glorious exploits
of leadership on the battlefield. Conversely, the student may also find in
history many notable examples of its failure. Unfortunately, however,
there are few examples in print concerning the practical application of
leadership in time of peace. Therefore, and since it is in peace that we
should prepare for war, this study concerns itself more with the peacetime
aspect of the question.

The following true cases, illustrating some examples of peacetime
leadership, are stated from an observation of some twenty-four years’
service. They are stated, not in a spirit of criticism or commendation, but
in an effort to illustrate what are considered to be certain fundamental
principles that underlie the application of peacetime leadership.

Case /. Some years ago the graduating class at West Point was given
opportunity, as a part of its instruction, to witness the usual Saturday
inspection of one of the Regular Army detachments at that station. The
detachment commander’s attitude toward the men was one of extreme
severity and faultfinding; any bunk not made up to his satisfaction was
pulled roughly apart, and the blankets, sheets, and equipment were scat-
tered upon the floor; noncommissioned officers, as well as privates, were
admonished caustically and sarcastically before the assembled cadets;

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 233

meat cans^ knives^ forks^ and spoons out of place or in poor condition
were thrown across the room, and several times the detachment com-
mander lost his temper and used profanity. He seemed to take pleasure
in finding something wrong and failed to comment favorably on anything
that was right.

The impression made on that graduating class was impressive and .
lasting. To their inexperienced eyes this was the approved way to handle
enlisted men. Needless to say, every potential officer in that class was
greatly handicapped during the formative years of his earlier service by
the experience. It took years for some of them to readjust their ideas.
This influence may have caused some of the storm of postwar protest
against Regular Army methods.

This case illustrates many serious errors in the psychology of troop
leadership. First of all, it is an almost criminal illustration of the power
of example wrongfully applied. Secondly, it violates every semblance of
dignity, justice, and good practice in the handling of enlisted men. Such
treatment lowers their self-respect and exposes them to ridicule. It is
unjust and arbitrary. It destroys loyalty and respect for the commander,
the organization, and the entire service. Finally, the tyrannical, imposition
of authority on subordinates by virtue of military command can never be
defended. It is the act of a bully, not that of a leader.

Conversely, analysis of the case by the observant officer will guide him
to a fundamental truth, which is that in most situations commendation
is more powerful than condemnation. Applied to the case in point, it
means that the detachment commander’s mental attitude was destructive
rather than constructive.

In making an inspection, then, the best method is to find first some-
thing satisfactory. Having once found it, make favorable comment
thereon. Then point out carefully the unsatisfactory things, emphasizing
the idea, at the same time, tliat only these latter things are holding back
the individual or the organization from being uniformly up to the ap-
proved standard. Instead of arbitrarily ordering “do this” or “do that,”
the initiative of the subordinate can be stimulated by such questions as
“What do you think about this?” “Have you considered that?” leaving
him the working out of the suggestion. The senior has a direct respon-
sibility in checking up on results. This course will almost always bring
home to the subordinate that the senior is a friend, not an enemy; that
he is trying to build up, not to tear down. Its strength rests upon the fact
that any human being is proud to have or to do something above the
average. He receives pleasure and incentive from the fact that it is
noticed and praised by superiors. It works irrespective of persons, whether
they be generals, colonels, majors, junior officers, noncoxnmissioned
officers, cooks, or privates. It may be applied to any phase of everyday
military life, whether it be between line and staff, at a drill, an inspection.

234 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

a tour of guard, or even in the supervision of a poKce detail. The applica-
tion of this principle detracts in no way from what military men call
*‘force.” If, after fair trial, good results are not obtained, then direct
orders and direct action are necessary. If these latter measures do not
accomplish the desired end, then the individual becomes a proper sub-
ject for prompt elimination from the service.

Case IL Immediately after the World War the then Commandant of
Cadets at West Point was impressed with the necessity of developing the
latent leadership of cadets while in the corps. To this end tactical officers
were assigned orderly rooms in the cadet barracks. They were thus
brought into direct contact with cadets. Disciplinary matters were handled
under policies, exactly as in the service. Tactical officers were enjoined to
be strict but absolutely just and were not empowered to use arbitrary
measures of punishment. The tactical officer became, in truth, the “Old
Man’’ of his cadet company. His daily administration of the business of
that company served as a daily object lesson to the cadet throughout his
course at the academy.

A textbook. Military Man Power, by Lieutenant Colonel L. C. An-
drews, U.S.A., was obtained and a course of instruction was given by the
Tactical Department. Initiative and responsibility were developed in
members of the first (senior) class, by requiring each of them to rate every
cadet in his company twice each year in certain fundamental qualities of
character and appearance. These ratings were resolved by a mathematical
formula and incorporated into the cadets’ general standing for the year.

Beneficial results were immediate. Cadets began to see that officers
were not hereditary enemies. On the other hand, officers began to take
more interest in their cadets. They arranged for special coaching for those
deficient in studies, and a community of interest developed which re-
sulted in the cadets asking for and receiving advice and help on private,
personal, and official matters. This was accomplished without lowering
the standard of discipline in the least. It is certain that the relationship
between commander and commanded is now much better understood at
West Point than formerly.

This case illustrates a fundamental knowledge of human nature and
the power of example rightly employed.

Case III. Some years ago a young mauried second lieutenant was
ordered on foreign service. On accoimt of a sick child who was unable to
travel he applied for and obtained from the adjutant general one month’s
delay in sailing. Upon arrival at his new station he was severely repri-
manded by his colonel for the delay in reporting. He was further told in
no uncertain terms that his future actions would be guided strictly by
“the law.” The colonel emphasized the nature of that law by pounding
on a copy of Army Regulations. The child died later from the effects of
the trip.

LEADERSmP AND DISCIPLINE

235

Though the colonel later apologized, no amends that he could ever
make could remove that subordinate’s sense of resentment and injustice,
shared in common with all junior oflScers of the regiment. The colonel
had lost their loyalty and respect. Apparently, however, he learned
nothing from the incident, for as long as he commanded the regiment his
methods were those of a martinet. Officers were being put in arrest, and
trials of officers and men were frequent. Outwardly the regiment had
every appearance of being an excellent organization; within, loyalty,
esprit de corps^ and morale were very low.

This case illustrates lack of understanding and sympathy on the part
of the superior. It exemplifies also rule by fear. While the power to punish
is a necessary attribute of command, it should be resorted to only when
necessary. In some cases punishment should and must be given. Too
often, however, the rule by fear is applied by all ranks in our service.
Enlisted men are too often tried by their company commanders because
it is the easiest and quickest way to dispose of the cases. If a case contains
any unjust or unfair elements, irreparable harm to morale is certain to
result. Higher commanders sometimes centralize punishment by policy,
so that an enlisted man is tried irrespective of the wishes of his company
commander. If the superior is of the martinet type, such a policy is harm-
ful.

In any well-disciplined organization the superior must uphold the
authority of the junior. The superior, however, has an equ^ duty in
seeing that the subordinate does not act unjustly.

Case IV, Incident to border trouble, a certain infantry regiment was
ordered to Texas some fifteen years ago. Prior to a practice march, a
company commander of that regiment, just assigned, gave his company
specific orders against drinking water from unauthorized sources. He ex-
plained that much of the water in the country was unsafe to drink. As the
company had many recruits, he made the necessity for the order clear. In
the course of the long march the company halted, hot and tired, near a
stream. Immediately on breaking ranks one of the outstanding sergeants
in the company, a man of long service, was seen drinking from the brook.
In the presence of the assembled company the captain quietly and with-
out resentment cut away the sergeant’s chevrons and assigned him to a
squad as a private. Upon return of the company to the post the regi-
mental commander confirmed in orders the reduction of the sergeant to
the grade of private.

This case illustrates a fundamental principle of command — ^an order
once given must be strictly enforced. The sergeant’s usefulness as a leader
was destroyed by his own action. Since he himself did not obey, how
could he expect obedience from others? Had this offense been left un-
punished, the discipline in that company would have been nil. The fact
that the punishment immediately followed the delinquency is an impor-

236 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tant point to note. This case also illustrates a very human trait of soldiers^
which is to try out a new commander.

Case V, A new tactical officer was assigned to and joined a cadet com-
pany at West Point on the day that it completed a week’s practice march
in inclement weather. At Saturday inspection the following day many
rifles were found dirty and rusty. The tactical officer immediately ordered
a special inspection in one hour’s time for those cadets whose equipment
was not in satisfactory condition. Some rifles were again found to be
unsatisfactory. Two supplementary inspections were held during the day
for those cadets who had failed to come up to the required standard of
the previous inspection. The few who had unsatisfactory rifles or equip-
ment at the fourth inspection were at once awarded five demerits and ten
confinements or punishment tours. In addition thereto, they were con-
fined to barracks until such time as their cadet captains had passed their
equipment as satisfactory. On subsequent Saturday inspections appropri-
ate punishment was invariably awarded without any second opportunity
to make good. Needless to say, that particular tactical officer had no
further trouble with the care of equipment.

This case is selected as illustrating two points.

First of all, class punishment should not be employed where individuals
are at fault. While the entire company was generally unsatisfactory, there
were individuals who did have excellent equipment at the first inspection.
It would have been basically unsound to hold them further because others
had failed to come up to the required standard. The course adopted put
a premium on good work but was absolutely inflexible as to poor work.

Secondly, sincerity of purpose will always produce results. The easiest
way to have handled this situation would have been to punish all de-
linquencies at the first inspection. However, this would not have changed
the condition of equipment for that particular Saturday. Moreover, such
a course might have been unfair to certain individuals on account of the
short time available to prepare. The tactical officer wished to stress clean-
liness of equipment rather than punishment. The series of inspections
took all day and sacrificed the leisure of all concerned. It impressed the
fact that the equipment must be in a satisfactory condition. It gave the
necessary time and opportunity, and only those cadets who were not play-
ing the game received punishment in the end.

The action was designed as an object lesson, that no matter how dis-
agreeable the task, poor performance would not be tolerated. This
principle is susceptible of extensive application in ordinary everyday
military life. It is based on firmness rather than unnecessary harshness.
Certain methods by one type of leader will not secure the same results
when applied by another. The principle, therefore, is fixed, but the
method of application often varies.

Case VI. A general oflicer was once visiting a large post. Part of the

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

237

troops were out in a model camp erected to help with the instruction of
students. Accompanied by the post commander, the colonel of the regi-
ment, and other officers, the general made an inspection of the camp.
The party came finally to the camp latrine, in the construction of whi^
a certain corporal had displayed great interest, energy, and initiative.
The corporal was present at the inspection, full of pride in the conscious-
ness of work well done. The general turned to the post commander and
complimented him highly on the installations, saying that it was the best
field construction that he had ever seen. The corporal who had done the
work stood by unnoticed by the general as the party passed on, but the
wise post commander himself complimented the corporal as he left.

Passing later to the picket line, everything was found in excellent
condition. Somewhat perfunctory comments were made by the general
until he spied a man near by grooming a horse. He stopped and gave a
long dissertation in the hearing of the men on the general unsatisfactory
methods of grooming animals, not only in all branches of our service, but
in that organization in particular, and called attention to that man as an
example. The man was so humiliated by the gibes of the other men and
by the fact that he had brought adverse criticism on the company that he
later attempted to desert the service.

This case should hold some valuable lessons for the observant officer.
First, men always respond to interest in themselves and their work. It
would have cost the general nothing to have asked the corporal a few
questions about himself and to add a quiet word of commendation.

Another striking point is the readiness of the post commander to give
due credit to the man actually responsible. Selfishness is a rock upon
which so many promising military careers are wrecked.

Humiliation of a junior can never be condoned. It is probable that the
incident about grooming the horse passed from the general’s mind within
the following five minutes. He simply took that means to drive home a
lesson. Yet he unwittingly humiliated one man who probably will never
forgive or forget, and lowered the morale of an entire organization.

To summarize, two authorities analyze and evaluate alike the inherent
qualities which they consider essential to leadership. Too often discussion
on these points obscures the essence of what leadership should accomplish.
The purpose of leadership is to secure wholehearted physical and moral
co-operation. When such co-operation is spontaneous and free, and not
until then, has true leadership been established.

Without attempting to state specifically all the principles of leadership,
it may be said that they are the basis for all that a commander does to
secure for himself the sincere, loyal, and voluntary co-operation.

In the analysis of cases lies the key to the practical application of troop
psychology. Any officer of experience can state many examples, both

238 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

good and bad, from his own observation. The inexperienced officer, how-
ever, can only observe and benefit from the methods of others.

Granted that instruction in troop psychology is necessary, the next
consideration is to determine the best method of laying foundation. The
applicatory method, supplemented by study and lectures, is preferable to
all others.

LEADERSHIP

From an article by Major (later Colonel) C. A. Bach

(19^8)

. . . There is another kind of fairness, that which prevents an officer
from abusing the privileges of his rank. When you exact respect from
soldiers, be sure you treat them with equal respect. Build up their man-
hood and self-respect. Don’t try to pull it down. For an officer to be
overbearing and insulting in the treatment of enlisted men is the act of
a coward. He ties the man to a tree with the ropes of discipline and then
strikes him in the face, knowing full well that the man cannot strike
back. Consideration, courtesy, and respect from officers toward enlisted
men are not incompatible wiA discipline. They are parts of our discipline.

SECOND LIEUTENANTS AND MILITARY
COURTESY

By Stone Boreaus
{^940)

The army has not gone to hell since I was a second lieutenant. In fact,
it is bigger and better than ever. Yet a distressing development has im-
pinged itself upon my consciousness in the last few years, some illustrative
incidents of which are worth thinking about.

Some weeks ago I was on maneuvers, and seven of us were present for
dinner one evening in a battalion officers’ mess. The major, three cap-
tains, and three second lieutenants — ^all of us sat talking, and a casual
listener might not have noted anything unusual about our conversation.
But that conversation focused my attention sharply upon a tendency
which has become more and more pronounced in recent years.

The thing I noticed was that all three captains addressed the major
with an unforced but courteous respect and with a punctilious use of the
word “sir.” But not once did any of the second lieutenants say “stf’
to anybody.

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 239

This is no isolated incident, for I have with some astonishment seen
these newly commissioned officers slough over those evidences of respect
on which I, as a second lieutenant, was raised.

Not so long ago I was celebrating, in the traditional manner, my
fourteenth anniversary as a commissioned officer, when a shavetail of
one year’s service came in, clapped me on the back, and addressed me
by my nickname. Turning around slowly, I looked the boy full in the
eye and told him he had made a mistake in identity because I was Cap-
tain Sourpuss, and that the next time he addressed me to remember to
use a one-syllable word of three letters.

He seemed much surprised, and honestly so, I think. He just had not
been raised any better.

For some time past I have considered writing this article directed
toward the education in military courtesy of those who need it. But some-
how there was no overt act of sufficient violence to justify my doing it,
though my own lieutenant has long since been instructed in the proper
and habitual use of the term “sir.” But just a few days ago there was an
overt act which has stirred me to action.

We had an officers’ call, and every officer in the regiment was there
for a conference held by the CO himself. During the course of the dis-
cussion the colonel spoke to a major, who used the word “sir^’ in his
reply. Next the CO spoke to our lieutenant colonel and regimental execu-
tive officer, and he also included “sir^* in his reply — ^and then finally a
second lieutenant held a conversation with the colonel, and at no time
did he use that small word of respect. Further, his tone, while not dis-
respectful, was not definitely respectful either.

I don’t intend to sound like a crusty old fuddy-duddy. Nevertheless, I
believe something should be done about this new tendency, because it is
becoming general and should be eliminated while in its embryonic stage.
Not all young officers are offenders, but many are. And the fault is that
of the older officers who permit this relaxing of the respect it is their duty
to demand.

“MOST MILITARY SIR, SALUTATION”

Lovers Labour^s Lost, Shakespeare.

By Captain Deference

0940)

With all proper deference to the officer who contributed the sincere
cerebration on “Second Lieutenants and Military Courtesy,” I believe

240

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

that the lax behavior of subalterns which he “views with alarm” is more
of a good sign than a bad one. Borealis is, of course, basically right in his
beef about shavetails who don’t say “sir.” But taking his article as a
whole, I think he does a good job of hitting the nail exactly on the thiunb.

The reason that second lieutenants don’t say “sir” is not that the Army
is going to hell. No; not in the least. And it isn’t because a more bigotty
set of young squirts is now being commissioned in the grade of second
lieutenant than in the days when Borealis and I first reported for duty.

I wonder if Borealis ever stopped to look objectively at a brand-new
lieutenant who really went to town in the full sense of the word “def-
erence.” Speech in sentences beginning with “sir” and ending with “sir,”
and with that same small word exploded at every comma, is a language
all its own — ^an un-American absurdity of address that has no place in
our Army. Besides, it is next door to ridiculous to watch or to hear, and it
is a mode of speech that interferes no little with clearness of communica-
tion between speaker and hearer.

To my idea, the reason modern-minded second lieutenants do not say
“sir” is simply because they have seen too many young sirring machines
in operation as I have just described them, and have become sensibly
disgusted, reacting so strongly against overdone deference that for the
time being they show too little. Most of them will eventually decide for
themselves what degree of deference is fitting in a given situation.

As for calling your seniors by their first names and slapping them on
the back, I began my career as an officer with a firm decision to call
everybody “Tom” or “Dick” who called me “Harry.” It worked all right,
too, though my colonel must have been astonished the first time I pulled
it and asked me one day in a friendly manner why I did it. I told him,
and he saw my point and agreed with it at bottom but said that I’d find
out it wouldn’t work with a good many seniors. He then suggested that I
base my degree of informality purely on friendshij>— to be sure a senior
was my close friend before I slapped him on the back and called him
“Tom.”

“Anybody else who calls you ‘Harry,’ ” said the colonel, “call him by
his title once in a while, but don’t bother to say ‘sir’ except officially. To
all others say ‘sir’ every few sentences — a little practice will tell you what
sounds decently respectful under different circumstances and what sounds
deferentially redundant.”

Then he ended the matter by telling me that, in his opinion, colonels
as a class didn’t have enough second-lieutenant friends and that he
wanted to count me as one and that it was O.K. by him for me to call
him “Tom” if I’d like to, “Only,” he concluded, “it sounds a little better
not to, up at headquarters, or in other official circumstances.”

The dope my colonel gave me then is a sound basis for relations be-
tween junior officer and senior. It considers human relations in daily con-

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 241

tact, which are even more important in an army than in the rest of life.
So for every lieutenant whose ears Borealis may have knocked down for
not saying “sir,” there must be at least two that I myself have admonished
firmly for saying “sir” so often and so fast that it made me both uncom-
fortable and unable to get the drift of what was being said.

The same colonel I have mentioned above always swore that there are
only two kinds of officers in our Army — “young squirts” and “old poots.”^
“Some,” he would say, “get to be old poots before they’re captains, and
some, by good luck for the Army, never do. But once you’re an old poot,
set in your ways, lost to imagination, and damning things in general be-
cause the Army’s gone to hell, you might as well quit for all the good
you are.” I’m sure my good friend Borealis is still far from coming within
the latter class, though from the sound of his article he is a potential
candidate.

SHAVETAILS AND COURTESY
By Captain Stone Cold
(1940)

Captain Stone Borealis

Author, “Second Lieutenants and Military Courtesy”

Dear Sir:

When distressing developments hit you between the eyes — I mean “im-
pinge themselves upon your consciousness” — ^you sure go to town. Par-
don me, sir, if I get right down to cases, sir, and formally assure you,
sir, that I have the utmost respect for all old-timers, sir, particularly aged
captains with fourteen years’ service, sir.

When you so realistically related how you were rudely slapped on the
back by a spanking new shavetail while you were celebrating, in the tradi-
tional manner, your fourteenth anniversary as a commissioned officer, I
began to think you had won the well wishes of at least one subordinate.
But when you gave the harrowing details of how you slowly turned,
looked him full in the eye, and impressively told him to address you with
a one-syllable word of three letters, you got me, sir. In fact, you got
me down!

If that youngster does not entirely lack guts, he thinks of you not only
as Captain Sourpuss, but more appropriately as an old so-and-so. To so
treat an unsuspecting enthusiastic admirer shows an abysmal ignorance
of human nature. How else would you want to be treated while celebrat-
ing in the traditional manner? After all, the difference in rank between
a lieutenant and a fourteen-year captain is not such an insurmountable
barrier that it can’t be crossed. When I had fourteen years’ service I was

242

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

still a lieutenant. But let us suppose the gap is too large. There is a time
and place for everything, a time to insist on the letter of the law and a
time to relax from the fixities of military custom. But there is never a
time to humiliate a subordinate whose intentions are good and who is
merely misguided. If there was any good judgment displayed, the lieuten-
ant showed it.

Suppose he had clicked his heels, bowed stiffly from the waist, and let
go a blurb in this manner: “Captain, sir, I see that you are celebrating
your fourteenth anniversary as a commissioned officer. I do not wish to
appear presumptuous, sir, but if a second lieutenant may congratulate an
older officer I desire to do so now. I wish you, sir, many happy returns of
the day. I thank you, sir, for permitting me the privilege of addressing
you.”

Captain, I have been observing these lieutenants a damn sight longer
than you have. In fact, I see more of them each year than you have seen
in your entire service. Take my word for it, sir, do not mistake lip service
for the real thing. There is nothing wrong with the younger officers. Take
a close look at yourself, sir, and scramble off your high horse, pronto.
You will get closer to earth, where all good doughboys belong. Besides,
you will then be able to see plenty of the right kind of younger officers
around you. Don’t let a few isolated cases warp your viewpoint, sir.

Sympathetically yours,

Captain Stone Cold

SELF-RESPECT

From an article by Vice-Admiral William S. Sims,

U.S. Navy

. . . Never destroy or decrease a man’s self-respect by humiliating him
before others. If his self-respect is destroyed, his usefulness will be seri-
ously diminished. A man who is called down in the presence of others
can hardly help resenting it. Frequent “sanding down” of your men is
an all-too-common mistake, and a very detrimental one.

Do not let the state of your liver influence your attitude toward
your men.

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

243

THE NEW LEADERSHIP

From the Annual Report of BiuoADffiR General {now General) Doug-
las MagArthur^ Superintendent of the U.S. Military Academy, 1^20,
as reprinted in the Infantry Journal of June iga2.

Until the world war, armed conflicts between nations had been fought
by comparatively a small fraction of the populations involved. These pro-
fessional armies were composed very largely of elements which frequently
required the most rigid methods of training, the severest forms of dis-
cipline, to weld them into a flexible weapon for use on the battlefield.
Officers were therefore developed to handle a more or less recalcitrant
element along definite and simple lines, and a fixed psychology resulted.
Early in the World War it was realized, to the astonishment of both sides,
that the professional armies, upon which they had relied, were unable to
bring the combat to a definite decision. It became evident . . . that
national communities had become so intimate that war was a condition
which involved the efforts of every man, woman, and child in the coun-
tries affected. War had become a phenomenon which truly involved the
nation in arms. Personnel was of necessity improvised, both at the front
and at the rear; the magnitude of the effort, both of supply and of
combat, was so great that individuals were utilized with the minimum of
training. In general result, this was largely offset by the high personal
type of those engaged. Discipline no longer required extreme methods.
Men gradually needed only to be told what to do rather than to be
forced by the fear of consequences of failure.. The great numbers in-
volved made it impossible to apply the old, rigid methods which had
been so successful when battle lines were not so extensive. The rule of
this war can but apply to that of the future. Improvisation will be the
watchword. Such changed conditions will require a modification in type
of the officer, a type possessing all of the cardinal military virtues as of
yore, but possessing an intimate understanding of the mechanics of hu-
man feelings, a comprehensive grasp of world and national affairs, and a
liberalization of conception which amounts to a change in his psychology
of command. This standard became the basis of the construction of the
new West Point in the spirit of old West Point.

ALL GOD’S CHILLUN AIN’T GOT WINGS
By Arcades Ambo

Promotion in our Army has always crept in time of peace, and ways
to improve it without costing the country much took not only the time of

244 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

successive chiefs of staff but that of many a lieutenant of twelve, fifteen,
or more years of service. A lot of them wrote about it for the Infantry
Journal,

Ther^ was at least one World War general who was a lieutenant for
twenty years, and probably many who approached that mark. There were
many hundreds of officers who, when Congress finally did something in
1935, had been lieutenants for eighteen years.

Such lingering in the lower ranks is not merely a matter of not getting
more pay faster. The thing has an unquestionable psychological effect,
even upon those lieutenants who become professionally as close to the
equivalent of generals as they can in a small army, through study and
seeking for staff jobs where they can leam more and more about war. It
keeps an officer immature in his relationships with his superiors and his
mental attitudes toward them. It does this to a degree, in many men, that
cannot readily be overcome when promotion comes fast in war. It is bad
for any army.

“All God’s Chillun Ain’t Got Wings” is the most thorough discussion
of a vital subject ever to appear in any service journal. It was published
in 1935, and it looks sharply toward a new great war — 2l habit of most
Regular Army men based on the inevitability of war throughout history.

Belshazzar’s Feast

The outstanding problem in the military service is promotion. Every-
where the times are out of joint. Organized knowledge in the field of the
physical sciences has so outstripped the slow advance of the social sciences
that the control of society has become difficult. The same is true in the
armed forces. Material preparedness has progressed at the expense of
intellectual preparedness. Somehow the art of war must be brought into
harmony with the science of war.

Still punch-drunk from the past great conflict, civilized society sees
another war casting its ominous shadow before. The old worlds are
seething with baffled purposes. Statesmen are str^ning to stave off tem-
porarily what is once more being spoken of as “inevitable war.” Thought-
ful men in responsible positions have expressed serious doubts whether
our present level of civilization can survive another great bloodletting.

We are in the midst of economic difficulties which themselves are grave
enough. Even discounting the more fantastic imaginings of alarmists, the
destructive powers it is possible to unleash in war have greatly increased.
There is reason to fear in all soberness that their misuse may spell
catastrophe.

This has happened before. Critics have demonstrated that the military
systems tested in the recent great war were barren of all except deadly
fruits. They have diagnosed the malady to be a constitutional deficiency
of brain power. The armies of the world are therefore faced with a
crucial problem and an awful responsibility. Unless we can find a way to

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 245

mobilize and utilize the best brsiin pc^er in armies more effectively, an-
other general conflict will indeed be fraught with danger to civilization.

A little more brains will not serve. The destructiveness of war has be-
come too dangerous and the problems of war too complicated. We must
have the fullest possible service from the best brains that we can muster.
Nor will it do to wait until the blast of war blows in the ears: then it will
be too late.

Under modern conditions of fast transport and rapid movement an
initial decision may come with headlong quickness — ^and it may be final.
If the original Schlieffen plan had been adhered to in 1914, France might
well have been smashed to a bleeding pulp within three months, as was
expected. But at that time regular use of motor transport had not yet
lent to armies the speed of movement away from railways which is now
possible. Full use of the gasoline engine has since made it far more prob-
able that opening engagements will be decisive. As a corollary we can no
longer safely rely upon learning the way to victory after war has begun.
The fate of nations has thus come to depend pre-eminently upon (i)
intelligent preparation of war and (2) intellectual preparedness for the
conduct of war. This means that no other military problem of today is
comparable in importance with that of getting the ablest men to the top
in time of peace.

The story of 1914 should haunt us. It is a story of what happens when
the preparation and conduct of war are left to mediocrities. It is a story
of divine obliviousness to the implications of technological progress and
of ideas on war long disassociated from realities. Above all, there is the
artistic tragedy of the Schlieffen plan, conceived by a first-rate intel-
ligence and thoroughly botched by the tinkering and fiddling of mere
journeymen soldiers.

The importance of methods of promotion to success in war is illus-
trated by another story: that of 1870. The world has long since taken
the measure of the French generals who repeatedly led a veteran pro-
fessional soldiery of premier quality down to ignominious defeat and
futile death. Armies of lions were led by asses, while the great genius of
an Ardant du Picq was allowed to fall at the head of a mere regiment.
This came to pass because the French Army was saddled with a system
of promotion by seniority and favoritism which almost guaranteed that
exceptional ability should never attain the higher grades. The War of
1870-71 was lost to the French by the provisions governing advancement
in the law of March 16, 1838!

From across the Rhine came the half -amateur army of Prussia, led by
a military genius and seconded by a whole constellation of able men. Its
preparation for war was far superior in organization, efficiency, plans,
tactics, training of officers, and some of its weapons. Its higher com-
manders and staff officers were thoroughly prepared intellectually for the

246 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

conduct of war. The superb troops of France were rolled back and rolled
under^ while the world gasped.

In seeking to account for the phenomenal victory of Prussia, soldier-
men have ascribed great importance to her general staff institution and
her army’s possession of the philosophy of Clausewitz. They have missed
,the main point. France had the philosophy of Bourcet, Guibert, and
Jomini to draw upon. In the Depot de la Guerre she had an institution
corresponding far more closely to the Great General Staff than has been
realized. In the corps d'itaUmajor she had an equivalent of the General-
stab der Armee. There was only one vital difference: the Prussian staff
had a system of selection and promotion which drew out the last ounce
of brain power in the Prussian Army under the inspired direction of a
man who was himself, in part, only a product of the system. The brain
power of the staff made itself felt in every department. The greatness of
the Prussian Army under Moltke thus rested upon its method of sifting
out ability.

The incubus which weighs upon the military systems of today is promo-
tion by seniority. Seniority alone can never hope to get brains to the top.
If by a happy chance a man of brains should climb the weary files to
high command, by the time he has passed all the milestones of the years
his energy and enthusiasm will almost certainly have been dissipated
along the road and his creative genius long since have flowered — ^and
gone to seed. Youth has an important place in high command. Fuller,
in his Generalship: Its Diseases and Their Cure, presents the extreme
view of this subject, the importance of which was recognized by Ono-
sander 2,500 years ago. Today promotion is hopelessly handicapped in
the race with senile decay. The ability which springs from long experience
is too often counteracted by an increased ossification on mental habits.
Nature may be wise and kindly to the generals in not allowing them to
recognize these limitations in diemselves, but that does not make it any
easier on the Army. Today we have an almost ironclad guarantee that
our generals will be a generation behind in their thinking. They reach
their rank at a time when it is more natural to look backward than for-
ward, where youth instinctively casts its eyes.

When he first read a volume of Jomini’s works Napoleon nearly had
an apoplectic stroke.

“How did Fouchc ever let this book be published?” he demanded. “It
will give away all my secrets.”

Then upon second thought he said:

“After all, it doesn’t matter. The young men who read it will never
command against me — ^and the old ones will never read it.”

Napoleon knew that the vices of seniority in the armies of his enemies
were fighting on his side; that interminable imprisonment in the lower
grades had dwarfed the imagination and sterilized the brains of his op-

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 247

ponents so that he could tell just what they could and would do. The'
advantages of flexibility and of surprise were all on his side.

Seniority is a fetish which for purposes of promotion can show no
more solid proofs of virtue than the time-honored use of spunk water
and dead cats at midnight as a cure for warts.

Why does this archaic device survive in modem days? Is it because of
military conservatism and inertia? Is it because army officers have as
their chief concern the acquisition of “property*’ in higher grades by a
sort of compound interest and regard their calling as a semiprivate busi-^
ness guild engaged in haggling with the state and within itself over the
“spoils of peace” in the spirit of the old condottieri? Or is it because
every system of selection which has yet been tried has proven vicious and
raised an outcry?

Probably something of all these factors comes into play in varying de-
gree^ according to individual characteristics. Military men in their tactical
studies make a great to-do about elaborate and complete “estimates of
the situation,” assessing pertinent facts in the light of their “mission.”
But in the conduct of routine affairs they make momentous decisions
without taking account of these systematic safeguards, and with much the
same combination of rationalized feeling and instinctive, cold self-
interest as a romantic young woman casting an appraising eye over an
unconscious candidate for her hand. Promotion is discussed on the basis
of how to get rid of the “hump” so as to improve morale, prevent stag-
nation in grade, and let the lowly move toward the Promised Land. This
Promised Land is more often envisaged as though it were a sort of tran-
scendental Old Soldiers’ Home for the faithful rather than a busy work-
shop for the turning out of a superlative instrument for the winning of
victory in war.

While it seems to be true that our volunteer and conscript veterans
have been willing to lay down their lives for the welfare of the country
but not to give up their bonus, something better can be said for our pro-
fessional soldiers. As a rule they live by a code of ethics whose roots lie
deep in the soil of sacrifice for the public weal. It is necessary only to
state the problem clearly to know how they will answer. They will sub-
mit readily to any method of selection that will do what it is supposed
to do, that can be shown to be in the true public interest, and that does
not by creating rancor and mistrust destroy the very breath of an army —
its morale. Officers care as much for the future of their families as any
normal human beings. Promotion by seniority does give a certain guaran-
tee of future security as comforting to the soul as to lie in a hammock in
the shade with a book and pipe and glass, listening idly to the clank of an
oil well pumping one up a black fortune out of the ground. But the de-
mands of war are harsh. The soldier is as much vowed to sacrifice and
service as a member of a monastic order. His cannot be a life of ease.

248

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Epic deeds such as he must be ready to perform are not spawned in
security and comfort but in uncertainty, straining effort, and mastery of
confusion in flux. Like the sharp notes of First Call on a bitter morning,
the realization must come that the conditions of war have so changed
that continued reliance upon promotion by seniority as the principal
method of advancement is now madness. The only question is how a
satisfactory method of selection can be divided. We must find an answer,
for it is a decree of Nature: “Adapt or die!”

Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin

The crucial problem of getting brains to the top of armies has been
examined by Liddell Hart in his Remaking of Modern Armies (pp.
196-98), but for all his acumen he has not been able to offer any really
new suggestions. All the old schemes have been tried and found wanting.
No one will hold a brief for election. No competitive examinations yet
devised by man can get at the qualities it is necessary to evaluate. Promo-
tion by seniority is an evil to be escaped. Some sort of selection alone
remains.

The really serious objection to this method is not to be found in the
injustices that result. It is to be found in the fact that the systems of
selection which have been tried cannot be relied upon to deliver the
goods. If they do not, then the injustice is flagrant and serious. It has no
justification in results and has a serious effect upon the morale of the
army.

The Moltkean system of personal selection offers no general solution
because it inexorably calls for a very great man to do the selecting. It can
be applied effectively only within the limits of a small establishment such
as a general staff, for it requires close and prolonged personal contact.
Under other than these conditions personal selection will become pure
favoritism without being effective. If this favoritism be frivolous, if the
system be ill devised, rigid, and not subject to change in the light of
trial and error, there is likely to be an inverse or freakish selection. Some
years ago a distinguished scholar was asked why at that time so many
weird theories were being put forth by German professors. He replied
that the University of Berlin, once upon a time, decided to encourage
originality and had taiken pains to select men of greater originality to the
faculty, and that the result had been that the most original professors
had selected the most original pupils, until in time there had been raised
a faculty of crackpots.

One of the difficulties with selection in the past has been that it has
been done by boards. The esteem in which boards are held may be
judged from the common definition: “Long, narrow, and wooden.” The
evils of a council of war are proverbial. A board is a council of peace

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 249

and shares many of the disadvantages of a. council of war and has in
addition many peculiarities of its own. If the sad tales now going around
about “Class B” boards [the boards before which officers of poor record
appeared with a view to their elimination from the Army] are only lo
per cent true, the board as a means of selection stands condemned.

After the Franco-Prussian War French officers were reclassified by a
board upon which sat none other than Marshals MacMahon and Canro*
bert. This board was thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the Second
Empire and derided as “Cossacks’* any officers who studied their profes-
sion. Before this board came the name of a certain Lafourge. It was re-
corded that this officer of his own free will and at great personal sacrifice
had long occupied himself with the study of geology. “Peuh!” said one
member of the board. “An officer who occupies himself with geology!”
Another member of the august commission remarked dreamily, “But who
rides a horse like a centaur!” Thereupon promotion was promptly ac-
corded. Such is the way of boards. They may be as capricious as a
coquette.

If boards rely upon opinions of members who have had some contact
with particular officers — as fair-minded boards are prone to do — ^they do
not really take corporate action but engage in a sort of “logrolling.” The
alternative is to fall back upon an officer’s “record.” For many reasons
this is an inadequate basis for selection. One reason is decisive: An
officer’s record is one of accomplishment rather than of ability. What
goes into that record depends largely upon chance or favor — ^upon the
opportunities given him to demonstrate ability.

An officer brilliantly saves the day. He is suitably recognized. But what
of the officer, perhaps of far greater ability, who never got to the front
but loyally did his drudgery far from the sound of battle? A military
attach^ reports a foreign war with great insight. He must be rewarded.
But does that prove him better than those stuck in some hole at home?
Another officer brings a laggardly outfit to a high level of efficiency. It
is proper to recognize this fact. But does it prove him any abler than that
officer who has inherited a unit at an exceptional level of efficiency and
maintains it there? In time of peace the opportunity to demonstrate
ability depends pre-eminently upon assignment. Assignment is a matter
of preferment. Who gets first crack at the service schools? Is it not in
many cases those who have been “dog robbers” on Olympus? Soldiers are
human beings and subject to human failings. To judge an officer wholly
on his record merely removes favoritism to the level of assignment and
makes selection on that basis a mockery.

It is a natural human failing to honor accomplishment without taking
into account opportunity. General Pershing did a good job. That does
not prove that he was a better man than others who did not have his

250 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

opportunities. Lacking any other measure of ability, a conscientious
board is almost certain to follow this failing blindly. Too many aides-de-
camp promoted, too many promotions for actions of 6clat in Algeria con-
tributed largely to bring France to Sedan [the Sedan of 1870],

Where selection is practiced it is inequality of opportunity that rankles
in the souls of the less fortunate. If reasonable equality of opportunity
could be assured no true soldier would grumble over errors of judgment.
He can always prove his case by trying harder. It is being doomed to
helplessness that makes men bitter. Sportsmanship will concede another
better man if the trial be in a free and fair competition, but no one takes
his defeat with good grace if he knows that the deck was stacked.

Great ability is so rare that all defer to it and the entire army must be
combed to find it. If it is to be recognized everywhere, it must be allowed
to identify itself everywhere. It can be made to grow. That is another
reason why we must find some means to identify it and stimulate it
wherever it can be found. Napoleon knew his hegemonies when he said
that each of his soldiers carried a marshal’s baton in his knapsack. To
stimulate the general growth of ability there must be an approximately
equal opportunity to win reward. Such stimulus acts not only upon the
cream of the crop but indirectly upon the whole corps of ofiBcers. The
prospect of winning to the top works to endow the whole army with an
almost epic spirit. This was the secret of Napoleon and of Von Moltke.

The Review of the Wooden Soldiers

I divide my officers into four classes as follows: The clever, the industrious,
the lazy, and the stupid. Each officer always possesses two of these qualities.
Those who are clever and industrious I appoint to the General Staff. Use can
under certain circumstances be made of those who are stupid and lazy. The man
who is clever and lazy qualifies for the highest leadership posts. He has the
requisite nerves and the mental clarity for difficult decisions. But whoever is
stupid and industrious must be got rid of, for he is too dangerous.

General Freiherr von Hammerstein-Equord,
Former head of German War Department,

Chief of Army Direction.

The problem of pi:omotion is complicated by the need for more than
one type in the leadership of armies. As Machiavelli wrote: ‘‘There are
three kinds of brains: the first can leam by itself; the second can ap-
preciate what others have learned; the third can neither leam of itself
nor from others.”

The idea that all officers should be standardized and interchangeable
parts in a military machine needs only to be looked at to be known for
what it is, an imbecility and a fraud. We deny the thesis when we com-
mission officers in different arms and services, although this is largely an

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

251

artificial differentiation, and yet we fail to recognize important and
natural differences. Blois during the World War was a madhouse peopled
by round pegs who had been thrust into square holes and by square pegs
who had been forced into round holes. Officers who would have been
invaluable elsewhere were wrenched savagely out of jobs to which they
were unsuited, to the injury of their reputations and without benefit to
the service. It was a cruel and brutal system based upon the stupidity of
this assumption that every officer should be able to fill any job in the
Army. Someday, perhaps, our equally absurd and stupid subservience to
the gross superstition of ^‘appropriate command” will exact its penalty
also.

The basic fallacy in all previous and existing systems of selection had
been “blind” selection with no clear idea of what one must select for.
Napoleon would have been no more than General Bonaparte had it not
been for Carnot and Berthier. Alexander owed his army to fiis father,
Philip of Macedon; Caesar, his to Marius, and Grant owed his army to
McClellan. More than one type of officer is needed to win a war.

We may distinguish five types of necessary ability, with essential char-
acteristics substantially as follows:

(1) The “Staff Brain-Truster” or Jomini Type:

Grasp, or power of comprehending the essential nature of problems or
situations.

Originality and profusion of ideas, stemming from great imaginative
powers.

Foresight, stemming from great imaginative powers and a strong sense
of realities.

(2) The “Balance Wheel” or Bliicher Type:

Suggestibility, or readiness to consider the ideas of others before decid-
ing.

Sound judgment of values and of risks.

Decision: promptness in deciding and resolution in adhering to plans
once made.

Coolness and steady, unshakable confidence.

(3) The “Staff Executive” or Berthier Type:

Refined technical skill in elaborating details of directives according to
a system.

Unfailing precision and reliability.

Systematic providence: systematic forethought in the provision of in-
formation and dispositions necessary to a proper state of readiness for any
conceivable eventuality.

(4) The “Subcommander” or Napoleonic Marshal Type:

Orientation, or a supreme sense for the necessity for a particular mis-
sion.

Intellectual discipline and fortitude in pursuit of that mission.

252 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Leadership, or the capacity to get the utmost effort and teamwork out
of men.

(5) The “Organizer of Victory” or Carnot Type:

Driving energy that overrides all obstacles and “red tape” to get maxi-
mum results at maximum speed.

Systematic capacity that can improvise order in any confusion.

“Hand over your money or 1*11 blow out your brains!** said the high-
wayman to the New Yorker. “Blow away,** said the New Yorker. “You
can live in New York without brains, but you can*t without money.** The
same is true (to some extent) about brains in command of an army. You
can command an army without brains, but you can*t without character.
In all except one type of officer character and skill are predominant.
“Brains** is the necessary characteristic only of the Jomini type.

Thomas Conway and Charles Lee were both the superiors of George
Washington as technically trained soldiers. Both failed utterly in the
command of troops and had to be court-martialed. Washington is en-
rolled among the great military leaders of all times. Both character and
skill are based upon ingrained habit, and the more such habit is reduced
to the level of highly ingrained reflex action, the greater the ability. But
habit is developed at the expense of brain power. It achieves speed and
efficiency by dispensing with any necessity for constant recourse to fresh
reasoning and so weakens the higher reasoning powers. It must be so.
The last four types are “brainless** in their purity. They are the types of the
“wooden soldiers.** It is the first type alone that is endowed with the
peculiar problem-solving capacity now peculiarly required. It is the only
type that can hope to deal effectively with problems of a new kind not
adequately provided for by stereotyped reactions. It is the only type that
can hope to deal effectively with problems whose elements are highly
uncertain or largely unknown.

The present military system has demonstrated that it can produce
plenty of excellent wooden soldiers. It is sadly deficient in its production
of “bright-idea** soldiers. This may be due in part to our theory that all
officers should be standardized and interchangeable, and in part to the
influence of the general service schools which teach how to make omelets
without breaking eggs. It is necessary to put a special premium on
“brains.** This does not mean that a premium should not be placed on
exceptional ability in other types. It would be folly to entrust the conduct
of war to a mere book soldier. A combination of all abilities is necessary.
We should search high and low for combinations in particular men, for
it is they who are the Marlboroughs, the Napoleons, and the Von
Moltkes. Failing such, we must resort to teams. For these the best of the
wooden soldiers should be selected up. But only the very best, for the
officers of any healthy army are on the average of high-standard wooden
soldiers. They are the backbone of any army, and for precisely that rea-

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

253

son ought not to be the head. It is the brain-trusters that are hard to
find. Wherever found, “brains** should be selected up rapidly to the level
where they are most needed. This will not be the highest level unless
“brains** is combined with other types of ability. It will be the general
staff level. In the lack of combinations, high command must go to the
“Hindenburg,** the “Blucher,** the “Joffre,** and the “Napoleonic-mar-
shal** types of ability, with staffs of Ludendorffs, Schamhorsts, and
Jominis.

The two commander types do not need to be selected up as rapidly as
brains. They are hardy plants that can thrive and grow under present
system. The Hindenburg-Bliicher type may reach full bloom in ad-
vanced years; the other in middle age. But “brains** must be gotten up
before they settle into a rut. They must be plucked before they wither
and go to seed. Here^ then, one principle suggests itself. Mere ‘‘brighU
idea"* soldiers should he selected up fast to the middle grades to stay
there; the commander types should be selected up fast from the middle
grades to the highest. This principle would let the rare combination types
go up fast all the way, but only such combination types.

The crux of the problem lies in equalization of opportunity to demon-
strate ability. The problem of equalization is not the same for all types of
ability. The commander types depend largely upon strength of character.
Character can manifest itself to a high degree under almost any condi-
tions. It already has a considerable measure of equal opportunity. If
rapid advancement be left to take place in the higher grades, it becomes
possible to rely more upon a sort of personal selection. There are fewer
officers to consider, and they are known better by their long service. In the
middle grades the opportunity to demonstrate ability is much larger, no
matter what the assignment. The distribution of opportunity is somewhat
more equitable. It is doubtful if any premium should be put upon these
types in the lower grades. There is every reason to encourage the
“wooden** types to develop into other types of ability as well.

The Berthier and Carnot types of ability can manifest themselves
pretty well in executive positions and to a lesser extent in all administra-
tive activity, at which every officer gets plenty of chance. If proper ac-
count be taken of opportunity, an officer’s achievement may be a value-
less clue to ability in these types. It is not enough, but it should not be
difficult to arrange for a closer approach to equality of opportunity in
this field by means of greater system in assignment. The whole business of
assignment should be redesigned so as to aim at giving every officer ap-
proximately equal chance to show these types of ability. The greater
possibilities which lie in the use of assignment for the systematic testing
of the officer corps are not adequately exploited.

“Brains** gets little chance to demonstrate itself in ordinary military
duties. The problem of equal opportunity is here a serious one. It is said

254 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

that General Summerall as commander of the Hawaiian Division called
upon each officer annually to report what progress he had made in his
profession during the year: what he regarded as his outstanding achieve-
ment. Here is an attempt to get at the bottom of the business. It has not
been unknown for officers to win recognition and preferment for achieve-
ments made on their own initiative above or outside of line of duty.
Here is a field for study with a view to finding a basis for systematic selec-
tion for promotion.

There is one ideal of advancement in the world today which has never
been prospected thoroughly for military use but which comes in here
with peculiar relevance. It is that of the “brain trust” par excellence of
civilization: the academic ideal of advancement for scholars and sci-
entists. These form a loosely organized army fighting a leisurely and
bloodless but endless battle on the frontier of knowledge. They have their
hierarchy, both of grades and commands, and hence a problem of ad-
vancement. But their problem differs from that of armies in that it knows
no two distinct phases of war and peace.

Armies, in the occasional intense conflicts of actual war, are forced to
fall back in greater or lesser degree upon arbitrary selection. They can do
so with confidence at such times because the test of actual war measures
ability as nothing else can. But in time of peace measurement of military
ability becomes a baffling problem. The elements of such ability are so
various, so intangible, and so uncertain that, unlike the forces of mechan-
ics, their presence can be detected with accuracy only through results.
But results in war cannot be produced in time of peace, nor can war be
simulated in even a hundredth part of its condition.

The sciences are always at war, in a sense. They can measure ability
by results achieved in their war. In another sense they are always in a
state of peace. Results can be achieved, but they do not have to be
achieved at any particular time or place. The sciences have therefore hit
upon a scheme of advancement in which prospective candidates are given
the responsibility of demonstrating amply their ability by achieving re-
sults on their own initiative and at such time and in such manner as they
see fit. It is somewhat as if candidates for high command were allowed to
take an army and go conquer whatever smaller country might strike their
fancy in order to demonstrate their ability to command in war.

The ability that it is vitally necessary to draw out of armies is not
merely ability to conduct war but also ability to prepare for war. We need
not only great war commanders but men who can recognize and develop
such commanders and equip them with the best military machine that it
is possible to build. We need not only virtuosos but composers and im-
presarios. The ability of the latter can be measured with certainty only
through ultimate results in war, but there are also certain peacetime
results capable of some evaluation. Armies might take a cue from the

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 255

academic world by taking as a criterion for s|>ecial advancement dw-
tinguished or significant contributions to material or intellectual, pre^
paredness above and beyond the call of duty.

Napoleons, Front and Center!

Let ns try to sketch a system of advancement that embraces routine
promotion for the main body of oiBBcers by seniority and exceptional ad-
vancement for a percentage of officers in such a manner that there would
be no retarding of promotion by seniority. The last would be achieved by
retiring field officers at the top to make room for exceptional promo-
tions, thus stimulating the flow of the best ability toward the top while
still young.

The essential element in this scheme is an adaptation of the system of
cumulative “honor points” used at the Military Academy to determine
military as distinct from academic standing. Honor points would be given
for achievement under four heads:

(1) Exceptional knowledge of subjects, or exceptional proficiency in tech-
niques, of patent or probable military utility, acquired other than in line of duty
by notable voluntary effort;

( 2 ) Significant contributions to material or intellectual preparedness for war
made out of line of duty, or in line of duty in notable excess of reasonable ex-
pectations;

( 3 ) Demonstration of the capacity to get results from plans, in the conduct
of wartime or similar operations, in notable excess of what might reasonably be
expected and as a consequence of exceptional force of character;

( 4 ) Exceptional skill and efficiency in the performance of regular military
duties (other than wartime conduct of operations) or non-military functions of
related nature.

The purpose of the system of honor points is to get away from any
judgment of officers by boards and to decentralize the process of judg-
ment. Any particular award of points would be only contributory to
determining an officer's standing. The more one increases the number of
these infinitesimal judgments, the more one reduces the likelihood of any
large error and approaches true evaluation as a limit. There would be,
not a single judgment based upon a record, but a series of judgments by
superiors, boards, or examiners, made as a result of direct knowledge or
investigation at the time. The whole army would judge, not a single
board.

“Skill-and-efficiency points” would be given upon approved recom-
mendation of appropriate commanders who would be required to give
consideration to written estimates by intermediate commanders. The
company officers would be graded by the regimental commander with

256 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

the written estimates from his field officers. Any large discrepancy be-
tween these ratings would call for inquiry before final approval.

“Contribution points” would be given by special corps-area boards
upon presentation of substantial facts and competent testimonials on the
value of the contributions made, either by the officer himself or by his
commander, and after such investigations by the board as may seem
fitting. An officer invents a gadget to improve fire power or makes a
striking advance in methods of communications: let the facts be de-
termined, the value of the device assessed, and let points be set to
his credit.

“Command-ability points” would be given by citing for achievements
under conditions calling for command ability, as actual or simulated war-
like operations or emergencies of all sorts. Whenever a soldier distin-
guishes himself in a crisis of any kind — at a fire, in an earthquake, or other
disaster — by his coolness and energy, it should be set down to his ever-
lasting credit and noted in his record as an indication of his capacity to
handle himself and others under stress. In this connection it might be
advisable to study the use of psychological tests, such as are used in the
Air Corps to test such things as reaction times and sense of balance, or
as are being developed to test ability to handle an automobile in an
emergency. It might be possible to develop a type of war exercise to test
character and resistance to fatigue, confusion, uncertainty, surprise, and
breathless speed. The fruits of science are at our service. The rewards
offered are great.

“Education points” would be given by the same or a like board upon
examination or application by the officer concerned, supported by the
testimony of a superior officer or civilian expert. An officer who com-
piles a useful manual, wjio learns a foreign language, or translates a use-
ful book; or one who masters a fresh field of knowledge, writes the history
of some campaign, or proposes a practical application of some new
knowledge to military uses, should be remembered by credits against
the Judgment Day of selection. These boards might have the power to
endorse applications for exceptional leaves of absence on two-thirds or
three-quarters pay to study at civilian institutions, or for foreign travel
with a specific purpose, and give credit for such fruits as may be
garnered.

At the end of each two years exceptional promotion would be accorded
to a number of officers in each grade below that of lieutenant colonel
equal to, say, 2 per cent of the total nximber of officers in the Army.

The flexibility of this method could be insured by adjusting from time
to time the premiums set upon the various types of ability.

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 257

Under this system it would be theoretically possible for a very excep-
tional officer to reach the grade of lieutenant colonel after some eight
years of commissioned service or at about the age of thirty. In practice
close competition would tend to raise this age considerably — and at the
same time raise the general standard of efficiency enormously. Brigadier
generals of forty years are conceivable. Most of the seniority men would
retire as majors or lieutenant colonels. Colonels would be drawn over-
whelmingly from “honors” men of greater youth. The newer generals
would be younger men too. But since general officers would continue to
serve until normal retirement age, a plentiful supply of “wise old heads”
would be preserved. The long service and wide experience of the men at
the top would be all to the good. Yet it would still be possible in theory
and could happen in practice that we might get a commander in chief in
time of war of only forty-five years of age. Since Napoleon was only
twenty-seven at the beginning of his first Italian campaign, this is not
exactly radical.

A further advantage of this system is that it would mark men for the
particular type of work for which they were best fitted by segregating
honor points under the four heads mentioned. That officer who had a
preponderance of points for extraordinary knowledge and few for effi-
ciency would be the last man to use as a chief of staff or G- 4 , but might be
singularly useful as a G- 2 . The officer who has been prolific in invention
or the development of methods might be the last man to trust with im-
portant operations. That is no reason to turn him adrift. Here we have a
method for fitting round pegs into round holes and square pegs into
square holes.

The proposal herein does not offer a full-fledged system to be set up by
spontaneous creation. It offers a suggestion toward the development
through evolution and adaptation of a working hypothesis capable of
being tested progressively by trial and error so as to work gradually
toward perfection with both feet firmly planted on the ground. It is a
conception worthy of systematic study and experiment because of the
number and importance of the advantages it offers. Colin in France and
Spenser Wilkinson in England have illuminated for us the various factors
which went into the making of the military genius of Napoleon. If the
General Staff is not equipped to study how to create or how to discover
and advance the best brains of the Army, some other agency should be
set up to analyze the factors which go into the making of great leaders
and to study our military system and its methods in detail from the
broadest possible point of view. Such an agency might seek to determine
whether it is necessary or desirable to join together in holy wedlock rank
and appropriate command, or rank and pay.

258 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The promotion problem is the fundamental problem of modem armies.
Certain lines along which it might be attacked have been suggested. The
General Staff is the proper agency to elaborate any detailed plan. It has
many important duties. But it has none more important than this and
none that offers greater rewards in the task of perfecting the national
defense.

SUCCESS IN WAR

By Major (now Lieutenant General)

George S. Patton, Jr.

(^930

War is an art and as such is not susceptible of explanation by fixed
formula. Yet from the earliest time there has been an unending effort to
subject its complex and emotional structure to dissection, to enunciate
rules for its waging, to make tangible its intangibility. As well strive to
isolate the soul by the dissection of the cadaver as to seek the essence of
war by the analysis of its records. Yet despite the impossibility of phys-
ically detecting the soul, its existence is proven by its tangible reflection
in acts and thoughts.

Above armed hosts there hovers an impalpable something which on
occasion so dominates the material as to induce victory under circum-
stances quite inexplicable. To understand this something we should seek
it in a manner analogous to our search for the soul ; and, so seeking, we
shall perchance find it in the reflexes produced by the acts of the Great
Captains.

But whither shall we turn for knowledge of their very selves? Not in
the musty tomes of voluminous reports or censored recollections wherein
they strove to immortalize their achievements. Nor yet in the countless
histories where lesser wormish men have sought to snare their parted
ghosts.

The great warriors were too busy and often too inapt to write con-
temporaneously of their exploits. What they later put on paper was
colored by strivings for enhanced fame or by political conditions then
confronting them. War was an ebullition of their perished past. The
violent simplicity in execution which procured them success and en-
thralled them looked pale and uninspired on paper, so they seasoned it.

The race yearns to adore. Can it adore the simple or venerate the
obvious? All mythology and folklore rise in indignant protest at the
thought. The sun gave light; therefore, he was not hot gas or a flame,
but a god or a chariot. The ignis faiuus deluded men of nights. It was a
spirit; nothing so simple as decomposition could serve the need.

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

259

So with the soldier, to pander to self-love and racial urge he attributes
to his acts profound thoughts which never existed. The white-hot energy
of youth which saw in obstacles but inspirations and in the enemy but the
gage to battle becomes to complacent and retrospective age the result of
mathematical calculation and metaphysical erudition, of knowledge he
never had and plans he never made.

With the efforts of the historians the case is even worse. Those who
write at the time are guilty of partisanship and hero worship.* While
those who write later are forced to accept contemporaneous myths and
to view their subject through the roseate light which distance, be it
that of time or space, sheds ever to deprive us of harsh truth. In peace
the scholar flourishes; in the war the soldier dies; so it comes about that
we view our soldiers through the eyes of scholars and attribute to them
scholarly virtues.

Seeking obvious reasons for the obscure, we analyze their conduct as
told by historians and assign as reasons for their success apparent, trivial
things. Disregarding wholly the personality of Frederick, we attribute his
victories to a tactical expedient, the oblique order of battle. Impotent to
comprehend the character of Rome’s generals, a great historian coins the
striking phrase: “At this time the Roman legionary shortened his sword
and gained an empire.” Our research is further muddled by the fabled
heroism of all former fighters. Like wine, accounts of valor mellow with
age, imtil Achilles, dead three thousand years, stands peerless.

Yet through the murk of fact and fable rises to our view this truth.
The history of war is the history of warriors; few in number, mighty in
influence. Alexander, not Macedonia, conquered the world. Scipio, not
Rome, destroyed Carthage. Marlborough, not the Allies, defeated France.
Cromwell, not the Roundheads, dethroned Charles.

Were this true only of warriors we might well exclaim: “Behold the
work of the historian!” But it is equally the case in every phase of human
endeavor. Music has its myriad of musicians but only its dozen masters.
So with painting, sculpture, literature, medicine, or trade. “Many are
called, but few are chosen.”

Nor can we concur wholly with the alluring stories in the advertising
sections of our magazines which point the golden path of success to all
and sundry who will follow some particular phase of home education
they happen to advocate. “Knowledge is power,” but to a degree only.
Its possession per se will raise a man to mediocrity but not to distinction.
In our opinion, indeed, the instruction obtained from such courses is of
less moment to future success than is the ambition which prompted
the study.

In considering these matters we should remember that while there is
much similarity there is also a vast difference between the successful
soldier and the successful man in other professions. Success due to knowl-

260 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

edge and personality is the measure of ability in each case, but to all
save the soldier it has vital significance only to the individual and to
a limited number of his associates. With the soldier success or failure
means infinitely more, as it must of necessity be measured not in terms
of personal honor or affluence but in the life, happiness, and honor of his
men — ^his country. Hence the search for that elusive secret of military
success, soul, genius, personality — call it what you will — ^is of vital in-
terest to us all.

In our efforts to provide for the avoidance, in future, of the mistakes
which we personally have encountered, and to ensure to ourselves or to
our successors the same mathematical ease of operation of which we
have read, we proceed to enunciate rules. In order to enimciate any-
thing we must have a premise. The most obvious is the last war. Further,
the impressions we gained there were the most vivid we have ever ex-
perienced; burned on the tablets of our memories by the blistering flash
of exploding shell, etched on our souls by the incisive patter of machine-
gun bullets, our own experiences become the foundation of our thoughts
and, all unconscious of personal bias, we base our conceptions of the
future on our experience of the past.

Beyond question, personal knowledge is a fine thing, but unfortunately
it is too intimate. When, for example, we recall a railroad accident the
picture that most vividly presents itself to us is the severed blue-gray
hand of some child victim, not the misread signals which precipitated
the tragedy. So with war experiences, the choking gas that strangled us
sticks in our memory to the more or less complete exclusion of the im-
portant fact that it was the roads and consequent abundant mechanical
transportation peculiar to western Europe which permitted the ac-
cumulation of enough gas shells to do the strangling.

Even when no personal experience exists we are bound to be in-
fluenced by the most recent experience of others. Because in the Boer
War the bayonet found no employment, we all but abandoned it, only
to seize it again when the Russo-Japanese conflict redemonstrated its
value. Going back farther, we might point to countless other instances of
similar nature, as witness the recurrent use and disuse of infantry and
cavalry as the dominant arms according to the most recent “lesson”
derived from the last war, based invariably on special conditions, in no
way bound to recur, yet always presumed as immutable.

& much for the conservatives; now for the optimists — the “nothing-
old” gentry. These are of several species, but first in order of importance
come the specialists.

Due either to superabundant egotism and uncontrolled enthusiasm, or
else to limited powers of observation of the activities of other arms, these

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

261

people advocate in the most fluent and uncompromising manner the vast
future potentialities of their own special weapons. In the next war, so
they say, all the enemy will be crushed, gassed, bombed, or otherwise
speedily exterminated, depending for the method of his death upon the
arm to which the person declaiming belongs. Their spectacular claims
attract public attention. The appeal of their statements is further
strengthened because they deal invariably in mechanical devices which
intrigue the simple imagination and because the novelty of their schemes
and assertions has a strong news interest which ensures their notice by
the press. Earlier examples of this newspaper tendency to exploit the
bizarre is instanced in the opening accounts of the Civil War where
“masked batteries” and “black-horse cavalry” seemed to infest the whole
face of Nature.

Both the standpatters and the progressives have reason of sorts, and, as
we have pointed out, we must seek to harmonize the divergent tendencies.

No matter what the situation as to clarity of his mental perspective,
the conscientious soldier approaches the solution of his problem more or
less bemuddled by phantoms of the past and deluded by unfounded or
unproved hopes for the future. So handicapped, he assumes the un-
wonted and labored posture of a student and plans for perfection, so that
when the next war comes that part of the machine for which he may be
responsible shall instantly begin to function with a purr of perfect
preparation.

In this scholarly avocation soldiers of all important nations use at the
present time what purports to be the best mode of instruction — ^the ap-
plicatory method. The characteristics of some concrete problem are first
studied in the abstract and then tested by applying them, with assumed
forces and situations, in solving analogous problems either on the terrain
or on a map representation of it. This method not only familiarizes the
student with all the tools and technicalities of his trade, but also develops
the aptitude for reaching decisions and the self-assurance derived from
demonstrated achievement.

But as always there is a fly in the amber. High academic performance
demands infinite intimate knowledge of details, and the qualities req-
uisite to such attainments often inhabit bodies lacking in personality.
Also, the striving for such knowledge often engenders the fallacious
notion that capacity depends upon the power to acquire such details
rather than upon the ability to apply them. Obsessed with this thought,
students plunge in deeper and ever deeper, their exertions but enmeshing
them the more until, like mired mastodons, they perish in a morass of
knowledge where they first browsed for sustenance.

When the prying spade of the unbiased investigator has removed the

262 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

muck of official reports and the mire of self-laudatory biographies from
the swamp of the World War, the skeletons of many such military
mammoths will be discovered. Amid their mighty remains will lurk elu^
sive the secret of German failure. Beyond question no soldier ever sought
more diligently than the Germans for prewar perfection. They built and
tested and adjusted their mighty machine and became so engrossed in
its visible perfection, in the accuracy of its bearings and the compression
of its cylinders, that they neglected the battery. When the moment came
their masterpiece proved inefficient through lack of the divine afflatus,
the soul of a leader. Truly in war “Men are nothing; a man is every-
thing.”

Here we must deny that anything in our remarks is intended to imply
belief in the existence of spontaneous, untutored inspiration. With the
single exception of the divinely inspired Joan of Arc, no such phenomenon
has ever existed, and . . . she was less of an exception than a coin-
cidence. We require and must demand all possible thoughtful preparation
and studious effort, so that in war our officers may be equal to their
mighty trust — the safety of our country. Our purpose is not to discourage
such preparation but simply to call attention to certain defects in its
pursuit. To direct it not toward the glorification of the means — study;
but to the end — ^victory.

In acquiring erudition we must live on, not in, our studies. We must
guard against becoming so engrossed in the specific nature of the roots
and bark of the trees of knowledge as to miss the meaning and grandeur
of the forests they compose. Our means of studying war have increased
as much as have our tools for waging it, but it is an open question
whether this increase in means has not perhaps obscured or obliterated
one essential detail; namely, the necessity for personal leadership.

War is conflict; fighting is an elemental exposition of the age-old effort
to survive. It is the cold glitter of the attacker’s eye, not the point of the
questing bayonet, that breaks the line. It is the fierce determination of
ffie driver to close with the enemy, not the mechanical perfection of the
tank, that conquers the trench. It is the cataclysmic ecstasy of conflict in
the flier, not the perfection of his machine gun, which drops the enemy
in flaming ruin. Yet volumes are devoted to armament; pages to inspira-
tion.

Since the necessary limitations of map problems inhibit the student
from considering the effects of hunger, emotion, personality, fatigue,
leadership, and many other imponderable yet vital factors, he first neg-
lects and then forgets them. Obsessed with admiration for the intelligence
which history has ascribed to past leaders, he forgets the inseparable con-
nection between plans, the flower of the intellect; and execution, the

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

263

fruit of the soul. Hooker’s plan at Ghancellorsville was masterly; its
execution cost him the battle. The converse was true at Marengo. The
historian, through lack of experience and consequent appreciation of
the inspirational qualities of generals, fails to stress them, but he does
emphasize their mental gifts, which, since he shares them, he values. The
student blindly follows and, hugging the notion of mentality, pictures
armies of insensate pawns moving with the precision of machines and
the rapidity of light, guided in their intricate and resistless evolutions
over the battlefield by the cold effulgence of his emotionless cerebrations
as transmitted to them by wire and radio through the inspiring medium
of code messages. He further assumes that superhuman intelligence will
translate those somber sentences into words of fire which will electrify his
chessmen into frenzied heroes who, heedless of danger, will dauntlessly
translate the stillborn infants of his brain into deeds.

Was it so that Caesar rallied the XII Legion? Could the trackless
ether have conveyed to his soldiers the inspiration that Napoleon im-
parted by his ubiquitous presence when before Rivoli he rode five horses
to death, “to see everything himself’?

Shrewd critics have assigned military success to all manner of things —
tactics, shape of frontiers, speed, happily placed rivers, mountains or
woods, intellectual ability, or the use of artillery. All in a measiure true;
but none vital. The secret lies in the inspiring spirit which lifted weary,
footsore men out of themselves and made them march forgetful of agony,
as did Massena’s division after Rivoli and Jackson’s at Winchester. No
words ever imagined could have produced such prodigies of endurance as
did the sight of the boy general, ill, perched on his sweating horse, or of
the stem Puritan plodding ever before them on Little Sorrel. The ability
to produce endurance is but an instance of that same martial soul which
arouses in its followers that resistless emotion defined as Slan^ the will to
victory. However defined, it is akin to that almost cataleptic burst of
physical and mental exuberance shown by the athlete when he breaks a
record or plunges through the tacklers, and by the author or artist in the
creation of a masterpiece.The difference is that in the athlete or the
artist the ebullition is autostimulated, while with an army it is the result
of external impetus — leadership.

In considering war we must avoid that adoration of the material as
exemplified by scientists who deny the existence of aught they cannot cut
or weigh. In war tomorrow we shall be dealing with men subject to the
same emotions as were the soldiers of Alexander; with men but little
changed for better or for worse from the starving, shoeless Frenchmen of
the Italian campaign; with men similar, save in their arms, to those

264 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

whom the inspiring powers of a Greek or a Corsican changed at a
breath to bands of heroes, all-enduring and all-capable.

No! History as written and read does not divulge the source of leader-
ship. Hence its study often induces us to forget its potency. As a mirror
shows us not ourselves but our reflection, so it is with the soul and with
leadership; we know them but by the acts they inspire or the results they
achieve. Like begets like; in the armies of the great we seek the reflection
of themselves and we find Self-confidence, Enthusiasm, Abnegation of
Self, Loyalty, and Courage.

Courage, moral and physical, is almost a synonym of all the foregoing
traits. It fosters the resolution to combat and cherishes the ability to
assume responsibility, be it for successes or failures. No Bayard ever
showed more of it than did Lee after Gettysburg.

But as with the biblical candle, these traits are of no military value if
concealed. A man of diffident manner will never inspire confidence. A
cold reserve cannot beget enthusiasm, and so with the others there must
be an outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace.

It then appears that the leader must be an actor, and such is the fact.
But with him, as with his bewigged compeer, he is unconvincing unless he
lives his part.

Can men then acquire and demonstrate these characteristics? The
answer is they have — they can. For “As a man thinketh, so is he.” The
fixed determination to acquire the warrior soul and, having acquired it,
to conquer or perish with honor is the secret of success in war.

PANIC
By Mercutio
{1936)

There is no more terrible word in the military lexicon than “panic,”
nor is there one so universally ignored. The reason for this strange con-
spiracy of silence lies in the fact that the compilers of official histories
apparently confuse panic with cowardice; national pride does the rest.
Therefore, the little factual evidence available on this subject is almost
entirely limited to unofficial and not particularly trustworthy sources.

In our own Army I have seen or heard this subject dealt with but
four times in five years; twice in lectures at the Infantry School and
twice in the Infantry School Mailing List, Inquiry among friends in the

LEADERSfflP AND DISCIPLINE 265

other arms indicates that no other school or publication has even con-
sidered the matter.

Indeed^ with our smug Anglo-Saxon complacency, we are inclined to
think that panic is confined to other peoples. We think of the Italians
at Adowa in 1896 and at Caporetto in 1917; we think of the French in
1871. Some of us may even think of the magnificently trained German
XVII Corps at Gumbinnen in 1914. Of course those green-troop affairs
at Bladensburg and Bull Run are well remembered. But how about our
Missionary Ridge, to name but one first-class instance of panic in trained
troops? And how about a little private investigation for examples of
American units panicking in the World War? If we tried it sometime
we might be surprised.

We delude ourselves. We are no more immune to this mass madness
than any other people. No unit, no matter how thoroughly trained in
peace or hardened in war, is panic-proof. Even Napoleon heard the
terrible cry of "'Sauve qui pent!*" go up from his Old Guard at Waterloo.
And yet in our service schools we choose to ignore this wildfire contagion.

Tomorrow we may pay heavily for our reluctance to bring it out in
the open and examine its causes and its cures. Indeed, those who are
best qualified to speak believe that the next great conflict will be charac-
terized by wholesale panic on both sides . . . thanks to the terror-breed-
ing tank and its various offspring. Certainly those leaders who have been
taught to know the symptoms, the preventives, and the cures of this mass
disease will be better equipped to handle it than those who think of panic
only alB an unmilitary and shameful word.

FEAR

From an article by William Ernest Hocking,
Professor of Philosophy, Harvard University

. . . No ONE KNOWS IN ADVANCE how he will behave in an emergency
that he has never experienced. But it may be taken for granted that
everyone experiences fear. For fear is a natural reaction to an environ-
ment which is unfit for ordinary living, and the field of battle is one of
the best examples of such an environment. But the knowledge that every-
body feels fear is one of the most reassuring reflections when one finds
himself touched by the unwelcome emotion, losing his steadiness of ad-
justment, his clearness of voice or vision, or his ease of breathing.

It is of value to remember that fear is a transition state; it prepares
for action and usually vanishes when action begins. Moreover, it is a

266 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

matter of degree and can be kept within limits by force of will. It may be
true that only five out of a hundred keep cool enough to fire as they
would on the range, but still ninety-five out of a hundred keep cool
enough to fire in the general direction of the enemy, and nearly all keep
cool enough to use a bayonet effectively. If one can make the first plunge
he need have no fear of his fear after that.

Moreover, fear is no discredit. Man is more liable to fear than other
animals because he is more self-conscious and more sensitive. He realizes
the meaning of death as animals do not, and he hates to think of mutila-
tion even more, usually, than of death. No one must regard himself as a
coward because he is afraid; he would have more occasion to reproach
himself if he were not.

For the same reason one should be very slow in judging anyone else a
coward, even though he has behaved badly. Courage varies enormously
with the physical condition, and the man who when weary will jump at
a snap of the finger may go over the top without a tremor when he is
fresh. There are, of course, obvious acts of cowardice and acts which
must be sternly dealt with because of the infectious character of fear, but
from the psychological standpoint nothing is more doubtful than the
application of the term ‘‘coward.”

FEAR: ALLY OR TRAITOR

From Psychology For the Fighting Man, prepared under the
direction of a subcommittee of the National Research Council

kms)

The first battle, the first experience of having an enemy machine gun
aimed at you, the first time an airplane swoops low to lay its deadly eggs
in your particular patch of ground.

That is an experience anticipated by the young soldier with mingled
dread and eagerness. He is eager by that time to get at the enemy. He
has learned a great deal about the science of war and wants to use this
knowledge to wipe out the enemy and gain victory.

But he always wonders — every man does — ^just how he will behave
when that time comes. He doesn’t feel like a hero. If he is honest — com-
pletely honest — ^with himself, he knows he will be scared — terrified.

The experienced soldier who has been through all this the first time
and many other times has found out for certain that every man going
into battle is scared. His hands tremble; his throat is dry; he must swal-
low constantly because his “heart is in his mouth.” He does idiotic things
like looking at his watch every few seconds or examining his rifle a him-

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 267

dred times to be sure it is loaded. The soldier green to battle may think
he is the only one so disturbed^ but it is true of the veteran as well. And
it is true of the enemy. Germans and Japs get just as scared as Americans
and Britons.

The bad moments do not come during actual combat, however, but in
the time of tense waiting just before. As soon as the frightened man is
able to go into action — to do something effective against the enemy,
especially if it involves violent physical action — ^his fright is apt to be dis-
pelled or forgotten because he is too busy fighting to remember it.

Airplane pilots who distinguished themselves in action against the
Japanese said, when asked whether they were scared during those mo-
ments of acute peril, “Why, I don’t know. There was too much to do.
We didn’t have time to think.”

“Most of us were scared at first,” wrote a member of a torpedoed ship;
“sure we were. But when the torpedo hit us we forgot all about it. There
wasn’t much time and then there was too much work to do.”

Encounters with the enemy are most terrifying when they are un-
familiar. As the soldier becomes used to gunfire, to explosions, to the
sight and odor of death, he gradually acquires the power to meet these
things more stoically. He does not actually lose his fear, but he learns to
ignore it sufficiently to keep his attention mainly on the business of com-
bat. And if he has in his trained hands a good weapon which he knows
will put the enemy out of action, this gives him a feeling of confidence —
a sense of power — that in large measure outweighs his fear. He knows it
will soon be the other fellow’s turn to be scared.

Fear, when it is experienced, is intensely uncomfortable and seems
often to be incapacitating. If the period of fright is prolonged a man may
feel that his nerves are “all shot” by it. For fear is disintegrating, de-
moralizing. It shatters morale. The soldier may be rooted to the spot,
paralyzed or immobilized by fear.

Nevertheless, such awful moments before an attack, when each second
seems an hour, may actually be useful to any soldier. They may really
add to his efficiency.

For fear is the body’s preparation for action. The heart pounds faster,
pumping blood more rapidly to the arms and legs and brain, where its
oxygen is needed. The lungs do their part by quickened breathing. Blood
pressure goes up. Adrenalin, which is Nature’s own “shot in the arm,”
is poured liberally into the blood stream. Sugar is released into the blood
to act as fuel for the human fighting machine.

Subtle changes in body chemistry, automatically effected by powerful
emotion, serve to protect the soldier in action in ways he would never
think of if he had to plan them himself. His blood clots more readily. He
loses temporarily the sense of fatigue, even though he may have been
dog-tired.

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THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

It is sometimes difficult for a tense^ frightened soldier to get started
into combat — to begin the action that will relieve his fear. That part is
taken care of by Army training and discipline. Months of training have
taught the soldier to respond from habit to definite battle orders, even
though in battle commands often cannot be given as in training. It has
become second nature to him to carry out his own job as a member of
the fighting team.

The parachute trooper jumping from the plane has learned to follow
the man ahead. At first his “jumps” were from a mock-up only a few
feet off the ground, but then he learned timing. He learned to take his
cue from the man ahead. When he received his slap behind it was his
turn, and out he went.

The fact that any action is so drilled in that it is mechanical helps
when you are scared. No matter how distracted your mind may be by
imfamiliar and terrifying sights and smells and sounds, you act from
sheer force of habit. In fact, it is the habits which take care of a man,
whether or not he is too frightened to think clearly, like the habit of div-
ing for cover when bombs come down.

Then presently you are in action. You are fighting! You are at last
using force against the foe! No more are you a cowering, abject soul.
Fear is forgotten — ^provided you are well trained.

How TO Fight Fear

( 1 ) Action dispels fear — do something. In the time of suspense, when
men are all ready for action but are waiting the signal to start, fear is at
its height. If the period of waiting is to be prolonged — ^perhaps a delay
until the weather changes — the time should be occupied with preparation
for action. Fight fear with work — ^when expecting combat, when waiting
on a raft for rescue, when waiting for enemy bombers to return.

(2) Physical contact with friends helps. MeA should, if possible, stick
within sight in time of peril but not too bunched up for bombs or shells,
if possible. Just the presence of another man not far off, when no word is
spoken, minimizes fear.

(3) Roll calls help. Men in peril should be reminded that they are not
alone, that they are an integral part of a close-knit organization, that
each is important to it. The artillery’s “call out your numbers loud and
strong” reassures each man that in the smoke of battle the others are still
in their places, doing their parts. It also lets him know that the others,
too, are keeping track of him. They will miss him if he is lost, will look
for him. They are “all for one and one for all.”

(4) Knowledge is power over fear. Surprise is the most important ele-
ment in battle. Thus men should be kept constantly informed of the
dangers they may meet, of the weapons that may be used against them,

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

269

of the tactics which the enemy uses. Every moment of leisure should be
used by the men to find out what they can about what battle will be like,
what the enemy is like. The known is never so fearful as the imknown.

And the knowledge that every normal man feels fear in the presence
of danger, and that fear in itself is not cowardly and that most men over-
come it, is often the most helpful knowledge of all.

(5) Control of action helps. To be afraid does not mean that a man*
must act afraid. Fear is contagious when it is expressed in action. If a
man goes to pieces and becomes panicky he must be removed from the
sight of the other men if that is at all possible. It is each man’s respon-
sibility to control the signs of his own fear if he can, so as to spare the
others. And if he can manage to act as though he were calm, he may
actually become more calm. At any rate, the opposite is true: giving in
to fear tends to increase it.

(6) Even statistics help. It is reassuring to know that of all the men in
an army comparatively few are killed. The chances that any one man
will be among those mortally wounded in any one battle are relatively
small. Unless a man is such an egoist that he believes that the enemy will
single him out for special attention, he can be relieved by the thought
that he has a good chance of coming through. And the longer he remains
unscathed, the surer he becomes about those chances.

Prolonged Peril

Fear just before combat is not, however, the most trying fear that men
in the armed forces must sometimes face. That is, after all, a thing of the
moment, and men are helped to face it by the excitement of action.

There is another kind of fear that must be endured for days and weeks
— ^perhaps months or years — if men are besieged, cut off from help, de-
prived of adequate defense. Then the ever-present peril from the enemy
may be aggravated by the greater perils of disease, famine, exposure. And
there may be little chance for action.

Men in the present war have endured primitive sorts of hardships that
would seem to be beyond human endurance — ^in Bataan, on Corregidor,
alone on a rubber life raft for five weeks in blistering sun and drenching
storm, without food, without shelter, without water, without any aid but
their own unquenchable spirits, their fortitude, and their faith.

This means terror mixed with despair. The misery cannot be relieved;
it can only be endured. Then they must maintain sanity, courage, and
life itself by their ingenuity in originating occupations for hands and
minds that will relieve the tension and seem to reduce the hazards.

Men battling alone against the sea welcome a chance to learn some-
thing of navigation, to contrive means for keeping track of the directions
and distances they are being carried by current and wind. They think of

270 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

songs to sing and of games to play. The captain of one torpedoed boat
reported :

“Our lifeboat was shelled for two hours. It had twenty-four holes in it.
The crew plugged seven, but that still left seventeen. So the men in the
boat held a meeting to discuss the problem of buying sheet metal to plug
up the remaining holes. The meeting lasted two days and was conducted
under strict parliamentary laws, according to Robertas Rules, The discus-
sion was finally tabled on three counts: (i) The ship’s treasurer was in
another lifeboat and they couldn’t reach him; (2) all their money went
down with the ship anyway; (3) there weren’t any stores there in the
ocean. However, the debate made forty-eight hours pass quickly.”

Thus a resourceful leader can exercise considerable ingenuity in keep-
ing his men occupied. If physical activity is impossible, keeping minds
occupied with talk on some subject unrelated to the immediate threat of
danger relieves tension.

In such trying times and in tense moments a laugh can be a lifesaver.
An Army officer relating experiences of the World War tells of a time
when badly frightened, untrained soldiers of that war had taken refuge in
a roadside ditch against an unforeseen horror — the fire of American guns
turned on them by mistake.

Panic sent the blood pounding into my head and emptied my stomach of
courage. It was bad enough to be shot at by the Boche, but there was no sense in
being killed by friendly troops. My men looked wild and fingered their triggers,
ready to return the fire of our other battalion. Something had to be done and
done quick. And Captain Wass did it Unintentionally, but still he did it

“Jackson!” he yelled.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Where are you?”

“Right here. Across the road.”

“Stand up so I can sec you.”

“Captain,” Jackson shouted above the crackling roar of machine-gun bullets,
•‘if you want to sec me, you stand up.”

American humor can lick anything. Smothered chuckles ran down the line.
Orders were given and listened to. Men wriggled backward out of the zone of
fire. The first to reach the trees dashed down the line of the 3d Battalion, shutting
off the guns.

Nor may we forget the power of religious belief as an antidote to fear.
When men get into a tight spot they pray. They pray hard and from the
heart, and they feel better for it. Prayer works.

Foolhardiness Is Not Bravery

Fear is Nature’s way of meeting in an all-out way an all-out emer-
gency. It is useful in mobilizing all the body’s resources. Obviously, pro-

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 271

longed fear is horribly fatiguing. Long periods of anxiety are damaging
in the extreme. But fear within limits increases strength and endurance.

And fear is an ally in other respects. It is of value to the Army as well
as to the individual soldier^ for it serves the same purposes as the red signal
light on a railroad — to give warning of danger and to promote caution.

The purpose of warfare is to destroy the enemy and to gain this end
with a minimum sacrifice of our own forces. The soldier who needlessly
puts his own life in jeopardy is committing an act of treachery. The
officer or noncom who imperils the safety of his men through his own
foolhardiness or his failure to appreciate a danger is also betraying his
country.

There are a few men in every army who know no fear — ^just a few.
But these men are not normal. They would be recognized by a psy-
chiatrist as mentally deficient. They have a callousness of mind that
makes them incapable of emotion.

Such men are recognized as a danger to the Army. Wise leaders watch
them zealously and are constantly on the alert to prevent them from ex-
posing other men to peril. But in spite of — or because of — ^their complete
lack of caution and common sense, these crazy daredevils, by taking the
enemy completely by surprise, sometimes accomplish amazing things and
cover themselves with glory before going to a premature death.

Their mad acts are not, however, feats of courage. They may collect a
few medals, but they are not heroes.

True courage is the ability to act as you believe you should in the face
of recognized danger — to act in spite of fear — to risk your life to keep the
soldier’s faith.

A man may succeed as a soldier without broad vision. He may be an
efficient, dependable fighter with no interest in the larger objectives of
the war. If he feels loyalty to his unit, that is enough. Training and ex-
perience teach him to be interested in the means of fighting without being
concerned with the reasons for fighting. Such a man cannot be said, how-
ever, to be without ideals. His loyalty, his sense of responsibility are more
than mere obedience and a sense of duty.

Thus the soldier who deliberately chooses to be blown up in order to
wipe out an enemy tank or machine-gun nest that would otherwise cost
the lives of his friends, his ideals, has, indeed, all it takes to make a
soldier. The commander of a ship who coolly sends away the last life-
boat and goes down with his vessel rather than abandon it while some of
his men are helplessly imprisoned in one of its compartments is afraid
but governed by something more powerful than fear.

You may call this force idealism, conscience, religion, philosophy, tradi-
tion, code, or even habit, or you may be modem and call it ideology.
Psychologists sometimes call it the triumph of the social over the selfish

272 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

instincts. They recognize this force as the most potent weapon an army
can possess.

Men fighting for their homes and armed with this spirit can stand
their ground and win against tremendous opposing forces.

Courage and fear are not opposites; they may fill the same breast at
the same time. But armed with courage, no soldier need worry about his
own fright. The coward who must run when he is scared is the one ta
dread terror.

None but the brave can afford to fear.

SALUTES

By Private Heelcucker
{^ 94 ^)

I JUST RECENTLY RE-ENLISTED in the Army after having been a civilian
for a half-dozen years. I*m on duty in one of our large cities and when I
reported to my company I made it a point to read the bulletin board
thoroughly. On it I found a directive for all men to salute all of the
officers of the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard they met on
the streets of this city. It was also suggested that the good soldier salutes
the officers of the armed forces of other of the United Nations. The direc-
tive went on to mention the soldierly qualities expected to be practiced
by the men of the command and mentioned among other things the
“dignity of the uniform” and the “spirit of military courtesy.”

All of which I agree with fully. When I did my hitch back in the quiet
days of peace I always figured that saluting was as much a credit to me
as to the officer. He returned it, didn’t he? I must say that most of those
salutes the officers returned were much better than the ones we enlisted
men gave.

A few afternoons ago I met two naval officers. Did they return my
salute? I’m not sure. One of them was smoking a cigarette. He didn’t
remove it from his mouth but did wave his hand listlessly in the direction
of his cap. The other officer must have been examining the gambs of a
passing blonde, for he never took his eyes from the sidewalk.

Then there is the Army officer who smiles heartily when you salute him
as though to say, “Thanks for recognizing my rank, lad. You keep on
saluting like that and maybe they’ll make you a corporal.” At the same
time the salute he gives you is evidence enough that he never was a
corporal.

Now I don’t mean that all officers ^ail to return salutes at all, or return
them grudgingly, or even return them in the spirit of brotherly love but

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 273

without military snap. But there are enough of these types to destroy
pride in military courtesy and to make us enlisted men wonder about the
“dignity of the uniform.”

Now I don’t know what can be done, if anything. Probably most of
the officers who do a poor job of saluting need a couple of hours of drill
and lectures, not only to teach them how it’s done but also to imbue them
with the spirit of the ceremony, which, as I understand it, is the privileged
exchange of courteous recognition between soldiers.

A SOLDIER THAT’S FIT FOR A SOLDIER
Anonymous
{1943)

Now all you young soldiers that’s sailin’ the sea,

Just stop what you’re doin’ and listen to me.

And I’ll tell you a soldier — ^the kind you should be —

A soldier that’s fit for a soldier.

You’ve behaved, for most part, at the places we’ve been,
In a way that did proud by the outfit we’re in;

You’ve established a standard; don’t let it wear thin
And lose your good name as a soldier.

In this place where we’re going, there’s plenty to drink;
Just remember your stomach ain’t coated with zinc;

Don’t take on too much and end up in the clink
And lose half your pay as a soldier.

If you’re smart you won’t run with ladies too bold
(The native sex salesgirls are deadly I’m told.)

And any damned fool knows it’s worse than a cold;

So it’s best to go straight as a soldier.

But if you take chances — ^and some of ydu may —

Be sure to check in by the green lantern’s ray.

If you don’t you will rue it for many a day
And you won’t be much use as a soldier.

And you’re sure to see some wherever you look.

Who are out to get husbands by hook or by crook.

And they’ll tie you up fast by the ring and the Book
If you don’t watch your step like a soldier.

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THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

When the big push comes off, and it will pretty quick,

And you’re up toward the front with the shells failin’ thick,
Here’s some points to remember; I hope that they stick
For they’ll help you behave like a soldier.

To kill is our business and that’s what we do.

It’s the main job of war for me and for you.

And the more we rub out, the sooner we’re through
To return where they wait for a soldier.

You must dig a slit trench whenever you stop
For a halt of an hour where Jap bombs may drop;

And when they start dropping that’s where you must flop.

If you want to fight on as a soldier.

When you get into action, don’t let your hand twitch
When you see a Jap head sticking up from a ditch;

Make every round count for a son of a bitch —

Which means, get your man like a soldier.

When the little brown men come on like they tell,

Charging straight for you with a whoop and a yell.

Draw a bead on the leader and blow him to hell;

Then take on the rest like a soldier.

In hand-to-hand fighting, just keep it in mind
No matter how tough or how many you find.

An ace in this game will beat three of a kind
If the ace knows his job as a soldier.

When the captain goes down and the looie looks white
Remember it’s ruin to run from a fight.

So use the ground close, keep your head and fight right.

And battle it out like a soldier.

PANIC

By Captain (now Colonel) C. T. Lanham

(J957)

The effect of panic on troops — even thoroughly trained and veteran
troops — ^is feared by every commander because it has so often been dis-
astrous to armies in past wars and in the present one. The main example
in all history is the panic that followed the first action of the Battle of

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 275

France. Three years before then this study by Captain (now Colonel)
Lanham ran in the pages of the Infantry Journal.

Colonel Lanham, who was commanding an infantry regiment at the
time this Reader was issued, was for four years associate editor of the
magazine and has been for a much longer time a contributor, and his
varied career has included much duty in command of troops, as well as
periods of editorial duty. He is imbued with the feeling that all military
instruction in written, pictorial, or moving-picture form should never be
presented in a professional military jargon but put over in forceful, cus-
tomary language. The series of “Fighting Men” training films, the scripts
for which he wrote in large part, and into which his ideas of realistic in-
struction have gone, are now being shown throughout the Army — pictures
with such titles as How to Get Killed — In One Easy Lesson.

In “Panic” Colonel Lanham turns to history for striking examples of
collective fear and its results, and the possible measures of prevention.

Fie, my Lord, fie! A soldier and afeard?

Shakespeare.

August 15, 1866. The 34th Infantry, part of the Austrian rear guard,
is falling back after the catastrophe at Koniggratz. The men are ex-
hausted and frightened. Again and again they have been forced to form
squares to withstand the harassing action of hostile cavalry. Late in the
afternoon a dust cloud is seen whirling toward the regiment. The cry
goes up, “The German cavalry is charging!” The order is given to form
squares, but panic suddenly sweeps through the command. Formations
disintegrate. Units open fire on each other. Men run in all directions.
Even after it is discovered that the dust cloud was caused by the move-
ment of a herd of frightened pigs, and not by Grerman cavalry, order is
restored only with the utmost difficulty.

jgi8. An American battalion holds a reserve position in a shell-tom
wood. Enemy artillery has been intermittently strafing the position since
dusk. The Americans in their fox holes are getting what sleep they can.
At 11:00 p.M. the battalion commander, accompanied by his adjutant,
starts an inspection of his lines. A runner dashes up and hands him a
message. The major reads it. He calls to his adjutant, who is a short dis-
tance away, “Come on, let’s beat it.” The two start to the rear at a dead
run. Before they have covered two hundred yards the entire battalion is
in wild flight behind them. It races more than ten kilometers before it
can be stopped. The message to the major had directed him to report to
the regimental command post as fast as he could get there. He was com-
plying with the order.

Summer maneuvers are in progress. A Blue infantry company is hidden
in a field of tall grass. They are watching an unsuspecting Red battalion
move straight toward them. When the battalion is within fifty yards the

276 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

company commander gives the signal to open fire. The Blue soldiers^
grinning broadly, cut loose with a volley of blanks. A strange thing hap-
pens. The battalion freezes in its tracks for an instant and then breaks.
Men fling away their rifles and packs and race to the rear in insane flight.
Leaders are powerless to stop them. Equipment is scattered all over the
landscape. The umpires shake their heads.

These three incidents are not products of a lively imagination; they
are based on hard fact. They may appear fantastic but they are neverthe-
less commonplace, for wherever men congregate this group madness is
not far off. A word, a gesture, even a shadow, may be sufficient to trans-
form men into stampeding cattle.

To military leaders, who must habitually deal with man in the mass,
this strange psychological phenomenon is an ever-present contingency.
No unit is panic-proof.

There is no miraculous formula by which panic may be averted. There
is no science by which it may be predicted. A leader cannot say, “My
troops are veterans; they are well equipped; they are well fed; they are
fresh. There will be no panic.” They may bolt before a shot has been
fired. Nor can a leader say, “My men are worn out; they have not been
properly fed; their equipment is inferior; the enemy outnumbers them.
Panic will overtake them.” They may perform prodigies of courage in the
face of insuperable odds.

Is there, then, anything the leader can do that will act as a deterrent
to this mass madness? Are there any provisions he can make that will
tend to steady his command? From the negative viewpoint, is there any-
thing he should avoid? And, finally, are there any particular conditions
which render a unit panic-ripe? Before trying to answer these questions
let us analyze a few historical instances of panic and attempt to arrive at
some common denominator.

Example I

The rhinoceros is the bravest of animals — it has no imagination, H. G. Wells.

In spite of its victory over the Prussian I Corps near Trautenau on
June 27, 1866, the Austrian X Corps was forced to begin a retirement
early the next morning in order to meet a threat to its communications.
The Brigade Grivicic marched as the left-flank column of the corps.
Cavalry and artillery that had been ordered to report to the brigade
failed to appear.

The march was difficult. It led first across the previous da/s battlefield,
which had not yet been cleared of the dead and wounded. The day was
hot; roads were dusty, and drinking water scarce.

In the early stages of the march the brigade commander informed his

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 277

subordinate leaders that it was probable the Prussians had gotten across
the line of retreat. He also told them that he feared the brigade might be
cut off from the corps. The general’s fears and apprehensions soon spread
among the troops.

At the end of a twelve-mile march the brigade ran head on into a
detachment of the Prussian Second Army near Rudersdorf, A desperate
frontal fight immediately developed. For three hours the Austrian brigade
fought magnificently. Suddenly a few shots rang out on the right flank —
the flank that was supposed to be covered by the remainder of the corps.
Immediately someone cried, “We’re cut off from the corps!” The cry
spread like a prairie fire. In a few minutes the entire right regiment broke
in panic. Men threw away their rifles and fled to the rear.

Despite the heroic efforts of its officers, the left regiment, which had
not even been touched by this fire, also broke. Neither orders, pleas, nor
threats could stem the tide of panic.

The remnants of the brigade continued their flight throughout the
night. Morning found them some fifteen miles from the scene of the dis-
aster. In this encounter the brigade lost 94 ofi^cers and 2,700 men, 65 per
cent of its strength.

From a study of this action it appears that the two principal psy-
chological factors which contributed to the panic of this Austrian brigade
could have been avoided. It is most unlikely that tactical considerations
precluded a detour around the previous day’s battlefield. The sickening
picture of the untended wounded and the unburied dead must have gone
a long way toward counteracting the buoyant effect of the victory won
the day before. The brigade commander committed his gravest error,
however, when he expressed the fear that the brigade would probably be
cut off from the corps. His subordinates completed the damage by dis-
cussing their commander’s apprehensions before the men.

It is not difficult to imagine the reaction of the rank and file. In the
first place, they probably felt that there was little use winning battles if
the blunders of the high command required a retreat even after a
victorious action. Rumors that the enemy had cut the line of retreat and
word that the brigade commander feared he would be cut off from the
corps contributed to the soldiers’ loss of faith in their leaders. To the man
in the ranks the depressing picture of the uncleared battlefield and the
scarcity of drinking water added the finishing touches to the incom-
petence of the high command. The brigade was definitely panic-ripe.

It is unquestionably a testimonial to the valor of the troops that they
fought at Rudersdorf so well and so long. But the tinder of panic was
ready for the first igniting spark. That spark came on the dreaded flank
in the form of a few inconsequential rifleshots which could not possibly
have influenced the course of the action. Nevertheless, everyone im-

278

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

mediately leaped to the conclusion that the brigade commander’s fears
had been realized^ and panic swept the entire command.

Example II

Dangers bring fears, and fears more dangers bring. Baxter.

In 1896 Italy invaded Abyssinia with an army of 15,000 men, equipped
and trained according to the best standards of the day. Abyssinia, a Negro
state, without any army as we understand that term, opposed this formi-
dable modem force with a savage horde of spearmen about 100,000
strong.

A poorly conducted night march prefaced the battle of Adowa. All
night the Italian Army struggled through the wild mountain passes of
Abyssinia. Men straggled — columns drifted apart. Dawn found the
Italians divided into three groups, separated by precipitous ravines and
out of effective supporting distance. Before them swarmed the savage
hordes of Abyssinia. The Italian commander of the left group expressed
in the presence of some of his men his apprehensions about being sepa-
rated from the main army.

With a wild shout the Abyssinians advanced to the assault. The Italian
artillery immediately went into action, but, owing to the badly accidented
terrain, it was unable to determine the correct range. Its fire was alto-
gether ineffective, and the hostile charge continued unintenrupted. As
the tribesmen swept up the slope panic stmck the left Italian group. The
men flung away their rifles and raced toward the center. Officers who
attempted to halt the mad flight were clubbed down or shot. The center
was swept away in the insane rush. Only the right group stood fast At
nightfall it retired in relatively good order.

Of the 15,000 men in this European army, 3,500 escaped.

On the surface it appears that there is no psychological background for
this disastrous panic. It seems to have been merely one more instance of
that blind and unpredictable terror to which man in the mass is subject.
However, if we go beyond the more obvious aspects of this appalling
disaster, we begin to see the underlying cause. We find, for instance, that
this Italian force was made up of small detachments detailed from various
home regiments. These driblets of men were fitted together in much the
same manner as the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and the completed unit had
about the same relative degree of stability as the completed puzzle.
Officers, noncommissioned officers, and soldiers were comparative stran-
gers. The artillery had never worked with the infantry. With such a state
of affairs, mutud trust, confidence, and understanding were definitely

LEADERSmP AND DISCIPLmE 279

out of the question. In shorty despite the equipment and the training of
the individual soldier, this Italian force ladced from its inception those
moral attributes which differentiate an army from a crowd.

Coupled with this we find another powerful psychological influence —
the widely known cruelty of the Abyssinians, who were reported to torture
their prisoners. What tales of horror circulated through the Italian ranks
we can only surmise, but, knowing the mercurial Latin temperament, we
can feel certain that the stories were ample, gory, and replete with
anatomical detail.

Picture this force, then, on the morning of November i, 1896. The men
were exhausted from a long and poorly conducted night march. When
dawn broke they found themselves confronted by the milling hordes of
the dreaded Abyssinians and at the same time discovered that their own
force had been split into three parts. They lacked faith in their officers
and faith in themselves. When their artillery failed to stop or even punish
the charging tribesmen, panic swept the infantry, and what should have
been an easy victory over a savage horde of spearmen became one of the
most terrible disasters ever suffered by a comparable modem force.

The startling thing is that practically every factor that contributed to
this shambles could have been avoided.

Example III

Fear rushed in like an assaulting army. Bently.

On August I, 1904, the Russian 140th Infantry Regiment and a rifle
brigade were encamped near Haitshong, some miles from the front Both
imits were in army reserve. Between them and the Japanese lay the main
Russian armies. Local outposts provided still furffier security. Surprise
was virtually impossible. The troops were fully rested. Both units were
well trained for the Russian Army of that day and both had had combat
experience.

Shortly after dusk on August i several Russian soldiers from the rifle
brigade went into a near-by rice field to relieve themselves. One of these
men, while in an awkward position, apparently saw something that
frightened him. He leaped up and rushed back to camp shouting, **The
Japanese are coming!” Panic was instantaneous in the rifle brigade. Men
grabbed their rifles and fired in all directions. In a few minutes the entire
brigade was racing to the rear in two streams, one toward the camp of
the corps trains near Haitshong, the other toward the camp of the 140th
Infantiy Regiment.

Panic stmck the corps trains even before the screaming wave of terror-
stricken soldiers rolled over them. A fighting; m illi n g mob of men and

280 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

animals swept back to the north through Haitshong. Not even the per-
sonal intervention of General Kuropatkin, who happened to be in the
village, could stem the tide of terror. This portion of the brigade was not
rallied for days.

The part of the brigade that fled toward the camp of the 140th In-
fantry met with a different reception. The colonel of this regiment heard
the firing and the screaming and promptly ordered his buglers to sound
the call to arms. The men fell into ranks quietly and without disorder.
They ignored the panic-stricken members of the brigade who were
streaming past them. The sight of this regiment, calm and unperturbed,
served to allay the imaginary fears of this part of the brigade, which at
once became qtiiet and orderly.

At the beginning of this article the statement was made that “even a
shadow may be sufficient to transform men into stampeding cattle.” The
affair at Haitshong bears out that statement. The personal panic of one
soldier who had been frightened by some phantom in the dark stampeded
an entire brigade, which in turn stampeded the rear echelon of an army
corps. The whole story sounds like some incredible adventure of Alice in
that strange land beyond the looking glass and not the sober recital of
eyewitnesses duly chronicled in the annals of Russian military history.

However, as in all cases of panic, we must probe beneath the surface
for the real causes. In this particular instance a comparison between the
rifle brigade and the 140th Infantry proves illuminating. Outwardly both
units were the same. They were well fed, well equipped, and well trained.
They had both had combat experience. They were thoroughly rested.
Further, and in common with the rest of the Russian Army, they were
both imbued with a deep sense of pessimism as a result of repeated Jap-
anese victories. But there the similarity stops, for we learn that in spite of
its pessimism the morale of the 140th was high; the colonel, loved and
respected; and the other officers, competent and co-operative. The pic^
ture of the rifle brigade is different. It appears that this unit was noted
for the dissension and petty feuds among its officers; dissatisfaction was
constantly in evidence. Esprit de corps was non-existent.

Thus while the 140th had a solidarity and high morale to counteract
the disheartening defeats, the internal dissensions of the rifle brigade only
plunged that unit farther into despair. The phlegmatic calm with which
the 140th Infantry met this panic graphically demonstrates the stabilizing
effect of the confidence that this regiment had in its leaders. It is probable
that every man in this unit actually believed that the Japanese had
surprised their bivouac, but despite that discouraging thought they re-
sponded as one man to the well-timed call to arms and calmly awaited
Aeir colonel’s orders.

Contrast this with the instant panic that overwhelmed the rifle brigade.
In that unit there was no officer who thought of the steadying effect of

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 281

the call to arms. From the first cry of “The Japanese are coming!” the
brigade appears to have been transformed into a wild mob in which
each soldier and each officer thought only in terms of himself. When this
brigade was finally rallied some days later, it was found that more than
150 men had been killed or woimded.

Example IV

Fear is sharp-sighted, and can see under ground, and much more in the
skies. Cervantes.

On November 9, 1870, the French First Army of the Loire attacked
the I Bavarian Corps at Coulmiers, where it obtained a success which
might well have been decisive had it not been for the following incident:

Early on the morning of the ninth the Rayau Cavalry Division was.
ordered to turn the right flank of the Bavarian Corps and cut its line of
retreat to Paris. This division was informed that its left flank would be-
protected during the turning movement by several groups of francs-tireure
(French irregulars).

The cavalry had scarcely gotten under way before all contact was lost
with the francs-tireurs. The division moved slowly; every shot resulted m
a long delay. By noon, however, it had gained a position which seriously
threatened the enemy’s communications.

About this time the division became involved in a fire fight for posses-
sion of a village. German artillery intervened, and the French suffered a
few casualties. Suddenly a reconnaissance patrol galloped up at break-
neck speed. It reported that Germans were driving in toward the left
flank. This report spread like wildfire. No one thought of investigating it.
Within a few minutes all nine of the cavalry regiments that composed
this division had raced to the rear in panic. The flight continued imtiL
they reached the bivouac area they had left that morning.

The Bavarians retreated to Paris without difficulty.

It was subsequently learned that the “Germans” seen on the division’s,
left flank were only the francs-tireurs who had been altogether foigotten
in the excitement.

The First Army of the Loire, like all the hastily organized volunteer
armies after Sedan, was poorly trained and poorly disciplined. In com-
mon with the Russians in the previous example, the French, as the result
of an unending string of defeats, were siuik deep in the slough of despair.
Despondency and pessimism haunted their bivouacs by night and
maiihed with their columns by day. With such a backgroimd it is re-
markable that this volunteer army achieved even a partial success at

282 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Coulmiers, although it vastly outnumbered the Bavarian Corps. So great
was this demoralization to become, that by January 1871 the sight of a
few Prussian helmets was sufficient to cause whole units to flee the field.

The incident of the Rayau Cavalry Division is typical of the unit that
has lost confidence in itself. When such a condition obtains, panics occur
with increasing frequency. Insane rumors and wild reports honeycomb
the military structure. Chronic pessimism and a sense of inferiority com-
bine to destroy all sense of proportion. The enemy gradually comes to
appear omniscient; he is seen everywhere; his strength is magnified a
thousand times; his skill becomes legendary; his leaders assume the
proportions of a Bonaparte; his battalions become an invincible com-
bination of Caesar’s X Legion and Napoleon’s Old Guard. When the
armed forces of a nation visualize their opponent as the French armies
visualized Von Moltke’s military machine, it is high time to conclude
a peace.

Example V

You tremble, body! You would tremble more if you knew where I am going
to take you, Henri of Navarre.

In 1743 a Bavarian corps, under the command of Count von Torring,
made an unsuccessful attempt to capture an Austrian fort. Following this
failure the corps began a retirement toward Branau. The attack on the
fort had lasted ten hours. The men, for the greater part newly raised
troops, were very tired and had been without food throughout the entire
day. Despite these various demoralizing factors, the corps maintained its
discipline. The retirement began shortly after nightfall with all units well
in hand. At first the movement was unhindered, but later the Austrians
launched a vigorous pursuit.

Late that night the tired Bavarians were startled by the sound of heavy
firing from the rean guard. Instantly rumors starts. The report flew up
and down the column that the Austrians had charged over a bridge that
was supposed to have been destroyed, had broken through the rear
guard, and were now driving forward to attack the main body. As this
rumor spread through the command several units in the main body be-
gan to run.

Count von Torring rode up and down the column trying to reassure
his troops. He told them that he had not blown up the bridge because he
intended to turn about and destroy the Austrians and did not want to
be thwarted in this project by an unfordable river. The men were be-
ginning to take heart. Here and there a cheer broke out along the column.
While Von Torring was still engaged in quieting his men a subordinate
general galloped up and shouted that the Austrians had encircled the

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 283

right flank. The result was practically instantaneous — sl complete panic'*
of the 10,000 men comprising this corps. All that Count von Torring
could assemble in Branau the next morning were a few officers, a hand-
ful of cavalry, and 200 infantrymen. (Discussion follows Example VI).

Example VI

For this, surely, is the very meaning of a panic — a fear that feeds upon
itself. H. S. Holland.

On October ii, 1806, the Prussian Army of Hohenlohe was assembled
in and around Jena. Although their formidable French foe was still at a
great distance, discouraging reports had been pouring in. Observers re-
ported that a profound psychological depression reigned throughout the
entire army.

Late that afternoon a solitary rider galloped down the road from the
front. As he neared an artillery column that was drawn up alongside the
road he signaled frantically with his hands and shouted, “Back! Back!”
He then disappeared in the direction of Weimar at a dead gallop. Much
later it was discovered that this excited officer had merely been directed
to clear the road for other traffic. However, his spectacular dash from the
direction of the enemy, coupled with his frantic shouts, immediately
caused a wild flight of the artillery into the town of Weimar. As the
artillery careened through the little town all the troops billeted there ran
out of their quarters and the cry arose, “The enemy is only a half-hour
from town!”

Panic rolled down the valley of the Salle like water from a broken
dam. Even in Jena many miles away, the trains of the Prussian Army
fled terror-stricken into the gathering night.

Order was not restored for many hours, and then not until officer
patrols had definitely determined that the vicinity of Weimar was free of
the enemy.

The panics at Branau and at Weimar are similar in that they both
resulted from the careless and thoughtless action of an excited officer. Of
course in each case the troops were panic-ripe, but at Branau the catas-
trophe might well have been averted but for the blundering general who
shouted his bad news for the benefit of the entire command. Quick-
thinking Count von Torring had just about succeeded in calming his
tense troops, and it is altogether probable that there would have been no
panic but for the tragic psychological error of his subordinate.

At Weimar, however, the same profound pessimism that we have noted
elsewhere was universal. It appears likely that panic would have occurred

284 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

sooner or later from some equally remote cause. The main point is that
the immediate cause in both instances was the ill-advised action of a
subordinate officer.

As battle approaches men become as tense as coiled springs. The
prospect of death looms large to the soldier. Instinctively he turns to his
officers for guidance and for reassurance. If at these critical times an
officer betrays confusion, excitement, fear, or loss of confidence, that
impression, be it real or imaginary, is instantly spread among his men
with disastrous results.

Calmness, confidence, aggressiveness, determination, and a deep ap-
preciation of the psychological reactions of the ordinary man are the
characteristics of great leadership. JofFre’s monumental calm at the
Marne rallied his terribly defeated armies and inspired them to an almost
miraculous victory. Through most of the war the German armies drew
strength and courage from the unshaken and unshakable calm of their
beloved Hindenburg. Of such is the stuff of leadership.

Example VII

To the youth it was an onslaught of redoubtable dragons, . . . Destruction
threatened him from all points, . . . He ran like a blind man, Stephen Crane.

On June 24, 1866, the commanding general of the Italian ist Division
directed his ist Brigade to attack the Mangalia Ridge. The 2d Brigade
was ordered to move forward in support of the ist. A platoon of artillery
was directed to go into position on Mount Cricole to protect the flank of
the attacking brigade.

The prescribed movements got under way. The skirmish lines of the
1st Brigade advanced against the disputed ridge. The 2d Brigade, with
the division and brigade commanders at the head, moved forward in
double column in support of the ist. The 2d Brigade had made no provi-
sion for local security. Its advance was extremely slow. Every few minutes
there were short, irritating halts. An air of uncertainty seemed to pervade
the entire movement.

Suddenly a squadron of Austrian cavalry appeared near the crest of
Mount Cricole. With a loud cheer this squadron charged. When the
platoon of artillery which was moving toward Mount Cricole saw this
cavalry it wheeled about and, at a dead run, raced toward the 2d Brigade.
The Austrian cavalry followed the retreating artillery at a breakneck
gallop. It did not draw rein when it encountered the dense columns of
the 2d Brigade but, with sabers flashing, rode down the leading battalion,
scattered the division and brigade staffs, and killed the division and
brigade commanders.

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

283

Panic instantly swept the brigade. Five battalions flung away their
packs and rifles and, in complete and utter rout, raced toward Valeggio.
But now an unusual thing occurred — a startling thing in view of the
panic that had seized the rest of the brigade. The battalion that had been
ridden down was rallied by its officers and, facing about, attacked and
destroyed the daredevil squadron.

The charge of the Austrian cavalry had nevertheless proved decisive.
The 1st Brigade, finding itself unsupported, abandoned its attack on the
Mangalia Ridge and withdrew on Valeggio.

The ad Brigade was not rallied until late the next day.

This is an interesting study of psychological values. One hundred
cavalrymen sow panic in practically an entire infantry brigade and,
though eventually destroyed, determine the outcome of a division fight.
How can it be accounted for? By two things: surprise and the inherent
fear of the man on foot for the man on horseback. The moral effect of a
surprise cavalry charge on the dismounted man caught in the open is
terrific. Regardless of the often-proved superiority of infantry to cavalry,
that moral effect still exists.

Today, owing to the tremendous fire power of automatic weapons, the
horse has been ruled off the battlefield. In its place, however, a far more
fearful agency has appeared — the tank. The moral effect of tanks on
infantry was repeatedly demonstrated in the last war. Only those in-
dividuals who have actually been confronted by one of these modem
juggernauts can fully realize the terror, the despair, the sense of im-
potence that they inspire.

It is generally agreed that in the next war the tank will play an im-
portant role. While we seek to enhance oiu* knowledge of the tactics and
technique of this weapon let us not lose sight of its moral implications.
The unarmored infantryman who must confront this armored monster
must be accorded more than a casual consideration. His is a real and a
vital problem. Unless it is solved we may find our next major engagement
characterized by an unending series of panics engendered by the mere
appearance of the formidable and terror-breeding tank.

Example VIII

The courage of one and the same body of men is all or nothing according to
circumstances, Gustave

On November 25, 1863 ,the Confederate Army of the Tennessee occupied
a position on Missionary Ridge that, to all intents and purposes, appeared
impregnable. The troops of this army were not half-baked recruits but

286 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

veterans with two and a half years of service behind them. Their great
victory at Chickamauga was scarcely two months old. True, they were
numerically inferior to the Federals who* opposed them, but despite this
it seemed a physical impossibility for any enemy, no matter how great his
numerical superiority, to drive them from this magnificent position.

But the moral tone of this Confederate army was an altogether differ-
ent matter. Shortly after their splendid victory at Chickamauga violent
quarrels had broken out between Bragg, the army commander, and many
of his subordinates. He had relieved Polk, one of his most popular corps
commanders, and had preferred charges against him. Hindman, a divi-
sion commander well beloved by his troops, had also been relieved of
command, and his division had been broken up. General Longstreet, an-
other popular corps commander, was openly resentful and, apparently,
secretly disloyal. From this officer’s correspondence it appears that he was
actively engaged in undermining his army commander with the authori-
ties in Richmond. As a result of these various dissensions the entire army
was in a state of latent hostility toward its commander in chief.

The prelude to the battle was the marshaling of the Union forces in
the great plain between the Ridge and Chattanooga. This massing of the
Union troops took place in plain view of the Confederates. According to
all observers, this display of the enormous Union forces massed for the
attack made a tremendous impression on the defenders of the Ridge.
Added to this was the fact that the Union Army was now commanded by
General Grant, who had just successfully concluded the siege of Vicks-
burg and whose reputation was far greater than that of any other Union
general. The final factor that must be considered in this battle was
Bragg’s serious tactical error in dividing his troops. Some were placed in
trenches at the foot of the ridge, others in trenches on the military crest.

When the Union attack finally came, the Confederate trenches at the
foot of the hill were quickly overrun. In complete disregard of General
Grant’s explicit instructions, the Union troops immediately charged up
the Ridge on the heels of the withdrawing Confederates. The fire of the
defenders located on the military crest was partially masked by the with-
drawal of their own troops from the foot of the ridge, with the result
that they were unable to bring the full volume of their fire to bear on
the charging Union lines.

It was an exhausting charge for Grant’s men. Terrain, absence of
fatigue, trenches — ^in fact, every factor — ^favored the Confederates. And
yet when a single Union flag appeared on the crest of the ridge some-
thing snapped in Bragg’s army. Panic overwhelmed one Confederate
division after another. What actually occurred is described by Bragg’s
official report written at Dalton, Georgia, on November 30, 1863.

LEADERSfflP AND DISCIPLINE 287

A panic, which I had never before witnessed, seemed to have seized upon
officers and men; and each seemed to be struggling for his personal safety, re«
gardless of his duty or his character. . . .

The position was one which ought to have been held by a line of skirmishers
against any assaulting column, and whenever resistance was made the enemy
fled in disorder after suffering heavy losses.

Had all parts of the line been maintained with equal gallantry and persistence, .
no enemy could ever have dislodged us, and but one possible reason presents
itself to my mind in explanation of this bad conduct in veteran troops who had
never before failed in any duty assigned them, however difficult and hazardous.
They had for two days confronted the enemy marshaling his immense forces in
plain view and exhibiting to their sight such a superiority in numbers as may well
have intimidated weak-minded and untried soldiers, but our veterans had so
often encountered similar hosts when the strength of position was against us,
and with perfect success, that not a doubt crossed my mind.

It is obvious that General Bragg was not altogether fair to his men in
this report. As disheartening as the sight of the huge Union forces may
have been to these war-weary Confederates, this was nevertheless insuf-
ficient to account for the wild panic, as Bragg himself implies. What
General Bragg failed to see was the universal disloyalty, dissatisfaction,
and resentment against his own regime. He had relieved one corps com-
mander and one division commander for alleged disobedience of orders;
both were exceptionally loved and respected. He had broken up one divi-
sion for trivial reasons. Dissension was everywhere rampant. No one was
satisfied with Bragg’s leadership. This state of affairs had even under-
mined the buoyant effect of the great victory at Chickamauga that was
only two months behind this army. By November 25 these demoralizing
factors had transformed the veteran Army of the Tennessee into a
potential mob. The result of the battle was not surprising.

Panic seems to split logically into two separate phases. The first con-
sists of the gradual building up of a tense psychological state of mind.
Outwardly this is characterized by excessive nervousness, a marked
growth in wild and pessimistic rumors, and a heightened sensitivity to all
external stimuli. More recondite symptoms include a loss of faith in lead-
ers, a hostile and questioning attitude toward orders, a quickened im-
agination, and a profound pessimism.

The causes that induce this mental state in a military unit are many
and varied. Of those considered in the historical illustrations cited in this
paper, some were avoidable; others were not. Defeat, for instance, is one
of the unavoidable fortimes of war; when two armies clash one must lose.
Unfortunately defeat carries with it more than lost terrain and long
casualty lists; it sows the seed of distrust in the fertile soil of the private
soldier’s brain; it implants the idea that the enemy may be physically

288 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

superior to him and mentally superior to his leaders. With every battle
lost, these doubts and questionings increase until finally they are fixed in
irrevocable certainty. It is easy to lead victorious troops to fresh victories,
but only great leaders can carry a defeated force through to triumph. Let
us hope, then, that when we are engulfed in the next war we shall be able
to give our armies a taste of victory early in the fight.

A second powerful psychological factor that attacks the morale of a
conunand occurs when there is a mutual lack of faith and confidence.
This condition is frequently found in raw, untrained troops. Unless men
have lived and worked and played together — ^in short, been forged into
one collective personality — confidence and trust, in the military sense, will
be lacking. Instead of an army functioning as the expression of a single
will, there will be a hundred thousand individual wills, each striving to
solve its own small but all-important problem. In such cases each in-
dividual sees his own questionable reactions in his neighbor. Suspicion,
fear, jealousy, and cowardice grow in these dark places of the mind. We
will have troops in the next war as untrained as those in the last. Let us
hope we have as much time to whip them into shape. But whatever
amoimt of time we do have, let us expend part of it in the endeavor to
foster that mutual faith and understanding which differentiates an army
from a crowd.

While we consider this first — or, we might say, preparatory — ^phase of
panic, let us not overlook the part the unthinking officer may play. One
of the most definitely controllable factors is loose talk by officers in the
presence of their men. In war the officer occupies a place that to his men
is close to godhead. They feel that their safety and their well-being rest
in his hands. His influence can be all powerful for good or for bad. If he
shows confidence, cheerfulness, determination, calmness, those sterling
virtues will usually be reflected in his command. If, on the other hand,
he evinces nervousness, irritability, worry, fear, doubt in his superiors,
uncertainty in himself, his state of mind will be qiuckly transmitted to his
men. By controlling himself the leader will find he has solved many of the
psychological problems of command.

Soldiers have been noted since antiquity for their peculiar susceptibility
to rumor. In war most of the unending rumors that race through armies
seem to be of a dismal nature. Owing to some pessimistic quirk in the
average soldier’s psychology, the darker the whispered story, the more
quickly it is believed. This wild and depressing talk that runs back and
forth through the ranks does no unit any good. Leaders should use every
device possible to discover the vicious rumor and then lay it with the most
deadly psychological weapons at their command — slaughter and ridicule.

Fatigue, hunger, thirst, poorly conducted marches, countermarches,
grumbling at orders, criticism of superiors are but a few of the many
factors that irritate and depress a command. And irritation and depress

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 289

sion are two of the outstanding psychological elements that make for
that tense mental state which precedes panic.

So much for the first phase of this strange mass phenomenon. The sec-
ond phase occurs when some sudden shock or surprise, either real or
imaginary, touches off the actual panic.

In the foregoing examples we have seen some of the ridiculously trivial
incidents which stampeded troops who were ready for panic — at Hait-
shong, one soldier frightened by a shadow; at Coulmiers, a false report;
at Weimar, two words from an excited officer; at Missionary Ridge, the
appearance of one Union flag on the crest; in the retreat from Konig-
gratz, a herd of frightened pigs. So it usually goes when troops become
supercharged with nerves. The phenomenon might be likened to the
electric tension in a condenser — ^when the tension reaches its maximum
the condenser “breaks down.”

Once panic has started it is almost impossible to stop it. Leaders are
powerless. When the German XVII Corps broke in panic at Gumbinnen
on August 20, 1914, not even the personal intervention of General von
Mackensen, their respected and feared corps commander, could stem the
wild rush. Indeed, history records few instances of panics that were
stopped before they ran their full course.

The time to stop this group madness that feeds on fear is before it
begins. The astute leader, even in the face of repeated disaster, will find
ways and means of retaining the confidence and trust of his men Joffre
found a way at the Marne. At Haitshong the Russian 140th Infantry
stood like a rock while panic surged about it. Its commander had also
found a way.

The problem is delicate and difficult. The leader’s path is beset with a
thousand pitfalls. There are few rules to guide him. Common sense, a
sympathetic understanding of his fellow man, and a calm, cheerful, con-
fident demeanor will prove his stanchest allies.

LEADER AND LED

By Major (now Colonel) Thomas R. Phillips

U939)

The commanders of large rinits in our Army in war will attain their
high places with hardly an opportunity for observation or experience in
their lofty ranks. They will have known professional soldiers and small
units and will have led them in the safe exercises of peace. But leadership
of citizen soldiers and large units, in the danger and urgency of battle,
is a task of a different and more difficult nature. The duties and practices

290 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

of the professional officer handling professional soldiers in peace not only
do not prepare him for leadership in war, but in all probability burden
him with a baggage of custom and theory that inhibits the development
of whatever innate quality of leadership he may possess.

In our two great wars, the Civil War and the World War, the leader-
ship of masses of civilian soldiers was a problem that baffled the majority
of officers. It is to be noted that the larger part of the outstanding lead-
ers of the Civil War — Grant, Sherman, McClellan, and Stonewall Jack-
son, for example — had left the Army and returned to it again from civil
life. Some American officers, wrote Colonel G. F. R. Henderson of this
conflict, could get as much out of volunteers as out of veteran troops.
Others, who did not understand the prejudices and traits of the volun-
teers, never acquired their confidence and, despite their ability otherwise,
failed in every operation they undertook. With Regulars these command-
ers would probably have been successful. With volunteers they fell from
disaster to disaster. It is not sufficient to bring volunteers under military
law, continues Colonel Henderson. It takes something more than the rules
and regulations that govern a professional army to win and hold the con-
fidence of citizen soldiers and make them steadfast under circumstances
of danger, difficulty, and hardship.

Hancock, one of the most successful corps commanders in the Union
Army, never sneered at volunteers. He made them feel by his evident re-
spect, his warm approval of everything they did well, that he regarded
them just as fully soldiers as if they belonged to his old Regular regiment.
He knew with what assiduity, patience, and good feeling, what almost
pathetic eagerness to learn and to imitate, the Volunteers of i86i sought
to fit themselves to take part in the great struggle. He saw that it was of
extreme importance to develop self-respect and self-confidence in these
regiments and to lead them to think that they could do anything and that
they were the equals of anybody. But Hancock was not a mere drill-
master; he loved his men, understood them thoroughly, and was there-
fore fit for high command.

The return after the Civil War to a little professional army was a re-
turn to the psychology of leadership that had existed before it. In the
World War the identical problem confronted us again in full force; the
solution was not happy. According to a writer in the American Legion
Magazine: “Our Regular Army disciplinary system is mainly responsible
for the fact that universal military training has not become a part of the
law of the United States. The discharged men carried firsthand informa-
tion about army methods into thousands of homes. They told of the
pei^tual clicking together of heels, the incessant and wearisome saluting,
of the overdone enforcement of deference toward officers of whatever
grade, of the martinet’s insistence upon the minutiae of useless and sense-
less observances, of the too-frequent lack of human touch in dealing with

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 291

the bewildered men in the ranks. The system has produced many fine
administrators^ but the few genuine leaders developed imder it have risen
in spite of and not because of the training given them.”

The problem will confront us anew when once again we must have a
citizen army. For once again we have returned to the ancient practices
of the professional army and the small unit. Army regulations on dis-
cipline remain unchanged, in all essential respects, from those of iSsji,
and those were copied from the regulations of the noble and peasant
army of royal France of 1788. In theory man is the one unchangeable
element in war. But as man’s social life changes, so must the relation
between leader and led be modified. Wellington remained convinced until
his death that only flogging could develop a disciplined army. Rocham-
beau wrote in his memoirs that the whip is the sinew of all discipline.
Flogging was forbidden in the United States Army in 1813, yet fifteen
years later an officer was tried by court-martial for having a soldier
flogged so severely that he was unable to perform duty for nine days.
True, we no longer practice such methods and to that extent admit that
man’s attitude has changed. But other customs remain, equally ancient,
equally inapplicable today, and they will undermine our effort to lead
the literate, intelligent, independent, and eager young American in the
next war.

War brings not only the citizen soldier with his civilian outlook, but
also enormous numbers of men. The procedures of the peacetime com-
pany or the post commander supply no lessons of leadership to officers
catapulted into high command. As Foch said of the leaders of the French
Army of 1870, “They were superb generals in peacetime, fine soldiers,
who knew everything except war.” In short, they were generals com-
pletely without experience in handling men by tens of thousands.

The newly elevated generals react according to their character. This
one swallows his saber, as the French put it, and spends his time making
routine inspections and weighing out punishments. That one thinks his
lofty place demands untouchability and withdraws into godlike seclusion.
Others remain what they were — company commanders, now, of divisions.
A few — a very few — discover, develop, and use the techniques of mass
leadership and are rewarded with devotion that knows no bounds — ^that
stops at no sacrifices.

It is easy to belittle the differences between the leadership procedures
of the small professional army and those needed for large commands.
The average officer is unaware that there are any. But it is these differ-
ences that lie between success and disaster. “In times of peoples’ armies
and totalitarian warfare [wrote Ludendorff] the officer will fulfill his task
only if he has a clear notion of the basis upon which the unity of the
people and discipline rest. In these qualities the old school of officers was
lacing, for the officers lived apart from the people. That these officers

292 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

were ignorant of the people’s way of thinking and knew only national
and monarchic principles was a consequence of the conditions of that
time. That this was not enough, the result of the war showed clearly.”

In France, after 1870, when the nation adopted compulsory military
service, it took twenty years, says General Tanant, for the army to modify
its methods of leadership to accord with the mentality of the citizen
soldier. It took another fifteen years before enlightened, paternal, and
affectionate leadership became general in the French Army. In our own
Army we have the enormously difficult and hardly comprehended prob-
lem of making this same change within a few months after the outbreak
of war. If we fail, the Army will again deserve and receive the hatred of
its soldiers as they go back to their homes and will again struggle for
years against an antipathy that it does not understand.

There is a technique of leadership of large commands and of civilian
soldiers, and it can be acquired by all in some degree. When he reaches
high command the educative process of the leader is over. The general
must lead with the personality and character he is then endowed with.
But then, if ever, he needs in addition a technique of leadership to guide
him in his unexplored domain. If he has none he fails, and the next war’s
Blois will be filled with such failures. The great leaders of the past de-
veloped their methods through trial and error. Politicians of all ages have
learned the technique of popular leadership by the same process. The
leader in modem war will not have the time and opportunity, but the
psychologists of today have clarified the problem of mass leadership for
him, and the methods are no longer the secret of the occasional genius.

Of leaders and leadership there are many definitions. Perhaps the
clearest is one that limits the function of leadership to the moral sphere
in the exercise of command. The exercise of command involves :

Leadership: The imposition, maintenance, and direction of moral unity
to our ends. This is similar to the definition given on the efficiency report.

Generalship: The tactical or strategical direction of operations.

Management: Staff functioning, administration, and supervision.

Many substitutes for leadership work well in peace. A good admin-
istrator can have a well-tumed-out command without ever approaching
the qualities of leadership. Fear of punishment is effective in peace; in
war the guardhouse may be a reprieve from death. Supervision can be
carried out in peace to the last trifling breach of uniformity; in war, the
battle, when joined, must be turned over to subordinate leaders. Supervi-
sion and punishment, primarily functions of management — ^substitutes for
leadership in peace — are not available or are only partially usable in war.
The professional officer, too frequently in peace, depends upon these sub-
stitutes for leadership which in war he cannot use.

Leadership is the most important function in the exercise of command.
Generalship and management, to a large degree, can be entrusted to a

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 293

competent staff. But the eyes of the men are always turned upward, and
no one can exercise leadership for the commander. “Technique and
tactics,” Foch said, “that is the business of staffs. The leader, himself,
should furnish the spirit and the morale.” And he adds that neither clair-
voyance nor energy suffices for the leader; he must also have the power
of communicating the spirit that animates him to his command. He
should know his men, love them, and maintain between them and him-
self the mutual confidence that is more indispensable in a national army
than in a professional army.

Military leaders fall into three principal classes:

(1) The Institutional Leader, who exercises control by virtue of his
rank or position; that is, by the established prestige and legal authority
attaching to his office. All Army officers are institutional leaders.

(2) The SmalUGroup Leader, who acts on individuals. He is repre-
sented in the Army by the captains, lieutenants, and noncommissioned
officers.

(3) The Mass Leader, who impresses and dominates because of his
character, his understanding, and his ability to mold and control the
minds of large groups without intimate personal contact. All regimental
and higher commanders should be mass leaders.

The institutional leader issues orders in accordance with his legal
authority and expects them to be obeyed because of legal impulsion. His
moral superiority exists in his rank and position, not in himself. Such a
leader may maintain and build up a thoroughly coherent group. To do
so he must be punctilious about dress, drill, formal discipline — ^in a word,
about all the symbols of authority — ^and in this he will be right psycho-
logically. Thus a man may get to a position of leadership who lacks the
personal qualities either to dominate or to understand his men, yet may
make a very considerable success of it, at least in peace, provided he
recognizes his own limitations and suits his methods to them.

Institutional leadership is a system of leadership. It substitutes prestige
of position for prestige of personality. It is implicit in a professional army.
It permits frequent change of leaders without injury. There are no means
in a peacetime army of selecting mass leaders, so a system of leadership
must be depended on. Unfortunately the system fails to develop capable
mass leaders; it apparently hinders their development. The complete
flowering of the institutional leader is the antithesis of the mass leader,
who is self-assertive and original and endowed with a high degree of
initiative. He cannot help but be a thorn in the sides of many among the
superior institutional leaders who predominate in a hierarchical organiza-
tion. Institutional leadership, gone to decay, breeds that lowest form of
military life — the martinet. In the growl of one colonel, “I have been
taking it for thirty years, and now I am going to dish it out,” is summed
up all the repressions and decay of institutional leadership.^

294, THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The small-group leader deals with men as individuals. He concentrates
on individual psychology. Given the knowledge and desire to understand
his men and take care of them, his problem in winning their confidence
and devotion is simple. He is in close daily contact with them and has
every opportunity to demonstrate his wordiness of their trust and his
capacity to lead them. As the years go by, however, he accumulates a
mind full of small-group ideas and small-group methods, which, if per-
sisted in when he reaches high command, may be actively harmful. We
have all seen senior officers who have never left behind them the interest
and methods of the company commander.

Mass leadership itself is nothing new. What is really new is the psy-
chologists* recognition of the mentality of the mass and their researches
into methods through which masses of men can be influenced. In certain
nations propaganda ministries sway whole peoples at will by appeal to
mass psychology. All great military and political leaders have been mass
leaders, able to arouse the devotion and enthusiasm of their followers. It
was of such that the maxim was coined that leaders are bom, not made.
And like many oversimplifications, this one has in it only a portion of
tmth. For modern psychologists have paved the way to make this type
of leadership a science. From their studies a technique of mass leadership
can be developed and actually has been developed in the political field.
Thus these methods of mass leadership are available to all with the in-
telligence to use them. With the enormous armies of today, composed
largely of civilians, mass-leadership methods are essential to the conduct
of war.

Institutional leadership and the institutional type of discipline have suc-
ceeded admirably in the past with professional armies. It works well with
the peacetime army, because we have time to change the habit patterns
of our men, to condition them to the soldierly ideals and prides of the
professional. With the hastily trained national army there is not time to
modify character to the pattern we desire. The ruthless attempt to do it
in a short period, with too small a nucleus of pnrfessionals to give the
example, arouses fear, resistance, hatred, and suspicion. All the new sol-
dier^s earnestness and anxiety to learn can be turned into cynicism and
distrust if he is subjected initially to a commandership that appears to
have no other object than to harass him with a thousand petty restraints.
It was our uninspired institutional leadership that created the distrust
of the military system in our World War Army which today still blocks
civil understanding of its fine ideals and high purposes.

The mass leader must know the minds of his men. A knowledge of
psychology will help him. But more than psychology is the understanding
that comes from contact and sympathy with his men. The older psy-
chologists pictured the mind as divided into conscious and instinctive
parts and listed a large number of instincts. The analytical psychologists

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 295

admit an instinctive basis and add the unconscious filled with fixations
and complexes which they believe are the key to many of our actions.
The behaviorists deny the existence of instincts and call the unconscious
the “unverbalized” and make a pretty good case for their contentions.
But regardless of the disagreements of psychologists concerning the origin
of impulses of human behavior, all of them agree that man is charac-
terized by certain behavior patterns. In our effort to utilize universal hu-
man tendencies it matters little whether we call these behavior patterns
instincts — that is, inherited pattern reactions — or whether we consider
them to be learned pattern reactions.

In his methods of influencing the led, the leader capitalizes on the
human tendency to form groups. On the lower level are appetite and
instinct groups. On the higher level the groups are based on interest,
sentiment, and ideals. Such groupings are not necessarily physical; that
is, in the form of crowds. The twelve thousand officers of the Army are
an “interest-and-ideals” group. The group once formed has a definite
group mentality. In Psychology and Leadership are listed the charac-
teristics of the group or herd instinct as: intolerance of opinions that
differ from those of the group; fearfulness of solitude; sensitiveness to the
habits and customs of the group; subjection to the opinions of the herd;
susceptibility to leadership; relations with his fellows dependent upon his
recognition as a member of the herd, and heightened suggestibility. All
of these group characteristics can and must be used by the leader.

His first problem is the development of group feeling and unity. Since
man instinctively is a herd animal the development of group allegiance
is simple. Let men with a common cultural background live together and
work toward a common end, and they will automatically identify them-
selves with the group. When to this are added an identifying uniform
and certain group passwords, symbols, and ideals, such as the military
salute, military insignia, and military traditions, the solution is complete.
“The historic fame of any military body,” Hindenburg wrote, “is a bond
of unity between all its members, a kind of cement which holds it together
even in the worst of times.” The process is hastened by drills and parades.
In modem armies the primary value of drill lies in the development of
group spirit. It has no other magic. The type of obedience and discipline
taught by drill has small application on the battlefields of today. When
men have been long in the lines and are consequently disorganized, no
other method equals close-order drill in restoring group spirit. It is the
visible symbol and shared actuality of the group in action with all of its
members and leaders working together.

Since the soldier group is not a natural one but is formed deliberately
with a definite end in view, group interests, sentiments, and ideals must
be given to it. These we have in the form of all the historic virtues of the
soldier: patriotism, loyalty, pride, obedience, courage, self-sacrifice, and

296 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

discipline. In the professional army these ideals have continuity. They are
absorbed rather than deliberately implanted, and the process is slow. In
the citizen army they must be intentionally and consciously inculcated. If
they are not, then in place of them must be put the iron discipline of legal
authority. Discipline is defined as control gained by enforcing obedience.
But how much more desirable, how much simpler, to give the soldier
proper group ideals, so that authority comes from within the men them-
selves and they act through morale rather than discipline.

One American World War general, when still a colonel commanding a
Regular Army unit, often collected his regiment to talk to his men. He
would narrate from the regimental history a story of heroic action in
battle. Then he would ask the question, “Who was responsible for this
victory? Who actually deserves the credit?” Some assured private primed
with the answer would get up and reply, “The private soldier, sir.” Other
questions would follow, all designed to bring out the same type of an-
swer. It was thus that he developed the pride and sense of importance of
his men, their individual responsibility for the success of the regiment in
battle. This was a subject close to this commander’s heart and one that
he never failed to emphasize. Although his assemblies were deliberately
stage-managed, there was no insincerity in them. That was his method
of implanting group ideals. What his regiment did in battle later on
proved how well his method worked.

This commander’s method was that of suggestion. Each soldier, inside
of himself, hoped to be as heroic as the examples his colonel cited, and
when the test came he was. The quality in a leader that gives potency to
suggestion is earnestness. Earnestness is an emotional quality that is trans-
mitted from mind to mind. Constant affirmation and repetition of ideals
will plant them forever if done with sincerity. Reason and right have
little influence compared to suggestion and earnestness. The earnestness
of Huey Long gained for him his position and his place in the hearts of
his followers, not the logic by which he hoped to share wealth. The com-
mander who fails to make use of suggestion and affirmation neglects one
of the primary tools of leadership.

Group pride and confidence in the capacity of the group are developed
through group accomplishment. But accomplishment must be reasonably
gradual. The self-confidence of a green regiment can be ruined by a march
beyond its capacity. “Unattainable demands prejudice the trust in the
leaders and shake the spirit of the troops.” (German FSR.) The leader
who does not know the capacity of his group and gives his men tasks
beyond their capacity destroys its morale. “No man is more valiant than
Yessoutai,” said Genghis Khan; “no one has rarer gifts. But as the longest
marches do not tire him, as he feels neither hunger nor thirst, he believes
that his officers and soldiers do not suffer such things. That is why he is
not fitted for high command” And of Sir John Moore’s failure in the

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 297

same respect, Wellington said, “He was as brave as his own sword, but
he did not know what man could do or not do.” French field service
regulations are explicit that the capacity of green troops should be esti-
mated prudently and that they should be supported energetically. In the
World War our G.H.Q. appreciated the importance of this. In the attack
of the 28 th Infantry at Gantigny, the first attack of the regiment and the
first wholly American attack, no chances were taken of failure. The
operation was rehearsed on similar terrain in the rear. Its success was
essential, not only for the morale of the regiment, but to insure confidence
in the entire American Army. The same reasons kept Chaumont from
sending partially trained men into battle. An early failure would have
been disastrous to morale. And again at Saint-Mihiel no chances were
taken of failure.

A classic example of a means used to develop group pride is the state-
ment of a captured CJerman colonel published in orders to the entire ist
Division in the lines.

I received orders to hold my ground at all costs [it read]. The American bar-
rage advanced toward my position and the work of your artillery was marvelous.
The barrage was so dense that it was impossible for us to move out of our dug-
outs. Following the barrage closely was the infantry of the ist Division. I saw
them forge ahead and I knew that all was lost. . . . Yesterday I knew that the
Division was opposite me and I knew that we would have our hardest fight of
the war. The ist Division is wonderful and the German Army knows it We
did not believe that within five years the Americans would develop a division like
the ist. The work of its infantry and artillery is worthy of the best armies in the
world.

The patness with which praise is distributed equally between infantry
and artillery leads one to believe that the German colonel’s statement
had been rewritten for publication. It is unlikely that this would occur to
the men. It contained the kind of praise they wanted to believe, and,
coming from an enemy, it was ever so much more welcome. One can
imagine the redoubled efforts they made to live up to their reputation on
the other side of the line.

And just as the right orders to troops can raise their morale to the
highest pitch, so can the wrong ones depress it. An example of a wrong
way is the following extract from a division order. The division had been
in the lines for its first month. The troops had fought bravely; they had
suffered five hundred casualties and were proud of their accomplishments:

(a) The character of the service which the Division is now about to undertake
demands enforcement of a stricter discipline and the maintenance of a higher
standard of efficiency than any hitherto required of us.

( 3 ) From now on the troops of this command will be held at all times to the
strictest observation of that rigid discipline, in camp and upon the march, which
is essential to their maximum efficiency on the day of battle.

298 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

(4) This order will be read by all organization commanders to the men of
their command.

By command of :

Official, Chief of Staff.

How would the men receive this order? Here was a scolding from the
division commander. The men doubtless thought they had already done
wonderfully. What did “rigid discipline” mean to them? Probably to
stand at attention and salute every time they turned around. What they
needed and deserved instead from their leader was praise. They had
performed splendidly under new and terrible conditions. If laxity in
formal discipline had resulted from a month in the lines it could be
restored promptly by a little drill. This absence of understanding on the
part of their general of the state of mind of his men might have wrecked
the morale of the division. He had simply not found the way to their
hearts.

In contrast to this can be placed General Mangin’s order to the Ameri-
cans of his command in July 1918:

Officers, noncommissioned officers, and soldiers of the III U. S. Army
Corps:

Shoulder to shoulder with your French comrades you have thrown yourselves
into the battle of the counteroffensive which commenced July 18. ■

You went into it like a celebration.

Your magnificent courage overturned the surprised enemy, and your in-
domitable tenacity arrested the offensive of fresh divisions.

You have won the admiration of your brothers-in-arms.

American comrades, I am grateful for the blood shed on the soil of my country.

I am proud to have commanded you in such days and to have battled wi^
you for the deliverance of the world.

Mangin

Note, too, that this order was signed by Mangin, by the higher com-
mander himself, not merely “by command of So-and-So,” and somebody
else as chief of staff, and somebody else as official, to dilute its import as a
personal communication from the chief. Nor did it contain that useless
and typical paragraph about reading the order to the troops.

One can search the pages of history, the general orders of Napoleon,
and the orations of the ancients without finding a finer, more direct and
manly message than that delivered to the ist Division on October 29,
igi8. The division had suffered more than seven thousand casualties
between October 4 and October ii. The men had expected to have a
month in a rest area but were ordered back into the Meuse-Argonne
battle:

Memorandum for Members of the ist Division:

It will be well for us to bear in mind at all times and especially upon the eve
of active operations, the following:

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

299

( I } That we are the first assault division of the A£F.

(a) That we have, on four battlefields, always taken all objectives assigned
to us.

(3) That we have gone through the best German troops for a total of thirty
kilometers and have never surrendered an inch of ground to the enemy.

(4) That for every prisoner, we have taken over one hundred Germans.

(5) That the above record has been due to the pride and spirit of each
inclividual member of the Division who, each in his own place, has given to his
country his entire effort of heart, mind, and body.

All men need and seek a leader. Confidence, respect, and affection are
given to him instinctively. The commander who manages to arouse dis-
trust and dislike in his group has accomplished almost a miracle of false
leadership. That it is so often done indicates not that it is hard to avoid
doing, but that there is a fundamental falsity in many of our conceptions
of leadership. “Hero worship is the deepest root of all. No nobler feeling,”
Carlyle wrote, “than this admiration for one higher than himself dwells
in the breast of man. It is to this hour, and at all hours, the vivifying
influence in Man’s life.”

Here is another behavior pattern made to order for the leader. In
childhood humans turn to a parent for care and solace. This desire for a
superior to whom they can turn never leaves them. It expresses itself by
hero worship, by constant seeking for guidance, by faith-giving to political
messisdis, and, in an army, by love and devotion to the superiors who
understand and fill this hiunan need. Many a soldier has risked his life
to protect a loved leader. Lee’s men pleaded with him to remove himself
from danger. One of Napoleon’s most effective means of inspiring his
men was to threaten to go into battle at their head. A flag in his hand,
he charged the bridge at Arcole at the head of his grenadiers and at other
times retired from dangerous places only on the demand of his soldiers.
In bivouac at Austerlitz he announced: Soldiers, I will hold myself far
from the fire if, with your accustomed bravery, you carry disorder and
confusion into the ranks of the enemy. But if the victory is uncertain for
an instant, you will see your Emperor expose himself to the first blows.”

The problem of the military leader is to transfer the tendency to hero
worship to himself. He must supply the care and guidance to his men
that every human seeks and thus make an associative shifting of alle-
giance from the father image to himself. The first step is unremitting care
for his men. “An officer must likewise find a way to the hearts of his
subordinates and gain their trust through an understanding of their feel-
ings and thoughts and through never-ceasing care for their needs.” (Ger-
man FSR.)

Our own Manual for Commanders of Large Units emphasizes the
same attitude: “His first object should be to secure the love and attach-
ment of his men by his constant care for their well-being. The devotion

300

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

that arises from this kind of attention knows no bounds and enables him
to exact prodigies of valor on the day of battle.”

There is no inconsistency in this and the obligation to perform the
most arduous and dangerous of duties. Nor is it inconsistent with the
exaction of rigid discipline, nor even with extreme severity. Love and
care for the men, performance of duty, and discipline must march arm in
arm.

The leader of large commands has a difficult problem in getting close
to his men. He must plan deliberately and make occasions to share the
dangers and privations of his lowest subordinate. This requires showman-
ship and is quite a different matter from the problem of the small-group
leader in daily contact with his men. It also requires practice.

Not even Napoleon was bom a leader. Marshal Marmont declared
that the army of Italy received him without confidence and almost with
derision. His early efforts at haranguing his men were laughed at. He had
first to learn the chords to play upon, but he did learn. It was not long
until his men wept with rage when he reproached them. And never was
a general as religiously listened to. When he spoke, and this was fre-
quently, he carried the enthusiasm of his troops to the highest pitch. The
men gathered around his proclamations and orders of the day and learned
them by heart. He made the emotional chords vibrate — ^words of action
always, no vain rhetoric, no fancy speech, and, above all, no pompous-
ness. Whenever he could he explained his intentions and maneuvers to
his men. And always he declared his love for them — “My soldiers are my
children.”

No general in the Union Army received such unbounded devotion as
McClellan. He forged the army with which Grant won the Civil War,
and it remained a marvelous army as commanders followed him in rapid
succession, even after defeats that would have ruined most armies. An
idea of his methods can be gained from the letters of Private Henry
Sproul. On June 5, 1862, after his regiment had been in action, Sproul
wrote home: “General McClellan sent his thanks to us and said if we
got into action again he would be with us.”

He did this throughout his army. He went among the men; he strove
to feed them well and organize them so that they would surely be vic-
torious. Six weeks later, after the retreat down the peninsula, Sproul
wrote home:

“I suppose people blame General McClellan, but they need not blame
anyone but themselves. It was their fault for not sending him reinforce-
ments when he called for them and needed them so badly. But no, they
must leave him and his men to be slaughtered by overwhelming numbers.
I see in the papers that it is the cry to recall. It would be the means of
destroying the Army, for there is not a soldier here but that loves him
more than his own life. There is not one but would be willing to lose his

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 301

own life for him. If they do recall him I think it will raise a mutiny in
the Army.”

Personal appearances before troops can be done badly and react un-
favorably. Invariably these failures are due to a lack of understanding the
soldier. One of our major generals in France wanted his men to know
who he was. His troops were marching to the front through a village in a
heavy rain. He struck a pose on a balcony overlooking the route of march.
No one paid any attention to him. He shouted^ “I am your general! I
am General So-and-So.” The men could not hear him and did not know
him. They only saw someone in uniform on the balcony waving his arms
and saying something. Naturally they hooted and called back at him, and
this was taken up along the line of march. Needless to say, they later
learned who it was, and his prestige with his men was not helped.

Then there was the general who came to make an inspection of
brigade. The review was called for 7:00 a. m. Some of the men left their
billets, twelve miles distant, at 1:00 a. m. to get to the review on time.
Seven o’clock and no general, and rain kept falling. Noon, and still no
general, and the subordinate commanders held him in such terror they
wouldn’t let the men leave ranks to eat. At three in the afternoon an aide
came down the line in a motorcycle splashing mud indiscriminately and
said that the general had come and gone. Every man who was in that
brigade still carries his hatred of that general and of the Army. The object
of the inspection was not only to look over the troops but to give them a
chance to see the commander to whom they looked for leadership. It
failed in both objects. And it destroyed all confidence and affection for
the general.

We may consider here, too, the dress of a commander. We are wont in
peace to ascribe extreme importance to his outward appearance. But just
how much does it count? General Grant had but one coat at a time, re-
garding it fondly as an old friend. He preferred his coats made so that
he could wear them either side out, and he did wear both sides out before
he ever discarded one. He was indistinguishable, except for his insignia,
from a cavalry private. Mangin, who spent from daylight till noon daily
in the trenches, was always immaculate. He avoided the communicating
trenches in going up to the front and walked across country so that he
wouldn’t soil his clothes. In contrast, P6tain was plainly dressed, more
often than not, in a soldier’s overcoat. An encounter between the two,
when both were brigade commanders at the time of the retreat from Bel-
gium, shows all the difference between the two manners. As the two gen-
erals prepared to eat beside the road, Petain, stumbling with fatigue,
drew from a paper sack a piece of cold meat, some bread, and a piece of
cheese. Mangin’s orderly, on the contrary, laid linen on an improvised
table and brought a hot filet of beef, fried potatoes, salad, and a bottle
of wine. “How can you do all that?” demanded P6tain. “Don’t you know

302 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

we at war?” “That is precisely why I need to be well nourished,” re-
sponded Mangin. “I have been at war all my life and I have never felt
better than at present. You have been fighting for fifteen days and you
are almost dead. Follow my advice and nourish yourself decently.”

But after the failure of the disastrous offensive of April 1917, the last
drop of water which made the vase of discontent overflow into mutiny, it
was to P6tain that France turned to restore discipline. Thanks to his
patience, his intelligence, his kindness, and his profound knowledge of the
human heart, he re-established order in a short time. He attacked the
true cause by getting close to the men, talking to them, showing them by
acts of judicious organization that they would find moral support in him.
The poilu understood him at once and gave him his heart.

Napoleon also dramatized himself in his appearance before his men by
wearing the clothes of a simple soldier.

Around him were arranged his staff and his marshals in gold braid and
lace. When he appeared with his worn coat, the legendary little hat on
his head, distinguished by a deliberate and exaggerated simplicity, he
appeared to his men like one of the heroes of antiquity. It is what is
inside the heart of the leader, not what clothes the outside of his body,
that arouses the devotion of the led. Georges Bonnet, the present Foreign
Minister of France, writing as a private in the lines in 1915 about the
motives behind deeds of extraordinary heroism, stated, “This one acts be-
cause he adores his family and would be glorious for them; that one be-
cause he finds himself with comrades from the same village and will not
abandon them at any cost; a third because he has a good commander
who has known how to make himself understood and loved/^

The leader of large commands must make himself a part of his group
in the minds of his men. He does this by identifying himself with their
activities. The smart politico campaigning for the farm vote enters a
comhusking contest. He wears galluses and goes without a tie. He
identifies himself with the farmer and thus proves his right to act as their
spokesman. The military leader does the same thing on a higher plane.
He must exhibit the qualities that he demands of his soldiers — courage,
fortitude, loyalty, and discipline. If he shares the soldier’s hardships and
dangers he has gone two thirds of the way to the soldier’s heart. He has
also to prove his courage, and this he must do deliberately, making the
opportimity or seizing it when occasion arises. The favorite picture of
Grant during the Civil War was the one in which he was sitting on a log,
smoking a cigar, shells bursting all around as he calmly wrote a dispatch,
while two soldiers near by remarked, “Ulysses don’t scare a bit.” General
Buck was never absent when his men were in danger or distress. He
prowled the trenches day and night. With his tremendous vitality and the
courage of a lion, he sh^d and m6re than shared the dangers and hard-
ships of the men. He was as tough as they had to be, and they idolized

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 303

him. But is that the place for the general in battle? Or should he be back
p a dugout putting pins in maps?

Blaise de Montluc^ writing in the sixteenth century, emphasized:
“When the battle is hot at some place, if the leader does not go there, or
at least some distinguished man, the men will . . . only complain that
they are being sent to their death.”

Men have not changed since. General Barbot, when he was reproached
by his staff for endangering himself, replied, “I awaited this reproach. In
principle you are entirely right, but one should never be absolute. In the
present situation I estimated differently. The place of the division com-
mander, whenever he is able, is, on the contrary, in the center of his
poilus who are in the first line. The situation is excessively grave. It is
necessary that the chiefs of the tactical units, from the smallest to the
largest, do not spare themselves and give the example. And finally there
is the question of morale, which at this moment has never been more
important. The poilu is happy to see that there where the shells are fall-
ing each takes his chances regardless/^

General Barbot was placed in command of the 77th Division on Sep-
tember I, 1914. In a few weeks he became the idol of his officers and
men. Tall, thin, wearing the coat of a simple soldier, an Alpine beret on
his head, he was to be found everywhere where his presence could exalt
the will to conquer. The day he took command, on La Chipotte Ridge,
charged with protecting the withdrawal of the Army of Alsace, it is said
that he covered the withdrawal with his own body. At the end of Octo-
ber, when Arras seemed lost, he refused to abandon it, and the city was
saved. He passed his days and long hours of his nights in the first lines.
He talked with his men, knew how to find the words that temper the
will and exalt the courage. This simplicity of attitude, P6tain said, far
from diminishing his prestige, engendered a community of thought and
unified in the same affection the men who pursued the same end and
were exposed to the same dangers. In the eyes of his soldiers he lived for
three things only: for his country, for his men, and for victory. True to
his principles. General Barbot, less than a year later, in another exceed-
ingly grave situation, fell in the first line in the midst of his troops.

Mangin, too, never spared himself. Telling of an operation, he said,
“My leading battalion pushed ahead. After some hesitation I decided the
pear was hard and sounded the charge. But it was too soon; the men had
to be pushed; certain fractions were hesitating. My troopers, on whom
I had counted to threaten the rear of the enemy, whom I thought small
in number, had disappeared. It was by pushing the men ourselves, the
generals fifty yards behind the line of riflemen, that we carried the first
houses. Evidently it was not our proper place, but it was the place in-
dicated by the state of our troops and the dispositions of the enemy; thus

304 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

it was good. The ilan was given by example, and they went in one rush
from one end of the village to the other.”

And what do the men think of this kind of general? Henri Detheil, a
private in the division, wrote home after Mangin had taken command:
“At last we have a leader. After having had at our head a walking ruin,
we actually have one of the best generals in the French Army. Young,
intrepid, a lucid mind, inspiring the men, charging at their head when
necessary — always in the first line under fire at difficult times. There is a
man; there is a leader, and we are all joyful to serve under him.”

It is not only the men but the subordinate commanders of all grades
who have to be supported by the presence of the superior. On the twenty-
seventh of May, 1918, General Duchesne, in command of the French
Sixth Army, had received the German attack on the Chemin des Dames.
His troops disappeared like mist before him. In the days of the battle
and following, no word of encouragement, no sight of the higher com-
mand came to him. On such occasions the commander looks rearward,
searches for moral support there where he should find it, from his supe-
riors, who alone can aid him morally and materially. The first higher
commander to visit him was Premier Clemenceau, and it was from that
G^eneral Duchesne received the encouragement he needed.

General Mordacq, Clemenceau’s military adviser, remarked in telling
of this incident that it is not only when everything goes well that a leader
should visit his subordinates; it is especially at critical moments, and
Duchesne was in such a case. Mordacq said that he remembered General
Barbot at the opening of the war, always at their sides when everything
was cracking; but in contrast, during the first attack, in Belgium in April
1915, neither his division nor his corps commander ever appeared as far
forward as Mordacq’s command post.

With some noteworthy exceptions, the American commanders in the
World War did not spend much time in the lines. A single general was
killed — ^an indication of the extent to which those high in rank were
endangered. This, of course, was not from any lack of personal courage
but because they did not, as a rule, have capable staffs to whom they
could delegate their responsibilities. Frequently, too, it was because the
higher command ordered them to remain at the end of a telephone line.
In contrast, at the single battle of Antietam in September 1862, on the
Union side there were six generals killed, including two corps com-
manders, and ten were wounded. On the Confederate side five generals
were killed and six wounded, a total of twenty-seven general officers
killed and wounded in one battle. But the leadership was superb. With
leadership by proxy, or from a safe distance, this battle could have been
a dis£uster for either side.

It is obvious that man is not led by reward or punishment. He cares
more for the opinion of his group than for either. He will risk his life for

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

305

a loved commander, for a comrade, for the respect of his organization,
but not for fear of court-martial. Nevertheless, rewards and punishments
are necessary adjuncts of leadership. Good leadership will make the need
for punishment infrequent. An organization can be ruled by punishment
in peace, but a commander who so rules is not a leader; he is a jailer.
He can establish the appearance of discipline, but it is not a discipline
for war, since that discipline depends upon abnegation. On the field of
battle the awakening will be hard and it will be at the price of human
lives. The more perfect such discipline appears, the more dangerous it is,
for one is tempted to attribute to an organization that looks good, a
fighting value much higher than its real worth.

Punishment should be reserved for the repression of the incorrigible,
for those who shun their duty, and for those who do not wish to bend
to discipline. Punishment given to many indicates a lack of moral
superiority in the commander. When, in battle, any punishment less
than death is a reprieve from dangerous duty, what lever of leadership
remains to the commander who has depended on it?

Reward, like punishment, should be prompt. A word of praise from
a respected commander is a reward. Many Americans saw the bucketfuls
of medals being carried up to French organizations in the lines, to be
awarded on the next day after heroic actions. But all recommendations
for decorations for Americans had to be passed upon by a board at
G.H.Q. — a board exceedingly slow in acting. For the Distinguished
Service Cross it approved about five thousand recommendations and
disapproved an equal number. But four fifths of those awarded were not
approved until the war was over and so lost all value as stimulants to
morale. The French were more generous, distributing between fourteen
and fifteen thousand decorations among the Americans, but these were
put on official ice until after the Armistice.

The leadership of peace, as we practice it, has little relation to leader-
ship in war. Because tasks are not severe, the routine of institutional
leadership and the substitute discipline of law and punishment suffice.
Once again, should we go to war, we are unprepared psychologically
to lead the citizen soldier. In the future greater armies than those over
which our colors flew in the Meuse-Argonne will be constituted. The
soldiers will come straight from civil life and to civil life they will return.
It is vital that we recognize that these troops without the traditions,
habit patterns, and training of Regular soldiers require leadership dif-
ferent from the professional. Upon our splendid institutional foundation
must be built a leadership of understanding and mutual trust and mutual
sacrifice. Only by knowing the nature and purpose of institutional leader-
ship, and its limitations, by studying the methods of great leaders, by
studying and applying the reseai^es of modem psychologists, can we
prevent the decay of leadership in our hands into the stupidities of the

306 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

martinet^ and prepare ourselves to lead the great armies of citizen soldiers
of the future.

Bibliography of principal works:

Psychology and Leadership, The Command & General Staff School Press,
Fort Leavenworth, 1934.

La Discipline dans les Armies Frangaises, by General Tanant. The finest study
of discipline and leadership found in any language.

Psychology and the Soldier, by Major jP. G. Bartlett. Particularly acute; should
be read by every officer.

La Guerre et Les Hommes, by General Deb^ney.

La Guerra Decisiva, by General Visconti-Prasca.

History of the United States Army, by Major William A. Ganoe.

Le Ministir e Clemenceau, by General Mordacq.

History of the ist Division.

Mangin, by Major Charles Bugnet.

Essai sur la Psychologic de VInfanterie, by Lieutenant Colonel Bouchacourt
Les Forces Morales, by Captain Reguert.

La Psychologic du Combat, by Coste.

UAme du Soldat, by Georges Bonnet.

The American Army in France, igiy-ig, by Major General James G. Harbord.
The Science of War, by Colonel G. F. R. Henderson.

CANNED COMMANDERS
By Mercutio
U935)

The thought occurs with growing insistence that our magnificent
school system is garroting originality. More and more the type mentality
that can spot the celebrated Mr. Addison Sims of Seattle forges to the
front. Slowly but surely we are creating a strange breed of military
man ... a slide-rule tactician, a mechanical brain-truster, a canned
commander.

To how many others had the idea occurred that we might find our
real commanders by turning the graduation lists of our service schools
upside down? I can imagine few things more disconcerting to our ad-
versaries in the next war. Today it is virtually a foregone conclusion that
the first 80 or 90 per cent of any one class will turn in identical decisions
in any given situation. How convenient such stereotyped mental processes
will be for a first-class opponent!

But what if we delve a bit into this submerged and erratic tenth for
commanders? There will we find, by eliminating the dullard and the
die-hard, a small group of men who think and who think along original

LEADERSfflP AND DISCIPLINE 307

lines. There^ too^ will be found that moral courage which dares to trans-
late thought into action regardless of “marks” in peace or pessimistic
probabilities in war.

With such men at the head of our fighting forces a smug enemy can
no longer expect the obvious. He will be confronted by the unexpected
at every turn. Surprise, the product of originality, will no longer be paid
a sorry lip service; it will again come into its own high dom 2 dn.

In short, while there is still time, let us recognize Emerson’s subtle
distinction between “man thinking” and “thinking man.” If our school
system is not flexible enough for the “great” minority let us at least use
it as a filter by means of which that “great” minority can be recognized.

LEADERS WIN WHERE COMMANDERS LOSE

By Major (now Colonel) Richard M. Sandusky

(193^)

For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and / say to this
man. Go, and he goeth; and to another. Come, and he cometh; and to my servant.
Do this, and he doeth it, Matthew riiirg.

Every man in authority has his own definition of leadership and his
own methods of developing it. According to Webster, it is the ability
to conduct or direct. It would be possible to list perhaps a dozen qualities
essential for leadership. But at best these are merely labels, inadequately
suggesting the presence of an inner power, a hidden strength and fire,
denoting the confidence and capacity of the man who plays the leader’s
role. Napoleon did not define leadership but indicated its vital importance
in his statement that the moral is to the physical as three is to one.

The military student, searching the pages of history for some glimmer-
ing clue to greatness, is concerned with actions, not adjectives. History is
written by historians. But first it is hammered and molded and made by
leaders. If we know them, may we not, following their example, dupli-
cate their success? Unfortunately it is not so easy as that. The world
has moved too rapidly and too far; there are too many imponderables
for exact and scientific comparison. Principles we may examine, yes.
But it is dangerous to apply them imless we keep constantly in mind
that the present is as far removed from the past as tomorrow will be from
today.

The mercenary forces of Hannibal required a different leadership from
the national armies of Napoleon. Proud and aristocratic knights, who
furnished their own mounts and equipment and who served without pay.

308 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

would have greeted with contemptuous scorn the repressive methods
employed with hardheaded peasantry, or the rabble of the towns. The
leadership problems of a democracy are certainly at wide variance with
those of an autocracy and even with those of a liberal government in
which there are rigid social and class distinctions.

Leadership, both military and political, is a jewel of countless facets
reflecting the totality of human experience and relationships. It influences
and is influenced by such diverse factors as science, philosophy, and
religion.

It is a common belief in the military profession that the terms com-
mand and leadership are synonymous. An official order issued by con-
stituted authority can appoint a commander. A leader, however, is an
artist whose talents cannot be conferred by administrative act. Nature
gives them to him in part as inherited equipment, and if she is liberal
in her endowment he may become the “bom leader.” But in most cases
he attains to leadership — or his conception of it — through study and
observation and a series of experiments in the huge laboratory of human
relations. A leader is a commander, but a commander is not necessarily
a leader. If we could add up the characteristics of the two and subtract
the difference our evaluation of leadership would be simple and definite.
Unfortunately we deal with art, not science, and the intangibles of
human qualities defy precise evaluation.

Besides, vitality, enthusiasm, decisiveness, sympathy, and all the rest
are but instruments. The military leader is judged not by an inventory
of his virtues but by the accomplishments of his men. Actions speak
louder than words, and it is by this convincing language alone that the
great of the world are recorded in the long sweep of history.

A leader arouses co-operative effort in the attainment of a common
goal. A commander seeks a similar result by authoritative prescription.
What is the difference? It is a matter of method and organization. Men
work with the leader; they work for the commander. One group is a
responsive and self-respecting society of co-workers, while the other is
a form of contract labor. Both may produce results. But in a crisis — ^and
war is a series of crises — the method of the inspired and magnetic leader
will win where those of the dictatorial commander would fail. Com-
manders may survive short wars; only leaders emerge from long ones.
Time and events sift them to their proper places. There is nothing new
or strange in this. It is simply common sense.

Any man will work harder for himself than for anyone else, just as
he will do more under praise than under censure. Recognizing these
plain truths, the wise leader employs them to stimulate and energize
all individuals concerned in the group effort, increasing their latent
powers, quickening their interests, lifting them to levels of achievement
and inspiration seemingly impossible to attain. He touches hidden sources

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 309

of strength and extends the field of action both for his own keen talents
and the redoubled capacity of those und^ his control.

Gregarious by instinct and habit, all of us like to be led — are accus-
tomed to being led. Our civilization is built on an interdependent organi-
zation of individual and specialized abilities. These cut across all phases
of contemporary life — religion, politics, education, industry, recreation.
We are not happy, and indeed we can hardly exist, we modems, unless
we are together. And since we find ourselves grouped for some particular
purpose, then we must have group control — that is to say, leadership —
if we are to avoid the failure and futility of undirected and pointless
effort.

The problem of the military leader, then, is not one of forcing an
unknown or repugnant system on a hostile people, but rather one of
providing them with the enlightened leadership which will fulfill their
expectations and accomplish the end desired by all.

Halter or whip? This is the real meat of the leadership question.
More often than not the whip wins, and it wins for two reasons: first,
because it is easy, and second, because it is traditional. It usually takes
less effort to make a man do something than to make him want to do it.
So the whip cracks. And by virtue of fear and intimidation, authority
of position, power of command, ruthless determination, vaulting ambi-
tion, grasping selfishness — ^by one or all of these — the ruler directs the
actions and controls the lives of his subjects. It is no accident that the
club and scepter are similar in appearance.

“Off with his head!” cried the Queen on the slightest provocation.
It was a simple solution; it saved the labor of thought and demonstrated
the efficacy of an autocratic system. But it did not contribute, Alice noted,
to the happiness of Wonderland.

It is true that such policies may produce results for a time, but they
do not constitute that permanent and wise investment in human reaction
which we call morale. In the industrial world it is significant that there
is little labor trouble in those institutions that are organized on a co-
operative basis. But those that follow the coercive school of thought find
themselves confronted with an armed truce engendered by suspicion and
distrust. They hire the body, but not the spirit.

Human organizations are not so much the reflection of the man at
the top as of the many men below him whose efforts are responsible for
his position. He retains the full measure of his power only so long as he
enjoys their unlimited admiration and respect. For he has given them
something that they could not give themselves — ^namely, an assurance
and pride bom of past accomplishment, which no future obstacle can
daunt. Leader and led have achieved oneness, and in that amalgamation
they have discovered the secret of true success.

J^cause the soldier has as his ultimate metier war, violence, and sudden

310 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

deaths it was once believed that he should be steeled for his ordeal by
a cultivation of the Spartan virtues and the imposition of a Draconian
Code. He was formed with his fellows in masses and drilled and drilled
and drilled into a rcrtjot denied the dangerous privilege of thought. By
an accepted system of relentless training in peace he was so toughened in
body and spirit that war represented no departure, no confusing transi-
tion, from his customary routine. He feared not the enemy less but his
own officers more. The danger of death was also outweighed by the
spoils of victory, and whatever degree of pride he possessed came from
his own valor and exploits rather than from his ardent belief in the
policies of his country and his patriotic obligations for its defense.

Today, of course, all this is far away and long ago. In our country the
constitutional guarantees of freedom and equality do not make our
military problems easier. People who are bom, live, and die in a nEirrow
groove of social and economic inferiority accept military service and
traditional military methods with simple and uncomplaining resignation.
It is just another episode in a predestined existence forever bounded by
regulation and decree. But not our American. He is a sovereign, jealous
of his royal prerogatives. The Declaration of Independence is his per-
sonal and daily credo. Emotional and responsive, he is likewise a bundle
of inconsistencies. He can be a stubborn malcontent or a devoted disciple,
faithful to the death. Who leads him to highest purpose must be an
honor graduate of the School of Human Understanding.

And what is more, he changes with the times. The soldier foimd in
our divisions of igi8 is not identical with the young man of today. This
is an age of youth, defiance, self-expression, skepticism — an era of new
and greater freedom. These modems, the citizen soldiers who must meet
the emergency of tomorrow, look with level eyes at life. Products of the
confusing aftermath of war, they are stark realists. They demand con-
vincing reasons, and they think through to their own conclusions.

Since the world that they have inherited is definitely sick, they are
distrustful of the men and the policies responsible for its condition. They
approach the possibility of war by frankly asking the stock military ques-
tions of what, when, where, how, and why. A disconcerting directness
tempers their ideology. Behind the patriotic call of king and country
they suspect an oil field, an investment tmst, or a special interest. At
what point, they ask, does notional honor leave off and economic ad-
vantage begin?

This is our youth of today, a restless and troubled group, groping in
the dark for elusive objects which they believe are there yet somehow
escape discovery. Political leadership in peace and military leadership
in war must recognize the changed and critical qualities of this human
material. It is clearly necessary for leaders to provide liberalized control
techniques to meet these altered conditions.

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

311

For the modem generation has broken irrevocably with the past. They
elect courses in college, attend classes on an optional basis, graduate
when they master their fields, not when a time contract has expired.
Resentful of restraints unless the restraining purpose is plainly justified,
they are, nevertheless, a powerful reservoir of military energy capable of
being used or wasted by the type of leadership which summons and
directs their strength.

In time of peace our Army operates with enlisted volunteers and a
small corps of professional officers so precisely trained that their duties
and reactions — ^almost their viewpoints — ^become automatic. But war sub-
merges the Regular Army in a flood of citizen officers and soldiers
unaccustomed, for the most part, to the niceties and conventions of the
profession. Hence the military standards and methods of peace neces-
sarily suffer adjustment when subjected to the urgent demands of war.

Our civilian soldier is an amateur and admits it. Brought in to win
a war, he is anxious to complete the job and go back home. Saluting,
use of the third person in conversation, a meticulous exactness in so
many details of his daily life — these things he accepts as the peculiar
ritual of a new fraternity in which he has just acquired a visitor’s mem-
bership. Sometimes his tongue is in his cheek. But in the main he con-
forms, especially when his problems and his sensibilities are properly
appreciated by a wise and reasonable direction.

Too often in the Army is the recruit or the newcomer subjected to a
hazing process. His initial impressions, which the proverb says are lasting,
are made as difficult and embarrassing as possible. This sadistic practice
is supposed to teach a man his place. Generally it convinces him that
his place is not the Army, and more frequently it destroys in him the
very qualities essential for his effective participation in the action of his
group. This has long been true but is more applicable to the American
youth of today than ever before.

Loyalty is indispensable to leadership. This keeping of the faith, this
pledge of common understanding and trust, works down as well as up.
In the realm of human relations noblesse oblige is more than a pretty
phrase. The superior who demands loyalty from his subordinates, as if
he were a tax collector gathering his just due, may seize the shadow, but
he will never grasp the substance. He strives to harvest without planting.
Things that grow cannot be produced by edict. They thrive only when
richly nourished and sympathetically cultivated.

The success of the leader is dependent on the actions of his followers.
Without them he is but one weak and ineffective individual, crying alone
in the wilderness. If his policies quicken their desires, advance their inter-
ests, protect their rights, heighten their pride and self-respect — ^if they
accomplish these things, he is observing the principle of halter leadership,
and the result is irresistible. The perfect whole is found to be far greater

312 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

than the sum of its component parts. The leader’s position is safe and
sure, for he is raised to his height — ^which is opportunity for service — and
securely held there by the ardent devotion of his co-workers. There is
ever a large loop of slack in the halter.

The man with the whip may make his mark too. More often than not
he is the familiar, accepted figure in history. Over broken heads and
hearts he has climbed to power. In his own mind his objectives justify
the means employed as well as the consequences suffered by his followers.
But times and people and methods have changed. The man with the
whip is definitely archaic, a victim of the social sciences. Either he must
modify his philosophy or else preach his doctrine in totalitarian circles
where his methods find enforced acceptance.

Observe those led, and the characteristics of the leader are known.
“General Lee to the rear,” shouted the Confederate defenders at Spotsyl-
vania as they caught sight of their beloved leader directing a counter-
attack through the smoke of front-line battle. In this act Lee risked both
his personal safety and his reputation. Not every command would tell
its general to go back. Some might even volunteer to push him forward.
Ordeal by fire is a dangerous test, but a sure one. The epic resistance
of the South against overwhelming odds was not made by dugout com-
manders. Ebbing resources crumpled the armies, but their spirit was
never conquered.

Sir John Monash is considered one of the most capable generals pro-
duced by the last war. From an obscure beginning he rose to the rank
of lieutenant general, commanding an army corps of Australians. One
secret of his success may be found in the following account which is
taken from his war letters. The Anzacs apparently were having their
full share of troubles after landing at Gallipoli, what with Turkish
opposition and unfavorable terrain and climate. Your conventional com-
mander, seeking a conventional solution, would have harped on missing
buttons, dirty rifles, military courtesy, and violation of uniform regula-
tions. But not Sir John. The moral factor was the important one with
him. He writes to his wife :

We allow the men great freedom in dress. I started it and the others followed.
You know what “shorts” are. They are khaki overalls cut down so as to finish
four inches above the knee, like a Scotsman’s trews. They are worn with short
underpants and with boots and puttees, look really well, the leg showing from
two inches below to four inches above the knee and soon getting as brown as the
face and hands. I have dressed like that for some weeks with khaki shirt and no
collar or tie.

Of course the men don’t fight in that kit, but that is how I allow them to run
about in their spare time, and they enjoy it immensely.

The gods of spit and polish would swoon at this, for it is downright
heresy. The ancient citadel of soldierly qualities must indeed be crum-

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 313

bling when men dress for comfort instead of appearance^ when a general ^
goes without collar and tie. But somehow it seemed to work. Kindliness,
thoughtful consideration, sympathetic interest and understanding — these
qualities are more often associated with the corps of chaplains than the
combat arms. Yet they must have a connection with successful leadership.
For General Monash was being mentioned for the command of an army
at the time of the Armistice, and the Australians were one of the hardest-
hitting armies in the British forces, as German reports attested.

It should be understood that this is no thesis for namby-pamby, wishy-
washy sentimentality. There is a time to pray and a time to curse. On
occasion a hobnailed kick can advance a faltering skirmish line far better
than a stirring appeal to a man’s higher nature. Yet these are exceptions
proving the rule. They are effective only as they are infrequently used.
They are leadership’s spare tire, mounted in an emergency when accepted
methods have gone flat and there is no opportunity for deliberate, funda-
mental corrections at the source.

Little is taught of such leadership in our military instruction. We lay
great stress on sound strategical and tactical objectives — a frontier, a
city, a river, a ridge line. We are interested in things. The Army cannot
attack until the railroads deliver so many trains of ammunition, so many
tons of rock. But morale is assumed to flow constantly as from a spigot.
Sometimes it does, and again it doesn’t. When the supply of morale is
depleted, the stockage of depots and refilling points becomes relatively
unimportant. That army cannot win. The spiritual ammunition train is
empty.

Our map problems, however, fail to emphasize this truth. No officer
student at a military school, heedful of the marking committee, would
attack a corps with a single division. But if his force had superb morale
and if the enemy had none, any real leader would succeed either on
paper or in war, because he had the high courage and the vision to
estimate the spiritual as well as the material situation.

It may be difficult to evaluate intangible factors and to establish their
coefficient with the physical. But is this any reason for ignoring them
altogether, especially when they outweigh so definitely all other con-
siderations? The map-problem room of today becomes the command post
of tomorrow. So long as military students are trained to think in terms
of numbers and size alone, we shall have an abundance of commanders
but no real leaders. For they will have no course in the tactics and tech-
nique of moral forces.

Too often and too long has the human factor been allowed to shift
for itself. It is in this field more than any other that, by self-inflicted
wounds, we weaken our potential power and fail to produce genuine
leaders. If we think of psychology at all in military human relations, it

314 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

is^ in most cases^ a warped and outmoded psychology which does not fit
at all the problems of leadership of today.

In the end^ the methods of leadership are good to the exact extent
that they encourage human devotion and co-operative response. Nor
is there conflict between discipline and morale. Without discipline an
army is a mob; without morale it is a hollow shell. Possessing both^ it
is invincible. Your stereotyped commander will insist on discipline
though he lose morale. The true leader of enduring fame seeks rather the
spirit of his men^ knowing that when he has this he has all.

FIGHTERS MUST FIGHT

By Staff Sergeant (now Captain, U. S. Marine Corps)
Robert W. Gordon

O93S)

No one can deny that the soldier would be leaner and harder if he
didn’t eat so much and worked twice as hard, but that could be said for
the civilian as well. Even with our periodic depressions, the United
States is the most prosperous country in the world. Since we must seek
voluntary recruits from among a people who are used to prosperity, we
must put a little of that prosperity on the mess table, on the theory that
it is better to have an overfed army than to have no army at all. The
first step toward toughening up the Army is to toughen up the moral
fiber of the nation as a whole.

Your future recruit is bom in an expensive hospital, the bill probably
being paid by taxation and charitable contributions. Immediately a bevy
of nurses and female relatives start to coddle him. Perhaps his daddy has
some of the old Spartan spirit left in him, but let him try to spank the
toddler, and his \^e divorces him for cmelty and gets the custody of
the child. When the boy starts to school he has female teachers. Let
one of them spank him, and she is arrested or discharged, or both. The
little fellow must never know what it is to suffer pain or be disciplined.

If the family is poor, does little Johnny go out and peddle papers or
sweep out the grocery store to help support it? He does not. The family
goes on relief, while Johnny goes down to the Y.M.C.A. and listens to
a lecture on “Safety First.” He wants to live long enough to cash in on
the Townsend Plan.

“Security!” “Safety First!” Fiddlesticks! Mankind has always wanted
security. When he had none he fought for some. Now he wants it on a
silver platter. t

Of course everybody isn’t like that — yet! The comedian at the local

315

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

movie may get a laugh instead of the deserved boos when he places
manicured hand on hip and minces across the stage, but the Uds still
cheer for cowboys and Indians. You can’t make sissies of us in one
generation.

Let a submarine go into commission, and half the Navy volunteers
for it. Let it be sunk with all on board, and the whole Navy will volunteer
for duty on the next one. The Shenandoah, Akron, and Macon may
crash. Can we get a new crew for the next dirigible? The only serious
question is whether we can get enough clerks to handle the applications
for the job.

The Army took over the air mail in the worst flying weather we have
had for years. Naturally a few planes crashed. Was there a rush of Air
Corps officers applying for the Finance Department? Being an Army
man, you know that any rush would be the other way.

We still have plenty of young men eager for adventure, but can we
promise them any of it? Instead we promise them an education of sorts,
a soft job, a fine mess, and plenty of time for bunk fatigue. That being
all we have to offer, we naturally get the type of recruit who wants that
sort of life. If we offered only hardtack and willy, without a dash of
danger for seasoning, we’d get no recruits at all.

Let the Marines go to Nicaragua to stop a revolution, and watch the
fine type of men that approach the recruiting sergeant. I know, for I
was a Marine recruiting sergeant for seven years. We had the best foot-
ball team and the only active service to offer. Now there are no more
little scraps, and the Marine Corps has decided it doesn’t want a first-
rate football team. Have you noticed how the leathernecks have lost
their strut the last few years?

So you want lean, hard soldiers, do you? Well, the football coach
wants lean, hard players. Only eleven men can play at a time, but every
boy whose mama will let him, and many whose mamas won’t, try out for
the team. They’ll put in long hours of work on the training field, take
bruises and broken bones with a grin, and eat religiously at the training
table, all in the faint hope that they can get into the game for a few
minutes. Now let the college decide that the poor boys might get hurt
What happens to your players? Do they remain lean and hard? Don’t
make me laugh!

Soldiers are no different. Stick them in an office or on a bull gang,
and they can see no reason for Spartan training. You’ve got to feed
them well and give them time off or they’ll desert. After all, a laborer or
a clerk can make more money in normal times on the outside. Now give
these same men some real soldiering and watch them snap out of it.
March them twenty miles with a pack and rifle, feed them on hardtack
and corned willy, and they’ll like it, if you’ll give them a few blanks and
let them shoot up those outlined trenches on top of the ridge at the

316 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

end of the twenty miles. They won’t care if they have to pitch their
shelter halves in a sea of soupy mud and hike back the next day in the
rain, if you’ll tell ’em they captured the hill or give ’em hell for not
doing it. Now give them picks and shovels and try to march them two
miles and listen to them grouse.

Get the idea? Good soldiers are really little boys. They like to play
at soldiering, and if the bullets are real they like it even better. If you
want soldiers, let them soldier. Give them a snappy uniform so they can
strut before the girls when off duty. Promote the best soldier as quickly
as you do the best clerk, and transfer him in rank as does the Marine
Corps and Navy. Your real soldier doesn’t want to settle down on one
post for the rest of his life. Put a premium on soldierly virtues instead of
Sunday-school goodness. If we don’t, the virile Mungies will come over
someday and lick our clerks and post-exchange stewards (yes, and asso-
ciate editors).

Let’s be realists. We’ll never have a Foreign Legion until we have
some Riffs and Berbers to fight; we won’t have Sherman’s raiders until
we decide to march through Georgia again; we won’t have a Roman
Legion until we have a Gallic war — ^we won’t even have another 29th
Infantry until we have some more problems to demonstrate. We have
plenty of husky lads right now who are eager to be lean, hard fighters,
but they won’t work at it until they see a fight in the offing.

Poor food does not make lean, hard fighters. It is campaigning that
does that trick. Along with prosperity, Americans have achieved educa-
tion and independence of thought. Your American soldier will not
undergo privation and hardship merely for the sake of proving a faddist’s
theory. There is no necessity for a poor, scanty ration, and he knows it
and will resent it by refusing to enlist or deserting. It may be that our
Army is not in the fighting trim that a Spartan might desire, but the
remedy lies deeper than “a simplified ration.”

INITIATIVE

From an article by Major (now Brigadier General)
Richard G. Tindall

{^ 937 )

Today — ^just as in 1914 — ^the German Army still places the highest
emphasis on initiative. However, it trains its subordinates not only to
exercise initiative but under what conditions to exercise it.

We, too, recognize the importance of initiative. But mere lip service
is not enough and never will be enough. The amount of initiative officers

LEADERjSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 317

display in war will probably be in direct proportion to the effort made
to inculcate it in peacetime training.

Unfortunately, with too many officers the word initiative is still synony-
mous with abandonment of a mission. Actually the finest examples of
initiative are frequently pursuant to a mission. For instance, in a vague
situation Von Gronau and his weak IV Reserve Corps, with a flank-
protection mission, attacked toward Paris on September 5, 1914. The*
attack revealed an entire French Army moving east from Paris, and
Kluck was warned before it was too late. This was initiative pursuant
to the mission. German authorities consider it one of the finest decisions
of the World War.

Undoubtedly there will be times when a subordinate will be justified
in disregarding the orders of his superior. The difference between initia-
tive and disobedience must be thoroughly understood. It is clearly indi-
cated in a Command and General Staff School publication, extracts from
which follow:

Only a radical change in the situation will justify an abandonment of a
mission. In such circumstances the following principles will guide the com-
mander in deciding his course of action. A mission will never be departed from
in letter or spirit:

(a) So long as the officer who assigned it is present and does not himself
alter it.

(b) If the officer who assigned it is not present, so long as there is time to
report to him and await a reply without losing an opportunity or endangering
the command.

If the above conditions do not exist, a departure from either the spirit or letter
is justified if the subordinate who assumes the responsibility bases his decision on
some facts which could not be known to the officer who assigned it and if he is
satisfied that he is acting as his superior, were he present, would order him to act.

If a subordinate does not depart from the letter of his mission when such a
departure is clearly demanded, he will be held responsible for any failure which
may ensue.

It would seem to be desirable for our service schools to include among
their tactical problems a certain number purposely drawn to illustrate
abandonment or adherence to the mission. However, abandonment of
the mission should be the exception, not the rule. If subordinate units
have to depart from their missions frequently, it merely means that
higher authority is not up to its fob and is assigning defective missions.
Let us trust that in war our higher commanders will not always be
wrong.

Now although we wish to teach initiative, we certainly can’t do much
abandoning of missions in peacetime except in problems. What can
we do?

One solution might be to emphasize initiative on the part of subordi-

318 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

nates in executing the orders of their superiors. This would involve not
only activity by the subordinates but considerable thought^ not to men-
tion restraint, on the part of superiors. However, it is something that
can be practiced daily, in peace as in war, in administrative as well as
in tactical matters, and in it there lurks no psychological danger.

And although it may not soimd quite as high-powered as the other
kind, the initiative that is the most valuable in war and should be the
most frequent is initiative within the framework of the mission.

ROUGH ON THE MAJORS

Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel (now Major General)

E. F. Harding

U935)

In the July-August number of the Infantry Journal and the Coast
Artillery Journal^ in two of the large-type blurbs that we smart editors
employ with malice aforethought to catch the eye and stimulate the
curiosity of the headline scanners and thus trick them into reading the
whole article, we quoted passages that referred to majors. One read:

WE CAN GET ALONG WITH MEDIOCRE COLONELS AND A FEW
DOWNRIGHT ROTTEN MAJORS, BUT GOD HELP THE ARMY THAT
DOESN’T HAVE GOOD LIEUTENANTS AND CAPTAINS.

And the other:

A CAPTAIN MIGHT POSSESS THE GENIUS OF NAPOLEON, THE
MORAL GRANDEUR OF LEE, AND THE INITIATIVE AND DRIVING
ENERGY OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT, BUT NOT EVEN THE COM-
BINATION OF ALL THESE QUALITIES WOULD SUFFICE TO PRO-
MOTE HIM OVER THE HEAD OF THE MOST MEDIOCRE MAJOR
THAT EVER PASSED THE BUCK.

Coming both in the same issue, it does seem, on first thought, that
we were taking a dirty crack at the majors, but presumably the happy-
go-lucky doughboys didn’t take it much to heart, since none wrote in
about it

Not so with the Coast Artillerymen, for our esteemed contemporary
received several vigorous protests. We quote from one of them:

May I register a complaint about the last issue of the Journal? I think you
used too big a type in referring to “rotten majors.” It also seems to me that I’ve
been hearing or reading quite a number of remarks recently to the effect that in-
efficient field officers do exist in the Army. I think we ought to stop embarrassing
them for a while. It also probably raises too many doubts in the minds of our
junior officers and the rank and file.

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

319

The writer is a lieutenant, so his concern for the injured feelings of the
allegedly maligned majors is purely impersonal. We admire his spirit.
Most lieutenants take great delight in hearing the majors knocked. We
have even known of some who, if driven to it, would join the anvil
\:horus with a right good will. It is refreshing to find one who objects to
the practice, notwithstanding the fact that it is a grand old Army custom.
We believe, however, that our friend makes too much out of what we
prefer to regard as an amusing coincidence.

Coast Artillerymen, of course, have a peculiar psychology; otherwise
they wouldn’t be in the Coast Artillery. It is therefore quite possible that
they are more sensitive than the typical thick-skinned doughboy whose
heredity and training have equipped him to “take it.” This difference
may account for the fact that the Coast Artillery conjured up a deroga-
tory implication from the blurbs while the Infantry just laughed them off.

It goes without saying that we rejoice that none of our Infantry majors
took offense. A moment’s reflection makes it obvious that none was in-
tended, for there are a lot of majors now, and we think always of our
growing circulation. Moreover, we can remember quite well when we
were a major and we certainly thought highly of the breed in those days.

. . AND ASSUME COMMAND THEREOF”

By Stone Boreaus

(^940

No TWO MEN take over a command in exactly the same way. The canned
language of orders runs about like this: “Captain Dustcloud is this date
transferred to Company Q and will assume command thereof.”

But just how does Captain Dustcloud go about “assuming command
thereof*?

First he blows into the orderly room enveloped in a haze of brusque
efficiency which somehow conveys the idea he has been sent down to
straighten out the outfit. You kind of get the impression he instantly
sees a lot of things that need changing and that he thinks Captain Con-
siderate, the former company commander, was perhaps a good fellow but
not so hot as a commander.

After a critical look around Dustcloud sits down at his desk — ^and
doesn’t like the way the desk light is arranged. So he has that changed.

In the kitchen he tells the mess sergeant to shift the meat block. In the
supply room Dustcloud asks Sergeant Noshortage how he runs his tem-
porary receipts. This is changed, too, though it was a system that
worked.

320 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Now that he has made his presence felt Captain Dustcloud sits himself
down at the desk where the light has been changed to suit him. He is
satisfied — with Company Q — ^he has “assumed command thereof.”

Yes, he has. No argument about it; everybody from the first sergeant
to the KPs knows Captain Dustcloud is there — ^but the/re not very
happy about it.

Captain Considerate’s method was different.

He walked into the orderly room, shook hands with the first sergeant,
looked around until he saw what was obviously a new organization chart
on the wall.

“Sergeant Bustle,” he said, “that’s a nice-looking chart. It’s the kind
of thing I like to have.”

When he inspected the kitchen Captain Considerate found the coffee
was good and he said so out loud. He saw several things he wanted to
change later but said nothing about them. There was no hurry.

In the supply room Sergeant Eveready was busy checking out laundry,
so Captain Considerate said, “Go ahead with your work. Sergeant. I’ll be
in to check property tomorrow.”

After talking to the first sergeant about the current training program,
Considerate assembled all the sergeants in the orderly room. His talk
to them lasted about thirty seconds and was something like this:

“I have taken command of this company. It looks like a fine outfit,
and I am glad to be here. I expect you to give me the same loyalty and
support that I can see you have given your former company commander.
For the time being I want you to go ahead just as you have been doing.
Later on if there are any changes I want to make I’ll let you know.
That’s all. . . . Thank you.”

Both Captain Dustcloud and Captain Considerate have very definitely
“assumed command thereof’ — ^but if you were a soldier which one
of those two company commanders would you rather have?

SLOW— MEN WORKING

Editorial by Lieutenant Colonel (now Major General)

E. F. Harding

(1938)

Would we not shatter it to bits — and then
Remold it nearer to the Hearths Desire?

Omar Khayyam,

The tentmaker certainly wasn’t thinking of things military when he
set down the original of Fitzgerald’s much-quoted quatrain, but he might

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

321

have been. For armies are pyramids of little autocracies, and the head-
man in an autocracy is favorably situated to remold any scheme of things.
And many of us have a predilection for doing it.

We have all seen the system in operation. A newly assigned captain
takes over his company and proceeds forthwith to make it over to con-
form to his ideas of what a company ought to be. It may have been a
good company before he got it, but it doesn’t do things his way. It may
still be a good company after he has finished remolding it nearer to his
heart’s desire, but the period of transition is hard on the troops. It isn’t
so easy to change fixed habits to conform to the idiosyncrasies of a new
boss. And many changes, coming all at oncef, make for confusion and
resentment. If the new boss be impatient, several good noncoms, a bit
set in their ways, may lose their stripes in the process of adjustment.
The company will survive and after six months or so may be as good
as or possibly better than ever. But some excellent features of the preced-
ing setup may be missing along with a few high privates who went over
the hill.

Substitute majors, colonels, or generals for captains; battalions, regi-
ments, or divisions for companies, and we get a similar picture on a
larger scale. The same goes for every administrative office that depends
upon the co-operation of trained personnel for smooth functioning. Stiff
new brooms sweep out much that is useful along with the litter of the
previous administration.

Does the foregoing imply that we advocate that a new No. i Man’s
only order for the first year of his assignment should be “Carry on”?
Not at all. His first order might well be just that, if his predecessor has
been doing a good job, but a few weeks of looking things over will un-
cover deficiencies in any organization. Also, the able predecessor, being
human, will have overemphasized some things and slighted others.
Numerous opportunities for the exercise of the new CO’s initiative will
pop up in the normal course of events. It will not be necessary for the
new skipper to remain a mere passenger for long. Our suggestion is
merely that he hold to the course chartered by his predecessor until he
is sure where it will take him. He may want to mzike the former skipper’s
destination a port of call on the voyage he plans to make.

Nothing we have said here applies to taking over from a certified
failure. In that case, a complete overhaul is indicated and the engine
may have to be torn down before it can be reconditioned to pull its load.
But in these days most of the machinery of the military establishment is
functioning well. The chances are that a skilled operator has been tend-
ing it, and the new man should be sure that he knows what he is doing
before he does much tinkering.

322

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

SMARTNESS AND DISCIPLINE
By G. V.

(1937)

Spit and polish got so all important in the twenties and thirties to some
commanders that the Infantry Journal received dozens of articles about it,
mostly against the abuses of it. In the following, G. V. tried to get down to
fundamentals on it.

In the articles following this one spit and polish and the soldier’s
clothing similarly come in for a hammering.

In all the outspoken indignation over excesses of spit and polish that
has appeared in various articles and books during the past year or two,
one main point has not been emphasized enough. That point, perhaps,
can best be put in question form: Just what has a “neat and soldierly
appearance” to do with discipline and military ability? Is smartness
actually an element of success in war, or would it be possible (as a retired
general officer recently suggested) to dress an efficient army in overalls?
What basic part of fighting character would we lose if, tomorrow, all
polishing of brass should suddenly cease by order?

In the text on training management now used at Benning and in the
Army Extension Courses, we find that discipline “is indicated in the
individual or unit by smartness of appearance and action; by cleanliness
and neatness of dress, equipment, and quarters, and by respect for seniors
and the willing execution of orders.” Smartness comes first in this list
and is doubly emphasized by repetition. But if we make an honest exami-
nation of history and weigh the matter squarely, we can only come to
one conclusion — ^neatness and smartness have little to do with winning
wars and are actually the most superficial indications of discipline.

Perhaps the toughest, hardest, most efficient military body that the
United States has ever had in any war was the army that General
William Tecumseh Sherman led from one , comer of Georgia to the
other, and then — an even more remarkable military feat — ^from Savan-
nah to Virginia through the supposedly impassable swamps of the Caro-
linas. That army was also among the most slovenly in appearance that
ever answered the bugle — ^and you cannot except its commander himself
from that statement. If any member of that command polished a button
or cleaned the slumgullion spots from his blouse front, his comrades
looked upon him as a dude. Here and there, perhaps, an officer cut a
dash with a bright sash, a gilded saber, or a new hat. But it is safe to

LEADERSHIP AND DISeiPLINE 323

say that if we could hold a field inspection of Sherman’s army, in the
light of our present ideas of discipline quoted above, we coiild only
classify a superb body of fighting men as a rabble.

In fact, that is exactly what Bill Sherman’s army looked like when
it took part in a triumphant parade in Washington at the close of the
war. It had forgotten how to drill, if ever it knew how. It went by in a
column of flocks. Its unkempt appearance, even in comparison with other
veteran units not noted for their gleaming brilliance, was so remarkable
that few historical reports omit mention of it. And there had been plenty
of days, too, since Appomattox for haircuts, polish, and scrubbing; but
Bill Sherman’s men had no use for such frippery. The only indication
of their true state of discipline — ^the spotless bores of their rifles — ^remained
invisible.

What, then, is the true relationship of spit and polish to discipline?
It appears at first thought to be simply this: A shiny soldier has obeyed
the order to shine; an unkempt soldier has not. The neat soldier is not
necessarily a good one because he is neat but because he has played the
game; whereas the other has failed to. But is this all?

The neatest soldiers, if we look into the matter carefully, do not put
in all the time and care they do on their appearance just because it is
required. Except for the occasional man of limited intellect who* actually
delights in the gloss of shining brass, the neatest soldiers in any unit,
taking them as a group, are those who want promotion. They are first-
class privates looking for more chevrons. Once they get to be noncoms,
it is true, most of them will keep on shining because brass polish is a
necessary evil that goes with the job. But sergeants of all grades, in gen-
eral, do not wear out as many polishing rags in a given time as the
upper crust of first-class privates.

Thus a smart appearance may indicate the following things: (i) a
perfunctory obedience to standing orders mixed with the desire to look
no worse than the next man in ranks, or to keep off extra kitchen police;
(2) ambition; (3) the desire to keep a good job; (4) (rarely) a simple
but honest love for shining brass, and (5) (still more rarely) a blouse-
bursting pride in organization, usually pumped up through artificial (and
costly) competition for the “best-company” pennon.

We would lose nothing good if we gave our troops a uniform that
required only laundering or dry cleaning to make it presentable, insignia
and all. And, if anything, the complete abolishment of Blitz, Brass, and
Blanco would raise the discipline of troops and officers, individually and
as a whole, to a considerable degree, for reasons pointed out forcibly in
other recent articles in these columns.

Before concluding, perhaps it is worth while to ask what relation the
frowziness of Bill Sherman’s army had to its essential discipline. Would it
have fought and marched any better if it had been smarter? No, it

324 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

wouldn’t. There were too many things to be done to waste time on close-
order drill as such and on cleaning off the spots and tarnish. Time for
doing such things could be taken only from time better used in rest and
relaxation. And that would only have detracted from discipline.

There are sound reasons, of course, for not going the whole hog to the
point of holding up slovenliness as a virtue. The fact that cleanliness
and health are related is one. The fact that we are in the public eye
in time of peace is another. But smartness of appearance is nevertheless
an inadequate basis for judging military discipline. At Chancellorsville
the XI Corps, rated as best largely on externals, broke and ran from
the field, while many another less highly polished Union outfit fought
like the devil’s own.

Isn’t it time, then, to redefine military discipline by placing its more
important components ahead of smartness? In the next war there will
be little enough chance for smartness, however keen we may be for it.

The foregoing article brought in a good many replies, mainly from those who
disagreed with the writer and thought that spit and polish makes fighting soldiers.
One correspondent pointed out a couple of historical errors. G. V. was given a
chance at rebuttal as follows;

TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP
By G. V.

(1938)

Although six months have passed since the appearance of G. V.’s one-
page article “Smartness and Discipline” (July-August 1937), the contro-
versy he started still goes on. The latest contributions to it are a letter in
retraction and rebuttal from the author and a cerebration from a true be-
liever in the pipe-clay tradition. We print these as the closing arguments
in the case.

Sm:

I seem to have stepped straight into it when I desecrated the memory
of Sherman’s splendid army by saying that it couldn’t pass by in review.
For two successive issues you have let others take it out on me, and now
I ask to have my turn again.

First I admit that I was wrong about the “column of flocks” at the
Grand Review. I trusted my memory and it betrayed me. What I should
have written was that the Grand Review was the one Grand Exception —
probably the only time that Sherman’s troops ever presented anything
approaching a proper parade appearance. But they did march well that

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

325

day, and that despite the fact that they were treading roses underfoot.
One observer said of them, “They march like the lords of the world.”
It was not so much their trimness as their “proud, rolling, swinging step,”
as Lloyd Lewis puts it in Sherman, Fighting Prophet. But no matter
what Sherman wrote in later years in his memoirs, as the review began
he was afraid they wouldn’t be able to “swing into it.” But they did.
An army like that could do anything.

I might add that General Sherman himself was resplendent in uniform
that day, too, and covered with roses. His customary uniform on cam-
paign had included a battered cap, a wrinkled blouse, baggy trousers,
low shoes, and one spur. And I still refuse to believe that he would
have been any finer commander if he had worn boots of Circassian
leather polished three times a day. Indeed, he would probably have been
a worse general — for the boots might have taken his mind off his busi-
ness because they hurt his feet.

But lest I show partiality for the North, or seem to concede that my
whole theory was wrong, let me quote briefly from Henderson’s Stone-
wall Jackson:

The eye that lingers lovingly on glittering buttons and spotless belts would have
turned away in disdain from Jackson’s soldiers. There was nothing bright about
them but their rifles. They were as badly dressed, and with as little regard for
uniformity, as the defenders of Torres Vedras or the army of Italy in 1796. Like
Wellington and Napoleon, the Confederate generals cared very little what their
soldiers wore so long as they did their duty. Least of all can one imagine Stone-
wall Jackson exercising his mind as to the cut of a tunic or the polish of a
buckle. The only standing order in the English army of the peninsula which re-
ferred to dress forbade the wearing of the enemy’s uniform . . . fine feathers,
though they may have their uses, are hardly essential to efficiency in the field. . . .

And so I say again that brass polish, cleaning fluid, and the steam of a
tailor’s pressing machine are unstable and entirely secondary bases for
true discipline.

LANGUAGE OF THE LEADER
By Colonel E. L. Munson, Jr-

The one recently written book on leadership for Army men when war
began was Leadership for American Army Leaders, by Colonel Munson,
most of which ran serially in the Infantry Journal during 1941. The
author’s purpose was to tell the new officers and noncommissioned officers
in a brief space the principles and practices of leadership. The book has
been used in many Army schools as a text.

Language, a component of manner, is another of the outward marks
by which a leader can be judged. What he says and the forms of expres-

326 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

sion he uses give much information of his mental state or the attitude
behind it.

The words the leader uses to his men should largely be chosen for
the thought or purpose he wants to express. Particularly when he wants
to put something over emphatically should his words be short, clear in
their meaning, and understandable to the man he is addressing. High-
flung, ten-dollar words or technical language are meaningless to the
mind of a man who may never have heard the words. This does not
mean, however, that a leader must speak in words of one syllable. In
the Army of today he will seldom find uncultivated minds so lacking in
ordinary comprehension that he will be justified in using the language
he would use, in effect, to children. All he needs to do is to speak plainly
and simply, and if he must use terms which he thinks the man he is
talking to may not clearly understand, then he should make sure the
meaning of these terms is understood, even if the terms demand a full
and patiently given explanation.

An officer should never make the mistake of stooping to the vulgar
or the illiterate, even if such speech is the normal talk of the particular
men he is directing. But this does not mean that he must make any
effort to “talk like a book,” or that he should avoid good, plain, col-
loquial speech. In fact, this kind of speech will usually put his meaning
over much better than stiffer and more formal speech. It is astonishing
how men of even considerable intelligence have difficulty in understand-
ing speech not put in ordinary terms. There is, at the same time, no
need to be ungrammatical or to make much use of slang except where a
word of slang may convey the meaning more concisely and vividly than
any other term. This is particularly true if within the leader^s unit some
slang term or nickname is in constant use. What particular good does
it do to speak of “weapons carriers” if they are known to every man as
“jeeps”? And what term puts over the idea better to troops than the
word “chow”? Indeed, for some terms of slang in constant use there
are no adequate substitutes.

Sentences should be short, uninvolved, and incisive. They should be
positive and direct, not uncertain, inconclusive, or negative. To say, for
example, “I’m sure you can do it,” “You’re just the man to do it,”
“There must be a way — I know you can find it,” produces confidence,
self-reliance, and determination. But such language as, “Maybe you can
do it,” “See if you can’t do it,” “I doubt if you can do it — ^but go ahead
and try,” brings doubt and wavering.

Cursing and profanity have always been common in armies. Whether
this is caused by excess energy pent up by military restrictions, by the
absence of the tempering influence of women, or by the mistaken idea
that it is the sign of a he-man is immaterial. Ignoring purely ethical
reasons, immoderate language habitually used toward subordinates al-

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 327

most always produces unfavorable results both in the individual and the
unit.

One of George Washington’s first general orders was an effort to curb
loose language. Such language should certainly be kept governed, at least
to the extent of not allowing it in the presence of officers. For if a leader
lets his men run wild in this respect — ^if he permits the use of any lan-
guage, however obscene — a lack of general control is apt to become
taken for granted.

Yet here, too, judgment is required. A leader can overdo the thing
and thus detract from his leadership if he harps continually on the sub-
ject and draws the line of niceness in language too closely. There are
many situations in such an uncertain activity of man as warfare that
bear strongly upon the emotions. A leader may well overlook the blowing
off of steam whenever the occasion seems to warrant it. And it often
may seem to in actual war. After all, a soldier is first of all things a man
who fights, and if there is a traditional language of war he can be
expected to use it at times. George Washington did, despite his first
general order.

To curse any man himself is usually to affront him through his realiza-
tion of the intent to insult. Sometimes such intent is modified or shown
to be absent by manner. Then, too, there are men whose use of profanity
is so habitual that it is recognized as entirely impersonal. But these are
the exceptions. To permit loose language by subordinate leaders is to
risk friction, resentment, quarreling — even insubordination.

Swearing at men by their superiors is bitterly resented. They are not
only affronted; they are humiliated, for their self-respect has been im-
paired unless they retaliate. Since in the military service retaliation is
impossible, they feel, and rightly so, that the superior has taken an mifair
advantage of his authority. They may brood over the insult, alone or with
friends. If hot-tempered, they may commit the serious offenses of dis-
obedience or assault. At the least, the superior produces sullenness and
animosity among his subordinates. And often he also produces a state
of mind in which the only escape from a seemingly intolerable situation
appears to be absence without leave or desertion.

The same thing applies to any immoderate language. It does not neces-
sarily have to be actual cursing at men to arouse their antagonism and
lose in great measure their esteem and admiration for their leader. An
actual case in point is that of a company commander who, dissatisfied
with the appearance of his company at Saturday inspection, drew them
up in front of barracks and proceeded to inform them in no uncertain
terms, without, however, using actual profanity, that the whole company
was “lousy” in appearance. To add emphasis, this commander went on
to say in his harangue, “And any man who won’t properly clean up
for Saturday inspection is a yellow-bellied Bolshevik.”

328 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Even though the company had often heard similar language from this
particular commander, the words he used this time were taken as a
direct insult by practically every man in the company, although they
were not actually meant as such but were simply spoken in haste and
ill temper. The result was that certain reponsible noncommissioned offi-
cers of the company were so disturbed over the state of affairs that they
went to the regimental commander and reported the matter, and it
naturally took all the tact in the world on the part of the regimental
commander to straighten the situation out — 3 , thing he managed to suc-
ceed in doing without particular injury to what was left of the leadership
of the company commander.

This example brings out another important point about language used
toward subordinates. It is not likely that there will ever be a unit in
our Army or any other which will deserve a wholesale reprimand. In
the company referred to above only some fifteen or sixteen men out of
sixty-odd were picked up at the inspection as not having properly pre-
pared for k. Yet the whole unit was subjected to the ranting of its com-
mander. There were plenty of fine men in that unit, none of whom
deserved criticism or blame. There is nothing better calculated to reduce
the state of morale than just such wholesale criticism and wholesale
punishments following it. Nothing creates resentment so readily.

Likewise, the “bawling out” of a man or men is resented as being
a personal attack. It is, in fact, more often an expression of anger than
a correction. The more or less impersonal point at issue is lost, and the
matter becomes a mental clash between individuals.

Again, to reprimand a subordinate leader before his men lowers his
prestige and correspondingly increases his resentment. It is hard to
imagine any circumstances, excepting in combat when lives are at stake,
when such treatment is justifiable.

Indeed, if violent language ever has any basis for use, that use should
be reserved for extreme emergency — the emergency of extreme danger,
of the battlefield. A tongue lashing may then have a stimulating and
steadying effect which is lost if such speech is habitual.

Sarcasm or irony does not necessarily convey an insult, for the man-
ner in which it is spoken shows the intent. Its wittiness sometimes lacks
the sting of reproof, yet drives home the lesson. It is useful with some
types of men, but it must be employed with care; it must not become
habitual, and it must never have the apparent purpose of causing
humiliation.

There are many men to whom sarcasm or irony is not readily ap-
parent as such, and with these men it tends sooner or later to create
a kind of bewildered resentment. Such a man is never quite sure what his
leader means. Again, heavy sarcasm habitually used soon creates a gen-
eral resentment because men feel that their leader is taking advantage

329

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

of his position to be sarcastic. Even a bantering tone should not be used
habitually. And when a leader makes a joke of something a subordinate
does, as he occasionally may do to lighten a serious or tiring situation
or otherwise cheer the spirits of his men, he should always try not to
do so in a way that will hurt the feelings of the man himself.

Too much wisecracking on the part of the leader will also inevitably
result in wisecrack replies from his troops. The American soldier is too
used to that kind of talk to resist coming back with it if he thinks he
can get away with it. He will have reason to think he can get away
with it if he is habitually on the receiving end of such remarks. At the
same time, any wise leader will know that in certain circumstances a
certain amount of joking and wisecracking is what the situation calls for.
It is good when there is discouragement in the air. A flash of humor
helps at a time when exhausted troops must be called upon for another
effort. It tends to give confidence in any time of stress. Indeed, it is often
the American way of implying sympathy and understanding and even
co-operation in the midst of difficulty.

LEADERSHIP

By a subcommittee of the National Research Council

The article that follows appeared early in 1943. It represents the com-
bined thought of a number of the leading psychologists of the United States
on military leadership prepared under the direction of a subcommittee of
the National Research Council, with some assistance from Army men. It
is a chapter from Psychology for the Fighting Man, an Infantry Journal
book prepared under the same direction.

You can’t boss a brick.

You can’t even boss a dog unless the dog has been trained to obey and
has formed habits of responding to commands. And before you can boss
him you must know what commands he will respond to. The famous
Seeing-Eye dogs can do wonderful things to aid the blind, but both
dog and master must first go through a period of training.

Authority is not power. No amount of legal authority over the grizzly
bears of British Columbia would enable you to get yourself obeyed by
them out in the woods.

Men can be commanded only after they have acquired habits of obey-
ing, and after their leader has learned to give them the commands
that make these habits work. All successful leadership thus depends on
the habits of those who are to be led.

The officer standing before his men is limited in the direct exercise
of his authority by what the troops are able to get through their eyes

330

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

and ears. And what the men do, in response to what they see and hear
the officer do and say, is just exactly what their previous training and
their previous experience with him insure that they will do.

When authority is not obeyed the fault may lie in the manner or
speech of the leader, or else it may be that the men are in need of
basic training.

It is often said that a good leader knows how to handle his men.
Actually, however, it is not possible for any leader to handle men. It is
himself that he handles. Then the men react to his deportment. And
the way in which they react depends, in turn, upon their habits of
thought and action.

Discipline

In an army much of this training on which leadership depends is
established by discipline. Discipline is training in the right habits of
attention and obedience. Without such habits we might have a crowd
or a mob, but not an army.

It is quite possible to lead a mob, yet such leadership is uncertain, de-
pending largely on the accidents of personal appearance and on fortunate
timing. In an army, however, there have to be many leaders of many
ranks, and they have to be interchangeable. If a leader is killed another
must be ready to take his place and lead his men. And the men who
lose a leader must be ready to follow without question the commands
of a stranger.

Training in discipline is training in giving attention and obedience
to authority, regardless of individual personality. That is why armies
are uniformed, why the insignia of rank are standardized. Also, it is why
commands and the manner of giving them are fixed by regulations. Prac-
tice in discipline makes it second nature for the soldier to give attention
to the insignia of rank and grade, and obedience to commands.

Learning Obedience

The first requisite of command is attention.

What a soldier does not see or hear he cannot obey. Attention means
stopping all activity that interferes with looking and listening.

If this attention did not become second nature through long practice,
an Army leader would, in an emergency, have to compete for attention — *
by shouting or gesticulating. That would not do— he might not succeed.

So discipline is calculated to insure this preliminary attention by plac-
ing certain restrictions on behavior whenever an officer is present or
enters the scene. If loud arguments or profanity or occupation with the
soldier’s own affairs were permitted to occiu* in the presence of an
officer, then the soldier would learn to disregard the officer, and the

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 331

officer would lose his ability to command attention and thus his ability
to command at all.

If, on the other hand, the presence or arrival of an officer is always
the signal to the soldier to come to attention, or, in combat, to pay
attention, then no confusion of battle or distraction of pain or noise or
close danger can cause a soldier to ignore his officer or his command.

What men do invariably and repeatedly is finally drilled into them—
becomes for them second nature. They learn to perform acts or maneuvers
in response to command or order because the command or order has
always been accompanied by the act and the act by the command.

Mere lecturing never trains men in action. At best it makes them
learn mere word sequences, except when the listeners already know
enough about the required action to perform it in imagination. Learning
something new, in other words, requires participation. You don’t learn
to swim by taking a correspondence course.

Unfortunately, bad habits, as well as good, can be learned. If, on a
spoken command, men do not respond, then they are learning not to
respond. Whenever they are ordered to do something they cannot do they
are learning to disobey. Military manuals embody this fact in a rule:
Never give a command that you do not expect to be obeyed.

Thus a young leader, when he finds himself so situated that his com-
mand might be disregarded, must refrain from giving it. He must try
first to change the situation, to capture attention, or he must merely
wait until he is reasonably certain that, when he gives his order, it will
indeed be obeyed.

So attention is the first requisite of command, and practice is the
second. The leader must see to it that his men get the right kind of
practice. He must never give conflicting orders. He must give only direc-
tions that can be executed and then he must see to it that they are
executed. Otherwise he loses his own power of command, and discipline
is broken down among his men.

The Leader

Through training in discipline the Army prepares its men to carry
out its ultimate missions under command and according to plan. Leader-
ship would be uncertain without this discipline.

But a good leader does not depend solely on the authority that disci-
pline gives him as an officer or noncom, for good leadership goes far
beyond discipline. A good, experienced leader inspires respect, confi-
dence, and loyalty in his subordinates, all of which enable him to get
from his men performance far above what a new leader could conunand.

In this the leader can rely on the generous co-operation of his men,
for men have a natural longing to respect and have affection for their

332 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

leaders. They want to be proud of their officers and noncommissioned
officers, just as they want to be proud of their unit and their branch
of the service.

So soldiers look to an officer for that sort of bearing and behavior that
leads to his being known as a “grand old man.” They don’t necessarily
want him to be a model of all the virtues; they can forgive him for bursts
of temper, for occasional arbitrary commands, for a rare show of weak-
ness — even for tears over the loss of a friend. What they do demand in
him is unfailing loyalty to duty and to his men — and the same sort of
respect and confidence that the leader expects to receive.

When the new Army was first being formed, many of the officers had
had little experience in command. They had learned the words — ^were
capable of giving directions and instructions — but they had learned
neither the action nor manner that goes with command. A young officer
would utter an order, but his manner would betray his lack of confidence.
This uncertainty was in effect a signal for not carrying the order out
promptly and effectively as military orders must be carried out. All
our lives we have depended on the manner and behavior of others, as
well as on their speech, to know what was in their minds. Army discipline
cannot change human nature.

What a soldier does in response to a leader’s command depends not
only on the words spoken by the leader but also upon the way in which
they are said — ^it depends upon everything the soldier sees and hears.

The leader’s facial expression, his movements, his posture, and the
firmness or quaver in his voice all have their effects. And these effects
may completely nullify the effect of the spoken command.

A leader is actually giving conflicting orders if his uncertain manner
hints that he does not expect obedience or that he thinks he may not
be obeyed.

Although it is possible for the new leader who has lacked experience
to imitate the manner and tone of wiser leaders around him, only prac-
tice in command develops the appropriate manner and tone.

A good officer or noncom ought to have many imitators of his effective
style, yet not of his irrelevant mannerisms. It is hard to keep the two
distinct. Every man, unfortunately, forms and keeps many useless habits
in gesturing, grimacing, and manipulating. It is not these that should be
imitated, but his habits of direct address, clear speech, military manner,
confident air, enthusiastic interest, friendliness mixed with reserve both
in command and greeting.

Lack of a confident manner inevitably interferes with command. So
also may a manner that betrays indecision, for men respond to the signs
of indecision by withholding or delaying action. The rule is that a leader
should make up his mind and arrive at the decision before he gives orders.
When he confronts his men he must be ready to commit himself to this

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 333

course or that. Men will accept assurance for competence^ and they want
competence in a leader.

A judge in a high court recently heard one of the trial lawyers say:
“If the Court is in doubt . . .” The judge rapped the bench and said:
“This Court may be occasionally in error, but it is never in doubt.” It is
the business of a judge to decide cases. No matter how evenly the issue
is balanced and no matter how much trouble and time is required for
him to reach a decision, the decision, once given, must appear final.

The leader of soldiers finds himself in the same position. On him de-
pends the direction of men’s actions. That direction must never be am-
biguous. Always it must be clearly indicated.

What Soldiers Think of Leaders

For the first time in the history of armies, the Army of the United
States has undertaken to find out what its enlisted personnel think about
a large number of things important to the Army.

Some thousands of soldiers have been interviewed at. length, and one
of the subjects about which they were questioned is Army leadership.
What the soldiers said makes it very clear that the quality of leadership
in an army is the most important single determiner of morale and per-
formance. The relationship between men and officers, commissioned and
noncommissioned, determines the fighting spirit of an army quite as
much as the ability of the soldiers to take training does.

In fact, it turns out that these human relations are much more im-
portant to morale than beefsteak, warm socks, ball games, and vaudeville
shows, or what the men believe about war. These men mentioned
seventy-seven features of Army life as definitely associated with morale,
and, of the twenty most closely related to morale, sixteen have to do
with man-officer relations.

What the men think of their leaders is, then, of the utmost importance
to the Army and to the successful prosecution of the war.

Roughly, in the order of their association with good leadership in the
minds of the enlisted men, are the following points:

{ I ) Ability. Competence comes first. The good officer must know his stufi, for
on this depends the men’s confidence in his leadership.

( 2 ) Next to ability is interest in the welfare of the soldier. The officer who can
be trusted to help the soldier in time of need, or who would be accessible for per-
sonal advice, is a good officer.

( 3 ) “Promptness in making decisions” is next.

( 4 ) “Good teacher or instructor” follows. The leader who has the patience and
the ability to make things clear to the men under him is valued for that reason.

(5) “Judgment,” “common sense,” and the ability to get things done follow
next in order.

334 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

(6) The good leader does not “boss you around when there is no good reason
for it.” Soldiers dislike an officer who throws his rank around, who tests his own
authority continually. They sense that he is not sure of himself.

( 7 ) “The man who tells you when you have done a good job” rates well as a
leader. Failure in commendation is a common complaint among men in the
ranks. The best incentive to good work is the prospect that it will be noticed and
remembered by the leader.

(8) Physical strength and good build come next.

(9) “Good education,” “sense of humor,” and “guts or courage” follow in
that order.

(10) Impartiality is next. Leaders who do not “save the dirty jobs for the fel-
lows they don’t like” are valued. The good leader is fair to all his command.

( 1 1 ) Next in importance is industry. Leaders who “do as little work as they
can get away with” are not respected by the enlisted men.

(12) When an officer “gives orders in such a way that you know clearly what
to do,” that, too, is a mark of merit as a leader. Soldiers also like an officer with
a “clear, strong voice.”

The remaining qualities which the soldiers mentioned came toward the
bottom of the list. They are undoubtedly related to good leadership, but
they are less important. Not “hot-tempered,” do not “drive you too hard,”
“keep promises,” “the kind of fellows you could have a good time with,”
“not too proud of their rank” are all characteristics which some men
Want in their leaders, but there is no general agreement about them.
Many leaders are considered good in spite of failure on these points.

The chief things a man wants from a leader are, thus, competence and
interest in his welfare.

The orders of a man who does not know his stuff cannot be depended
on. They are subject to change and countermand. An incompetent
leader teaches caution and hesitation in following his lead. He becomes a
signal for lack of action on the part of the soldier.

Indecision in a leader has the same effect on a soldier as ignorance
has. No soldier can follow a leader who is uncertain which way to turn.
The essential quality of any leader is to take the lead and show the direc-
tion — quickly, clearly, emphatically, and with enthusiasm. Without these
qualities a man is not even a good leader for his hunting dog.

The Role of the Soldier

Part of what makes a man a good soldier is his own adoption of the
soldier^s role. He comes to think and speak of himself as a soldier. He is
progressing in military training when he stops thinking of himself as a
plumber or a salesman who is now in the Army and begins to regard
himself as an infantryman or an artilleryman or a tank man.

What a man thinks of himself affects his behavior. The rail straightener
— ^the skilled worker who runs the machine that straightens railroad rails —

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

335

is one man when he thinks of himself with pride as a rail straightener.
He becomes another when he begins, as he may, to regard himself as a
mere “wage slave.” The rail straightener takes pride in his work, does a
good job, is happy. The “wage slave” lets crooked rails get by because he
doesn’t care. In the same way, the soldier who thinks proudly of himself
as a soldier is doing a service to both himself and the Army.

Certain forms of punishment, public disgrace, ridicule, all disturb the
role of the soldier and may lessen or destroy his usefulness to the Army
and his amenability to leadership. The noncommissioned or commis-
sioned officer who rides one of his men in such a manner as to make him
doubt his own value as a soldier is shattering the man’s best motive for
good performance. The senior leader who reprimands a junior in the
presence of his men reduces that junior’s value to the Army.

Good leadership, on the other hand, causes men to build up, each for
himself, a particular role — a specialty. It means a great deal to a man to
take pride in being a soldier and in being a sharpshooter, an aviation
mechanic, a truck driver, a cook, or a radio operator. Competent leaders
criticize a poor piece of work, condemn a mistake, but take care never to
make a soldier feel he is a failure in his job. When a man has accepted
his leader’s statement that he is “no soldier,” then indeed he falls back
to perfunctory work and the mere effort to keep out of trouble.

When a soldier begins to regard himself as being a part of his unit and
when his job has become part of his role, then teamwork is enormously
improved. The soldier who thinks of himself as only a private, tem-
porarily on this or that assignment, is a different man from the soldier
who thinks of himself as a necessary member of his outfit. Good leader-
ship always takes advantage of this essential of teamwork and common
effort.

The leader’s easiest and most important contribution to the personal
recognition that the soldier needs is the use of the soldieris name in
addressing him. When an officer is unable to call his men by name there
can be no chance that a man’s good performance will be noticed and
remembered. It is one of the first duties of a company o£5cer to make
clear to his men that he knows each of them.

A leader need not always speak of specific good performances. It is
often enough for him to m^e it clear that he saw the good performance.
Continuous public commendation of one man may put that man at a
disadvantage with the others and have a bad effect on them. Public praise
should be reserved for important and occasional performances.

iS: Ket
embroidei^

Soldiers are notorious gripers, and the griping may be useful not
merely because it lets off steam but because it gives valuable information

336

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

to the leader ready to profit by it. Only the smug or the incompetent
leader dismisses complaints because they are common.

A collection of soldier comments on noncommissioned and conunis-
sioned leaders offers some food for reflection. Here is a selected batch of
confidentially treated opinions expressed by a number of soldiers early in
the war:

“This Army can’t be driven; it must be led.”

“Break up the old Army noncom clique and put advancement on a
merit basis.”

“Officers bluff too much.”

“Let noncoms be chosen for what they know, not whom they know.”

“Our first lieutenant is dominated by the first sergeant.”

“No reward for good work; old soldiers learn never to volunteer for
anything.”

“They treat us like children.”

“When an officer tells his men he doesn’t like the Army any more
than we do, he’s not the one I look to.”

“. • . instead of changing his mind every few minutes. . .

, • should take a little interest in what we eat. . .

• . give us some idea of what’s going on in maneuvers.”

For similar reasons no single successful set of questions has ever been
devised to assess leadership in an interview. The competent judge adapts
his questioning to the individual candidate, knowing when to discard
one answer and when to give another much weight.

This much, however, is known. Although young men can make ex-
cellent leaders, leadership develops with experience. Higher standards
should, therefore, be set for older men. The man of thirty who is only
just as good as the man of twenty-two is not going to improve as rapidly
as his younger competitor. It has taken the older man longer to get
where he is and it will take him longer to make the next advance.

There is one source of information about leadership which the Army
has too often overlooked. It is possible to get the judgments of subordi-
nates about a superior. They know whether the superior is a good leader
or not, and for the most part subordinates do not grudge honest apprecia-
tion to a superior. If the leader has the loyalty of his men, they will want

to express it. The use of estimates by subordinates is generally supposed
not to be conducive to good discipline, but that objection lacks force
when the manner of getting the estimates is the proper one.

It is known, moreover, that the men of a platoon can size each other
up effectively, can pick the men who deserve advancement more con-

sistently than the leaders can. Armv^SP®^^^^® when they

Thus it appears that the officer wh^ tails to find out quietly the opinions

of his subordinates when he is selecting a man for promotion is over-

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE

337

looking a valid source of information, one that is, in the long run, far
more accurate than his owm judgment. For this reason a good leader
always has an advantage in picking potential leaders, because the good
ieader has the loyalty and confidence of his men. He can get their judg-
ments of one another without jeopardizing discipline.

Leadership Can Be Learned

There are no bom leaders. All leadership is based on learning how to
deal with men. Nearly all leaders improve after they have had experience
in command. Some improve faster than others, and some continue to
improve while others do not.

Consider the qualities which enlisted men believe important in leaders.
The first is competence and ability. Competence is based on learning.
The good leader has learned his job thoroughly. His men can trust him
to know what he is doing. He knows not only what he learned in his
training courses, but he has kept up to date. If he is an artilleryman he
knows how the Germans use artillery and what guns they have. The rule
is a simple one : Know your stuff.

Second to competence is the officer's interest in the soldier as a man, a
demonstrated interest that gives the soldier confidence that, when he
stands hardship or is in trouble, the hardship is a necessary part of the
job and his troubles give his officer concern. Every man can by practice
improve his skill in human understanding and increase his repertoire of
actions that demonstrate interest in others. The rule here is less simple.
It is: Know your men and show it. Know their names, their history,
their weaknesses, their good points, their morale. Begin by studying their
qualification cards.

Decisiveness is a skill harder to acquire. But it can with attention be
cultivated. When you have a hard choice, remember you do not usually
have to make a snap judgment. Careful consideration — ^weighing the
merits of alternate courses — ^is not indecision. Your men will respect
your judgment even more if you reserve decision imtil you are in posses-
sion of all the facts necessary for a wise choice. Do not set up a “council
of war” to pass on things by vote; you are the leader. But seek advice
when you need it, and do not hesitate to call on your subordinates for
counsel if they are qualified to give it. But choose your course before you
give your orders.

Probably only experience, together with genuine interest in other men,
makes a good teacher. But there are many rules for good teaching that
may help. One of them is; Remember that men learn to do by doing.
Lectures are only the embroidery on training. It is actual performance
that does the work.

Another suggestion to the leader is: Remember, when men do not

338

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

understand you, that is your fault. You must talk their language — ^plain
language. If you cannot express yourself clearly it may be because you
do not imderstand the subject well yourself. Think things through care-
fully before you try to explain.

A leader, then, to be worthy in the eyes of his men, would do well to
follow these commands:

(1) Be competent.

(2) Be loyal to your men as well as to your country and Army.

(3) Know your men, understand them, love them, be proud of them.

(4) Accept responsibility and give clear, decisive orders.

(5) Teach your men by putting them through the necessary action.

(6) Give only necessary orders, but —

(7) Get things done.

(8) Be fair.

(9) Work hard.

(10) Remember that a leader is a symbol. Men need to respect and trust you
— don’t let them down.

AN ALL-TIME COMMAND TEAM

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel)

George L. Simpson

{1937)

The sound of the last cheer has scarcely died away before the football
experts are feverishly at work compiling lists of All-Star teams. The
critical equipment of many of these “experts” consists largely of enthu-
siasm and enjoyment of the game. A like urge impels me to hand-pick
an All-Time corps command and staff. To those who object to my selec-
tions the answer is : I still like ’em.

My commanding general is Frederick the Great. Though self-assured,
he was no egotist. He welcomed advice, but, imlike many another great
soldier, he readily recognized the difference between good and bad
counsel. Frederick never kidded himself into believing that he could con-
quer Russia, as did Napoleon. He was a strong disciplinarian and with-
out Lee’s weakness of excessive gentleness. In keeping the politicians lined
up at home he went Hannibal one better. His strategy was of the best.
He was a winner.

The berth as chief of staff goes to Generalfeldmarschall Alfred, Graf
von SchlieflFen. While the coimt’s battle record is not so imposing as that
of some of the others, I believe he would be able to work more harmoni-
ously with the great Frederick than any other All-Timer.

Since Moltke the First was the best personnel procurement agent of

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 339

them all, and a great soldier as well, he becomes G-i. He could be de-
pended upon to give good advice.

His unexcelled ability for collecting enemy information and his superla-
tive deductions make Lee my G- 2 . His capacity for winning the co-opera-
tion of others — especially subordinates — clinches the selection. The South
will send no orchids for this choice, for to them Lee is the greatest gen-
eral of all time and should have been nominateci for the post of head-
man. But Lee’s too-great intellect, his lack of ruthlessness, his inclination
to listen to long-winded opinions of lesser lights with established weak-
nesses — ^these lovable shortcomings let him out.

In addition to many other qualifications a G -3 must own a disciplined,
creative mind, one that can adapt itself to the ideas of others while it
improves them in detail. This single capacity is rarer than skyscrapers on
an Army post. But there is one man who had it. On this staff Bourcet
is G- 3 .

Comes William Tecumseh Sherman as G- 4 . If you do not believe that
this soldier’s every movement showed his first consideration was logistics,
take a trip to Georgia and speak with the old-timers.

For his statesmanlike qualities and his masterful use of the third person,
Julius Caesar is awarded the position of adjutant general.

Our inspector must be a soldier who is tactful and understanding, an
inspiration to those inspected rather than an arouser of red wrath in the
breasts of the underlings. Meet De Guibert, inspector of the All-Star
Corps.

Caulaincourt has proved that he can plead a cause. Hands down, he
becomes judge advocate.

A careful, conscientious man who looked after the interests of his
clients and who could, in addition, procure money, was Alcibiades, the
ward of Pericles, first choice for finance officer.

For reasons that are obvious Clausewitz has been given the berth of
chemical officer.

While I duck the flying missiles and avoid as best I may the wrath to
come, I give you as our fightingest parson and chaplain: Mohammed.

Stonewall Jackson used artillery to better advantage than any other
great military leader. He is nominated as chief of artillery.

Picking an air officer is not at all difficult. Baron von Richthofen wins
the post without a struggle.

In the last war the Germans were the cleverest in the operation of rail-
ways, the canny use of mines and demolitions, and the regulation of
traffic. For this and other reasons the engineer officer on this twin-six
staff is Ludendorff .

There was a soldier who had good communications several centuries
before the telegraph, the telephone, and the radio. His name was Scipio,
called Africanus, and he is the signal officer.

340 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Our own dapper, highly polished, and hard-boiled Winfield Scott is
provost marshal. No lead-footed doughboys with unbuttoned blouses
would wander about for long with old Fuss and Feathers on the job.
And after the first day or so traffic would move expeditiously on white
side-walled tires, come rain, come snow.

Our record for feeding our soldiers during the World War may be
largely credited to Hartlord. He gets the job of quartermaster.

During the World War the British excelled in their evacuation system,
hospital trains, and hospitals. Whoever ran their Medical Department
during the last fracas is my surgeon.

Ordnance officer is Gustavus Adolphus. It would be hard to gainsay his
ability to recognize the value of new weapons at once and to change his
tactics to suit them without a backward glance.

I’m attaching to my corps a cavalry division reinforced by a mech-
anized regiment. The commander of the cavalry is Oliver Cromwell, for
he above all others was unhampered by tradition and had initiative and
capability to spare. For subordinate commanders of the horsed regiments
I allot Ashby, T. E. Lawrence, and Forrest; the mechanized regiment
goes to Jeb Stuart.

They tell us at Leavenworth that a good tank commander has qualifi-
cations similar to those of a good leader of cavalry. To those who remem-
ber the fine job of crashing through and mopping up that was done at
Cannae, my choice of the hook-nosed Hasdrubal, brother of Hannibal,
as commander of the attached tank regiment will come as no surprise.

I shall announce my division commanders and then I am through. All-
Timer Napoleon Bonaparte gets the ist Division, Wellington the ad, and
Hannibal the 3d. These three fall just a little short of the qualifications I
require of corps commanders. But I am the first to admit that they missed
the three-star job by merely a hair.

To those who disagree I can only say: Trot out your corps, and name
your ground. If, at the conclusion of hostilities, my politicians are not
showing your politicians where to sign on the dotted line, 1*11 buy a
round of drinks.

An All-Time Corps Command and Staff

Commanding General Frederick the Great

Chief of Staff Alfred, Graf von Schlieffen

G-i Helmuth Carl Bernhard, Graf von Moltke

G-2 Robert Edward Lee

G-3 Pierre de Bourcet

G-4 William Tecumseh Sherman

Adjutant General Gaius Julius Caesar

Inspector Jacques Antoine Hippolyte, Comte de Guibert

LEADERSHIP AND DISCIPLINE 341

Judge Advocate Armand Augustin Louis, Marquis de Gaulaincourt

Finance Officer Alcibiades

Chemical Officer Carl von Glausewitz

Chaplain Mohammed

Chief of Artillery Thomas Jonathan Jackson

Air Officer Mannfred, Baron von Richthofen

Engineer Erich Ludendorff

Signal Officer Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus Major

Provost Marshal Winfield Scott

Quartermaster James Guthrie Harbord

Surgeon Surgeon, British Expeditionary Forces, 1914

Ordnance Officer Gustavus Adolphus

CG, Attached Cavalry Division Oliver Cromwell

CG, I St Division Napoleon Bonaparte

CG, 2d Division Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington

CG, 3d Division Hannibal

WEST POINT'

O spartan Woman, I have peered behind
Tour stoic pose and found the mother there
At last; the proud gray eyes, the cool gray hair.

The tender face a hundred years have lined
With sorrow for your still, straight sons returned
Upon their blameless shields; the quiet pride
That they had lived by you, went forth, and died
The Doric way. Gray Mother, they have earned
Those shields and having justified the trust
Tou placed in them, they come again to live
And breathe as part of you. Today you give
A burnished shield to me, to guard from rust . . .

To hold before my heart . . , and bid me go.

Stern Spartan, I salute you . . . but I know!

Lieutenant (Now Colonel) C. T. Lanham

H^lourtesy of Harper’s.

Learning War

From Past Wars

There are two chief approaches to military history. You can get so lost
in the details of ancient warfare — the customs, the style of buttons on
the uniforms, the minute tactical details of campaigns and battles, that
you lose all thought of new ways of war, or — equally dangerous — ^find
yourself thinking, “Leading my troops, 1*11 remember to do it the way
Marshal Saxe did it at Fontenoy.” The other approach naturally is never
to forget as you read of past battles to ignore every way of and aspect of
the old-time fighting, and mark in your mind only the general and hu-
man lessons that still apply because wars are still fought by men.

This section of the Reader shows not only how the Infantry’s magazine
has generally avoided the academic approach to military history, but also
contains some fine examples of the work of writers known for their writ-
ings among military men but not widely to others.

The man whose familiarity with the war is based mainly on what he
has been reading in his newspaper and magazines since it began and
what he has heard over the radio will have very little difficulty in apply-
ing to the present war the main military lessons in the following articles.

PROFITING BY WAR EXPERIENCES
By Major (now General) George C. Marshall

General George C. Marshall, Chief of Staff of the Army of the United
States, was assistant editor of the Infantry Journal as a first lieutenant
shortly before the first World War. In the World War, of course, he was in
the heart of things and when it was over he saw very clearly, as the fol-
lowing article written in 1921 shows, that American military men must be

342

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 343

careful to interpret their experiences of that conflict with reference to the

whole broad scope of the war and not merely to their own little sectors.

Articles appearing in our service magazines, discussions at the service
schools or colleges, and pamphlets issued by the War Department lead to
the belief that the American military student of the World War may be
led astray in formulating conclusions on tactical questions and on or-
ganization, since the circumstances surrounding quoted instances of our
participation in the war are not usually presented in sufficient detail to
enable one to correctly judge the situation studied. Furthermore, the
majority of our officers had but a brief experience in battle and were so
hard-pressed before, during, and immediately after engagements that it
is difficult for them to make an accurate, critical analysis of the battle
tactics involved, and it is well known that a single example is apt to prove
a dangerous guide for future action.

A proper study of tactical formations adopted requires a careful survey
of the special conditions involved. In the occupation of the old defensive
sectors where a division was required to hold a very broad front, the
Americans were inclined to deride the complicated plan of defense
turned over to them by the French units relieved. Long, intricate orders
are bad in principle, but we must remember that where quiet sectors
were occupied by a succession of divisions it was necessary to have a set
plan of defense which would co-ordinate the action of the division in its
particular sector with that of other divisions on the corps front. Also, that
where a few troops defend a very wide stretch of terrain it is necessary to
arrange in advance a series of combinations to meet possible attacks from
varying directions. The French plans of defense were undoubtedly much
too long, as they represented an accumulation of orders through a long
period without having been carefully weeded out. But during stabilized
warfare of this character a plan of defense of the same general nature as
that employed in Europe is necessary, and each new division entering the
sector must adjust itself accordingly.

The desirability of various formations for attack depends upon many
considerations. For a long, grueling combat one formation may seem best,
while for a rapid assault a different formation will probably appear ad-
visable. In one division the maintaining of communication from front to
rear and the facility of feeding the men in the front-line battalions were
important considerations in determining the formation to be employed.
It was found that a regiment with but one battalion in the first line could
better maintain its communications and arrange for the feeding of hot
meals to the companies engaged than with two battalions deployed. In
this division it was felt that if communication was assured at all times
and two hot meals were served to all the troops each day, a heavy assault

344 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

could be maintained for a much longer period than otherwise. It is well
known that some of our divisions had to be relieved because of conf usion
or disorganization resulting from lack of efficient conununication and
because of inertia or extreme fatigue due to the failure of the men to
receive hot food on the battlefield.

A correct method of employing machine guns and of “accompanying
guns” is a matter of constant debate. A trained machine-gun officer
naturally understands better the technical employment of his weapon
than does the ordinary infantry battalion commander. As a result we are
prone to forget that the determining phase of a battle is usually a melee
in which the infantry battalion commander alone is able to make deci-
sions in time to take best advantage of the constantly changing situation.
A divided command on the battlefield is out of the question. Control of
troops closely engaged with the enemy is the most difficult feat of leader-
ship and requires the highest state of discipline and training. It would
therefore seem that the machine guns should be an integral part of the
infantry battalion.

The “accompanying gun” was seldom employed in the manner in-
tended, due to lack of such training in the infantry regimental and
battalion commanders. These guns were often sacrificed by being placed
among the forward waves during the first phases of a break-through, with
the result that artillery officers became strongly opposed to their assign-
ment to infantry units. There is undoubtedly an excellent place for an
“accompanying gun” in a deep attack, and it usually is in some covered
spot where the infantry regimental commander can quickly call it into
play when the occasion arises. It is the fire of the gun and not its
physical presence that is desired on the front line.

In studying examples of the orders issued for our troops in France
several important points deserve consideration in determining the relative
excellence of the orders issued. It is frequently the case that what appears
to have been a model order was actually the reverse, and a poorly and
apparently hastily prepared order will often be erroneously condemned.
Many orders, models in their form, failed to reach the troops in time to
affect their actions, and many apparently crude and fragmentary instruc-
tions did reach front-line commanders in time to enable the purpose of
the higher command to be carried out on the battlefield. It is apparent
that unless an order is issued in time for its instructions to percolate
down through the organization sufficiently in advance of an engagement
to enable each commander to arrange his unit accordingly, that order is a
failure, however perfect it may appear on paper. Our troops suffered
much from the delays involved in preparing long and complicated orders,

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 345

due to the failure of the staff concerned to recognize that speed was more
important than technique.

In studying orders for the movement of troops by marching, considera-
tion of the time element involved is necessary to determine whether or not
the staff, responsible for the order, prepared it in such form and issued it
in such manner as to permit of the marching of the troops with a mini-
mum of fatigue and discomfort. The same applies to instructions for
sheltering troops. Inexperienced staff officers in France frequently caused
heavy inroads to be made on the strength of a command just prior to its
entrance into battle. At times this was unavoidable, but usually much
unnecessary fatigue could have been avoided by the manner in which
the orders were issued. Sometimes they were too brief and lacked too
many details; again exactly the opposite was the case.

There were several distinct phases in the character of the fighting dur-
ing America’s participation in the war, and the methods employed should
be studied with the particular phase concerned in view. Unfortunately in
some ways few of our troops experienced the strain of confronting the
German during the period of his great offensives. Those who fought only
at Saint-Mihiel and in the Meuse-Argonne probably will never realize
the vast difference between their enemy then and the German of April
or May. Even those who fought in the summer of 1918 will have some
difficulty in visualizing the state of mind of troops who are opposed by
an enemy far superior in numbers and confident of his ability to defeat
them. For this reason it is possible that officers who participated only in
the last phase of the war may draw somewhat erroneous conclusions from
their battle experience. Many mistakes were made in the Argonne which
the German at that time was unable to charge to our account. The same
mistakes, repeated four months earlier in the war, would have brought
an immediate and unfortunate reaction. It is possible that methods suc-
cessfully employed in the Meuse-Argonne would have invited a success-
ful enemy counterattack in the spring of 1918. It is not intended by this
discussion to belittle our efforts in the latter part of the war, for what we
actually accomplished was a military miracle, but we must not forget
that its conception was based on a knowledge of the approaching de-
terioration of the German Army, and its lessons must be studied ac-
cordingly. We remain without modem experience in the first phases of a
war and must draw our conclusions from history.

346

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

WHAT ABOUT MILITARY HISTORY?

By Major John H. Burns
(1938)

The study of history of any kind is always difficult, not only because the human
factor is so pronounced, hut because the atmosphere of past events is not the
atmosphere we breathe today. Major General J. F. C. Fuller, British Army.

There is only one weapon that is common to all wars. That is man. So
far as recorded history goes we can see no change in him. It is amazing
how hieroglyphic and cuneiform writings, millenniums old, echo the
thoughts and feelings of today. Some of them might have been clipped
from a late magazine, so modem they are. The cautious Will Durant
says, “The basic masses of mankind hardly change from millennium to
millennium.” Perhaps man may have evolved from primeval slime, but
so far as we know him as man he has always been the same. The cave
man^s infant brought up in modem surroundings would react and be
exactly like his friends in the same apartment building. We like to think
that we are better than the Stone Age man, but that is based on smug-
ness, not science. We have not changed and, furthermore, cannot be
changed. It is easier by far to knock an electron out of an atom than to
eliminate one basic trait from man. Fundamentally his nature is fixed,
fast, firm.

On the other hand, any system of society permits and even encourages
the development of certain fundamental traits while, at the same time,
inhibiting or suppressing others. The result is that when faced by two
individuals processed by two antithetical social organizations we often
think we have two different types of mankind. This is not so. We must
repeat : they are the same beneath the veneer.

We can sum the matter up by saying all men are basically alike,
though the processing of social institutions will make an apparent change
in fundamental composition, by suppressing certain basic traits and de-
veloping others, but it never has eliminated and never will eliminate any
fundamental characteristic. For instance, all men faced by death are
frightened. The tendency to flee the danger is present in all, but certain
individuals molded by their society will stand fast while others flee.
Hence, courage is not lack of or elimination of fear but the temporary
conquest of fear. Yet it must be understood that too much contact with
fear-producing stimuli will sooner or later crack the veneer that society
has overlaid on the natural nature of man. Eventually he will slough off
this purely artificial crust and flee the danger.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 347

But the most important point of all is that this fear-resistant attitude-^
called courage — ^is a product not of military training alone but of the entire
social processing that the individual has undergone. Other soldierly quali-
ties evolve in the same manner. Thus, the time necessary to make a soldier
out of a civilian and the value of the soldier so produced depends almost
entirely on the prior social training of the recruit. If he comes from a
society that prizes the virtues of a soldier — duty, honor, self-sacrifice, and
the like — a society that is willing to defend by force of arms the ideals
for which it stands, then the soldier develops quickly from the civilian;
in fact, he is largely made before he joins the colors.

From the foregoing it can be seen that the military historian should
give careful attention to the social system which produces the armies he
is studying. For, since different societies produce different soldier mate-
rial, manifestly no two armies are exactly alike. Even troops from differ-
ent parts of the same nation will be quite different. But the historian
completely ignores this. He is content, for the most part, to count the
noses in the contending armies; carefully note how the troops were placed
on the battlefield, and then decide how the placing or moving of certain
organizations led to victory or defeat. Yet, in all probability, the victory
in a great measure may be attributed to the social processing one army
received before it ever donned the uniform. Why is this so? Let us
investigate a bit farther.

The history of warfare may be divided roughly into two parts. There
is the narrow specialist concept of the military technician. This includes
all affairs that concern handling and directing an army as an engine of
force. It involves supply, administration, security, maneuver, intelligence,
and the like. It deals solely with what appears to be a mechanism, but
since it is composed of humans it is anything but a mechanism. The sec-
ond and most important section of military history is the socioeconomic
part which endeavors to integrate the development of armies and warfare
with that of the state, industry, and the ideology of the people. This sec-
ond part must be known in order to understand the conduct of battles
and campaigns. For it is the conditioned men of a particular society,
armed with the weapons of that society, that make an army determine
to a great extent its method of fighting and, in the main, secure its
victories.

There are many excellent histories on the technical aspect of war. The
better ones deal with the particulars of war — such as Infantry in Battle.
When an effort is made to generalize or evolve abstract and general
truths, then trouble occurs, for these generalities are deduced wholly from
the field of technical military history. This fault taints Von Schlieffen*s
Cannae. One cannot give a rounded picture of war, or analyze any cam-
paign or battle, and definitely and with assurance ascribe victory to any
factor without considering the whole basis of military power — ^technical

348 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

and socioeconomic. This, however, is seldom done, and error is the
consequence.

For instance, without knowing the socioeconomic factors of war no
one can explain why the Army of the Potomac did not go to pieces under
repeated beatings, or why it should come back to take frightful losses at
Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor and still keep boring in. Nor can anyone
explain why the South did not surrender when Vicksburg and Atlanta
were captured. Their case was hopeless then. Yet Germany in 1918
collapsed before its borders were crossed. We must know more than the
technical handling of an army if we are to apprehend these things. In
short, we must know the people if we are to understand that which grows
from them and is part of them — the Army.

Whatever helps to secure victory, be it a piece of terrain, industry,
social mores, or national psychology, is military history. To concentrate
on any part of this history and slur the rest will produce a distorted pic-
ture. Today military history suffers from a bad case of elephantiasis, de-
veloped because of our passionate concentration on the pure technique
of handling military forces.

If we are to correct this we must team to consider that any battle or
campaign can be understood only by intimately knowing the following:

( 1 ) What is the essential nature of man?

(2) How have the social systems of the combatants molded this par^
ticular human material for good or ill?

(3) How did the Army receive this socially prepared material and
process it?

(4) And finally, how was this material led and directed in battle?

Check any military history closely. You will find that the manner in

which the armies were led and directed is considered in minute detail,
but not much else. Few military historians ever enter deeply into the
primal, basic nature of man, and none into the effect of the social process-
ing of this elemental man and how it produced good or poor soldier
material. Thus, looking on the military problem in its broadest aspect, it
can be seen that the military historian is dealing with only a fragment of
it. As a consequence the larger part of military history is distorted and
askew. It is thoroughly unscientific and a total failure in helping to in-
terpret the present or to foresee the future.

The great misfortune is that there is no connecting link between the
civilian social historian and the military chronicler. The soldier historian
takes with little comment the soldier as produced by the age and recounts
his exploits, leaving all other details to the conventional historian. The
scientific military historian (if we had any) would be struck by the fact
that the civilian authorities have charge of the soldier’s training for some
twenty years — ^infancy to manhood — ^and that this vital training period has

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 349

a powerful effect on the type of soldier that will eventually enter battle.
Therefore, he would study the social institutions of the times to ascertain
their effect on this human material. Only by such an approach can we
make military history truly scientific.

Along these lines let us investigate the subject a bit farther. Of the four
essentials we might well concentrate on the military significance of social
factors. The “essential nature of man” needs a complete study by itself,
as does the military processing received by this socially prepared human.
How humans are led in battle has been described ad nauseam. But the
effect of social processing has been too often neglected.

How remiss the military historian has been about such matters is in-
dicated by the following example: For centuries the Swiss infantry was
the finest in Europe. Today the Swiss Guard of the Vatican is a memorial
to its old-time fame. The hurricanes of heavy cavalry that one reads about
became a gentle breeze before the Swiss. No knightly commander would
lead his steel-sheathed men-at-arms against a bristling hedge of Swiss
pikes — not more than once, anyway. It was the Swiss pikeman and not
the English bowman who reduced cavalry from the basic arm of battle
to a supporting one. Bowmen, unlike pikemen, were helpless in an open
field against heavy cavalry. Strange how the English-speaking people pass
over that point.

So the Swiss were cock of the walk for a few centuries and hired them-
selves out in compact companies to anyone who had the money and
needed a job of fighting done. The French relied on them greatly, once
they found that native infantry trained in the Swiss manner was worth-
less. So French kings signed and paid out good red gold for surly Swiss
pikemen; the French generals shrugged their shoulders and gladly ac-
cepted the compact Swiss columns. The commentators and military think-
ers of the time came forward with the plausible explanation that, after
all, the stolid work of a pikeman was not suited to the native genius of the
French race. And the military historian hurried on to the next chapter.

But the question naturally arises: Why were the Swiss so good? Here
the glib military historian is ready with a flood of detail on tactics, drill,
equipment, maneuvers, and the like. Then one wonders why other
peoples did not follow the Swiss lead in equipment and tactics. But,
strange to say, some people did and with no success, although the Ger-
man Landsknechte were a fair second to the Swiss. The military explana-
tion, therefore, despite its detail, is far wide of the mark.

The real military problem here, and one completely neglected, is, to
repeat, just why were the Swiss so much better than those around them?
The racial theory falls flat since the Swiss are racially very little, if any,
different from their neighbors in France, Austria, Germany, or north
Italy. Yet something caused these Swiss to fight better than their neigh-
bors — ^no doubt of that. The military historian should have tracked that

350 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

down. Naturally he evaded it, for to do this meant a serious study of the
Swiss people, their life, manners, institutions, industry, customs, the mold-
ing effect this entire physical and psychic environment had on the people,
and how all this made for better soldiers. There is little glitter to such
work and no fighting; nevertheless, it was a military problem.

Surely a great opportunity was lost here, for the Spaniards about the
same time also developed a first-class infantry soldier — though the Span-
ish methods of fighting differed from the Swiss. A close study of both
cultures leading to a determination of the socially molding factors of each
culture and then the elimination of all factors not common to both would
have given a few basic social factors that enter into the pre-military
molding of good foot-soldier material.

If such a study had been made the military historian would have been
able to say that it was this factor, or factors, which produced a certain
effect on ihe character of the human living in the Alps. It was this char-
acter — using the word in its broadest sense — that made the Swiss a good
infantryman. Then to the soldier he could have said, “You have no such
type individuals in your country. You cannot duplicate Swiss accomplish-
ments no matter how closely you ape their drill and equipment. There-
fore, you had better hire Swiss.” And to the statesman he could say,
“Swiss life produces Swiss soldiery. If you want such soldier material
you must start at the bottom and change national institutions until they
approximate the Swiss.”

From this example it is plain to see that true military history does not
begin with the armies, nor in the council chamber or legislative halls. It
begins with the people — the culture, if you wish. And no battle, ancient
or modem, can be understood without this background. No general can
be properly evaluated without understanding his cultural and emotional
background and that of his troop material. Battles are not fought in vacuo
but by products of a certain system of life. The task of the military his-
torian is to show this connection. Otherwise it is impossible to understand
fully or clearly the significance of military events.

For instance, to understand Caesar without knowing Rome, its institu-
tions, religion, law, industry, folkways, and how all these converged to
produce a certain type military organization — ^the legion — is a sheer im-
possibility. The legion was excellent not simply by virtue of its mechanical
organization, because that could be easily copied, and the ancient world
was full of intelligent soldiers capable of doing it. It was something else,
for we may be sure that the ancients saw the tactical virtues of the legion
far better than we can today across the gulf of two thousand years. They
could reproduce the legion pattern, but no soldier could reproduce the
men that entered the legion. They were the product of Roman culture.
The legion organization exploited this material to the utmost. Therein lay
its strength. To explain the power of the legion as due to its flexibility, its

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 351

armament, or other physical or mechanical factors is superficial and com-
pletely fallacious.

It was with this legion that Caesar fought. Caesar’s wars become in-
telligible only when we realize that his battles were not won by adroit
maneuver so much as by skillful utilization of simple humans as Rome
had processed them and the legion polished them. Often, according to
modem opinion, Caesar placed himself in a precarious situation; often he
went against great odds; often, lacking essential troop components — ^as at
Pharsalus — ^he took the offensive. Yet no matter how skillfully the enemy
arranged his troops, Caesar won. We have no right to criticize him by mod-
ern standards, for Caesar was not fighting with or against modem soldiers.
He was fighting with a Roman legion — the product of Roman culture.

Parenthetically we might say that to draw tactical lessons from Caesar’s
campaigns that can be applied to all warfare is, at the best, a dubious
procedure.

So far we have only discussed the breadth of military history — ^how an
army is but the projection of the culture of the nation. But another factor
intmdes here. What is the depth of the subject? How far back do we go
in amassing our material? How authentic is this material; what value has
it in deriving principles of combat, and what effect has it had on military
instruction? If we are to make a fair analysis of military history in its
present form, then the “time-depth” factor needs analysis. For this pur-
pose we cannot do better than to consult one of the greatest of modem
military scholars, Marshal Foch.

Foch, in directing the Ecole de Guerre, said he proceeded “from the
facts which history delivers us. . . . Our models and the facts on which
we shall base a theory we shall draw from the Revolution and the Em-
pire.” This was an arbitrary choice, neglecting later wars and thousands
of years of prior warfare. Surely this is a narrow and unscientific founda-
tion on which to base any scheme of battle instruction, but the arbitrary
selection of periods is even a grosser error. If a person can select his own
period of history and exclude all others he can prove almost any military
absurdity sound. If military history is to form any basis of instruction,
then it should be all military history, not a selected part.

Despite this, most military history is written about certain glamorous
periods of warfare — ^periods when great figures were striding on the
world’s stage, when nations shook and melodrama and romance were
abroad in the land. The soldier proves himself a romanticist, not a
scientist. So each nation selects its own period, makes its own heroes, and
twists the facts of history in order to indoctrinate all. This is not science;
it is not art; it is nothing but claptrap — claptrap which has within it the
seeds of great evil, because it is thought to be of value in preparing
military minds to wage war.

That may sound like harsh criticism, but let us read what General

352 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Hoffmann of the Imperial German Army had to say of the truthfulness
of military history: “I have now for the first time during the whole war
observed a ‘history* from near by and know that it takes place in an
entirely different manner than that which posterity learns. Since this is
so, some trifles or false descriptions more or less do not matter.”

Thus Hoffmann indicates that even our latest history is distorted.

And Clausewitz — ^what does he say about the doctrines and principles
gleaned from history? Just this: “Theory must educate the future leader
or rather guide him in his education, but not accompany him to the
battlefield. As things are, there exist no laws at all for warfare/*
[Author’s italics.] But Clausewitz was a scholar; let’s see what a man of
action has to say — one closer to the American scene and mind:

They [the Union generals] were always thinking what Napoleon would do. Un-
fortunately for their plans, the rebels would be thinking about something else. I
don’t underrate the value of military knowledge, but if men make war in slavish
obedience to rules they will fail. No rules will apply to conditions of war as differ-
ent as those which exist in Europe and America. Consequently, while our gen-
erals were working out problems of an ideal character . . . practical facts were
neglected. To that extent I consider remembrances of old campaigns a disad-
vantage. . . .

That was the considered opinion of General U. S. Grant. This practical
soldier stands not so far from Clausewitz, the theorist.

From all that has gone before it is not difficult to see that our present
military history lacks breadth — ^fails to show the all-important connection
between the soldier and the social state. It does not cover all the field of
war but only a restricted portion arbitrarily chosen; its facts are difficult
to get at, and when obtained, as Hoffmann cynically indicates, are then
distorted. It can give no rules to the eager student, so Clausewitz states,
and Grant goes even farther by stating that it had become an actual
handicap to a large group of generals. If one tenth of that indictment is
correct, then it is manifestly impossible to consider the subject in its
present form as a basis for training leaders in warfare. It certainly is not
a science but a sort of dogma — the foundation for a military theology, as
one keen civilian historian aptly points out. And so on this matter the
scientific historian lines up with the military theorist and the practical,
soldier.

Yet despite everything there are certain similarities between ancient
and modern combat that need explaining. Our mistake lies in attributing
these similarities to logical principles of war; it is simpler and sounder to
attribute them to man — the common, unchanging instrument of war —
and to recognize that these logical principles, so-called, are but simply the
manifestations of humans reacting to combat. One stout fighting soldier
of modem days has phrased it admirably: “In fact, there is a certain

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 353

danger in the study of military history if we seek to obtain from it more
than the eternal verities of leadership, morale, psychological effects, and
the difficulty and confusion which battle entails. We cannot visualize war
of the future merely by studying wars of the past.”

On the whole, it is simpler and more practical to accept this attitude
than to try to interpret war — ^past, present, and future — in accordance
with an abstract, mechanistic pattern. Perhaps the latter can be done, but^
it has not been done yet — certainly not in a scientific manner — and ffiere
is more important work for the historian to do.

This work is to evolve a new kind of military history. A history that
will show how men and organizations are fitted — or not fitted — ^for battle
by their social and military training. The study must be broadened to
include all war and all military history.

In a sketchy way, perhaps, we can outline this broad and unorthodox
conception of the subject.

We want to know, for instance, not simply how Napoleon maneuvered
his armies, but, in addition, the raw material that went into those armies.
It is a strange thing that no one has yet adequately analyzed the effect
the French Revolution had on French soldier material and then carried
the study one step farther and shown how these qualities were superbly
exploited by Napoleon.

But that is not all; we have here a curious and wondrous thing, if we
could but see it. The French soldier who was unfitted to form thick
columns and face the Swiss pikeman, in the sixteenth century, in the early
nineteenth century formed these thick columns of attack and then pro-
ceeded to crack every line in Europe and march victoriously into every
capital on the continent. Thinking of Waterloo and their thin red lines,,
the British may cavil at this, but a second thought will reveal that even
at Waterloo a young untried French Army had the Iron Duke desperately
praying for night or Blucher.

This historic change in the French people and soldiers requires careful,
precise analysis, for without such an analysis our study of the armies alone
is likely to lead us far astray. For example, Napoleon’s first Italian cam-
paign is studied as a military classic, but the student who comes away
from his studies with a mental picture of the mechanism of the campaign
and tries to apply the so-called lessons on another field is due for a rude
awakening. For the campaign did not depend simply on Napoleon’s bril-
liant schemes of maneuver, but largely on his leadership and his adroit
exploitation of the French soldier, aflame with ideas released by the
French Revolution. Napoleon himself thought so fine an army never had
existed before, and adds significantly that the soldiers came from classes
of society that had not usually furnished soldiers.

For the same reason — ^if for no other — one should not try to emulate
General Lee in his vicious and victorious assaults at Chancellorsville

354 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

against a vastly superior force, unless one has the same sort of troops that
Lee had; nor should one copy Grant’s hammer blows in the last days of
the Civil War. To be sure, these blows won the war, but an army of
softer fiber would have disintegrated under the punishment.

From all this one can see that it is all-important to know the troops
that are fighting. But to know these troops we have to know thoroughly
the society from which they are drawn. For the military technician that
is the unexplored field of military history; therein lies the information
which, with his military technique, gives him the secret of waging success-
ful war — ^past, present, and future.

Let us take from this field an example or two which may illuminate
our idea. The greatest of all ancient soldiers, Hannibal, despite a succes-
sion of magnificent victories, could not conquer the Roman people led —
if we except Scipio and Claudius Nero — ^largely by inept generals. The
decisive battle of Zama when analyzed reveals it was the steady quality
of the Roman troops that enabled Scipio in desperation to snatch local
supports from his central mass to extend his wings — an unheard-of ma-
neuver — and so prevent the disaster of a double envelopment which faced
him. Hannibal was at his old tricks. True, the Roman horse had defeated
the weak Carthaginian horse, but both were far from the scene, and in
any event it was the heavy foot that decided ancient battles. Scipio’s des-
perate expedient succeeded although he was clearly outmaneuvered by
Hannibal. Had the Roman common soldier wavered when he saw his
supports withdrawn another Cannae would have ensued. This war was
won not by generals but by the Roman people.

Coming to recent times, we find the same idea exemplified. The great-
est modem soldier, Napoleon, failed to understand the Spanish people,
and though he overwhelmed Spanish armies he could not conquer the
country. Thus there ensued years of futile warfare. Some of the best
troops in the Empire were wasted in Spain when they should have been
concentrated in Poland against the Russians. The demoniac resistance of
the Spanish civilians at the terrible siege of Saragossa showed the temper
of the Spaniards. Napoleon had misjudged them, as he himself sadly
acknowledged, and was forced to make war on two fronts — ^Madrid and
Moscow. A fatal error.

All of which leads up to this : Say what one will, the abstract principles
of tactics and strategy must be practically applied with and against hu-
mans conditioned by a certain environment. There is no pure science of
war. Therefore, instead of trying to show the immutability of certain
principles of tactics we should be trying to show how at any particular
period the conditioned human of that period was converted to the pur-
pose of war. And at the end, very likely, we will find that the leader of
the day was no fool but used his material as best he could to solve his
battle problems.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 355

Confronted by the same problems and with all our knowledge of today^
we would probably make a miserable failure with the same human
material. It is knowledge of the people that is necessary and that we
would lack. For example, no one in the Middle Ages could have trained
and used in battle a Greek phalanx or a Roman legion, as excellent as
those formations were, for the people were not Greeks and Romans but
something quite, quite different. They did not come out of the same sort,
of social mold. Thus, the war harness had to be fitted to their mental
contours and not cut on a theoretically better pattern.

General Bullard had this conception years ago. In igo6 he said,
“Napoleon taught us that if we must fight with untrained men, being
unable to adapt the men to the tactics, we must try to adapt the tactics
to the men. . . . Without regard to prescriptions of tactical systems, try
to suit your battle formations to the character of your men. . . .”

In the World War, Lawrence realized that the Arabians could not,
and would not, fight according to Western standards, so he adapted his
campaign methods to their make-up, not to a standard concept of war
and soldiering. His results were astonishing.

Today we live in a world of national states, not amorphous empires,
city-states, or feudal kingdoms. If we draw illustrations and lessons from
the armies of such national states we approximate reality, but only so far
as these states approximate one another in social environment. Here
we must be cautious and not theorize too far. For example, the Prussians
of Frederick the Great were far different from the Prussians of today.
The American Civil War soldier mentally had more in common with the
French revolutionary soldier ot even Scipio’s farmer soldier than with
Frederick’s Prussians. Yet Frederick’s army of long-service soldiers was
highly successful, and his heirs were content. Then came the French
Revolution which broke down doors, shattered all precedents, and re-
leased a store of tremendous energy — ^psychic and physical. France was
remolded, and from this France erupted the French nationalist soldier
who overran Europe and swept the Frederician army into the discard.

It should be recognized that a social revolution or a long war will
always produce such changes in warfare — ^irrespective of new weapons
developed — since both shake society to its foundations and so condition
the human that he is a different instrument of war — ^for better or for
worse. The difference that develops will be great or small, depending on
the change in the social structure. These matters need study.

Moreover, all this study is the soldier’s job. We cannot expect civilian
historians, even if they knew the military problem, to do this for us.
They are not interested. It is a basic military job, and at this particular
time in the history of the world, when all things are changing with great
rapidity — ^particularly the social state — ^it is a vital matter.

The reason for this ceaseless change in modem life is not abstruse.

356 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Late in the eighteenth century the Industrial Revolution struck the world
first in western Europe. Tremendous changes were created. As the late
Professor James Harvey Robinson says, “Material civilization has changed
more since the days of Jefferson than it had between Jefferson’s age and
that of Tutankhamen.” These great changes pressed against the social
structiu*e and steadily, sharply modified it and the individual it contained.

In the ninetenth century this tremendous revolution, deftly manipu-
lated by the classes in power, shaped a certain type of society charac-
terized on the political side by representative democracy and on the
industrial side by a policy of laissez faire. The whole was enveloped in
a strong spirit of nationalism. But the Industrial Revolution was a con-
tinuing process — it is still going on — and always the pressure became
greater. The result was a tremendous upheaval called a World War,
followed by two decades of radical social remolding which is still con-
tinuing. Democracy, formerly in the ascendancy, is now imder heavy
assaults; laissez faire in industry seems to be passing away, but nation-
alism is blazing up with greater heat and fury. Furthermore, several
nations conceive they have a holy world mission that will be accom-
plished only by force of arms. They are regimenting and molding the
people, beginning with the youth and reaching out hands to people in
other nations who have the same political philosophy. Before the coming
Armageddon we find the war being initiated on internal fronts.

Communism, Fascism, and even a type of militarism, compared to which
Imperial Germany was as innocuous as a New England town meeting,
are all challenging democracy. And still the Industrial Revolution goes
on spawning countless machines and causing unemployment, depressions,
recessions, and unbalanced budgets in a land of plenty. We are in a
veritable vortex. We live in an unbalanced world characterized by rapid
and sweeping changes. These changes have a marked effect on the
people, and it is from these people that armies will be drawn — those we
fight with and against. And why are we not studying these things? What
blind, groping beings we soldiers are!

To be sure, it is beyond the province of the soldier to decide which
of these political, economic, and social systems is the best. But it is strictly
within his province to study them in order to ascertain what effects they
are having on the people and what these changed people are worth in
war. For instance, it is plain to see that a people under a dictatorship
will be initially welded together and ready for war. But dictator-led
people enter war on order and think about it afterward; this is ominous.
Democracies enter war after considerable thinking and talking — even
squabbling — ^but, once in, will very likely be steady and stand up under
defeats. Since no one has investigated the matter from the military side,
these are at best but estimates, although Marshal Foch thought a republic
was the strongest in war. However, accepting them as soimd for the

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 357

nonce^ we can say that a nation under a dictatorship had better make
sure to win its war quickly, and a democracy must be. certain not to
be completely defeated in the early days of war. We might draw another
conclusion to the effect that a dictator-led nation would be wise not to
expect too much initiative or build its tactics on this quality, for initiative
does not thrive under a dictatorship; democracies, on the other hand, can
expect initiative but must guard against too much of it.

These are but a handful of the countless things that are awaiting study.
As soldiers of democracy it is our task to investigate everything affecting
the human, even going so far as to study modem trends of thought and
ideals taught in schools, for these schools are producing potential soldiers.
Years ago Charles M. Bakewell, professor of philosophy at Yale, analyzed
this vital and neglected sociomilitary problem. The irony of it all is that
we are doing nothing about it and know nothing, for example, of John
Dewey’s educational philosophy which is profoundly modifying the
product of our schools.

Not that we advocate or even desire military training in all the schools,
but we should expect an inculcation of love of country, a sense of duty,
a feeling of something bigger and better than mere self, a willingness, a
zeal to preserve the nation even if it means taking up arms. Are the
schools doing this? Who knows? Yet without such basic feeling there is
no core to the nation, and the product of the schools, no matter how
brilliant intellectually, will never make soldier material. And without
soldier material — not necessarily trained soldiers — there is no safety in
this harsh modem world.

To many it will seem that this study is the task of the high command,
but that belief is unsound. All officers should know the modem social
problems and have a modem perspective. Right now it is a lack of such
perspective that keeps our eyes riveted on the military training in higher
schools and colleges — a training that in great part becomes obsolete as
weapons, doctrines, and organizations change — ^and leaves us oblivious to
the effect that the ordinary school subjects may have on youthful minds.
Perhaps the school is training a vast mass of youngsters to receive with
alacrity the Oxford Oath (an oath never under any circumstances to take
up arms). We can say nothing about all this because we have never
investigated it.

Moreover, there is a strictly military side to this matter that any
tactician must know. For instance, one must never expect to reproduce
with modem Americans Stonewall Jackson’s tremendous marches, be-
cause the modern American is not a walker but a motor rider. Even if
we were able to harden him to make such marches, psychologically he
would resent it and fight less vigorously than Jackson’s men. Nor can
we expect any modem army to bore through wooded swamps as did
Sherman’s army in the Carolinas. Sherman led an army of frontier

358

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

fanners to whom an ax was a common tool with which they were expert.
Working in water up to their waists, they quickly felled trees, cut the
trunks into proper lengths, and promptly rolled them into place to form
corduroy roads. The speed with which these roads were constructed and
the celerity with which the army moved were amazing. “When I learned
that Sherman’s army was marching through the Salk swamps ... at
the rate of a dozen miles a day or more . . . bringing its artillery and
wagons with it, I made up my mind that there had been no such army
in existence since the days of Julius Caesar.” Thus spoke General John-
ston, Sherman’s erstwhile opponent. But the modem who tries Sherman’s
tricks will only come a cropper. We haven’t the axmen today, and it
would be a slow or impossible task to bring power tools to the center of
a semiequatorial swamp.

Yes, our modern social system produces certain military defects, and
yet we may have compensating military advantages if one only knew
what they were and how to exploit them. That is the task of the military
man studying the contemporary scene. We must know what human ma-
terial our present culture produces so that we can compare it with the
past and draw our lessons for future war. For armies fight in accordance
with their environment and not in accordance with a set of abstract
rules. As Clausewitz phrases it: “We must embrace the view that war,
and the shape it is given, rises from ideas, feelings, and conditions pre-
vailing at the given moment. . . .”

Despite this, nowhere have we given any great attention to the basic
factor of war — man — ^yet, strangely enough, we have an intensive course
of study to familiarize officers with the industrial and economic factors
of war and how to utilize them. Meanwhile, the surroundings of a
mechanical and urban civilization are making great changes in the
modem human’s reactions to certain mental stimuli and in his physical
ability. But we go calmly on believing that the lessons gleaned from the
actions of the agricultural soldier of the Civil War can be applied in toto
to the urban soldier of today.

Without investigation we think we have progressed; but have we?
Granted that there is more wealth, power, ease, luxury, lavishness;
granted that modem man has increased in height, weight, size, and sym-
metry; yet the words “wealth” and “luxury” have an ominous ring, and
a bigger body does not mean a greater heart or a finer brain. In fact,
this physical bigness may be a sign of degeneracy as Alexis Carrel, a great
scientist and a Nobel I^e winner, points out. All in all, we are faced
by a gigantic problem which we solve by ignoring it.

The democracies of the world are paying little attention to the poten-
tial soldier, not so the autocracies. They are frankly training their youth
and people for war. They are remodeling the very background of life
itself so that it will produce soldiers — ^and little else. How pernicious

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

359

this practice is needs no elucidation. A soldier civilization is a sterile one.
We want none of it. All we wish is an environment that produces a solid
core of human qualities about which we can build a soldier in time of
emergency. Nothing more. We do not wish to develop a modem Sparta.

But to accomplish this vital task we must know more than the geometry
of war now so assiduously studied. We must investigate, delve, study, and
advise with civilian historical, economic, and educational experts. The
task is only half military, and we are not doing our part. Truly, the mili-
tary historian has a long and strange road to travel before he can be
rated competent on his subject of prime importance.

The hour has struck for the military historian to turn his myopic eyes
from the study of the geometric form of ancient wars. He must con-
template entire peoples and civilizations as a prelude to an exhaustive
analysis of the peoples and cultures of today. In this must be included a
study of the trends of development, particularly in the field of thought.
Nothing is more explosive than an idea, and to understand a people one
must understand its ideology which essentially is far more important than
its armament. Our historian must recognize that the Industrial Revolution
is still going on, creating rapid and revolutionary changes — changes
which are of vital importance, since the war we fight will be tomorrow,
not today. And nothing is surer than that tomorrow’s men and materials
will differ from those of today.

Furthermore, he must fully realize that his wars will be fought by
humans — conditioned by the age — and not by robot soldiers. Conse-
quently he must understand that it is exceedingly risky to generalize
from old battles without knowing what sort of mental processing the
old-time soldier received during his lifetime.

The historian must put aside his puttering with archaic jigsaw battle
puzzles and raise his eyes to the broad horizon, the interminable ages of
history, the flux of nations, the flow of life, the rise and fall of institu-
tions, the mass molding of humans by social institutions, industry, reli-
gion, and folkways; the processing for war — all the great broad sweep
of human activity. Only then will he become a real historical craftsman
who will receive a respectful hearing from the masters in the craft.

In short, what military history needs is not more study of battles, but
more study of the peoples who fight them.

360

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

WHY NOT SOON?

By Historicus
{193^)

It will be twenty years come November that the Heinies threw in
the sponge, and yet the history of our own participation in the war, which
had so much to do with the final result, is still far from being written.
Not only is there no prospect in the discernible future that the official
records will be generally available, but even some of the most vital
experiences of the American Army live, if at all, a vicarious existence as
glorified latrine rumors.

No educated soldier, certainly, will underestimate the importance of
the leadership factor as applied to the command of large units, and
surely a complete understanding of the relief, replacement, or retention
of superior commanders is essential to a complete study of military his-
tory. So far as the World War is concerned, that material is available
for every army but our own. We know the shortcomings of Von Moltke,
why he was superseded by Falkenhayn, and why the latter in turn gave
way to Hindenburg and Ludendorff. We know about the exit of Smith-
Dorrien, and Sir John French’s kick upstairs. We are tolerably informed
on Haig’s strong points and weak and on the characteristics of the several
chiefs of staff of the BEF. We know the story of Joffre and of the bloody
tragedy that was Nivelle; we know about Pctain and the ups and downs
that marked Foch’s fortunes. Close students are familiar with the changes
in army and even corps commanders. But — where is there any reliable
source for ascertaining the reasons for the changes in the American high
command?

It is not a matter of morbid curiosity or of a heartless prying into some
person’s misfortune. The question is the vital one of learning from the
past. If the AEF’s personnel standard was, as many believe, one strike
is out, then that policy should be examined in the light of individual
instances. Was it too rigorous, so that it adversely affected morale? Or
did it have the desired effect of making all ranks toe the mark? Blois
needs more study than it can receive in the postprandial reminiscences
of the AEF alumni, because — ^well, someday there will be another Blois,
and officers now living should have available for their guidance the les-
sons to be drawn from the last set of reclassifications.

And in discussing the higher commanders we shall have to name
names, just as in previous wars. McClellan was discussed up and down
the country after his several removals. Committees of Congress were in-

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 361

quiring of Meade in the fall of 1863 why he did not pursue after Gettys-
burg. The successive commanders of the Army of the Cumberland were
allowed no refuge in anonymity, and the Civil War was not long over
before the projected relief of Thomas by Logan was argued at length.
The cases of Fitz-John Porter and of G. K. Warren were fully chewed
over long before the respective courts of inquiry sat. In the Spanish
War the Sampson-Schley controversy was public property, and in all the
instances mentioned the arguments and discussions, painful though they
were to the individuals most closely concerned, have furnished useful
lessons for the future, guides to how to do it and, equally important,
guides to how not to do it.

But the American World War operations are still shrouded with the
same anonymity which resulted in the familiar censor’s slip that gave
the Marines a disproportionate share of the glory. Half the country
even today does not know that the 2d Division had an army brigade.
And hardly anyone knows why General Summerall relieved General
Cameron in the command of the V Corps, or why General Buck lost
the 3d Division, or General McMahon the 5th, or the real reason why
General Edwards was relieved from command of the 26th. Only recently
has there been any authentic suggestion in print of how and why General
Sibert was supplanted by General Bullard at the head of the ist Division.
The bare facts of supersession are not disputed; the “Order of Battle’*
has been available for some time.

The students of the last war — the leaders in the next — ^are entitled to
know the circumstances, must know them as a part of their professional
education. Whatever personal feeling now remains must surely have been
dulled in twenty years’ time, and a “blooied” general ignorant of the
causes of his relief can hardly claim a vested right in the permanent
suppression of those reasons. At any rate, the personal interests involved
must yield to the national necessities of the situation, and no good reason
is perceived why these matters must any longer be characterized by the
embarrassed and furtive circumlocutions with which maiden ladies treat
of the clinical pages in picture magazines.

Twenty years should be a long enough statute of limitations for a sacred
cow; after that time the beast is merely sentimental bull.

MONGOL METHODS OF WAR

By Harold Lamb

Mr. Lamb’s Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, March of the Barbarians, and
other books dealing with the rise of Asian conquerors in the Middle Ages
have had wide circulation among Army men as well as among the general

362 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

reading public. In “Mongol Methods of War,” which appeared in 1940
right after the blitzkrieg, the parallel between the early conquering armies
from Asia and the drive of the Axis forces of conquest from mid-Europe
is clearly drawn.

I. The German Imitation

In the last few months the nations of Norway, Holland, Belgium,
and France have been stunned by the hammerblows of the Third Reich.
And now, after these examples, the pattern of this new quick war is be-
coming clear.

But the Reich’s design for war is not new. It was followed by the
Mongols seven hundred years ago. Exactly seven hundred years ago this
autumn the Mongol attack upon the civilized nations of the world,
initiated by Genghis Khan, reached its high-water mark in the west. It
penetrated the line of Poland- Vienna-the-Adriatic after conquering all
that lay behind it in Europe and Asia.

This writer has before him a letter from a cardinal of the Vatican
saying, “It is 1235 over again. . . . The nations will be destroyed one
by one.” The Mongol attack on Europe was first planned in 1235; His
Eminence had made a study of the Mongols.

What was this Asiatic method of attack? How, when it was put into
effect by barbarian horsemen from the isolated region of the Gobi Desert,
did it succeed at every point against the greater powers of civilized
peoples?

It was a method of annihilating the resistance in a nation to be con-
quered. A total war, terrible beyond belief to those faced by it. It was
a series of operations designed to crush morale and man power. It had
little to do with the conventional warfare of professional armies. In fact,
it broke most of the canons of European military tradition. Call it war
to the uttermost — deliberately planned destruction carried out, often,
at incredible speed. In other words, the prototype of the blitzkrieg.

The deadly thing about the Mongol method was that it always accom-
plished its purpose. Napoleon once said, “I was not so lucky as Genghis
Khan.” But luck played a small part, if any, in the continuous victories
of the Mongols. For thirty-nine years the Mongol attack suffered no
real check. For a century the Mongol Drang nach Osten (and West)
conquered and held in its military rule the greater part of the known
world.

For a long time, because even historians were superstitious in the
past, this feat was explained away as a manifestation of supernatural
force. Only in these last two generations have we known enough about
the Mongol method to examine it.

The Germans were the first to analyze the Mongol campaigns from a

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 36 ^

military point of view. An early account was published in 1865, followed
by a study of the Mongol attack upon Poland^ Silesia, Bohemia, and
Moravia. While the military brains of the Hohenzollem Reich (the
Bernhardi-Moltke-Schlieffen group) developed the doctrine that a nation
by hardening itself to war can make its own destiny and enforce its
political will on weaker neighbors, these technical studies of Mongol
military achievements were in the hands of German readers.

No such study seems to have been made by British or French until
several years after the 1914-18 war. The great majority of Americans
knew even less about the methods of Genghis Khan. Our interest lay
more in the mysteries of the archaeology and folklore of Central Asia.
But these last months have shown us — in spite of our disinclination to
believe it — that the military brains of the German Reich have developed
a plan of attack that works along the same line as the Mongol. And it
may be enlightening, now, to have a rough outline of the Mongol method
before us.

There was nothing supernatural about it. Nor did it depend on pres-
sure of superior numbers, as was believed for a time. Usually the Mongols
were inferior in man power; during the first and last attack upon China
they were outnumbered in startling proportion. Their rapid maneuvering
simply multiplied their force in the eyes of the enemy.

Nor were their victories due to the legendary skill of Genghis Khan
alone. He was a genius but also a savage who did not know the use of
writing. He happened to be the one Mongol who broke, as it were, into
the front page of history.

As a soldier Genghis Khan had two weaknesses: an ungovernable
temper, which he held in iron restraint, and a latent savagery which
drove him at times into a fury of destruction. But his dominant person-
ality gave the barbarians of the Gobi a leader. “I shall raise this genera-
tion of those who dwell in felt tents above the other peoples of the
world,” he said. He instilled in them the conviction that they could
accomplish the seemingly impossible.

The great field commanders — Mukhuli, who crushed North China;
Batu, conqueror of Russia; Subotai, who made fools of the £urop>ean
generals and kings; and Bayan, who broke the power of the Sung empire
in southern China — were at least the equals of Genghis Khan as
strategists.

The Mongols as a whole were gifted in one way. They had the natural
aptitude of horse nomads for maneuvering. Generations of hunting wild
beasts over vast areas — and of tribal warfare — ^had accustomed them to
tracking down, rounding up, and killing men and beasts without waste
effort. Their natural tactics were the swift maneuvering of the steppes.
And they learned many secrets of war from their enemies, the Chinese,
who were masters of the art of strategy two thousand years before Von

364

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Moltke was bom. The Mongols were close students of such efficiency. In
their world attack they commandeered Chinese engineers, bridgebuilders,
artillerists — ^along with gunpowder, still unknown in Eim>pe — ^and all
the Chinese scientists they could prevail on to serve them.

The Plan of Attack

The Mongol method of attack was to destroy resistance before it could
be organized. There were five preparatory steps to this:

(1) Complete espionage (modem intelligence).

(2) Intimidation of the enemy.

(3) Sabotage of enemy’s strength.

(4) Deception, as to the nature of the attack.

(5) Surprise, as to the time of the attack.

The Mongols never worked out their plan of operation until they had
a clear picture of the enemy’s territory, armament, routes of communica-
tion, and probable place of mobilization, while managing to keep their
own preparations pretty well hidden. They made a practice of doing this
before each campaign, without tmsting — as they might have been ex-
pected to do— in the power of their own offensive. Sun-Tzu, author of
the first known treatise on the art of war (490 b.g.), points out that
commanders who expect to conquer must have “foreknowledge” and
that this must be had from information given by spies and cannot be
gained by deduction or by any past experience.

Better for the French commanders in the Franco-Prussian affair if
they had obtained more of a picture of the Prussian military machine
they faced and had forgotten their experience of the Napoleonic Wars.
If the British Army on the Western Front from 1914-18 had not been
at first under the control of elderly cavalry commanders steeped in the
traditions of the Boer War, it might have been spared years of murderous
blimdering. And the events of May-Jime 1940 seem to indicate that too
many commanders remembered only too well the days of 1914-18.

While the Mongol intelligence made its reports the war council
planned the coming campaign to its end. The council, or kuriltai, was
made up of the veteran commanders, and the princes of the house of
Genghis Khan. They designed the coming attack — ^for the Mongol
method of war was always to attack. They managed to avoid being put
on the defensive, by expedients that will be explained.

This rehearsal of operations took time. The Mongols, like the Chinese
of that day, believed that a mistake in planning would be more dangerous
than an error in execution.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

365

iNTIMroATION OF AN EnEMY

A summons to submit would be sent to the doomed nation. More of
a warning than a summons. The people to be attacked would be re-
minded of the disasters that resulted to other people in their attempts,
to resist. A Mongol peace would be offered on these terms: demolition
of the nation’s defensive walls, payment of a yearly tax, admission of
Mongol armies into the country, and a small levy of fighting men to serve
with the Mongols.

Unless the terms were accepted and reigning authorities were sent to
make submission in person to Mongol headquarters, the Mongols would
not be responsible for consequences. “That will happen which will hap-
pen, and what it is to be we know not. Only God knows.”

Even if the doomed nation submitted, the attack would be carried out
deliberately, just as planned. It would be quicker and more effective,
because the enemy had hoped for peace. Rarely did the invaders from
the Gobi respect an agreement with an enemy. Treachery was a most
useful weapon, and the methodical Mongols saw no reason not to use
such a weapon in war.

Their purpose in war was not to win battles but to destroy the power
of resistance of the enemy.

Moral issues have no place in the total war. A Chinese commentator
wrote of such a war: “Why do scholars prate their stale formulas of
‘virtue’ and ‘civilization,’ condemning the use of military weapons? They
will bring our country to impotence.”

Deception as a Screen

The strategy of the campaign decided on, the Mongols tried to mask
their purpose. The routes of attack through the doomed country would
be surveyed. Grazing lands were set aside along the lines of march as
far as the frontier; heavy supplies were moved ahead by slow transport
to await the attacking forces.

A harmless-looking caravan escorted by riders across the frontier
might have weapons and equipment concealed in its bales — the riders
might be Mongol troopers, the owners of the weapons.

In fact, in moving slowly toward the frontier the Mongol tumans,
or attack divisions, usually carried no arms. Their weapons waited for
them at arsenals along the road. It was impossible to judge, from the
casual movement of these bodies of horsemen, which direction their
attack would take. At times a whole Mongol army would wheel through
an adjacent, neutral area.

Spies sent out by the Mongols and captured within the doomed area

366 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

would give, under torture, false information. The net result was that
the defenders of the menaced country would be in the dark as to whether
the Mongols would attack or where they would first appear. Meanwhile,
across their frontier, the Mongol political agents would be sapping their
powers of resistance without seeming to do so.

In their blitzkrieg against the Russian principalities, 1237-38, the
Mongol armies spent two years in preparation and in working their
way across mid-Asia. The attack itself destroyed most of the central
Russian cities, the centers of resistance, in some three months — and in
midwinter! The Russians had not believed that large armies could move
in the cold and snow of those months.

The Sabotage Preparation

The Mongols lacked the modem facilities for sabotage within an enemy
area. They were not sophisticated enough to try to spread a defeatist
propaganda. But they tried to create confusion or civil war, if possible.

Ingeniously, in their invasion of the great Sung empire, they broadcast
the report of the double-dealing and profiteering of the Sung minister
who was head of the defense measures. As it happened, these reports
were fact.

They were apt to buy the allegiance of a brilliant commander on the
opposing side or to win over rebels. Even a man who had fought against
them to the end they would try to coax into their service.

When Subotai struck at Middle Europe, 11240--41, he chose a year
when that part of Europe was divided — the German Empire being then
locked in internecine war with the papal powers. And the Mongols, in
preparing that blow, contrived to divide the enemies immediately in
front of them. As it happened, some strong tribes of Kipchak Turks had
taken refuge in Hungary to make a stand against the dreaded Mongols.
By a cunningly contrived letter addressed to the Hungarian court, but
written in a script that only the Turks could read, the Mongols managed
to breed suspicion between the two. The result was that the Turks and
Hungarians were fighting like dogs and wolves when the Mongols ap-
peared on the scene.

As with today’s German strategy, the methodical Mongols secured a
decisive advantage before their first patrols crossed the frontier. Political
operations had smoothed the way for the military attack.

And it came with the stunning force of surprise. Columns of war-
hardened horsemen swept into the doomed area at terrific pace. They
crossed wide rivers without a check, worked their way through ill-
defended mountain passes, sometimes covering eighty miles in a day.

They were maneuvering according to a definite plan, often keeping
to a ^ed timetable, before the defenders realized the power of the

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 367

attack. Such a lightning thrust got through the Chinese Maginot Line,
the Great Wall, in a few hours. The Mongols had discovered that the
way to penetrate such a fortification was to win over the commander of
one point and to take it by surprise. They were also aware that, once
penetrated, the rest of the line served no more purpose than a monu-
ment of masonry and stone.

The audacity of their attack was apt to stun defending officers. A
Mongol ming-khan^ or commander of a hundred, might appear suddenly
in a district and force its surrrender because the defensive force had no
means of knowing how many thousands might or might not be at the
heels of the hundred.

But this was a calculated audacity. The Mongol columns were self-
contained ; they carried iron rations — they could supply themselves ofT the
enemy country. It did no particular damage if their commimications
were cut, because they had no reserves behind them.

They had discovered, too, that safety lay in this speed of movement.
By their greater mobility they could maintain the pressure of attack on
the enemy. The columns, moving almost with the pace of German tanks
and motorized columns of today, could scatter small defensive formations.
And they could unite at equal speed against a main army. Lacking the
radios of today, they kept up communication between the tumans by a
combination of signals and mounted couriers. Their yam, or pony
express, was capable of covering two hundred miles in a day.

Such maneuvering could not be attempted by new recruits. The Mon-
gols were products of their steppes, hardened to fatigue. They were
trained to a lifetime of war and aided by organization complete even to
small articles of equipment.

Their nomad clans had been mobilized as a whole for war. Men from
seventeen to sixty served, according to their qualifications, in the fighting
ranks, in the transport, or by guarding the herds that provided most of
their food. Their women, the old men, and youngsters cared for the
home encampments.

Individual Mongols were equipped for speed and striking force — ^not
for defense. Loose leather and felt capes protected them against the
weather. Their helmets of light metal or lacquered leather had a leather
drop to protect the neck. Few of the regiments had armor — ^and those
only to protect the front of the body.

Their saddle kits were small and complete to ropes and a leather sack
for iron rations of dried meat and milk curds. The swords were shaped
like the modern cavalry saber — the lances light and serviceable.

But their effective weapon was the bow. Each rider carried two of
the double-curved Turkish bows, strengthened by horn — one for handling
from the saddle, the other for long-range firing on foot. Arrows were
carried in two cases, one with tempered-steel points for piercing armor,

368

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

the other for longer range. The rider could draw the bow from its case
at his hip with his left hand and an arrow with his right and fire swiftly,
without checking his horse.

The Mongol bows had power to outrange most European weapons.
And their rapidity of fire took other armies by surprise. “They kill men
and horses,” a European spectator observed sadly, “and only when the
men and horses are crippled do they advance to attack.”

So careful were the Mongols to use this “fire” preparation that their
divisions had machines dismounted and carried on pack animals — ^stone
and javelin casters and flame throwers. They even used smoke screens
and attacked behind burning grass. They, avoided hand-to-hand fighting
except as a last resource.

Since a Mongol army kept its formation for a lifetime, the various
units were so trained in battle drill that their maneuvering was carried
out according to a plan given in advance — ^without orders shouted during
action. They had signals to use at need, whistling arrows and colored
lanterns raised or lowered at night. “Silent and inflexible,” another eye-
witness relates, “and swift beyond belief, they moved as if at the com-
mand of one man.”

This mechanical perfection in action came from two causes: the Mon-
gol forces were all one arm and, like a motorized division today, they
could all maintain the same pace. Also, the men in the ranks had spent
a lifetime with their officers. Usually a regiment was made up of men
from the same clan. (The Mongols used the decimal system of units —
ten in a squad, ranging up to the tuman, the division of ten thousand.)

Like the men, the officers had in the highest degree the “intellectual
discipline” demanded of soldiers by Marshal Foch. Youngsters served in
the keshiky or elite division, which was always kept by Genghis Khan
or his successors. They learned their lessons on the march or in campaign
conditions.

Such officers were carefully weeded out. Physical bravery and endur-
ance were taken for granted. They were trained to be cautious. Those
who seemed to be foolhardy as well as brave were transferred to the
transport service. Those showing traces of stupidity went lower down.
The glory-hunting type was not wanted.

Of one officer who seemed to have every qualification, Genghis Khan
said: “No man is more valiant than Yessutai; no one has rarer gifts.
But as the longest marches do not tire him, as he feels neither hunger
nor thirst, he believes that his officers and soldiers do not suffer from
such things. That is why he is not fitted for high command. A general
should think of hunger and thirst so he may understand the suffering
of those imder him, and he should husband the strength of his men and
beasts.”

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

369

Mission of Officers

The leader of the first squad in a company took command of the com-
pany if its officer was killed. And so with a regiment. Ability was the
only demarcation between troopers and officers. Officers were promoted
by ability alone. Seniority, the curse of the professional army, cut no
ice. At the age of twenty-five Subotai commanded a division.

The men had confidence in their officers, knowing them intimately,
well aware that if an officer was not fit to lead he would not hold his
rank long. This confidence was increased by enforcing a rule that will
be appreciated by all servicemen. It was the first requirement of an
officer not to risk the lives of his men. A loss of Mongol life was the
unforgivable sin in the army.

Months after a battle which came near to deciding the fate of Europe,
Batu Khan reproached his staff general, who happened to be Subotai,
because Subotai, delayed in building a bridge over a river, had been late
in supporting him. “You were the cause of my losing Bahatur [an officer]
and twenty-three men,” Batu complained.

Their armies were welded together by an inflexible discipline. For this
the driving personality of Genghis Khan was responsible. He made death
the punishment for failure of the members of a squad to carry off a
wounded squad mate, and death was also the penalty for failure of a
rear-rank rider to pick up an article dropped by a front-rank man. Before
going into action the officers were required to inspect personally the
full kit of every man under their command, to be certain that nothing
was lacking.

There was even a lost-and-found department in each division, to keep
track of missing equipment. This meticulous care of details gave the
Mongols an advantage in equipment over the armies they faced. (The
new German Army, rebuilt after Versailles by Von Seeckt, had this
characteristic.) A lacquer coating of equipment protected it from damp-
ness. A detail — ^yet one that made it possible for the Mongols to use their
bows in the rain. The tempering of arrowheads gave them the advantage
of steel over the iron used by Europeans. The extra ropes carried by the
riders of the ordus could be attached to wagon transport and war ma-
chines to drag them up grades and over heavy going.

With such highly trained mobile coliunns operating under iron disci-
pline, the Mongols were able to take risks. It was part of their strategy
to take such risks at the start of a campaign in order to avoid being
drawn into a major battle. Their object was to stun resistance by sur-
prise and then to destroy the opposing man power during this second
phase of a war.

They had three methods of doing this, decisive in their effect: by a

370 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

paralysis of terror; by the immediate destruction of the enemy govern-
ment so the invaded region would be without control; and by out-
maneuvering the armed forces, so that they could be scattered and then
liquidated at leisure.

So the first aim of the invading Mongol columns was to create anarchy
in front of them. It was no ordinary war but a destruction of all power
to resist.

Take the campaign of 1219 that broke the resistance of the Khwarez-
mian Tmks. This particular Turkish empire was strong in man power
and fortified cities. It had the warlike spirit of Moslems defending them-
selves against an attack by pagans. Its forces under arms outnumbered
the Mongols three to two.

The Turkish armies were extended along the line of a wide river, the
Syr, facing north. A chain of walled towns strengthened this defensive
line. Behind it lay the large cities of Bokhara and Samarkand. Behind
these, Turkish reserve contingents were assembling slowly. All Turkish
units were facing the northwest, where the Mongol armies were emerg-
ing slowly from the moimtain ranges of mid-Asia. Three Mongol columns
moved into the open, storming isolated towns at either end of the
Turkish line.

Once such a town was entered, the inhabitants were led out and
divided into three groups — the boys and young girls sent back into
Asia as slaves; the trained artisans spared to form a labor battalion to aid
the Mongols in the next siege. All other living beings were tied up and
killed methodically.

This slaughter stunned the inhabitants of the first defense zone. But
the three armies operating along the Syr were serving to mask the fourth
and strongest, under the direct command of Genghis Khan and Subotai.
This fourth column slipped around the left of the Turkish defenses,
crossing the Syr without being observed. And then it vanished. Genghis
Khan led it straight to the south for nearly two hundred miles across
the Red Sands Desert. And it emerged at headlong pace before the
walls of Bokhara far in the rear of the Turkish armies.

Then began the rapid maneuver of the Mongol blitzkrieg. The garri-
son of Bokhara, trying to sally out, was annihilated. The surviving
inhabitants were driven in a mass toward Samarkand to serve as a human
shield for the main Mongol army. The regular Turkish armies were
thrown into confusion by the attack from the rear and began to retreat
separately. The swift-moving Mongol columns concentrated, to scatter
them one at a time.

And simultaneously two picked Mongol divisions — about twenty thou-
sand riders — ^were told off to isolate and destroy the government (in this
case the Khwarezmian Shah, his ministers and court) . This flying column
located the Shah’s court and attacked it suddenly. It retreated farther

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

371

south away from the remnants of the Turkish armies toward Balkh. The
two divisions picked up its trail and drove it into headlong flight. When
the Shah fled from Balkh with his treasure^ his immediate family^ and a
few nobles, his government ceased to function. Thereafter he was never
allowed to gain touch with his fighting forces, and he was hunted into
the waters of the Caspian where he died almost alone, haunted by fear
of the inexorable horsemen who tracked him down.

Without any central authority to lead them, individual Turkish com-
manders made brave stands here and there. But the paralysis of growing
fear numbed resistance. New recruits did not know where to assemble.
Citadels remote from the area of conflict found themselves attacked
before they could mobilize a defense. There was no longer a front. In
five or six weeks the resistance of a powerful empire had been broken
completely. Turkish remnants became isolated, uncertain what was hap-
pening ten miles away, under the pall of terror. Bands of fugitives fled
like animals from the main roads where the Mongol regiments galloped.

“The living,” a chronicler relates, “envied those who were already
dead.”

Herds of captives were driven to the task of tearing down the walls
of cities. Then they were killed, their bodies left to fester in the ruins.
Detachments of Mongols hid in the ruins and put to death survivors who
came back to the sites of their homes. The organized life of the country
was ripped open like a melon. The only law enforced was Mongol mili-
tary necessity. It became a crime to resist a Mongol order.

Since the horse herds had been commandeered and the roads occupied
by the invaders, the surviving Turks were without means of ordinary
communication. Administration was taken over by the Mongol darugashis
or roadmasters. Turkish routine had fallen into anarchy; it was replaced
by the harsh military rule of the conquerors.

But the breakdown of resistance had been brought about in the first
place by the almost incredible wheel of the column under Genghis Khan
across the desert to the rear of the Turkish armies.

Surprise as a Weapon

The Mongols managed to destroy the strong Kin empire in middle
China by brilliant stratagem. The Kin were a warlike nation protected
by mountain ranges in the north and west and a chain of fortresses facing
the Mongols in these two directions. The Mongols made no attempt at
first to force these frontiers.

Instead, a small army of three divisions was sent down past Tibet,
through almost impassable country, to emerge in the south, in the rear
of the Kin forces. Tului, a son of Genghis Khan, asked Subotai how he
was to meet the Kin armies when he approached them.

372 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

*‘They are town-bred people,” Subotai advised him, “arid they cannot
endure hardships. Harry them enough, and you can defeat them in
battle.”

When some of the Kin forces about-faced, to meet Tului’s column
at their rear, the Mongol retreated before them, drawing them up into
the mountain region that had already taken toll of his veteran regiments.
Cold and hunger in this region nearly exhausted the heavily armed Kin
forces.

And when the Mongols counterattacked in the hills they had little
trouble driving the Kin covering force back to the plains. Meanwhile,
Subotai with the main force of Mongols had rushed the northern fron-
tier — getting through before the Kin garrisons could flood the lowlands
along the Hwang-ho. The Kin armies were caught, disorganized by the
pincer thrusts, between Tului’s flying column and Subotai’s main body,
in the plains where the Mongols easily surrounded them.

Not until they were so caught did the Mongols engage in a major
battle and annihilate the armies of defense. To gain this strategic ad-
vantage they had sacrificed the greater part of Tului’s three divisions,
but they had escaped serious loss to their main army.

In so doing they had obeyed to the letter the advice of Sun-Tzu: “In
war the successful strategist only seeks battle after the victory has been
won, whereas he who is destined to defeat first fights and afterwards
looks for victory.”

Subotai Tricks Nan-kino

The Mongols were capable of winning a campaign by deception at
the end, instead of the beginning — a much more difficult feat. Subotai
tried to surprise the strong walled city of Nan-king with his siege army.
For six days he made attempts at diflTerent points to force a way through
the defenses. When he failed he broke off the action, to avoid wasting
the lives of his men. He built a blockade wall, fifty-four miles long,
around the fortified area defended by the resolute Chinese. Nan-king
was said to have a population of four million.

The blockade reduced the Chinese to near starvation. Epidemics broke
out in the city, but it did not surrender. Then Subotai let it be known
that he might be bribed. The Chinese sent out an enormous sum to him,
to buy his withdrawal.

And Subotai did retire, abandoning his blockade line. Beyond the
observation of the Chinese he rested his men, out of danger from the
epidemic. When the Chinese were convinced that Nan-king had been
spared the Mongols reappeared suddenly. Taken by surprise, the Chinese
resistance collapsed.

Their will to resist had been strong enough to hold off the Mongol
attack and to endure hunger. But it did not survive the letdown, when

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 373

they believed the siege to be over. The Mongols gained Nan-king at the
price of a small casualty list. By treachery! Certainly. That is one of the
most useful weapons of the total war.

How different were the tactics of Falkenhayn and the German Crown
Prince who staged the attack on Verdun in 1916, to create a mincing
machine of gurtillery fire by which the resistance of the French would be
broken. The Verdun charnel house sapped the resistance of the Germans
as well as the French, and it was not broken off when it failed to
accomplish the strategic aim that inspired it.

Neither Falkenhayn nor the Crown Prince could have agreed with
Sun-Tzu, who said more than two thousand years ago: “You can begin
a battle by direct methods, but indirect methods are needed to secure
victory.”

The commanders of the Third Reich, today, have learned this lesson.

Bayan’s Peace Offensive

Perhaps the most extraordinary deception worked by the Mongols was
to camouflage at least one great war as a peace offensive. The staff gen-
eral Bayan and Kubilai Khan worked it out together to break the
resistance of the mighty Sung empire. The territory of the Sung, south
of the Yang-tse, had not been invaded for centuries. Its immense popula-
tion was high-spirited but accustomed only to an economy of peace.

The Mongol armies of invasion faced a potential man power thirty
to forty times as great as their own. They might have been expected
to experiment with a blitzkrieg. Instead — probably aware of the size and
strength of the cities confronting them — they did the exact opposite.

Their strategy was to avoid rousing up such human masses against
them. Bayan’s armies moved south at an oxen’s pace. Their expedition
became a series of summer encampments. At times they displayed ban-
ners with the slogan, “It is forbidden to take human life.”

Their flanking detachments distributed farming tools and seed to the
peasants of the countryside. They issued food to the villages. Where
Bayan came upon an epidemic he sent physicians from the Mongol divi-
sions to check the disease.

When he was forced to give battle or to take a city by siege, he buried
his enemies with honors and himself prayed publicly at the graves of the
most daring of the Sung commanders. Meanwhile, the peace propaganda
penetrated in advance of his armies. In regions where the Sung leaders
were trying to rouse the common people to resist, Bayan would be apt
to send ofiicers to make a distribution of coins. He was gambling on the
stubborn inclination of the southern Chinese toward peace. His propa-
ganda emphasized that the Sung commanders were getting the agricul-
tural regions into trouble, while the Mongols were aiding the economy

374

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

of peace. It was a foolish business for the Sung people to leave their
shops and fields to join the ranks of an army where soon or late they
would be killed, in spite of the desire of the Mongols to protect their
lives.

Naturally, the strategy of this bloodless war — or a war planned to
be bloodless — ^required iron discipline in the ranks of the Mongols. The
story is told of a soldier who helped himself to some onions from a field
and was dismissed from the army. And it required the endless patience
of a — Mongol.

But it sabotaged the military strength of the Sung. The Sung nobility,
trying to promote a death-or-glory resistance, became very unpopular
with the field workers. The strength of Bayan’s strategy lay in the demon-
strated fact that he had made resistance futile and unprofitable. After
nine years the reigning city of the Sung surrendered without conflict.
Bayan accomplished what had not been done in the centuries before his
time, or since — the subjection of the whole of China to an invader.

This form of peace offensive, supported by propaganda, was tried
rather clumsily by the Red Army in Poland during September 1939 and
again in the invasion of Finland. The camouflage fell away from it in a
few hoiurs. The real purpose of the Red Army in each case was to occupy
a foreign area as rapidly as possible by force. Propaganda that the Red
advance was to protect inhabitants of the area against capitalistic control
proved to be meaningless — a transparent screen of words flung in front
of the advancing tanks.

In the same way the peace propaganda that camouflaged the German
push into Norway broke down within a few hours. The Germans might
explain that they had appeared to take over the Norwegian ports to safe-
guard them from an attack by the British, but their actions made clear
at once that this was a military invasion. A Trojan horse ceases to be
useful when armed men are seen climbing out of it. The Germans took
the ports, but they were involved in military actioa with the Norwegians
within twenty-four hours.

War without Battles

By the Mongol method of warfare their armies of invasion entered an
enemy country with a decisive advantage already won. To put it broadly,
the war was half won by the time military operations began.

With this advantage, the second phaise of the war — the maneuvering
of the attack columns — ^was certain to be successful unless something
unforeseen occurred. By deception and surprise the Mongol attack col-
umns had “got there first.” They were already following a carefully pre-
pared plan and moving*at a speed the enemy could not match. They had

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS ^ 375

gained, as it were, full momentum. It was their strategy not to “git thar
fustest with the mostest men,” but to get there first with the best men.

This momentum often proved decisive. In 1914 the momentum of the
wheel of the right flank of the German armies — after deception and
surprise — through the static Belgians and the scattered British and French
divisions almost won Paris and the Channel ports. Which, in that case,
might have meant the war.

In 1939 the momentum of the four German attack armies (each with a
spearhead of motorized units) closing in on Warsaw broke through the
resistance of the half-organized Polish armies immobilized by the bom-
bardment from the air during the first three days. At least two of the
four German armies were able to penetrate to Warsaw without a major
battle. The resistance of the mixed Polish forces caught around Warsaw
was hopeless, as we know now. It was ended by artillery fire and bomb-
ing from the air without serious loss to the German commands.

The Mongols were more successful in avoiding ranged battles. Their
strategy kept enemy forces in movement, either forward or back. They
knew by experience that a courageous and unbroken civilized army would
almost always advance against them, and a broken army would seek
safety in flight away from them. So their maneuvering during the third
phase of a war — following the preparation and penetration — was in-
tended to prevent a decisive battle. They did everything possible to keep
enemy forces from gathering in strength to make a stand on favorable
ground.

Napoleon, the greatest of the European opportunists, rarely accom-
plished or tried to accomplish this almost impossible feat. He relied
upon the pressure of the “strongest battalions” to break the enemy re-
sistance in battle, and upon victory in battle to win a war. But this
procedure, from Austerlitz to Eylau and to Borodino, ended in Waterloo.
His “strongest battalions” had become ineffective through wastage in
lives.

We find no such glittering chain of battles in the campaigns of
Genghis Khan. The Asiatic conqueror was too chary of the lives of his
Mongols. By avoiding an Austerlitz he never knew a Waterloo. Subotai is
said by tradition to have won thirty-two wars and sixty-five battles. If
this be true, the conqueror of Europe needed an average of less than two
engagements to a campaign.

Sun-Tzu, writing in the dawn of history, reminds us: “That com-
mander is most successful who achieves victory without being drawn into
battle.”

A theoretical axiom? The Mongols practiced it. Their strategy avoided
a massed battle in three ways: (i) By infiltration (that is, by moving
past a strongly defended point like a fortress without attacking it, in
order to break resistance behind it); (2) by flank attack (that is, by

376 * THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

refusing to make a frontal advance against a stationary enemy and by
forcing him to move by wheeling around him) ; (3) by counterattack.

These three movements can be carried out today only by highly trained
and mobile units. Like the Mongols, the armies of the Third Iteich have
mastered the first and third particularly. Their tactical expedient in
attack is to find weakness and slip past strong points, which are left to
special units to reduce later. Their defense system is the well-known
elastic type, by which a frontal position is held by small detachments,
while the stronger forces are held back of the first line in readiness to
counterattack.

These now-well-known tactics the Mongols employed in the larger scale
of strategy. That is, in the massed movements of their divisions over the
entire area of the conflict. If the infiltration attack failed to demolish
the enemy resistance the Mongols would be apt to feign a general retreat,
to draw the enemy out in pursuit before attacking again unexpectedly
from the flanks.

Such a maneuver broke the first two Russian armies at the River
Khalka in 1222. Subotai used it to demolish the main army of the Euro-
pean campaign of 1240. And by it he managed to avoid a pitched battle.

Battle without Loss

In March of the year 1241 the main resistance of the Europeans was
gathering around the city of Buda on the wide Danube. It was gathering
in the way usual to courageous but little-trained citizen soldiery. Armed
men were collecting in the outlying country and marching in under their
leaders to Buda, the concentration point, there to find out how they were
to fight and where.

In the Buda castle their higher command — the Hungarian king,
bishops, nobles, commanders of Templars — ^were discussing what meas-
ures they might take if the Mongols should appear on their side of the
Carpathian Mountains. These Christian soldiers were accustomed to
marching out against an enemy and fighting hand to hand — ^for the most
part on foot They felt confident enough because they knew only that
the still-invisible Mongols were barbaric pagans, and an armed and
armored Christian host could easily win a victory over pagans. These
allies — ^Hungarians, Croats, Austrians, French Templars, and others —
were good soldiers by the European standards of the day and determined
to come to battle. They knew nothing, in reality, about the movements of
the Mongols.

While the Allied Council debated the Mongols were already in full
momentum, four attack columns driving through and around the Car-
pathians, sweeping over weak resistance and uniting against stronger
forces, destroying elsewhere the Slavs, Poles, Silesians, and Transylvanian

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 377

Germans who stood against them. The Mongols were using their favorite
pincers attack, overrunning the points of mobilization before closing the
pincers on the main resistance at Buda. The rendezvous of their flying
columns was the Danube at Buda. The date, March 17.

The first news the Allied Council had of the war was the sudden
appearance of an officer of the frontier guard to report that the Mongols
were through the mountain passes nearly two hundred miles away. He ,
reached Buda March 15. The next day the Mongol advance units ap-
peared at his heels along the river.

The Allied army, under leadership of the Hungarian king, was taken
by surprise but not thrown into confusion. It did not scatter or make
a hasty attack across the river. The Mongols had no means of crossing
the Danube.

After two weeks or so the Allied army, now some one hundred thou-
sand strong, crossed the river to give battle. It saw nothing of the
Mongols except for patrols of horsemen that withdrew before it. As
might be expected, the Hungarians and their allies followed up this
retreat. For six days they marched eastward, away from the river, with-
out being able to come up with the elusive horsemen. On the sixth night
they camped in a plain hemmed in by low, vine-clad hills, with a small
river — the Sayo — ^in front of them.

They were warned by an escaped prisoner that the Mongols were five
or six miles on the other side of the river. They took the precautions
of experienced soldiers. A strong advance detachment was posted at the
one bridge over the Sayo — a wagon ring drawn up around the main
encampment.

That night the Mongols moved to destroy this army. The advance
guard at the bridge was driven back by the fire of war machines; else-
where the Mongols built a bridge of their own. From two directions
they occupied the higher ground around the Christian camp.

When ihe Mongols were seen at the first daylight the heavily armed
Allied chivalry made a frontal charge from the camp. This charge up a
slope was broken by “fire” from the Mongol bows and machines. A second
charge led by the Templars still failed to come to hand-to-hand fighting.

The Mongol line in front of it withdrew; the Christian knights were
enveloped in a smoke screen, decoyed off into rough ground, and cut
to pieces from a distance. Not one of the Templars survived.

In the camp behind the wagon ring the main body of Christian soldiery
on foot was still resolute enough. But the Mongols made no attack on
their lines. Instead, they began a long-range fire of arrows and flame
projectiles on the camp. This fire from above, to which the Christians
could not reply effectively, broke the morale of the soldiers. They could
not charge ihe Mongols on foot; they could not hold their position in
the camp. They began to retire to ihe west, where the Mongols had

378 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

left a wide gap in their encirclement. This was in the direction of the
Danube and safety.

Still the Mongol regiments made no direct attack. For six days they
followed on the flanks of that mass in retreat^ killing the men who fell
behind from weakness^ and herding the fragments of the mass aside^ to be
destroyed more easily in woods and brush. Some seventy thousand of the
Europeans are said to have died in this methodical operation.

Grim as was this slaughter^ it was only an episode in the Mongol
military conquest. Inferior in numbers to the central Europeans, Subotai
had managed to destroy their mobilized armies without coming to battle
at close quarters and with a wastage of lives so slight among the Mon-
gols that his divisions were intact. Behind the strategy of the old Mongol
there were two very material aids in his triumph at the Sayo — the skill
of his engineers in bridgebuilding and the range of his “fire” power.

The Mongol method of attack made it impossible for the eastern
Europeans, who were their equal in fighting spirit, to stand against them.
Unaware of what they were facing, the Christians went into “battles”
that were lost beforehand.

Zone Method of Conquest

In their general attack on civilization the Mongols limited each ad-
vance according to a fixed plan. It can be called the zone, or the ava-
lanche, method.

Once the military blitzkrieg was over and the walls of fortified cities
demolished, the Mongols proceeded swiftly to the dismemberment of a
conquered nation before it could recover from the paralysis of the attack.
The reigning monarch was hunted to death or exile, the travel routes
taken over by a roadmaster. The horse herds were rounded up with
cattle for the army. The surviving man power was divided. Trained
workers were formed into labor battalions, fed by the Mongols. The
strongest-appearing men were drafted into the reserve contingents of
the invader’s army. Noted scholars and scientists were sent east to Kara-
korum, the Mongol capital in the Gobi regions.

From a census taken by methodical Chinese secretaries, a tax record
could be prepared. Field workers were left to harvest the next crop.

So when tibe armies of attack moved on to the next zone they took
with them a large part of the man power of the first zone, which was now
without leaders to organize a revolt. This commandeered man power
would be used against the next zone. And only a minimum of guard
posts would be needed to keep the first devastated zone under control.

If they anticipated an attack from an outlying power the whole fron-
tier of the farthest zone would be ravaged and burned, to destroy the
supplies that could maintain an army.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 379

By limiting the area of each advance the Mongols dealt as far as
possible with one nation at a time. But their zones were designed more
for geographical reasons than any other. Each one stemmed out from
the Gobi region. In their invasion of the west from 1235 to 1242 the
Mongol ordus advanced as far as the Volga before concentrating against
the vast steppe-and-forest area of Russia. Their second zone extended
nearly to Kiev and the Baltic shore. Their third swept through the barrier*
of the Carpathians as far as the Danube.

By this limitation the Mongols avoided overreaching themselves. By
isolating each zone in their peculiar fashion from the outer areas of the
world they escaped being put on the defensive by an enemy attack.
They took time to consolidate before each advance.

Not since the long-forgotten days of the Assyrians had the civilized
world in toto faced such a total attack upon its powers of resistance. So
there existed in the Mongol era no military machine that could check
their advance, and the more peaceful powers of the outer civilization
proved to be incapable of joining together for a combined resistance.

In their methodical advance the Mongols contented themselves with
appropriating the wealth and labors of the vanquished peoples. Whether
from superstition or because they found the priesthoods useful as inter-
mediaries with the subject races, the horsemen from the ( 5 obi never
interfered with religion.

They established, in their passing, the deathly nomad peace in the
conquered areas. (In their home life the Mongols proved to be kindly
and good-natured men who wore no weapons and indulged in no quar-
reling. This brief sketch of their military strategy does not deal with the
Mongols as a people.)

To a certain extent the strategy of the Third Reich now follows the
zone method of the Mongols. The captured resources of Czechoslovakia —
especially the munitions — ^were employed in the surprise attacks on
Poland, the Low Countries, and France. Contingents of Slovaks, and
apparently some Czechs, were ordered to advance into the second zone
of Poland behind the motorized thrusts of the Reich*s divisions. Such
detachments were seen passing through the Tatra Mountains with Ger-
man artillery moving behind them and CJerman aviation overhead.

In their occupation of Poland the agents of the new imperialism of
the Reich severed the nerve centers of the stunned nation.

They seized control of the food of the area, reducing the population
to dependence on the new military authorities for the means of life itself.
And they dealt with — ^by exile or execution — the natural leaders of the
population who might head a revolt. Curiously enough, in their section
of the invaded area, the Soviet agents were doing the same thing. The
excuse made by the Reich was that, while the bulk of the common people
were offering no resistance, the intelligentsia were causing trouble. The

380 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

propaganda of the Red occupation was that only the capitalistic land^
owners were being molested.

It came to the same thing. The best brains and keenest spirits among
the Poles were at once canceled.

Even a brief study of the Mongol invasion brings home to us several
lessons^ forgotten in the West during the long era of industrialization
and prevailing peace.

First, that Europeans have no monopoly of military genius. Asia can
produce strategists of the highest caliber.

Second, that Asia has, in the past, understood the operation of the
“new” total war that destroys resistance.

Third, that Asiatics can match the fighting power of Europeans, if
given an equality in weapon power » In the desultory combats along the
Amur frontier the Japanese have proved themselves more than a match
for the Soviet forces in the air and in tactics on land.

Also, that the volunteer armies of a high-spirited citizenry with little
training may go down to sudden defeat before the attack of a highly
trained military machine.

There is no defense against the lightning attack on land except an
equally efficient military organization. The increased power of the air
force to cripple resistance on land has added to the danger of the blitz-
krieg. Because it adds to the speed of the attack — as the Germans have
proved once and for all. The fast-moving tank has also added to the
speed of the attack, so long as the tank can be followed up by motorized
infantry units. So these two modem inventions have made even more
dangerous the strategy of the Mongol horsemen.

How close a study, if any, German military brains have made of the
Mongol campaigns I do not know. There have been at least five studies
of the Mongol attack upon Europe published in German, as against one
in French and none in the English language.

WAR MAXIMS OF GENERAL LOUTAO

(About 1150 B.c.)

From an article translated from a German version by
Lieutenant (now Lieutenant General)

Walter Krueger

{1915)

A GOOD GENERAL should never say that he will do a certain thing, come
what may, for his course of action should be determined solely by the
situation.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

381

If yoiir army is approximately equal in numbers to that of the enemy,
nine of the ten advantages of the terrain should be on your side. Employ
all your mental resources, all your physical efforts, all your diligence in
obtaining them.

Do not go to sleep after an initial success and do not allow yoiu*
troops an untimely period of rest. Do not dream of reaping the fruits
of victory until the defeat of the enemy is complete.

TWO VIEWS OF WAR

By Brigadier General John McAuley Palmer

{i94s)

The aspects of war involving weapons and ways of moving troops
have changed at each stage of human development. There is a vast
difference between war as it was waged by Alexander the Great and
as it is now fought by Rommel and Yamashita. But in one way war is
the same now as it was when an unknown conqueror built the first
pyramid as a monument to his name and its prowess. It is not a separate,
isolated form of human activity. It is, instead, as the German soldier-
philosopher Clausewitz said a century ago, a special, violent form of
political action.

We customarily think that no two things can be more unlike than
peaceful international relations and warlike international relations. And
so we may be startled when we first grasp the thought that these are
simply two phases of the same thing — ^human politics.

This was brought home to us last December. For years it had been
the avowed purpose of Japan to dominate China and southeast Asia
and control the western Pacific. When normal political action in Wash-
ington failed to gain our acquiescence Japan’s next argument was de-
livered at Pearl Harbor. Her purpose was still political and precisely what
it was before her treacherous surprise attack. The only difference was
that she was now using dive bombers instead of diplomats.

Even before Clausewitz, George Washington understood that war is
simply a phase of politics. Thus when his countrymen called him to
establish a new political system he realized clearly that any complete
system must include the machinery for dealing with that special violent
phase of international politics known as war. This is the principal
thought in his political writings from the close of the Revolution to
the end of his life. In the light of his knowledge of war and its great

382 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

significance in international affairs, his Farewell Address may be sum-
marized as follows :

Rely on just dealing with other nations. Seek your legitimate political ends
through peaceful negotiation and understanding. But lest some aggressor impose
the other form of political action known as war upon you, maintain yourselves in
a “respectably defensive posture.”

If you do this other nations will not be tempted to depart from the normal and
peaceful methods of political action in their dealings with you.

The non-aggressive military organization proposed by Washington
to prevent normal political action from degenerating into the violent
form known as war would have tended to conserve peace. But his
countrymen ignored his advice for a century and a half. If he had been
able to implement the new American republic with effective military
institutions suited to a self-governing free people, Japan would never
have dared to take a change of venue from the Court of Reason to the
Court of Brute Force.

But if war is a phase of human politics it is plain that there can be
a war-provocative as well as a peace-conservative type of military organi-
zation. While Washington was still a child and Japan a hermit kingdom
Frederick the Great of Prussia was perfecting this other politico-military
form. Frederick understood the close relation between peaceful and
warlike politics as well as Washington, but he applied it in an entirely
different way which we can summarize as follows:

When peaceful negotiation fails to solve a political question, the controversy
assumes another form of political intercourse known as war.

Now, when a controversy assumes this second form, it is decided not by the
best cause but by the most force. Therefore, if I have enough force I can always
compel submission to my political will without reference to the merits of my
cause.

Furthermore, if I am known to be invincible in this second form and always
eager to embrace it I can enforce my will beyond my just rights even while po-
litical action is still in its normal peaceful form, because I can always threaten a
resort to the second form if I am not humored.

My policy should therefore be to prepare for sudden victorious attack. With
this assured, I will be able to make my neighbors pay me a sort of commutation
of victory even in time of peace. ^

Therefore, I propose to maintain a striking force always ready for offensive
military action, and I propose to employ it whenever a favorable and profitable
opportunity offers.

Washington called his military organization a “respectably defensive
postiure.” The organization Frederick bequeathed to Prussia was a trucu-
lently offensive posture. The one is highly conservative of peace; the
other is highly provocative of war. Washington proposed to eliminate
war as an irrational political process. Frederick proposed to cultivate

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 383

war as a positive means of political advantage. Washington projiosed
to arm as a gentleman would arm to defend himself from highwaymen.
Frederick proposed to profit by making himself an accomplished and
invincible bandit. Washington’s aim was essentially moral and social.
Frederick’s aim was essentially unsocial and criminal. Both of these
constructive statesmen designed military institutions suited to their points
of view. Washington’s countrymen rejected his. Frederick transmitted
his to his successors.

Indeed, the Prussian military system was never a defensive organiza-
tion. It was deliberately designed as a conquest machine from the begin-
ning. Frederick employed it to aggrandize Prussia within Germany.
World mastery was not a feasible enterprise in his day, but the impulse
toward future world conquest was inherent in his politico-military ma-
chine. Bismarck employed the conquest machine, as further perfected
by Moltke the Elder, to crush the growing democratic movement in
(Germany and then to unite Germany under the domination of militarist
Prussia. After Bismarck’s victories over Austria and France the conquest
machine was no longer needed to defend Germany or to conserve legiti-
mate German interests. If retained, the German General Staff must seek
grist for it outside of Germany, and so, step by step as opportunity
broadened, it would follow the pathway toward world conquest. But
for the tardy and unexpected awakening of America, the decisive victory
might have been won in 1918. Since World War I, the German General
Staff, as conserved in the Reichswehr, has never relinquished that pur-
pose as an ultimate objective. But opportunity came earlier than was
expected. While Hitler was re-equipping the old conquest machine for
modem blitzkrieg he found that the English-speaking democracies (to
whom the strategic ramparts of civilization were entmsted) were heavdy
doped in appeasement and pacifism. Therein lies the fundamental cause
of the present world cyclone. There was a high barometer of overmili-
tarization in the region of autocracy and a low barometer of under-
militarization in the region of democracy. Hence the inevitable storm.
Hitler and his fellow gangsters found their impelling opportunity in the
stupidity of the English-speaking peoples.

When Washington became President there were two main objectives
in the program of his administration. He sought to establish a sound
financial system and a sound military system. With the aid of Alexander
Hamilton, his Secretary of the Treasury, he attained the first of these
objectives before the end of his first administration. But it was not until
after Hitler conquered France, more than a century and a half later,
that Congress adopted the first principle of the Washingtonian military
policy — compulsory military training in time of peace.

It is a high tribute to Hamilton’s financial genius that his successors
have, so far, been able to devise enough taxes and borrow enough money

384 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

to pay for the wastes of public wealth that have flowed through that
wide gap in our national structure. For unreadiness for war has been
the principal cause of all of our great national debts. If our fathers had
accepted all of Washington’s political system instead of but half of it,
there probably could have been no World War I, no postwar depression,
and no World War II.

And, if the modem democratic state in general had included the
peace-conservative military institutions that Washington proposed for it,
it is likely that Japan would now be the liberal constitutional monarchy
that the wisest of her elder statesmen sought to make her; Benito Mus-
solini would be a respectable newspaper editor in a liberal and peace-
loving Italy, and that temperamental architect’s assistant, Adolf Hitler,
would be enjoying his Wagner in harmless doses with his evening beer
and pretzels instead of attempting to conduct a world-wide Gotterd^-
merung of his own.

SMOKE AT GETTYSBURG
By Captain (now Lieutenant Colonel) Victor A. Coulter

(^957)

On one point, at least, all those who took part in and those who have
written about the third day’s fighting at Gettysburg are agreed. July 3 ,
1863 , was a gaspingly hot day, with the morning sky overcast and hardly
a breath of air stirring anywhere. Private Griffin of Archer’s (Fry’s)
Brigade wrote that he “heard the shot of a single cannon and noted . . .
a puff of white smoke as it rolled along the valley,” indicating that
whatever breeze there may have been blew parallel to the battle lines.

Shortly before three o’clock in the afternoon, the counterbattery fire
of the Federal artillery was interrupted to conserve ammunition, to reor-
ganize for the impending Confederate assault, and because General
Warren, chief engineer on Meade’s staff, “from the Round Tops, per-
ceived that it was inexpedient to fill the valley with a screen of smoke.”

The event that followed is familiar to every school child. Unprotected
by cover and unsupported by their own artillery during the advance,
eighteen thousand Confederate troops moved out of the woods on Semi-
nary Ridge to advance across the valley and assault the center of the
Federal position on the ridge opposite. The history books were to call
it Pickett’s Charge.

The history books were to record how the Federal artillery inflicted
heavy casualties almost from the time the Confederate lines emerged
from the woods on Seminary Ridge; how, under this fire, the movements

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 385

of the several brigades engaged in the assault were unco-ordinated; how
the fences on both sides of the Emmitsburg Road had to be tom down,
and how the Confederates suffered heavy losses as men crowded to pass
through the fence gaps. Finally, when the left of the assaulting force
became “exposed to the enfilading fire of the guns on the western slope
of Cemetery Hill, that exposure sealed their fate.”

So overwhelming was the fire superiority of the defenders that perhaps
not more than six thousand of the eighteen thousand men who started
from Seminary Ridge ever reached the Federal lines less than a mile
away.

The historians are agreed that Pickett’s Charge, on that sultry July
afternoon, was as futile as it was gallant. Longstreet, we are told, ob-
jected to the movement before it commenced as being impossible of
success.

Yet General Warren, from the Round Tops, perceived that it was
inexpedient to fill the valley with a screen of smoke.

A study of what Lee might have done at Gettysburg with modem
smoke shell is interesting. The late Colonel Lull, in a keen analysis of
what the war of the future may be like, concludes that “to find our
closest parallel we must look, not to the World War, but rather to the
War between the American States. . .

Pickett’s Charge, with little or no natural cover, is a suitable engage-
ment on which to superimpose a modern smoke screen. It is possible that
a little smoke, judiciously laid down on Cemetery Ridge on the afternoon
of July 3, 1863, might have changed all subsequent history.

The total length of the Federal line from Round Top around to below
Culp’s Hill was not more than seven thousand yards. A chemical com-
pany is able to screen a front of sixteen hundred yards. Accordingly, one
battalion might have carried out any smoke operation needed by the
Confederate Army on that day.

To the objection that the weapons and mass movements employed in
1863 make unreasonable any comparison with present conditions, the
reply may be made that the need for screening depends entirely upon the
distance troops must travel under direct fire. Under modern conditions
the critical period of an infantry advance begins about eight hundred
yards from the objective. Musket fire at Gettysburg was not effective
at that range, but direct fire from the Federal artillery tore gaping holes
in the assaulting lines at about that distance.

Since all the fire at Gettysburg was delivered following direct laying
of the pieces, the experiments of the last ten years on the effect of cover-
ing riflemen with a smoke blanket apply properly. All these experiments
have shown that when riflemen are covered by smoke the percentage of
hits they secure on silhouette targets is decreased 93 per cent. Let us
place two platoons about eight hundred yards apart to the west and

386

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

south of the Peach Orchard to cover the Federal position from Round
Top to sixteen hundred yards north of General Warren’s vantage spot.
It will be remembered that the breeze, if any, was a light southerly one,
blowing parallel to the lines and favorable to the use of smoke. Let us
place four platoons about six hundred yards apart directly behind the
assaulting force to cover the remainder of the Federal line to its extreme
north. The two platoons remaining let us dispose of between the town of
Gettysburg and Rock Creek, with the dual mission of keeping Federal
reserves between Cemetery Hill and Culp’s Hill enveloped in smoke and
of throwing additional smoke on Cemetery Ridge if necessary.

And now, assuming that we have our battalion of 4.2 mortars in
action, let us return to the battle. The entire Federal line is covered with
a blanket of smoke as Pickett’s Charge commences. The planned align-
ment of Confederate units is maintained across the fields; the fences
along the Emmitsburg Road are tom down; Pickett’s and Pettigrew’s
divisions are marched across this road, and the supporting troops are
maneuvered into position while the smoke still covers both the Federal
infantry and artillery.

At this point the fire from the mortars is raised from the Federal in-
fantry lines to Federal artillery, several hundred yards to the rear, until
such time as the assaulting force shall have gained its first objective.
Then smoke firing is lifted entirely except on the northern half of
Cemetery Ridge.

In the actual engagement fire from the Federal lines had reduced the
effectiveness of Pickett’s, Pettigrew’s, and Trimble’s divisions at least
50 per cent by the time those divisions had crossed the Emmitsburg Road.
Reducing that loss by 93 per cent, that figure to which we promised to
return, we find the assaulting force 96 per cent effective and its leading
elements within one hundred yards of the famous stone wall and the
Federal infantry when the smoke fire is lifted.

Whether Lee could have won the engagement from this point is a
matter for the infantry to decide. But with the ^pport of three smoke
companies he might have had at least an even breaJc.

A ROMAN FSR

By Colonel (now Brigadier General)
Oliver Lyman Spaulding

(^ 937 )

When the Infantry Journal invited “twenty Jominis” to submit the
titles of ten books that every infantry officer should own it uncovered

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 387

a wide divergence of opinion. During the Middle Ages there would not
have been such lack of agreement. Then, one book would have sufficed
and the experts would have been unanimous. All would have named The
Epitome of the Military Art, by Flavius Vegetius Renatus.

Vegetius was the first author of a work comparable to a modem Field
Service Regulations. He did the job so well and covered his subject so
thoroughly that for a thousand years and more his text was the military
bible of every literate soldier of western Europe.

He dedicated his book to the reigning emperor, and intimates that
it was written by royal command; the monarch’s name is not mentioned,
but critics generally believe him to have been Valentinian II, Emperor
of the West, a.d. 375-392. Nothing is known of the writer, but he appears
to have been a man of rank and consequence. Probably he was a theoreti-
cal student of the art of war rather than a practical soldier, for nowhere
does he hint at personal experience. He claims no originality but insists
that his work is a compilation, based upon authorities whom he names — •
Cato, Celsus, Frontinus, Patemus, and the Emperors Augustus, Trajan,
and Hadrian. Little remains of their writings. Even the army regulations
of the three emperors have been lost.

Only in a limited sense can we speak of Vegetius* work as Field Service
Regulations, for it contains not only precepts, but also numerous histori-
cal and controversial passages, explaining how the ancients did things.
The writer is distinctly a conservative; he defends the Roman system
against the intrusion of foreign doctrines and inveighs against the in-
difference and neglect of a degenerate age.

Vegetius pays tribute to the discipline and training that made Rome
the mistress of the world. He writes:

Victory is gained, not by weight of numbers and untrained courage, but by
skill and discipline. We have seen the Romans conquer the world by no other
means than skill in arms and the rigid discipline and thorough training of their
troops. How otherwise could a handful of Romans overcome the multitudes of
the Gauls? How else could the short-statured Roman face the giant German? The
Spaniards are superior to us not only in numbers but in physique, the Africans
in subtlety and in wealth, the Greeks in the arts and sciences. Against all this the
Romans could oppose extreme care in the selection of recruits, diligent instruction
in the use of arms, inculcation of discipline by daily habit, forethought in devising
means to meet any emergency that might arise in action, and stem punishment
for neglect of duty. For a thoroughly trained man will be bold and confident in
action; one has no hesitation in undertaking work with which one is perfectly
familiar. A small trained force is the best guarantee of success; a raw undisci-
plined host is foredoomed to destmetion.

Vegetius divides his treatise into five books. The first of these treats
of recruitment and elementary instruction.

For soldiers Vegetius prefers men from temperate climates, country-

388 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

men rather than city dwellers, and the hardier craftsmen such as car-
penters or blacksmiths rather than confectioners or weavers. He attaches
little importance to stature but insists upon health, strength, and agility.
The new recruit served a probationary period until his aptitude had
been tested.

The physical-training course included marching, running, leaping, and
swimming. The recruit was expected to march twenty miles a day under
a load of sixty pounds, which was still not as heavy as the full legionary
equipment. Cavalry recruits, fully accoutered, were trained to mount
a wooden horse by vaulting from either side. This was an important and
practical exercise, for stirrups had yet to be invented.

Great pains were taken with instruction in the use of arms. Those
issued to recruits were not service weapons, but dummies, and were
made heavier than the regulation patterns, for the same reason that a
baseball player swings two bats before he steps up to the plate. The
swordsmen were taught to thrust rather than cut, for the same reasons
explained in our modem cavalry Drill Regulations — the thrust is much
more likely to inflict a" dangerous wound, and in delivering it one’s own
body is not exposed. Posts, set up on the drill ground, served as targets
for sword and javelin practice, in which both accuracy and power were
demanded. Similar instruction was given in the use of the bow and the
sling. Qualified men, selected as instructors in these exercises, drew addi-
tional pay, as do our marksmen and gunners today. These came to con-
stitute a separate grade in the military hierarchy. For several centuries
they held the title campi doctor, which means field master or master at
arms. There may well be a connection between this title and maestro
de campo used for a regimental commander in sixteenth-century Spain.

When individual instmction had progressed up to a certain point, the
elements of collective instruction were taken up, especially marching. A
fully instructed recruit was expected to be ready to join in the practice
marches of his cohort, which were made every ten days. These marches,
which averaged twenty miles a day, were made with full field kit, over
varied ground, and invariably included incidental exercises in minor
tactics.

The recruit was also expected to know how to dig, for Vegetius held
to the old Roman plan of entrenching every camp. The camp was gen-
erally rectangular, but the trace of the wall was determined by the
terrain. The capacity of the Roman for spadework is indicated by the
dimensions of the fortification. A wall three feet high, with a ditch nine
feet wide and seven feet deep, is spoken of as a light entrenchment. For
really serious entrenching Vegetius prescribes a ditch twelve feet wide
by nine deep and a wall four feet high, revetted with hurdles and
crowned with a palisade. The wall was not intended to serve as a breast-

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 389

work but as the terrepleiriy upon which the defenders stood. The work
was carefully organized. The cavalry formed an outpost, backed up by
half the infantry, while the other half of the infantry dug. Reliefs were
by small units under their own officers. Upon relief the officers in imme-
diate command measured the work completed to fix responsibility.

Book I ends with this pithy remark:

Military instruction should always be given to selected young men, for the state
will find it less expensive to train its own citizens in arms than to purchase foreign
assistance.

Not a bad motto for our Reserve Officers’ Training Corps.

Book II deals with organization and interior economy. It describes the
two great classes of Roman troops — ^the legions, or regulars, and the
auxiliaries, or provincial contingents. Vegetius points out how much
help the auxiliaries can be to the legions but at the same time recognizes
a human trait which is not unfamiliar to us. When one class of troops
has stricter discipline and heavier duty than another, recruits avoid the
first and seek the second. He laments the decay of the legionary forces
as a result of the failure to make service in them attractive. He remarks
that good troops cost no more than bad and appeals to the emperor to
put an end to abuses and restore the ancient Roman discipline.

Vegetius attributes much of the superiority of the legion to its well-
rounded completeness, which he credits to divine inspiration. This unit
was, in all truth, beautifully proportioned. It was small enough to be
cohesive and to foster a healthy organization spirit and yet large enough
and strong enough to undertake a major mission. At this time the first
of its ten cohorts was approximately a thousand men strong while the
others were only half that strength. With its light infantry and cavalry
the legion of this period totaled somewhere between six and seven thou-
sand men.

The old command system was still in existence. The military tribunes
corresponded roughly to our field officers and the centurions to our com-
pany officers. There were also numerous grades of minor officers that
might be compared to our noncoms. However, there was one important
difference in the command setup: ' the institution foreshadowed in
Caesar’s armies had now become fully established — each legion had a
single permanent conimander, the legionary prefect. The legati, used by
Caesar for such commands, had been moved up a grade and now com-
manded independent detached forces, or groups of legions. There was
also the prefect of the camp who was responsible for establishing and
fortifying the camp, for supply, for hospital service, and for transporta-
tion.

The legion had its own force of artificers of every trade — ^workers in
wood and metal, masons, painters, and unskilled laborers. They manned

390 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

mobile repair shops for arms and equipment. There was also a corps of
sappers and miners. All these special troops came under the conunand
of a staff officer called the prefect of artificers. The legionary trains
carried not only regular supplies but also artillery — ^portable catapults
and ballistae — ^heavy for the legion and light for the cohorts, just as we
now provide light machine guns for our infantry battalions and heavier
accompanying weapons for the regiment.

In this second book Vegetius also gives a brief sketch of the paper work
of the legion — pay accounts, duty rosters, records of furloughs, deposits
of pay, maintenance and administration of a legionary relief fund. He
describes the system of promotion of centurions — seniority in the legion
at large, not in each cohort separately. Additional instructions follow on
collective training; all subjects mentioned for recruits are continued in
the troop units — ^newly incorporated recruits attending two drills a day,
old soldiers one.

We meet the real Field Service Regulations in Book III. It begins by
discussing the desirable strength of an army. By reference to the examples
of Xerxes, Darius, and Mithridates, Vegetius emphasizes the point that
quantity should not be sought at the expense of quality. He strongly
favors a small trained force over a larger one loosely organized and ill
disciplined. The latter, he states, consumes supplies out of all proportion
to the service it can render. Today, after a century’s reign of the “nation
in arms” theory, our military thought on this point seems to be leading
back to Vegetius.

Sanitary regulations also receive attention. Rules are laid down for the
selection of a healthy camp site. In hot weather marches should begin
early so that they may be terminated before the hottest part of the day.
Important, too, is an ample and pure water supply, prompt medical at-
tention and proper diet for the sick, and the frequent moving of camps.

The discussion of supply emphasizes the importance of careful pre-
liminary estimates, proper apportionment of requisitions to the provinces
that are to fill them, and logical organization of depots. The subsistence
stores named are beef on the hoof, grain, wine, vinegar, and salt. Other
supplies such as fuel, forage, arms, and ammunition are also mentioned,

Vegetius speaks of discipline and discusses the effect of training
methods upon it. Since idle men become discontented he believes that
troops should be kept fully occupied with drills, physical training, and
maneuvers. He observes that labor may be demanded freely, so long as
it is evident that it has a definite military purpose. His idea of discipline
is summed up in this statement:

He is the better leader whose command is well behaved through hard work
and the habit of order, rather than he who must force his men to duty through
fear of punishment

LEARNING WAR FROM P^ST WARS 391

This sagacious Roman also had something to say on marks of identifica-
tion and methods of visual and sound signaling, and much on marching
and the service of security and information. He stresses the importance
of constant reconnaissance and prescribes that reconnaissance reports
should be accompanied by sketches. Other points deemed important are
the procurement and handling of guides; the formation of march
columns, with advance and flank guards and appropriate disposition of
trains; careful calculation of space and time, and close supervision of
march discipline by officers. A special section is devoted to river crossings
— the reconnaissance of fords and the technique of using them, the con-
struction of pontoon bridges, and the establishment of bridgeheads. All
of this has a distinctly modern flavor.

For planning a campaign and selecting ground for battle, Vegetius
gives a form for making an estimate of the situation. It is similar to the
one we use in our military schools today. It includes a study of the mis-
sion and of the strength and composition of the opposing forces. It lays
special stress upon an estimate of the character of the enem/s leader.
The estimate also takes into account the supply situation in both armies.
Finally it prescribes a study of the terrain with a view to exploiting its
favorable features and minimizing its disadvantages.

The manual goes into detail on the order of battle of large units. The
infantry is habitually placed in the center, well organized in depth;
heavy cavalry covers its flanks, and the light cavalry operates inde-
pendently farther out. The importance of reserves is particularly em-
phasized. In his discussion of victory Vegetius refers again to the time-
honored maxim which warns against driving a beaten enemy to despera-
tion, and he quotes Virgil’s line, that the only hope of the vanquished is
in despair. Discussing defeat, he makes a perfectly sound analysis of the
process of breaking off an engagement, forming a march column for re-
treat, and organizing a rear guard.

The work is generously provided with military maxims. Among them
are:

Who wishes peace, let him prepare for war.

Who hopes for victory, let him be diligent in military training.

No one dares to provoke a power which is known to be superior in war.

A general must not attempt to change his plan after the battle has begun; con-
fusion always results, offering opportunity to the enemy.

If a spy is suspected, order every man to his tent and the spy will be detected.
(Napoleon used this device on the island of Lobau in the Wagram campaign.)

Seek advice from many, but keep your decision to yourself. (One thinks at once
of Stonewall Jackson, who carried tWs virtue almost to a vice.)

Book IV treats of fortresses. The various offensive and defensive de-
vices mentioned by earlier writers are discussed again, but little is added

392

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

that is new. Among the engineering expedients is one which has only
recently disappeared from military textbooks — determining the height of
a wall by measuring the length of its shadow and comparing it with the
shadow of a pole of known height.

Vegetius gives much space to the problems of supply of fortified places^
especially the supply of water, salt meats, fruits, vegetables, grain, wine,
salt, and vinegar; also poultry, for hospital diet. He insists upon the rigid
rationing of all stores, both for the military garrison and for the civil
inhabitants. Among ordnance stores he mentions sulphur, oil, and other
incendiary materials; iron and coal; selected wood for manufacture of
spears and arrows; smooth, round stones, sorted in sizes for use as pro-
jectiles for slings and for artillery; sinews and hair for the driving ropes
of artillery weapons.

In closing he again emphasizes the importance of a good service of
security and information. He favors the use of watchdogs and retells the
tale of the geese that saved Rome from capture by the Gauls.

The subject of Book V is naval warfare. It is known that Vegetius is
more at home ashore than afloat, and he admits as much. Still, he touches
on the subject, since most of the sea fighting was done by soldiers.

In marked contrast to most military writings, this one never fell into
obscurity. This is perhaps because it is the only comprehensive ancient
treatise on the art of war that was written in Latin. Others there were,
but they came later, when Latin had ceased to be the official language
of the eastern empire. These were written in Greek and therefore not as
widely known in western Emrope. Vegetius’ famous work was always
widely read; it was copied over and over in manuscripts and translated
into all modem languages as soon as these languages had reached a stage
of development making translation worth while. The leading soldiers of
the Middle Ages carried him in their saddle pockets. The earliest printers
seized upon him as one of their first texts; half a dozen printed editions
appeared before the end of the fifteenth century.

The innovations in warfare incident to the use of gunpowder out-
moded some, but not all, of Vegetius’ text. Distinguished soldiers of the
modem era have studied it with profit. Indeed, many passages from this
military classic seem destined to transcend both time and invention in
their application.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

393

JUNGLE WARFARE
By Colonel Cary I. Crockett
{1934)

The fighting our Army did in the early days of the century in the Philip-
pines had many things in common with the South Pacific fighting in this
war. The terrain was much the same — damp, thick jungle infested with
poisonous plants, animals, and insects, including the malaria mosquito.
Much of the Philippine jungle was also mountainous, and the only routes
were deep- worn trails or new ones cut through the jungle by the troops
themselves.

Some of the military feats of those days involved the greatest endurance
and fighting skill on the part of our troops. They have never fought under
tougher conditions.

The fighting, of course, was against the Insurrectos. Gradually the pacifi-
cation was completed, and then our government, with the help of the
Army, entered upon the phase of helping the distant Pacific peoples
toward a greater degree of civilization.

The one Army man who has written extensively of the early fighting
in the Philippines is Ingram Cary. This is the pen name of Colonel Cary
I. Crockett, U. S. Army, retired, an alert and able infantry officer who has
written not only of historical matters but of modem methods of warfare.

His article on the Russian paratroops ( 1937) was the first one on this sub-
ject printed in the Infantry Journal.

. . . Gathering darkness found the column of bedraggled and weary
men trailing laboriously across a valley where underfoot there was black
mud^ waist deep in places, and overhead the matted foliage of a forest
^o dense that the gloom in it was that of night. The rain continued to
fall in torrents, but Cochrane pushed on, as a halt for the night in that
morass was out of the question. In the middle of the valley a sluggish
stream with steep and miry banks presented a formidable obstacle. The
men floundered through it in mud and water reaching to their shoulders,
one helping another across the stream and up the bank on the other side.
Fortunately rising ground was soon encountered, and the company went
into camp after a march of fourteen hours from San Ramon.

A body of white troops in a similar situation no doubt woifld have
spent a miserable night lying shelterless in drenched clothing on the
soaked ground. It was not so with Cochrane’s seasoned campaigners.
Within half an hour a circle of rainproof leaf huts floored with boughs had
sprung up; the undergrowth had been cleared away for a field both of
view and of fire, and the men were wringing out their blankets and outer

394 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

garments before huge fires built against the open sides of the huts. The
only things needed to make them perfectly comfortable were a bowl of
smoking-hot rice and a few cigarettes apiece, but as these luxuries were
not forthcoming, they philosophically made the best of it and chattered
away happily over the scanty meal prepared by the cooks. Meanwhile
the covering groups had been relieved and a “running guard” detailed,
four double sentry posts being established near the edge of the clearing.

When supper was over the men finished drying their clothing and
dressed, scraped the mud from their shoes, wiped off their arms and
equipment, and, packing themselves together by squads with loaded rifles
at hand, proceeded to take a well-earned rest. Cochrane had a separate
hut, built in the center of the circle, and the men vied with each other
in making him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. He
noticed a peculiar phenomenon on this night, which was that all the
objects in the vicinity of the camp were phosphorescent, the strange
brilliancy extending halfway up the tree trunks and giving the forest a
weird and unearthly aspect.

The march to the westward was resumed early the next morning. The
trail led over another mountain range and then down into a maze of
ridges. It was impossible to determine the general slope of the land as the
streams seemed to flow in every direction. Heretofore the trail had shown
no indication of recent use, but numerous freshly made footprints were
now observed. It was evident that the Pulajans on the San Ramon coast
did not use the old trail the column had followed but had another and
more direct route leading straight through the jungle.

Cochrane joined the advance guard on this morning, and the march
was continued with redoubled caution. Several camote patches were
passed diuing the morning, and before noon the column arrived at a
burned hut where the trail forked, one leading to the southwest and the
other toward the north. Cochrane took the latter because it showed more
use and halted at noon only long enough for the men to roast some^
camotes. During the afternoon several other cultivated fields and burned
houses were passed. Toward evening the column descended into a wide
valley, covered with cogon grass over ten feet in height, and the trail, after
branching several times, finally terminated in a series of runways tunneled
under the long grass in half a dozen directions.

Cochrane halted the column and, taking a squad from the advance
guard, went forward to reconnoiter. He followed a well-used runway
leading in the original direction, and it was often necessary to crawl on
hands and knees through the mud to avoid the saw-edge growth over-
head. As it was quite dark under the closely matted grass he had to call
his keenest faculties of observation into play to avoid getting bewildered
in the network of runways, each of which seemed exactly like the other.

Advancing with extreme caution, he had progressed but a short dis-

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 395

tance when he emerged into a trail — almost a road — ^hard-packed by the
pressure of hundreds of bare feet. It was not an ordinary trail worn
smooth by traffic; it was more like a track left by a regiment of foot
troops, only there were no shoe prints. There were many signs to indicate
that the body of men by whom it had been made had passed within a
few hours, traveling in an easterly direction.

The track came from the northwest. Cochrane moved along it in that
direction to the first bend and, as he turned this, came face to face with
three Pulajans. They had baskets strapped on their backs, but each was
in full uniform and armed with two bolos and a dagger. Cochrane spoke
to them quietly, telling them to drop the weapons they had drawn and
promising to spare their lives if they would surrender. The man in front,
a big muscular native, edged forward, making a motion at first as though
he intended to hand over his arms. When he got within reach, however,
instead of surrendering he made a terrific cut at Cochrane’s neck while
at the same time one of his companions tried to stab the officer in the side
and the third man rushed in with an uplifted bolo in each hand. Coch-
rane saved himself by a quick leap to one side, and Sergeant Alalay, who
appeared on the scene just at the opportune moment, let drive with his
pump gun, first at the leader and then at the second man, the heavy
charges of buckshot killing them both instantly. Cochrane then dropped
the remaining Pulajan with his revolver, and the incident was closed.

The first sergeant brought the company up on the double time when
he heard the firing. The Macabebes manifested great joy when it was
found that the baskets taken from the dead men contained rice and
carabao meat in sufficient quantity to provide a full meal for all. A pack-
age of cigarettes found on the big native was handed to Cochrane, who
presented it to Sergeant Alalay with expressions of thanks for his timely
action. When the arms and papers had been removed the corpses were
thrown into the long grass and the column was re-formed. It was now
nearly dark, and the usual rain was falling, so the selection of a camp site
was of paramount importance.

Sergeants Bustos and Alalay estimated the strength of the force from
which the three Pulajans evidently had straggled at between five hundred
and eight hundred men. Cochrane was resolved to pursue the Pulajans
regardless of their strength. Realizing, however, that his men were tired
and hungry, he followed the trail to the eastward only to the first stream,
up the bed of which he led the company until a place was found, isolated
from the beaten paths, where wood for fuel and leaves for shelter could
be obtained. The company then went into camp, the usual arrangements
for comfort and security being made under the direction of the first ser-
geant, with whose measures the captain did not often find it necessary
to interfere.

As soon as Cochrane’s hut was finished he entered it and gave himself

396 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

up to meditation. Ever since the discovery of the trail made by the Pula-
jans he had been fighting off a peculiar impulse to march back to San
Ramon at once by the route over which he had come. He could not
understand this feeling. It was not one of fear — of this he was sure — ^for
although the band that had passed outnumbered his own company many
times over, he had often accepted similar risks voluntarily. The idea of
returning empty-handed when the opportunity was present to engage
under favorable circumstances an important force and also to capture
food supplies and take prisoners from whom information could be gained
was simply ridiculous! No. He could be on the march by daybreak and he
would continue the pursuit until he struck them.

Thus he estimated the situation and made his decision, but for some
reason he did not enjoy the serenity of mind which usually came after
the completion of such an act. He paid little attention to the supper
brought by the orderly, but when he saw Alalay’s grinning face poked
around the corner he did not fail to light the cigarette placed carefully
on the leaf which served as a platter. After supper he inspected the ar-
rangements for the night. When he returned to the hut the obsession
came again. Something seemed to be pulling him by the shoulder and
saying, “Go back, go back.” He was not superstitious in the least and he
had no faith in omens and presentiments, yet the absurd impulse persisted
in returning again and again.

He was aroused from the deep reverie into which he had fallen by the
sergeant of the guard, who reported that one of the sentinels had seen
something white moving about near the edge of the clearing and wished
to know if he should fire should it appear again. Going with the sergeant
to the post, he found the corporal and several other members of the
guard standing beside the sentinel. The object had reappeared and could
be seen indistinctly, standing motionless a few yards beyond the circle of
light cast by the fires. Cochrane directed two men to follow him and
walked out to it. It was a little white dog. When he called to it in English
it flew at him and leaped into his arms, barking, whimpering, licking at
his hands and face, and showing unbounded delight in every way that a
dog can. He carried it to the fire to examine it and was greatly astonished
to find that it was a white man’s dog — a fox terrier.

The mystery of its appearance was not explained when one of the
Macabebes, who while recovering from wounds had spent several weeks
at a station on the south coast, declared that this dog belonged to a
lieutenant of Scouts named Harris, on duty then at the same station, and
further that the dog’s name was “Espote.” Cochrane called to him, “Here
Spot,” and the little fellow responded by barking joyfully.

“He is Harris’ dog, all right. The question is, how did he get out here
in this wilderness? It is too mysterious and I give it up.” So saying to
himself, Cochrane took the dog in his arms and lay down, Spot pressing

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 397

against him as though he could not get close enough. But he could not
sleep; again and again came the impulse to return to San Ramon. He
fought it off and at last dozed a little, only to awaken with the feeling
that someone was tugging at his shoulder and saying, “Go back, go back.”
This broke down his opposition. Arousing the first sergeant, he gave the
curt order to prepare the company to march within ten minutes. The
noncommissioned officer looked at him in amazement, but a sharp repeti-
tion of the order brought him to his senses, and within less than the
specified time the column was in readiness to move out.

It would have been difficult to find a more severe test of the discipline
in the organization than the order to march, coming as it did on such a
night when the men had just settled down to sleep in comfort after a
hard day’s journey. The Macabebes knew, however, that while the cap-
tain never spared them when effort was necessary, on the other hand he
sedulously protected them from all unnecessary hardship and exertion.
They resigned themselves, therefore, to a night of discomfort and fatigue
and thought no more of it. Probably no other body of troops on the island
could have been induced to make such a journey under similar circum-
stances, and, as Cochrane thought bitterly, no sane commander would
ever have tried to make men do such a thing. He stopped on the trail
only long enough for the men to eat what food was left and to take a
few hours of rest when they became too exhausted to proceed. Late on
the following night, the third after the departure from San Ramon, they
staggered into the fort and threw themselves down, too utterly worn out
to care for food, drink, or anything but rest.

Hazzard had no news to impart, as everything had been absolutely
tranquil at the fort and in the vicinity. He expressed astonishment at the
quick return but, as the captain vouchsafed no explanation, refrained
from further comment upon the subject. Cochrane lay down, feeling, as
he told himself, like “fifty-seven varieties of a damn fool,” and this time
he had no trouble in falling asleep. He was awakened by the crash of a
heavy volley of musketry, followed by the ringing notes of “call to arms,”
and tumbled off his bunk to see what looked like a multitude of flaming
meteors cleaving the air toward the fort. At the same time bullets were
zipping through the nipa roof and the Pulajan war cry of tad-tad, tad-tad
(chop, chop to pieces), was going up on all sides. The fort had been as-
saulted in force by the Pulajans.

Knowing that the weak point of the fort lay in the inflammable nipa
thatch, the Pulajan chief had provided the first line of attackers, con-
sisting of some fifty or sixty men, with torches fastened to long poles, his
plan evidently being to set the roof on fire and thus force the defenders to
evacuate the work in disorder, in which case they would become easy
victims to his hordes of bolomen. The plan was well conceived, and it
would have succeeded had not the white man who planned the fort

398 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

taken cognizance of such a contingency and provided a countermeasure.
The leading wave dashed in immediately after the opening volley and,
leaning the torches against the roof, swarmed up the stockade to engage
the defenders with the weapons which they carried unsheathed and
swung to their wrists by thongs. It had rained during the night and the
roof was damp, but, the thatching underneath being dry as tinder, it
soon took fire in a dozen places and flared up, illuminating the surround-
ings until the scene was as clear as under the light of day.

Thinking that the defenders were doomed, the hordes of Pulajans in
waiting on the edge of the jungle, as though by a prearranged signal, now
charged across the open, iheir hideous apelike faces, red uniforms, and
the long white capes flapping from their shoulders giving them the ap-
pearances of devils. Bare-armed and bare-legged, each man grasping two
heavy bolos and whirling first one weapon and then the other in a double
moulinet so rapidly executed that he seemed to be carrying two revolving
disks of scintillating steel, the mass of fanatics struck the stockade and
surged around it as breakers dash against a lighthouse built on a rock in
the sea.

Meanwhile, their riflemen kept up a heavy fire at the fort, regardless
of whether they struck friend or foe. There were some who in an excess
of frenzy threw down their rifles and, drawing their bolos, charged blindly
at the fort, cutting to the right and left and in sheer madness hewing
down their own people who got in the way. The defenders, however,
were in good courage. Within a few seconds after the alarm was given
each soldier was at his post, and although the first wave of the fanatics
succeeded in firing the roof, not one of them reached the inside of the
stockade alive. Cochrane heard one Macabebe say to another as they
watched a fanatic scale the fifteen-foot stockade as easily as a monkey
runs up a coconut tree, “You hold him, when he gets up, and I’ll stab
him,” and watched them do this, both laughing heartily when the corpse
flopped to the ground.

The captain made a hasty tour of the fort, finding every man at his
post and the pump guns doing excellent work with their flanking fire.
Then he and the orderly on duty placed some open ammunition cases
within easy reach of the men, after which he sent the orderly to hoist the
flag and himself sprang into the bastion nearest the jungle in order to
size up the situation. The volume of fire from the jungle rather astonished
him, as he had not thought the Pulajans were so well provided with rifles
and ammunition. From where he stood he could look along two faces of
the fort, and to his eyes the sheets of flames spurting from the double tier
of loopholes formed a beautiful sight. The Macabebes were yelling, curs-
ing, singing, and daring the Pulajans to come on as they fired.

All this time he had an idea in the back of his head that something
needed his attention, and when the roof flared up and the Pulajan main

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

399

body charged the fort, he realized what it was. To seize a bolo and cut
the bejucos holding the thatching in place required but a few seconds.
He did this just as the heaviest rush of fanatics struck the stockade on
three sides, and the flaming roof, bursting into greater blaze as it fell,
dropped squarely into the thick of them, deluging them with fire. The
Pulajans were prepared to meet bullets, bayonets, or bolos, but the charms
they wore sewed in their uniforms or bound upon their foreheads had no
provision against being roasted alive, so those who were able to move fell
back, screaming with pain and rage.

The soldiers were using ammunition loaded with black powder, and
a dense pall of smoke settled over the fort as soon as the flames died
down in front of the stockade. There was a lull in the fighting then, and
Cochrane thought the Pulajans had fled, but he was mistaken, for they
charged again, this time against the face of the stockade to seaward.
Then they charged on all sides and repeated this again and again, the
soldiers peering through the smoke to hack at them or to shoot them
down as they continued to come on as though bent upon their own
destruction. At last the dawn came, suddenly, as it does in the tropics,
and there in the open a few yards from the stockade stood a mere hand-
ful of Pulajans chanting their prayers in preparation for a last charge.
As Hazzard expressed it, killing them had ceased to become a pleasure,
but a final volley brought an end to the desperate attempt, and then
“cease firing” was sounded. The fight was over.

Presently the dancing notes of reveille rang out, and the sun popped up
over the rim of the Pacific, its golden rays bestowing new beauty upon
the flag floating above, before descending to dissipate the mists of night
from a scene too ghastly to seem real. Of the six or seven hundred
fanatics who had attacked the fort, nearly a hundred lay dead or mortally
wounded on the field, while bloody paths leading from the clearing
showed where many others had dragged themselves off to die like wild
beasts — ^which indeed they were — ^in the recesses of the forest. The re-
mainder of the band, including the less seriously wounded, were dispersed
in every direction.

The casualties of the defenders were: one soldier killed, one mortally
wounded, and eight others with wounds more or less slight, none of
which appeared to be dangerous. One man had two fingers shot away
and seemed to look upon the matter as a joke, judging by the grin on his
face when he displayed the bloody stumps to the officers.

After the wounded Macabebes had been attended to the gate was
thrown open and a party went out under Hazzard to search for any rem-
nant of the band that might have reassembled. Another party under the
first sergeant combed the jungle near by for survivors in hiding. Mean-
while, Cochrane supervised the work of collecting the dead. The bodies

400 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

were aligned in a row near the stockade, with the arms and papers taken
from each placed opposite the head.

One body, that of a little boy not over nine years old, attracted his
attention. As he leaned over to examine it the child opened his eyes and,
with the rapidity of a vicious snake, thrust at the captain’s side with a
long dagger. The blow very nearly found its mark. Rendered peevish by
the close shave, Cochrane knocked the child senseless with the butt of a
gun and directed the corporal of the guard to carry him inside the fort.
After this incident the Macabebes took no chances in handling the bodies.
Without instructions they slipped their long needlelike poniards into the
breast of each Pulajan before they started to move the body.

Never in the history of the island had a greater killing of Pulajans
been made. The dead in the immediate vicinity of the fort numbered
eighty-one; eleven other bodies were dragged in from the jungle, and
various bodies found subsequently at a distance from the fort were left
where they lay.

After breakfast a long trench was dug in the soft sand of the plaza
opposite the pyramid of skulls, and in this the bodies of the dead were
placed, two deep, and buried. The oflBcers agreed that some sort of
marker should be placed over the grave to commemorate the hecatomb
which had taken place.

The mortally injured Macabebe died before evening. He had been
wounded in the stomach by some curious projectile that made three
perforations. Cochrane sat by his side and held his hand as he passed
out. Just before he died he indicated that he had something to say. The
captain bent over to listen and was barely able to catch the faint whisper,
“I don’t mind dying, my Captain, but I do hate to think of that six
months’ pay due me that I’ll never be able to spend.”

These were the poor fellow’s last words. He and his comrade were
buried at sunset. The company was paraded for the funeral and pre-
sented arms as the bodies, sewn in blankets, were borne past and placed
on the edge of the double grave. The flag was then draped over the
bodies, and Cochrane made a short address, saying that these men had
met their death while fighting for a flag that meant justice and right and
Kberty for the people of the Philippine Islands ; that they had died as he
or any other soldier would wish to meet his end, while fighting in a good
cause; and he would see to it personally that the story of their brave
death be published at Macabebe. The first sergeant then spoke for a few
minutes in a similar vein, and when the company had again presented
arms the bodies were lowered into the grave. A firing squad then fired
three volleys, and taps, beautifully played by the musician of the guard,
concluded the ceremony. Two substantial wooden crosses were placed at
the head of the grave, and it was carefully enclosed with bloclw of red-
and-white coral.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

401

After the men had been dismissed Hazzard called Cochrane aside and
with some pride displayed a piece of board on which were inscribed the
following words:

Feb. 28, 1904

Here lie the bones of 100 Pulajan
murderers, who on this day were
punished for their crimes and buried
by Company A, ist Battalion, P.C.

The wages of sin is death.

Cochrane was pleased with the epitaph and thought the scriptural ad-
monition at the end of it especially impressive, but he took exception to
the statement relative to the number of dead, because there were only
ninety-two bodies in the trench. Hazzard mumbled something about
poetic license, but the captain was inexorable, declaring that he did not
wish the company to take credit for anything that it had not accomplished
and that the number would have to be changed. The matter was settled
only by Hazzard’s agreeing to drag in eight more bodies from the jungle
and inter them with the others.

TALK OF THE TROOPS

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel) Elbridge Colby

Colonel Colby, a contributor to the Infantry Journal for many years,
and one of the few Army writers who have consistently written articles for
the more serious general magazines, has, among other interests, the study
of military lore. His article of early 1942 is based on research done in
writing his book. Army Talk,

Like any other, our military profession has a speech of its own. This
speech differs, however, from that of most other professions because it
includes much that is informal, common in the speech of soldiers when
they are not talking shop. Indeed, these words are used so generally in
personal conversation that it is sometimes hardly intelligible to the
average citizen.

There is good reason for this, in spite of the fact that armies draw
their personnel from the average of the people. Back in the days of pro-
fessional armies the common talk of the soldier was bound to be different
from that of ordinary folk. For long-term professionals of various nation-
alities lived a life apart and, limiting their conversations to the narrow
military field, developed a familiar jargon of their own. Language is a
picture of life; when the soldier^s life was widely different from that of

402 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

the people it was natural that his language should have been different
too.

I stood once on a railway platform in Shanhaikwan amid a mixed
crowd. My Chinese speech was almost unintelligible to the natives who
surrounded me, but soldiers from the Mukden troops of Chang Hsueh-
liang caught my meaning. The ticket taker asked how it was that local
citizens whose dialect I was speaking could not understand me and
soldiers from a different province did. I replied, “That is simple. All
soldiers speak the same language.”

Although originating half a world apart, our armies were descendants
of the same ancient forms and not very dissimilar in type and in equip-
ment.

Military language makes for precise speech. It has taken words with
broad meanings and specialized and narrowed them in spite of the gen-
eralities of their original sense. This is the reason the civilian has to learn,
almost by rote, when he enters the garrison gates, the names of units of
the Army. A “squad” is a group of men, and so is a “company.” But one
is a small unit and the other much larger, although there is nothing in-
herent in the words themselves that distinguishes size. The distinction is
traditional only; it is based only on the ways the words happened to be
used and to continue to be used. A “corps” (in one sense) and a “divi-
sion” and a “section” are all bodies or parts of bodies of troops of various
sizes, and only a soldier can tell you offhand the approximate strength
of each, in spite of the fact that in all armies to all soldiers the strength
of each is approximately the same. Even a study of the early meanings of
the words does not tell us. A “battalion” is a number of men drawn up
for battle, and a “regiment” is a number of men regimented for the same
purpose, and the meanings are obviously traditional. Size is not in the
words.

This does not mean that military language stays unchanged in all of
its words and phrases. Since it is a medium of comniunication in a field
of activity its words do sometimes change in meaning. But the change
from the original meaning is usually in the direction of greater precision.
Take the words “cannon” and “gun,” and it will be seen that Aey were
long used almost interchangeably for large weapons. But with the rifling
of a twist in the bore the word “gun” came to be applied exclusively to
the rifled weapon, and the word “cannon” was reserved for the old-
fashioned smoothbore weapons, like those of Civil War days that now
stand on courthouse lawns.

Take “squadron” for another example. Originally in Italian, French,
and Spanish, whence it came, it meant a small force drawn up in
“square” formation. Then the implication of the “square” disappeared,
and the meaning began to become generalized according to the laws of
normal language. Finally the military specializing tendency became effec-

LEARNING WAR FROM PASt WARS

403

tive, as we can see from the later history of the word. In 1617 it was still
used to refer to foot soldiers; by 1656 it was “most commonly appropri-
ated to horsemen,” and in Joel Barlow’s Columbiad in 1809 we find
“battalioned infantry and squadroned horse.” It has been exclusively a
cavalryman’s word for over a hundred years, until — imitating the French
during the World War — ^we began to apply it to aviators to indicate a
definite-sized unit, somewhere between a small “flight” and a large
“wing.”

The word “company” has been said to have originated likewise in a
broad sense, to describe any body of soldiers who lived together and to-
gether (con) ate their bread {pain). Every unit under a captain was a
company, whether in the Infantry, Cavalry, or Artillery. But “company”
was slowly limited in its meaning. Macaulay differentiated by using
“troop” to describe horsemen of the Great Rebellion. Yet it was not until
1883 that “company” disappeared from the American Cavalry and
“troop” became official in the Army. In the same year the companies of
artillery were first officially named “batteries,” although companies of
Coast Artillery were called “companies” until 1924.

Official orders can thus actually create a language. Words which ap-
pear in regulations and on documentary forms move from the black-and-
white of printer’s ink to the easy syllables of speech. People have often
wondered why the enlisted soldier should be called a “private” when his
life is anything but private in the ordinary sense of the word. He eats at
a table with many others; he sleeps in a large room with numerous beds;
he even bathes practically in public. The technical Army meaning of
“private” is a formalization of a certain civilian usage, a usage reflected
even today in talk of the private lives of public men. Cox and Stubbs in
England spoke of the “private” members of Parliament as opposed to
those who held government office. Blackstone spoke of “private persons”
making arrests, rather than officers of the Crown. As early as 1579 — not
to mention Shakespeare — ^we find “private soldier.” The idea was, of
course, the same as in politics — to indicate that the man did not hold
office, was not an officer. In America in 1763, Jeffrey Amherst spoke of
“private men” and other military documents of the same period simply
of “privates.” Indeed, the first Army Act of the United States, approved
September 29, 1789, specified sixty “privates” for each company. The
word in America thereafter was official, and therefore universal in the
Army, as a noun standing by itself and no longer needed to be employed
as an adjective with the word “soldiers.”

These special words are official. The soldier is not always official. He
uses these words, of course, also in common speech. He also uses other
official words somewhat in a slang sense, to spice his speech. At formal
parade or at guard mount the adjutant shouts, “Sound off!” and the
band plays while all stand motionless and listen. And so in barracks,

404 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

when a soldier is talking too much and his companions are standing around
and just listening, he is said to be just ‘‘sounding off.” When the com-
manding officer or the officer of the day approaches the guardhouse the
sentry on duty there has to “turn out the guard” as a compliment to the
officer, who sometimes inspects the guard. But of course if he does not he
salutes as acknowledgment of the compliment, and the guard does not
have to turn out, and then the sentry shouts, “Never mind the guard!”
So, under almost any circumstances, when someone starts to have some-
thing done, he is likely to say, “Never mind the guard!” in a slang sense.
At guard mount the order is given, “Officers and noncommissioned
officers, front and center!” and these march forward to stand by the
adjutant, who gives them their instructions. And so again, under almost
any circumstances, “front and center” is freely used as an informal way
of calling to a friend the equivalent of “Come here!” The topkick often
yells it out of the orderly-room door: “Jones, front and center!”

Such tendencies as these, formal and informal, are probably natural
in any organization that lives, as the Army does, a life apart from the
rest of the people, with different interests, with shifting and only occa-
sional contacts. There is a wide gulf, in language as well as in social ac-
tivity, between town and garrison in ordinary times. Townsfolk live their
lives out with few major changes of residence; soldiers come to the
near-by Army post, stay awhile, and then move elsewhere. The unique-
ness of Army speech is of course to be expected in purely professional
forces, and particularly in peacetime.

The strange thing is that this speech has persisted through so many
modem decades of mass armies, armies drawn from the people. It might
be thought that large influxes of citizen-soldiers in great emergency years
would have placed their own stamp upon the language of the Army. But
the fact is that they have not. The citizen-soldier may bring civilian slang
into the ranks with him, but he takes it out with him when he goes and
does not leave it behind.

There are but few civilian-slang phrases which have come into com-
mon soldier talk to stay. One of these is “jawbone” — the word a soldier
always uses in speaking of buying things on credit. It was known in what
is now the state of Washington in territorial days and among cattlemen
of the Northwest in the i88os. Soldiers picked it up in frontier days and
have made it distinctively their own while it has practically dropped out
of civilian life. “Bunk” is very old and very common; it is a working-
man’s word to describe a not-too-comfortable sleeping place. As far back
as the French and Indian War it was so used in the forces in America;
in the Army it has almost completely forced out “bed” in the soldier’s
talk, even when he does have a bed instead of a cot for sleeping. It is
official in “bunk tag*’ and fixed in “bunk fatigue” (daytime sleeping)
and in “bunk flying” (aviation talk in barracks instead of outside).

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

405

“Buddy” has become universal in speaking of a soldier; the AEF of 1918
and the American Legion saw to that. At first it was used to refer to a
companion. “Comrade” was too sentimental for the fighting men. Then
“buddy” was used so freely among the highways of, France that it came
to apply to all American soldiers. (“What outfit, buddy?”) It was new
to the service in the World War. Kenneth Roberts says that it dates back
to the Revolution, but he cites General Francis Marion as using it to
speak of his half brother, and it has loftg been a family nickname. Its
special sense of modem times probably comes from the coal mines of
West Virginia, where men working up the same heading spoke of one
another as “buddies.” It received special impetus in France because the
soldiers resented the “Sammy” which journalists tried to foist on them
and disliked the “Yanks” which the British called them. And so “buddies”
they became, to themselves and afterward to everyone else.

These words are exceptional in that they came into the Army from the
outside. For the most part, soldier words arise within the service. Once
adopted, they remain. New men pick up the talk of the troops in trying
to act like old soldiers, and the old soldiers teach them what they know.
The Army clings, even officially, to its own small ways in small things. It
continues to write “inclosure” instead of “enclosure” and to use the “will”
for the mandatory third person: “The regiment will form on the main
parade ground.” The recruit tries to make himself at home and to act as
if he liked it and knew all about it. As a recruit of very short service, the
actor Jimmy Stewart immediately adopted the lingo of the troops and
said he liked it. Drafted men of less than two months* service have been
heard glibly using “canteen check” and “topkick” and “jawbone” —
because that is part of the language of their new lives, part of what they
have in common with the many men from many places with whom they
now live.

Sometimes the new speech habits of months become firmly enough
fixed so that they take into civil life, when they leave, some of the most
pat expressions they learned in the ranks. “Buddy” is an example. More
interesting still is “dead soldier” — ^for many decades the Army name for
an empty bottle. This phrase left the service at the conclusion of the
World War. Discharged men found prohibition over the land. They went
to bootleggers and bought — and sometimes drank — ^by the bottle, so “dead
soldier’* ran over the country for a decade. Then the Prohibition Amend-
ment was repealed; a man could buy a drink by the glass again, and
“dead soldier” disappeared generally from civilian speech. But it is still
common in the Army, for the Army clings to its old ways and old phrases.

A great part of Army slang is uncomplimentary. Back during the Civil
War, in 1862, when troops along the Mississippi were first issued small
shelter tents, they called ffiem “pup tents” and “doghouses.” They spoke
of their hardtack as “dog biscuits.” Before the Battle of Fredericksburg

406 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

infantrymen fastened to their uniforms little slips of paper or cloth on
which their names were written. When this spontaneous method of
identification was replaced by the issue of formally prescribed tags of
metal to be worn abput the neck, the soldier called them “dog tags” and
still does. He is even likely to refer to himself as a “dog face,” although
he might resent your calling him that. This habit of uncomplimentary
self-epithet is typical of the true soldier, who likes — ^although only half
in jest — to speak slightingly of his station in life. In fact, probably the
most popular poem in the service is Kipling’s “It’s Tommy this, an*
Tommy that.” The attitude is well illustrated by the song of Irving Berlin
popularized by Fred Astaire. It is of course of a sister service, of the Navy
ra^er than of the Army, but it is typical of the enlisted man in both. He
was induced to “join the Navy to see the world” and was disappointed
because all that he saw was the sea. And yet in going on to say that the
Atlantic wasn’t romantic and the Pacific wasn’t what it was cracked up
to be, he was still slyly boasting in the song that he had seen the Atlantic
and the Pacific and the Black Sea too. Disappointed he might pretend to
be, but he did not fail to impress his hearer that he had “been around”
just the same.

Yet it is not only of himself that the soldier speaks in slang in an un-
complimentary way. He calls the eagles which his colonel wears as in-
signia “buzzards,” and the honorable discharge he receives at the end of
his enlistment a “buzzard” because of the American eagle displayed
across its top. The company mechanic is a “wood butcher” and the com-
pany mess sergeant a “belly robber.” Of course the soldier’s meal is a
“mess” — ^and that is official. Indeed a chief of staff of the Army has said,
fortunately of meals long since eaten, “What the government bought was
better than the housewife could get, but what the fellow in the kitchen
did to it was something awful.” And so the service has its “mess officer,”
mess stool, mess hall, but by some twist the man who takes care of the
tables and tableware is a “dining-room orderly.”

There is very little difference between ojGBcer slaiig and enlisted men’s
slang, except t^t perhaps the enlisted man uses more of it. One of these
differences has to do with the personal orderly who voluntarily and for
extra pay and after hotu^ cleans the officer’s leather and sometimes cleans
his quarters. Only very rarely and very formally is he called an “orderly”
by either. To the officer he is a “striker^’ and to the enlisted man he is a
“dog robber” — ^and no offense is meant by the term either. Then there
is also the slang term for a recruit. Although to oifiicers and story writers
he may be dubbed a “rookie” — as he was by Kipling in Many Inventions
— ^he is not called that by enlisted men. They usually call him a “John,”
and this comes from a curious adaptation. Sample forms for enlistment
papers used to be furnished, all filled out as a model in the name of
John Doe. Recruiting sergeants began calling new men a “John” and

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

then it spread. And even after he learned to march and shoot like a
soldier and ceased to be a recruit he might keep a trace of this original
name and call himself Buck” or “Johnny Doughboy,” or plain

“John Soldier.”

“Old Man” is used by both officers and enlisted men, by officers to re-
fer to the colonel of the regiment, just as in civil life the head of the firm
is often so called. Enlisted men use it almost exclusively for the company
commander, however young he may be. That is, they use it if they like
him, and unless they have fastened upon some particular trait or oddity
of behavior and given him some other name like “Sad Sam,” or “Felix
the Cat,” or “Groucho Marx,” or “Turkey Neck.”

It might perhaps be imagined that graduates of West Point would
bring into the service with them year after year some of the distinctive
Military Academy slang. But they actually bring in very little, and what
little they bring seems soon to disappear. Among the very young lieuten-
ants phrases from the Academy may persist for a time but not for long.
Thus for a time the “goat” is the jimior officer of the regiment, as he was
at West Point the lowest-ranking member of a class, and an “engineer”
is an excellent student, because the top students could and usually did
enter the Corps of Engineers. But such terms, though of long standing at
the Academy, do not become general of use. Officers on a post together
soon get to care little exactly who is the “goat” of the regiment — except
at the Presidio of San Francisco, where he is the only officer privileged
to cut across the lawns and the “engineers” are far off on other duty.

There are also true Army words that are of the nature of pure slang,
as spontaneous and descriptive as the “high hat” and “stuffed shirt” of
civil life. Their meanings arise from concrete facts and actual circum-
stances. Their significance can be known only to those who live the Army
life. They are so apt that, once learned, they are used forever. Such are
“bobtail” and “pull your belt.” “Bobtail” originated from a detail of ad-
ministration. In the old days, when a soldier was discharged ahead of his
time so as not to be entitled to a full honorable discharge, the same blank
form was used as for others. But there was a space at the bottom of the
paper on which might ordinarily be written the words, “Service honest
and faithful.” For a discharge other than honorable a pair of shears cut
that comment off the bottom of the paper and made it a “bobtail.” This
slang epithet from some unknown soldier was so appropriate that it was
universally adopted. It is still used, although the blank form has changed
and the procedure too.

The phrase “pull your belt” grew out of a veteran custom of the “Old
Army.” When a soldier goes on guard duty his belt is a visible sign and
symbol of his assignment. He wears it to mess; he wears it when resting
at the guardhouse between tours of walking sentry posts; he wears it, of
course, when he is actually on post as a sentinel. In the “Old Army” it

408 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

used to be a tradition, if a sentry were found asleep on post, for the officer
of the day to remove the sentr/s hat, rifle, or belt surreptitiously as visible
evidence of the soldier’s somnolence. Even today, if a man on guard is
delinquent in any way and has to be relieved from guard duty, his belt
comes off. So to “pull your belt” is to relieve a man from guard duty
for some misdeed and send him back to his company for punishment.

Some of our slang and some of our official terms are borrowed from
the outside or borrowed from other armies. But the Army makes them its
own, as we have seen of “jawbone” and “buddy” in the United States.
New contacts mean new names. “Padre” entered the service as a kindly
nickname for the chaplain when the troops were in Cuba, the Philippines,
and along the Mexican border — ^just as it entered the British Army when
Wellington was in Spain. In Spanish a cantina was a small store; it was
adopted as “canteen” into the British Army and taken over by us from
the British, although both armies already used another “canteen” to de-
scribe the soldier’s portable water bottle. In 1892 the name of the soldier’s
store was officially changed to “post exchange,” but to many it still re-
mains “the canteen,” although the abbreviation “PX” has been gaining
ground and many supplant it.

When American troops were active in the Philippines on campaign
against the Insurrectos we picked up the word “bolo” and gave it a
special meaning. A bolo is a slightly curved heavy knife about two feet
long, a common tool among the natives who also used it as a fighting
weapon. When an American soldier proved to be a poor marksman with
the rifle he was dubbed a “boloman” or simply a “bolo” — ^implying, of
course, that he could never learn to shoot and had better be armed only
with a knife. The word spread and stuck; indeed, one company in the
Army annually presents a “bolo” to the man who makes the lowest score
on the rifle range. He is the “company bolo.”

In more formal matters than mere slang, however, we have altered
military words originally adopted from the British, sometimes made up
new ones of our own, or dropped the British ones altogether as we
dropped, soon after the war, the British aviation “ace” and the equally
British “brigade major.” We took the bugle call “tap-to,” or “tattoo,”
from them but during the Civil War devised a “taps” of our own for the
soldier’s final music at night. We took the “khaki” which the British had
adopted from the Persian to designate the color of a uniform and ap-
plied it specially and solely to cotton uniforms, never using it as the
British do to apply also to wool.

As regards most military words, of course, the American form comes
from the British, for we got our language from them, not only the “com-
pany,” “battalion,” “regiment,” and the word “arm/’ that originated on
the continent in military forms of organization, but even such broader
and more informal words as “aide” and “general officer” and “private.”

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 409

Yet we very often seem to have maintained a distinctive difference in
pronunciation. It can be seen, for example, in “reveille,” which is French,
of course, in origin, but actually came to us from England. We call it
“r^t;'-uh-lce” and the English “re-t;^//'-ee” or “re-r^aZ'-lee.” The difference
is plain in the fact that Irving Berlin rhymes it with “heavily” while Kip-
ling’s line accents it on the middle syllable: “It started at revelly and it
lasted until dawn.” We shorten the a in “khaki” while the English keep
it long. Then there is “lieutenant” which the British pronounce “te/-
tenant/* and there is justification for their so doing because the French
earlier had it **luftcnand/* and the British took it over early. In 1793
Walker hoped the British would change their pronunciation to ^‘lew-ten,’-
ant,'* but in unchanging England they have not. In America we have.

This “lieutenant,” moreover, reaches so far into nooks and crannies of
language and organization that we cannot leave it here. It originated as a
military title with a meaning more true to its form that it has now. It
was accepted bodily into English from the French. It was meant, of
course, to describe one “holding the place” of another. In the standing
armies of seventeen th-centur>' France and England there were numerous
absentee colonels, men of noble rank who spent most of their time at
court while another officer actually attended to the affairs of the regi-
ment. It was thus that James Wolfe for years commanded a Highland
regiment in Scotland while its colonel. Lord John Sackville, stayed in
London. The title “lieutenant-colonel” was devised to fit such a circum-
stance. It became official. In America we have never had absentee
colonels, and they have largely disappeared from other armies too. But
the title remains. It has come in military regulations to make “lieutenant’'
mean simply “assistant,” much as a lieutenant colonel is usually the first
assistant to the colonel. When company officers were assigned under a
captain they were also called “lieutenants” in the sense of “assistants.”
The idea that such a person “holds the place” of another has completely
disappeared. Today lieutenant colonels are assigned to command bat-
talions on their own responsibility and lieutenant generals to command
field armies. It is now by custom and regulation merely a designation of
rank.

To return at the end to more informal phrases and more oral language^
we remark that the principal characteristic of familiar soldier speech is a
tendency to shorten, to abbreviate, and to call things by their initials.
The habit was in the Army long before the alphabetical riot of the New
Deal. We have seen evidence of it already in the growing strength of
“PX” for “post exchange” to replace “canteen.” The habit had its great-
est stimulus from official regulations. The common “AWOL” is officially
prescribed as the abbreviation for “absent without leave.” Also official
are the abbreviations “o.d.” for “olive drab” and “CO” for “commanding
officer.” Quartermaster lists spoke of a common yellow soap as “g.L” for

410

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

“government issue.” From these it was a short jump and slip of the
tongue to speaking of the commanding officer as the “CO” or “KO” and
of any standard article as “GI” — even of official dances as “GI dances”
and of the girls who come as “GI girls.” The habit spread to other
things; the “OD” is the “officer of the day,” and a “DD” is a dishonora-
ble discharge. “IDR” is always used to describe infantry drill regulations,
and “SGD” to describe a Surgeon’s Certificate of Disability.

The tendency is, of comse, toward a shortening and a clipping, not
only into initials, but also into single words. The Field Artillery is “the
Field,” and the Coast Artillery is “the Coast.” This is a tendency com-
mon in all spoken language. We see it in civilian circles in “aren’t” and
“he’ll” and “can’t.” It appears in connection with a host of other Army
terms. “Army Headquarters” gets cut to “Army” and, in France during
the World War, the title “Army Corps” was cut to “Corps” even in
official documents and letterheads. All of these things go on because the
military language is principally a spoken rather than a written language.
Most instruction is given orally rather than from books. Men living
closely together do not commonly communicate in writing but in speech.
And all speech tends to clip, to shorten, to abbreviate, especially, as H. L.
Mencken has pointed out, American speech, so also American Army
speech.

New abbreviations appear from time to time on official lists, but the
soldier will keep on abbreviating of his own volition without the necessity
of encouragement or suggestion from above. He will keep on inventing
names for persons and for things. When they are apt and become popular,
they stay as part of the talk of the troops, and sometimes for centuries. A
regiment once stampeded by beasts in the Philippines is still called “The
Carabaos.” A regiment whose colonel once carried an umbrella while in
uniform is still remembered as “The Umbrellas.” A regiment that spent
much of its time in Manila while fighting was going on in the brush has
long been named “The Coffee Coolers.” A division that tramped steadily
about France without getting into much action is still called “The Sight-
seeing Sixth.” Perhaps the incident of the golf-course girls in Memphis
will result in the permanence of “The Yoo Hoo Battalion.” We cannot
predict the permanence of any current word because popularity alone
will decide.

Sometimes there is competition between names. One of our most recent
words, from the Popeye comic strip, is “jeep,” which is used for what is
officially known as “truck, j4-ton, 4 X 4 ” Suddenly put into service and
without the benefit of an official nickname like that the “tanks” had in
England, it has been widely and variously labeled. It has been called
“midget,” “kiddie car,” “blitzbuggy,” “bantam,” and even “jalopy” as
well as “jeep.” But “jeep” seems to he gaining and gives the best promise
of permanence. “Jeep” has also been used for light armored cars, for

LEARNING WAR FROM PA§T WARS 411

larger command cars, and even for larger trucks. At Fort Dix the word
is generally employed to refer to recruits, to new soldiers, and “jeep bar-
racks” is heard, as well as “jeep hats” and “jeep clothes” for any ill-
fitting articles such as new men have not yet been able to discard or re-
place. The word “jeep” is thus in a turmoil. Time, however, and the
settling influence of the service at large for uniformity will answer the
question. If the meaning does not become settled and single, specific and
fixed, the Army will drop it. The Army abhors ambiguity. That is the
way of the Army.

SINGLEHANDED

By Lieutenant Colonel Dan D. Howe

The individual battle conduct of “Sergeant” Sam Woodfill is looked
upon by professional military men, particularly those of the Infantry, as
representing the ideal of the trained, skillful, and efficient ground fighter.
Sergeant Woodfill was a Regular Army enlisted man of long experience
when the first World War began. In France he was promoted to lieutenant,
and for the day’s work described by Colonel Howe he received the Con-
gressional Medal of Honor and was later selected to represent the Infantry
at the ceremonies of the burial of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington
Cemetery at Washington, D.C., at which time General Pershing spoke of
him as the finest kind of American soldier.

Woodfill was retired as a master sergeant, later as a captain, and was
commissioned as a major early in the present war.

Colonel Howe was close at hand on Sam Woodfill’s Big Day. In 1940
he sought out Woodfill at his home in Tennessee and went over with him
minutely concerning what happened on the day he won the Congressional
Medal. Colonel Howe was retired a few years before the present war and
came back to active duty after the war started.

Foo AND SMOKE helped M Company get going in the orthodox deployed
formation. But as it reached a line just north of the road running east
from Cunel, the Germans opened with rifle and machine-gun fire. It
wasn’t long before the company was pinned to the ground.

M Company’s commander was in a shell hole himself and looked care-
fully over the edge of it to size things up. As he did so he began to do
some figuring. He figured first that those troops — those Germans out
there to the front — ^probably knew what they were doing. They had had
four years, some of them, to learn how. They not only held the ground
across which his company must advance — if it were to get anywhere —
covered with the crossing fires of their heavy machine guns. They also
had snipers protecting the crews of those guns and covering any dead
ground which the fire of the machine guns didn’t happen to cover.

4 i:^ THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

You can*t inarch troops across open ground toward such defenses and
expect them to get there. The human body is too big a target, and there
are too many bullets to find it. There were twenty or more M Company
dead in getting just this far forward. No, the company commander fig-
ured, men can’t advance against that kind of fire, across that kind of
ground in a deployed upright formation, no matter how wide the in-
tervals. They can’t even advance by rushes. There is only one way to do
it: You’ve got to get forward as far as you can without being seen. And
when you are seen you’ve got to shoot first and you’ve got to shoot
straight.

It’s no different from the Philippines back in 1901, he thought.

But then he thought again how green his whole company was com-
pared to the enemy’s veterans. Many of his recent replacements knew
little more than how to set their sights, if that much. In fact, he had
figured this whole thing out before. And he’d known for a long time just
what he was going to do if ever he found his company in the fix it was
in now. His headquarters group had been carrying a star-gauge rifle for
him, a new one, to use at just such a time. He had it in his hand, and it
felt good.

He managed to signal “Down” to his forward platoon and then
crawled out over the edge of his shell hole and worked his way forward.
First getting a bandoleer of ammunition from his nearest soldier, he
headed generally toward a hump in the ground about a hundred yards
ahead, from which he thought he might get better observation. As he
went several of his runners crawled in the same direction some distance
behind him.

As he had thought, he could see much better into enemy ground from
the hump. He watched closely for a few minutes and then he picked up
signs of a machine gun firing in the edge of the woods over there about
three hundred yards northeast of Cunel. He couldn’t see any enemy
soldiers, but he could hear an occasional machine-gun burst and see the
puffs of smoke. So he began to crawl on farther, watching constantly in
that direction.

But he had crawled only a few more yards when a blast of fire directly
from his left gashed the ground beside him. Automatically he shifted
toward that direction. He could see, more prominent than anything else,
the church tower on the east edge of Cunel, the nearest French town.
And, yes, he could see smoke curling out of a crack in the tower. He
aimed straight at the small square window in the tower and fired about
five shots. Then he waited a few seconds. No more fire came from the
tower of the church, so now he shifted his direction back toward his
original objective. Slowly and carefully, making the most of every bump
and depression, he crawled along for another himdred yards or so.

Then another burst of fire, this time from his right, lucked up the dirt

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 413

close enough to splatter him. He twisted to the right, clinging close to the
ground, and took a quick look out from under the front of his helmet.
In the edge of another patch of woods off in the new direction he thought
he could see a dark square, and near it some smoke. He remembered
that German blankets were black. It must be a blanket hung from the
lower branches of a tree to cover the flashes of a machine gun. The
blanket seemed to be hung with its lower edge two or three feet off the
ground. He figured that the barrel of the gun ought to be two or three
inches below the edge of the blanket. He shifted a little to a better firing
position — all of this thinking and shifting took only a second or two —
and then fired a full clip right on through the lower edge of the blanket.
There was no return fire from behind the blanket.

Now he turned again toward the Bois de la Pultifere where he had
first seen activity. He was only a couple of hundred yards from there
now. But he still couldn’t see anything except an occasional puff of
smoke after a machine-gun burst.

He couldn’t, he figured, get much closer the way he was going without
the enemy’s spotting him. But there was a road ditch close by, and this
ought to help him gain a good deal more ground before the Germans
saw him.

By using the ditch he got within thirty or forty yards of the German
gun position. He still couldn’t see much. The field gray of the German
uniform blended almost perfectly with the foliage. But once in a while
he could see movement, and always the puff of smoke.

It was only a minute, however, when a face appeared among the
leaves in the edge of the woods — the face, perhaps, of the leader of the
German gun squad or that of the gunner himself, and for some reason
there was excitement written upon it. The American company com-
mander was already hugging the ground, holding his rifle ready to bring
it to the aim. But before he fired he pulled his automatic out of its
holster and laid it on the ground in easy reach. He was so close to the
enemy this time he might need his maximum fire power.

Now inch by inch he moved his rifle up to the position of aim and
then squeezed his trigger and fired right under the edge of the German
soldier’s clearly outlined helmet. He reloaded with the least possible
movement of hand and wrist as the face dropped out of sight. Another
appeared at once in its place. He fired again, and the second face was
gone like tibe first. Four times he fired, and four times a face disappeared.

Then no other soldiers of the enemy, so it seemed, had enough curiosity
left to venture a look from the woods out into the open ground.

But now a slight movement in the underbrush caught the eye of the
American. He thought he could see a man crawling away from the posi-
tion toward the rear. First the man’s body, then his helmeted head,
which looked like that of a big turtle as the man crawled. With the last

414 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

shot in his clip the American dropped this soldier, also, to the ground.
At once another gray figure jumped from concealment and hekded into
the shrubbery for the rear. But the American still had his automatic
and shifted to it in an instant. Three or four shots he fired at top rapid-
fire speed, and this last German figure staggered and fell into the bushes.

There was no more movement in the woods, no noise, no slightest
sign of life. The American officer moved forward slowly and carefully,
gaining finally the edge of the woods. There were six dead Germans there
in the underbrush. Four lay near the gunner’s position of the camouflaged
machine gun back of the blanket hung from a tree. A little to one side
were the two men who had tried to get away. All six had been killed
without ever seeing their enemy and probably without ever knowing
the exact direction of his fire.

A trail ran back into the woods from the gun position. The American
crept along it with the utmost caution. A few yards farther on he found
a German officer twisted in a heap by the side of the trail. He looked
as if he might have been hit by an artillery shell or perhaps a machine-
gun burst while running rapidly. His head rested awkwardly on his knee
as if he had been taking a great stride when something felled him. All
this the American took in at a glance as he moved to step p£ist the
figure. Then he caught the open eye of the German. It wasn’t a dead eye.
It wasn’t glazed but glittered like the eye of a living man.

It was alive, all right. The German jumped up and at him with full
force, grabbing his rifle with one hand and wrapping the other arm
around his neck. The German had nearly wrested his rifle away when
the American thought of the automatic in his belt. He suddenly released
his hold on the rifle, snatched out his pistol, and fired against the side
of the German. That was all there was to that.

No other enemy appeared, and it was again quiet in the woods. The
company commander suddenly thought of his company. It was over an
hour since he had left them. He ought to be getting contact with them
again. He went back cautiously to the edge of the woods.

From there he could see what appeared to be advanced elements work-
ing along the outskirts of Cunel, not far away. He could see a few others
to the east of the town approaching the woods. Not far out from the edge
of the underbrush were two of his own men. He signaled to them that he
was going back into the woods and that he wanted them to signal the
company to keep on advancing.

He could now hear scattered firing at different places in the woods
not far ahead. He decided to find out what it was and made his way
toward the nearest sounds of firing. His route took him along a slope
of the rising ground just inside the edge of the woods. He hadn’t gone
far when a rifle bullet scattered dirt on his feet.

He scrambled for cover beyond the great roots of a large elm tree

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 415

and then tried to see who was shooting at him. The dying echoes of the
shot seemed to come from a point not far up the slope of the hill. The
angle of fire had seemed to be downward from some height. The German
might be up a tree.

While he was thinking this over the company commander saw one of
his sergeants crawling through the bushes to a spot behind a big tree
about forty yards to his left. Then he heard the crack of a rifle from-
the branches above. The shot, fired straight downward, actually grazed
the sergeant’s nose and ripped up the ground between his feet and he
jumped high off the ground in his surprise. The sergeant threw up his
automatic and fired up into the tree above him. For a second or two
there was no sound but the echo of the pistol shot. Then a CJerman
sniper crashed down through the branches and hit the ground at the
feet of the sergeant, now doubly astonished*

While this was happening some of the forward elements of the com-
pany had crossed the road and were entering the woods at different
points. German machine guns now opened a steady fire which seemed
to be raking the high ground not far to the north. The trees, for the most
part, were dense and tangled, but the company commander could see that
strips cleared of timber and underbrush ran in angular directions toward
the higher ground. These were surely fields of fire prepared for machine
guns — ^good places to keep out of. So he decided he had better do some
further reconnoitering before the bulk of his company tried to gain that
higher ground.

Accordingly he moved on into the woods toward the sound of the
nearest enemy machine guns. In a short time he had crept very close to
the noise. Ahead of him was a treetop brought down not many hours
before by artillery fire. He crawled into the tangled mass of branches
and worked his way through to the other side. There he found himself
looking squarely into a German machine-gun nest not forty yards away.
The crew was partly under cover in the gun emplacement and near-by
trenches.

The company conunander aimed at the crouching gunner and fired.
Another German gunner sprang to the gun. But he didn’t get off a single
shot. There appeared to be three more Germans left, and all three of
them were now trying to turn the gun to fire at him. But the German
heavy gun of those days had a traverse of only some thirty degrees, and
shifting took time. It took too much time. The American fired three more
shots, and then the crew of a second gun lay quietly dead in the midst
of the Bois de la Pulti^re.

The company commander circled around this area and moved off
again towanl the north. It struck him as he did so that if the whole
woods had to be cleaned out he had better find out how big the woods
were. But already he thought he could see the far edge through the

416 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

trees. As he continued on he could hear rifle fire first from one direc-
tion and then from another. And then a machine gun opened up some-
where in the woods.

He could probably get a better idea of things if now he went up to
higher ground. He shifted his direction to the east toward the northern
slope of Hill 300 . At the first rise he stopped to observe.

Just at this moment he heard the bushes rustling near him. But before
he could jump to cover, three German soldiers, ammunition carriers for
a machine-gun crew, came into plain sight and close at hand. The en-
counter was so sudden neither American nor Germans did anything for
a second. Then the company commander instinctively half raised his
rifle, exclaiming something (he doesn^t remember today what it was he
said). The Germans dropped their ammunition, raised their hands up
high, and shouted out together, ^^KameradenV* and kept on shouting it.

The next thought that struck the American was that if he could get
these soldiers to talk he might find out something about the rest of the
woods and the immediate situation. He forgot for a minute that he
couldn’t speak any German himself — and then he tried sign language.
Holding Ids rifle at the ready with one hand, he made a rotary motion
with the other. Next he looked toward the north and waved his hand
in that direction and then back and forth. What he wanted to know was
whether there were any other Germans near by.

But by this time the three ammunition carriers simply seemed to be
getting more and more scared. So in a last attempt to make himself
understood the American lowered his gun to the ground, made a sign
more or less indicating disgust, and wound up his gestures by a wave
toward the rear. This the Germans had no difficulty in understanding.
All three of them took off their steel helmets, dropped them on the
ground, and began moving slowly over the hill toward the American
lines. With their helmets off he could see that the Germans were not
the seasoned veterans his outfit had been fighting during the days just
passed. They were only kids with fuzz on their faces. He figured Aey
would keep on moving toward the rear, all right, and that the advanced
elements of his company, not far away, would take care of them.

But he still didn’t know what was to be found farther to the north.
He moved on down the slope but had only gone a few paces when he
heard a machine gun again.

This time it took him the better part of half an hour to creep close
enough to hear the click of the German bolt between the bursts. By
this time he had reached the cover of a log and figured that the gun
and its crew must not be far beyond the other side of it. He peeped
cautiously over the log, and there they were — a machine gunner and a
crew of four — ^not more than a grenade’s throw from where he lay
himself.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

417

It didn’t take him long to figure, this time, that he had some more
fast work to do. A fight of any length this far from his own troops would
bring German reinforcements running. Taking only time for this thought,
he aimed and fired at the gunner. And four more times he aimed and
fired.

There is no reason why an expert rifleman with a star-gauge rifle,
should ever miss a man at fifty yards. He didn’t miss. Five shots of rapid
fire, and this third German machine-gun crew joined its comrades from
the first two crews.

A quick look around the immediate area and the American company
commander detected no further signs of enemy movement. He now
thought the best thing to do was to gain the northern edge of the
woods, take a good look, and then go back to his company. So he moved
carefully on until he could see open sky.

Near to the edge of the woods he found some old German trenches and
decided they needed investigating. He was about to gain the nearest
trench when violent firing broke out from somewhere else, apparently
aimed in his direction. It seemed to be coming from the edge of the
timber a few hundred yards away. The shifting of the bursts and the
whistling of the bullets indicated that his particular corner of the forest
was being searched by machine-gun fire. Each burst seemed closer. The
nearest cover was the old German trench, if he could make it.

He jumped for it so fast he dropped his rifle. He landed in the trench
on his left knee and arm but with his automatic in his right hand. He had
drawn it instinctively as he dived for the trench. It was a good instinct
to obey, for he landed almost on top of a German soldier on watch in the
old trench. The German grabbed him, and they wrestled for the gun.
But the American managed to get his pistol hand free and fire point-
blank. The German backed away and fell.

The company commander had hardly caught his breath when he heard
a click right behind him. He spun around, and there was another Ger-
man. This new enemy had just come around a corner of the trench and
by now had partly raised his rifle. He brought up his pistol and attempted
to fire. It jammed, so he threw it straight at the German’s face. But he
had forgotten that the pistol was tied to him by a lanyard, and it flew
backward and almost struck his own face instead.

But the German soldier was in a jam too, trying frantically to work the
bolt of his rifle home. From the comer of his eye the American saw an
engineer’s pick lying in the bottom of the trench. One jump and it was
in his hands. Without loss of motion he swung it from the ground with
all his strength. The pick landed squarely just under the edge of the
German’s helmet. Soldier and rifle crashed to the ground.

The American, still clutching the pick, turned as he heard another
noise again in his rear. The man he had shot at first in the trench was.

418 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

now on his feet, Luger in hand, and about to fire. The American swung
the pick again in a swift high arc that came down on top of the Ger-
man’s helmet. The point went readily through the helmet and skull alike.

By this time the company commander felt that although a pick might
do as an emergency weapon, he needed his rifle. He crawled slowly out of
the trench to find it. It felt good in his hands again. Machine-gun Are
was still whipping into the woods uncomfortably close to him. He
wormed his way rapidly northeast. Maybe he could spot the machine
guns from there. He couldn’t see them, but there were other targets in
view. A German soldier came out of the woods. The company com-
mander followed this moving target with careful aim and at the soldier’s
first slight pause pressed the trigger. The German fell.

This time the crack of his rifle was heard and recognized by one of his
own runners who had crept into a covered position near by. Both now
took up a systematic fire at every enemy that came into view. The smoke
and noise from other firing made the two snipers fairly safe from dis-
covery as they alternately blazed away, but only at targets they could see.

This picking off of CJermans continued until their bandoleer of am-
munition was exhausted. By this time several large groups of enemy
troops were in sight some distance off. It looked as if the Germans were
getting ready to counterattack.

Once more the company commander began to think seriously about
his company. He had better go back and see that it was reorganized
on its objective back there in the woods. He should also find the battalion
commander without delay and tell him of the situation. So he signaled
his runner and moved back under cover of the woods and found it.

For this day’s work Lieutenant Sam Woodfill was ordered to appear
at General Headquarters to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor.
When in 1920 Sam Woodfill was made the Infantry pallbearer for the
Unknown Soldier, General Pershing said, “Here is America’s greatest
Doughboy!”

ALL-OUT MAP ERROR

By Major (now Lieutenant Colonel) Thomas E. Stone

As long as there is ground warfare— or, for that matter, air warfare
— direction and orientation will be among its most important elements.
Whether they fly, march, or move in trucks or tanks, armed forces need
constantly to know exactly where they are and where they are going, par-
ticularly in cross-country ground movements and, of course, in all air move-

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 419

ments. Accordingly the military topographical map which shows the forms
of the ground, the streams, and the wooded areas, as well as the roads and
towns and cities, is a most important item of military equipment for all
armies.

Accurate maps and map reading are vital not only for high commanders
but for the commanders of small ground units. How much can hang on the
careful use of a map is brought out very clearly in Major Stone’s article
which follows. Major Stone is a reserve officer of Infantry now on active
duty in his second World War.

Military maps, it should be said, arc usually squared off in co-ordinates
— lines running vertically and horizontally on the map, one thousand yards
apart on some maps, more on others. These arc numbered, and to give the
location of any point on the map reference is made to the co-ordinate
square in which it lies by giving first the vertical co-ordinate, which bounds
the square of ground on the left, and then the horizontal co-ordinate, which
lies beneath the square, with interpolation both ways within the square
to indicate the exact spot. In rolling country, moreover, the contours which
indicate the form of the ground are often deceptive because there are so
many small hills and ridges of much the same shape. There is one practi-
cal way, however, of finding out whether your outfit is on the right hill,
as Major Stone shows.

On October 6, 1918, the front of the 307th Infantry, 77th Division, lay
along Hill 198 as shown on the map. To the north and west, surrounded
by the Germans, lay the so-called Lost Battalion. On the right was the
306th Infantry, which the night before had relieved the 305th.

Since October 3 the 307th had attacked daily in an effort to reach
the beleaguered group to the north. Most of these attacks, made in con-
junction with the 308th Infantry on the left, had been directed along
both sides of the ravine west of Hill 198.

In the forenoon a message from the brigade commander arrived at the
headquarters of the 307th Infantry. This stated that the division com-
mander had criticized the 307th Infantry severely for failure to keep
up with the 306th Infantry on its right. The 306th, said the message,
was on the ridge of the Bois d’Apremont; hence its line was farther ad-
vanced than that of tlie 307th Infantry. The 307th was ordered to attack
that afternoon so as to straighten the line.

Colonel Eugene H. Houghton, a grain dealer who had seen four years’
service with the Canadian Expeditionary Force and now commanded
the 307th, asked and received permission to speak directly to the division
commander. To him the colonel protested that the 306th Infantry had
made a mistake in reporting its position; that it was not on the ridge
in the Bois d’Apremont but on the ridge in the Bois de la Naza in exten-
sion of the line of the 307th Infantry. Furthermore, said the colonel, a
lone attack by the 307th Infantry would be absolutely unsound, for it
would get fire in enfilade from Ae Bois d’Apremont against which no

420 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

countermeasures could be taken. Moreover, as the 307th advanced, its
flanks would be exposed.

The division commander replied that the position of the 306th In-
fantry had been verified by its brigade commander and that the 307th
would have to make the attack that afternoon. Colonel Houghton re-
torted, “Well, if the 306th Infantry is in the Bois d’Apremont, I wish
you’d tell ’em to stop throwing minnie-werfers on my regiment.” But
the division commander was adamant — the lone attack would have to
be made.

Leaving the telephone, Houghton instructed his intelligence oflficer to
go into the area of the 306th and there on the ground to prove to the
satisfaction of the regimental and leading battalion commanders that
their reported map locations were in error.

Accompanied by two orderlies, the intelligence officer went first to the
headquarters of the 306th. There he found that both he and the colonel
of the 306th agreed on the map location of the regimental command
post at 74.0-48.0. But as to the front line they could not reach agreement.
The colonel insisted that it was on the ridge in the Bois d’Apremont —
of this he was certain.

Leaving the headquarters of the 306th Infantry, the 307th intelligence
officer started forward, instructing his men to count their paces. Follow-
ing a trail (the route indicated on the map), they reached the command
post of the leading battalion. Its commander at once agreed as to the
map location of regimental headquarters, but with equal certainty he
placed his own headquarters and his front line in the Bois d’Apremont.
To support his own opinion he called in all four company commanders.
Each of them agreed with the battalion commander. Aside from the
intelligence officer of the 307th there was only one officer present who
disagreed — ^the battalion intelligence officer.

Since opinion could not be reconciled on the basis of identification of
the earth forms with the contour lines, a simple test was suggested: that
two officers be sent to pace the distance from regimental to battalion
headquarters. The battalion commander concurred and dispatched two
lieutenants to make the count. Meanwhile, an estimate was made of the
number of paces required to cover the distance between the two loca-
tions. Assuming that, owing to the terrain, the length of the steps would
average twenty-four inches, it was estimated that if battalion head-
quarters were in the Bois d’Apremont, the number of paces would come
to roughly 2,700. If in the Bois de la Naza, the number would be only
1,400.

The lieutenants returned. Each had twice paced the distance, once
going back to regimental headquarters and once on the return. All four
counts were substantially the same — ^between 1,300 and 1,400 paces.
Approximately the same number of steps had been counted by the in-

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 421

telligence oflScer of the 307th and by each of the two orderlies on their
trip in.

The difference between 1,400 and 2,700 paces could be explained
only by inaccuracy of map location. The 306th Infantry battalion com-
mander thereupon wrote a message to his colonel, reporting the test
and correcting the reported location of his front. This message was.
delivered by the intelligence officer of the 307th Infantry to the colonel
of the 306th, who immediately relayed the correction by telephone to
1 53d Brigade headquarters, whence it was reported at once to the division
commander.

The order for the lone attack of the 307th Infantry that afternoon
was canceled.

In the course of a concerted division attack which began the next
morning, October 7, the 307th Infantry reached and outposted the so-
called Lost Battalion.

Comment and Conclusions

Excerpts from From Upton to the Meuse with the soyth Infantry, by
Captain W. Kerr Rainsford, published in 1920:

. . , and the two battalions were deployed in double line for a concerted assault
behind half an hour’s artillery preparation. This artillery preparation had frankly
become a thing to dread. There was no direct observation of their fire, due to
the blind character of the country — ^nor was there any direct communication from
the infantry units to the batteries. But what was also probably a fruitful cause
of trouble was an almost criminal inexactness on the part of very many infantry
officers in map reading.

The terrain was undoubtedly difficult for the attainment of this exactness and
certainty, but that alone would not sufficiently account for the mistakes made.

It [map reading] was the one salient point on which the training of infantry
officers was found to be deficient.

TACTICS AND TRAINING

From an editorial by Lieutenant (now Major General)

George A. Lynch

(^ 9 ^ 5 )

It is a frequent occurrence in our service that when the advisability
of adopting a certain tactical procedure is presented the argument is
made diat “you can’t do that with imtrained troops, and untrained men
are what we must reckon with in time of war.” The effect of the accept-

422 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

ance of this view is to interpose an insuperable obstacle between us and
any goal of efficiency we may set for our efforts.

The error in this point of view lies in the assumption that we have
waged all our past wars with untrained troops. We have attempted to
fight some battles with them, it is true, but we have never won a victory
or attained a material result from their employment.

MR. JUSTICE HOLMES: Soldier-Philosopher
By George R. Farnum
(1941)

Most men who know battle know the cynic force with which the thoughts of
common sense will assail them in times of stress; but they know that in their
greatest moments faith has trampled those thoughts underfoot. Holmes.

You see the soldier in him in his sense of the greatness of action, even more
perhaps in the sense of great thought as itself great action, Harold J. Laski.

War is a powerful forger of character, and never more so than when the
ordeal comes in early youth. The experience of the late Justice Holmes
in the struggle over secession shaped his thoughts, molded his sentiments,
and affected his outlook upon life to a far greater degree, I think, than
is generally suspected. This man, who lived so long and with such
creative intensity, undoubtedly owed much of his stoical attitude and
critical and realistic spirit to the purging and disillusionizing of influence
of soldiering, as well, paradoxically enough, as ho small part of his
idealism.

He was graduated, just as the Civil War was beginning, from Harvard,
whose sacrifice of young-manhood he modestly summed up years later
as consisting in having “sent a few gentlemen into the field, who died
there becomingly.” Upon quitting the campus his thoughts turned toward
the bivouac. He enlisted in the 20 th Massachusetts Volunteers, a regi-
ment which, as he said, “never talked much about itself but that stood in
the first half-dozen of all the regiments of the North for the number
of killed and wounded in its ranks,” and whose exploits have been com-
memorated by a lion wrought by Saint-Gaudens and installed in the
Boston Public Library.

For four years he was to endure the stalking terror which haunted
fields and woods, to inure himself to the discomforts of camp, the fatigues

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 423

of march^ and the pitiless shambles of battle, and to steel himself to the
vision of sudden death and the anguish of the broken bodies and shat-
tered minds of many who lived on. In those fateful years he himself was
to be thrice struck down — at Balls Bluff, at Antietam, and at Fredericks-
burg — ^but was to survive to tell the tale and interpret the moral in word
and action.

In the ordeal his mind was matured and his heart “touched with fire.”
He underwent a purification of. thought and a toughening of character,
the effect of which he was never to lose in the long years in which he
was destined to play a great and distinguished role in the pursuits of
peace. This son of the New England poet and Harvard medical pro-
fessor freed himself, as one commentator put it, “from the group loyalties
and prejudices and passions which are a heritage of those reared in the
security of the genteel tradition.” He learned the unforgettable lesson
“that life is a profound and passionate thing” and that, “after all, the
place for a man who is complete in all his powers is in the fight.”

The fratricidal madness and the brutalities of the war left no per-
ceptible scars on his character, exerted no deteriorating influence on his
work or thought. A romantic instinct, a mystic insight, and a philosophi-
cal bent — ^and a good deal of the poet in his nature too — enabled him
to soar above the sordid, to elude most of the evil passions that war
engenders, and to shake from his spirit the dirt and dust of battle. He
possessed the philosopher’s stone, whether he consciously used it or not,
that transmitted all the dross of daily life in the Army into pure gold
of the spirit. He saw the fundamental good in human motives when
others could discern only the surface evil in human actions. When others
perceived nothing but the ferocity of unchained primitive instincts, com-
promising the arduous work of civilization, to him the struggle was “a
price for the breeding of a race fit for leadership and command.” While
he conceded that “war, when you are at it, is horrible and dull,” he
was convinced that “when time has passed . . . you see that its message
was divine,” adding, “I hope it may be long before we are called again
to sit at that master’s feet. But some teacher of the kind we all need.”

Years after the war, at a gathering of old comrades-in-arms, he gave
utterance to the spiritual moral in words winged with beauty and steeped
in idealism. He said: “While we are permitted to scorn nothing but
indifference and do not pretend to undervalue the worldly rewards of
ambition, we have seen with our own eyes, beyond and above the gold
fields, the snowy heights of honor, and it is for us to bear the report
to those who come after us. But, above all, we have learned that whether
a man accepts from Fortune her spade, and will look downward and
dig, or from Aspiration her ax and cord, and will scale the ice, the one
and only success which it is his to command is to bring to his work a
mighty heart.”

424 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

In the elemental emotions and basic revelations of war he discerned
something of the outcropping of the essentials of character — something
of the stark, strong bedrock of human stuff, what he would call “the
hard steel underneath.” “The greatest qualities, after all,” he asserted,
“are those of a man, not those of a gentleman.” He perceived, “In the
great democracy of self-devotion, private and general stand side by side.”
He was persuaded that “if the armies of our war did anything worth
remembering the credit belongs not mainly to the individual who did it,
but to average human nature.”

He saw that war afforded scope for that “high and dangerous action”
which he declared “teaches us to believe as right beyond dispute things
for which our doubting minds are slow to find words of proof.” He found
“the faith . . . true and adorable which leads a soldier to throw away
his life in obedience to a blindly accepted duty, in a cause which he
little understands, in a plan of campaign of which he has no notion,
under tactics of which he does not see the use.”

Advising a young friend, when an old man, and weaving the thoughts
of sixty years before into his text, he wrote: “The test of an ideal, or
rather of an idealist, is the power to hold to it and get one’s inward
inspiration from it under difficulties. When one is comfortable and well
off it is easy to talk high talk. I remember just before the Battle of
Antietam thinking and perhaps saying to a brother officer that it would
be easy after a comfortable breakfast to come down the steps of one’s
house, pulling on one’s gloves and smoking a cigar, to get on a horse
and charge a battery up Beacon Street, while the ladies wave handker-
chiefs from a balcony. But the reality was to pass a night on the ground
in the rain with your bowels out of order and then after no particular
breakfast to wade a stream and attack the enemy. That is life.”

The passing years never erased from memory those dramatic scenes
of which he was a witness. Submerged under the preoccupations of an
unusually busy life, they came streaming back frpm time to time, recalled
by what he styled the “accidents” of daily life. “You see,” he once said,
“a battery of guns go by at a trot, and for a moment you are back at
White Oak Swamp, or Antietam, or on the Jerusalem Road.” Again he
observed, “You hear a few shots fired in the distance, and for an instant
your heart stops as you say to yourself, ‘The skirmishers are at it,’ and
listen for the long roll of fire from the main line.” And yet again, “You
meet an old comrade after many years of absence; he recalls the moment
when you were nearly surrounded by the enemy, and again there comes
up to you that swift and cunning thinking on which once hung life or
freedom.” The mansions of his subconscious life were densely peopled
with the dim ghosts of a past that symbolized the romance and adventure
of devotion to duty and the moral beauty of sacrifice to a great cause.

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 425

In moments of reverie there came back before him the images of
his companions>in-arms and the thought of those whose high hopes and
great promise destiny had marked for a soldier’s end. In the Van Dyke
canvases of some of those who fell in the civil wars in England he saw,
as he said, “the type of those who stand before my memory. Young and
gracious figures, somewhat remote and proud, but with a melancholy and
sweet kindness. There is upon their faces the shadow of approaching
fate and the glory of generous acceptance of it. I may say of them, as I
once heard it said of two Frenchmen, relics of the ancien regime, ‘They
were very gentle. They cared nothing for their lives.’ High breeding,
romantic chivalry — ^we who have seen these men can never believe that
the power of money or the enervation of pleasure has put an end to
them,” and he moralized, “We know that life may still be lifted into
poetry and lit with spiritual charm.”

Although he spoke at times with that marked sentiment of which the
foregoing passage is an illustration, I believe — ^although I hesitate to
assert it confidently — that no deep perception of the great pain and
pathos of life or strong compassion for the lot of the average man ever
took any powerful hold on his mind. His speculative preoccupations were
with race and type more than with individuals. As a realist he accepted
what appeared to him to be the tendency of the cosmos to ignore the
individual in its reckonings, and the preponderant role and inevitability
of force in organizing life, and he shaped his philosophy accordingly.
That is why he could write, “We march up a conscript with bayonets
behind to die for a cause he does not believe in,” and then add, “And
I feci no scruples about it.” That also explains in a measure, I think,
his further assertion that “our morality seems to me only a check on the
ultimate domination of force, just as our politeness is a check on the
impulse of every pig to put his feet into the trough. When the Germans
in the late war disregarded what we call the rules of the game, I don’t
see there was anything to be said except: ‘We don’t like it and shall kill
you if we can.’ ” Unlike the Emperor Julian, who, being forced by cir-
cumstances to assume reluctantly the role of soldier, petulantly exclaimed,
“Oh, Plato! what an occupation for a philosopher.” Holmes in the Rosika
Schwimmer case, avowing some skepticism toward certain pacifistic
hopes, declared, “Nor do I think that a philosophical view of the world
would regard war as absurd.”

He never lost sight of the necessity of preserving the virility of the
race and saving humanity from the abyss of intellectual lethargy and
moral torpor. The processes of evolution exact a high price from life
in one form or another. It is a paradox of existence that man pays for
many of his blessings in the coin of suffering as he stumbles along the
road which destiny has marked and toward a goal that he but dimly

426 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

visualizes. If the clearheaded and skeptical thinker justified to a degree
the recurrence of war as an “interstitial detriment” that must be tolerated
in the present stage of civilization, the idealist in him certainly dreamed
of a day — distant as it may be — ^when humanity will have attained an
existence freed from its vices and tragedies.

There will be those who will recoil before an attitude toward life that
seems, in a measure at least, not only to condone the evils of war but
to find some philosophical necessity in their existence. With this feeling
I am not here concerned. My purpose has not been to discuss an institu-
tion, bad as it may be, but to depict a man; a man who was largely the
product of the American Civil War and who carried through life the
stigmata of his experiences — experiences which were evinced in his
moods, recurrent in phrase and metaphor, and reflected in his political
opinions and social judgments. A warrior in some form of action he
always remained, from the time when, as a youth in i86i, he was called
to active duty by the brisk summons of reveille, until, as a man far be-
yond the average of years, he laid down his arms forever to the haunting
melancholy of taps. It is fitting that he sleeps in the Arlington National
Cemetery amid so many other fighting heroes of the country’s past — ^he
who believed from beginning to end, as he put it, “that man has in him
that unmistakable somewhat which makes capable all miracles, able to
lift himself by the might of his own soul, unaided, able to face annihila-
tion for a blind belief.”

TALES OF THE OLD ARMY

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Major General)

E. F, Harding

(1936)

Somebody should write them up — ^the tales of the Old Army — ^before the
tongues of those who tell them so well have ceased to wag. For want of
a better amanuensis we shall try our hand at one or two for a starter.
We do this in the hope that some of our master raconteurs will submit
their classics in writing for publication in this column. If they do, the
filling of these off-the-record pages will cease to be one of the editor’s
chief minor worries. As an incentive to the mercenary, we offer payment
for the stories accepted. The rate will vary inversely with the amount of
editing required.

The Old Army has a changing connotation. To many it once meant
the Army of pre-Spanish War days. Today it refers to the Army prior

LEARNING WAR FROM PASt WARS 427

to the World War. But go back as far as you like. The statute of limita-
tions doesn’t apply.

Our sample narrative follows:

Qualified

Upon graduation from the Military Academy in 1883 Lieutenant John
Heard, Cavalry, was assigned to a Western station. It was an active sector,
for the government was determined to break up the practice of grazing
privately owned sheep on the public domain. Then, as now, the dirty
work was the unalienable prerogative of the second lieutenants. Shortly
after reporting young Heard was sent forth to clear a certain government
reservation of sheep and sheep owners.

Lieutenant Heard took his job seriously and did it thoroughly. Needless
to say, he was not popular with the citizenry. There were mutterings and
even threats of violence. One man in particular talked openly of putting
the young shavetail on the mid- Victorian equivalent of the spot. This
hothead had a double grievance, for Lieutenant Heard had not only nm
his sheep off the range but had cut him out with his best girl.

Perhaps the lieutenant should have taken precautions, but the record
doesn’t show that he did. True, he kept up his revolver practice, but that
was just a hobby. He was remarkably good at it, too, which may have
had something to do with the fact that his would-be assassin appeared
to be in no hurry about making good his threat.

There came a day, however, when the young guardian of the public
domain had to leave town for some purpose or other. He was unarmed,
a circumstance of which the hostile G-2 service was undoubtedly aware.
At any rate. Private Enemy No. i followed Lieutenant Heard aboard
the train and opened fire.

Fortunately a gun- toting citizen was present whose frontier ethics re-
volted at the thought of an unarmed man being shot down in cold blood.
The business was none of his, but he believed in fair play. So before
taking cover he passed his six-shooter to the lieutenant. While this trans-
action was taking place the rancher scored two misses. When it was
complete the lieutenant fired once.

At the trial Lieutenant Heard pleaded self-defense and was promptly
acquitted. Meanwhile, the friends of the slain rancher had collected out-
side the courtroom, and there was talk of lynching. The sheriff was dis-
turbed. He had no wish to see an innocent man strung up, but at the
same time he was reluctant to shoot down his constituents in defense
of an outlander. He solved the problem by giving Lieutenant Heard his
revolver and notifying the embryo mob that he had done so. Evidently
the lieutenant’s recent one-shot demonstration had made a lasting im-
pression; he was permitted to pass unmolested.

428

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Obviously it was not in the interest of the public peace to leave Lieu-
tenant Heard in the midst of hostile two-gun men who were looking for
revenge. Accordingly he was transferred to another regiment at a distant
station.

In due course he reported to the adjutant of his new outfit. The ad-
jutant, who knew nothing of this second lieutenant’s adventure among
the sheep ranchers, took stock of his slight build and rather diffident
mien and cleared his throat. Here was a youngster to be instructed in
the regimental traditions, characteristics, and customs.

“Mr. Heard,” he intoned impressively, “you are fortunate in being
assigned to a regiment like this. You will find us a hard-riding, hard-
fighting outfit. A high sense of duty is traditional with us. I must confess,
however, that most of our officers drink, swear, and gamble. Do you by
any chance indulge in these vices?”

“In mod-mod-mod-eration,” replied Lieutenant Heard, who stuttered
slightly at all times and a good deal when excited.

“I am afraid that few of our best officers could say the same,” said
the adjutant almost mournfully. “Most of them drink too much. They
pride themselves on it. But mind you,” he continued sternly, “they are
real soldiers — true cavalrymen, bred in the best traditions of the service
and the regiment.”

“Y-yes sir,” acquiesced the lieutenant.

“Another unusual characteristic of our officers,” continued the ad-
jutant, “is that most of us have been tried by court-martial. Strange as
it may seem to you, a young officer just joining, we take pride in this
too. We look upon it as just another indication that we are a hard, tough
cavalry outfit. We even concede a certain deference to those who have
been tried for the more serious offenses. You, of course, have not had
this experience.”

“Y-yes sir,” replied Lieutenant Heard, “I ha-have.”

The adjutant raised his eyebrows. “You have? And might I ask for
what?”

“For m-m-m-murder,” stammered the lieutenant.

THE ARMY’S TASK

From an editorial by Major (later Major General)
Merch B. Stewart

(^ 9 ^ 7 )

. . . With opportunity comes a serious responsibility. The people of
this country are thoroughly, though tardily awakened. As far as lies

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS

429

within their power, they are preparing for war in its grimmest sense.
In doing so they cherish no illusions. They are staring facts in the face
in a most matter-of-fact manner. They are preparing to pour out their
money, their material, and their manhood in defense of the principles
which they believe to be right and true. The people of the country can
do no more. Upon the Army rests the responsibility for converting these
resources into fighting efficiency.

It is a monumental task, this building up from the very beginning, a
task that might well strain a well-organized and perfected machinery.
It is a task before which our meager and imperfectly prepared personnel
might well quail, one which can be met successfully only by unswerving
determination, unswerving effort, and unswerving enthusiasm, a task
that will call for courage of the highest kind to withstand the handicaps
imposed by our circumstances, and initiative of the boldest kind to hurdle
the obstacles which will inevitably present themselves. It is a task for
which our past experience will furnish little precedent, one in which
it would be well to rid ourselves of precedent and build anew on the
foundation of practical results. It is a task in which form and method
should not be permitted to weigh themselves in the balance with practical
results, one in which the red tape of custom, convention, and precedent
should find no place.

In short, it is a task for shirt sleeves, sweat, and short cuts.

INDIAN FIGHTING
An editorial
{^ 943 )

The CRAFTffiST ENEMIES our Army ever fought were the native Ameri-
cans themselves. The name of “Indian,” to military students, is synony-
mous with stealth and combat skill, with scouting, with battle deceit,
with a creeping, silent approach to a sudden assault. These tactics killed
many a soldier of the United States forces — ^won many a battle over
them. They caused our troops to think of the Indians as extremely able,
deadly fighters, as warriors whose skill at war could be overcome only
by a greater skill. They forced our Army to gain that greater skill before
it could win against its early enemies in the woods and on the plains.

The most effective way of fighting has always been the way that was
fitted to the terrain and that held the maximum of surprise and combat
craftiness. The method of fighting that was best for open ground was
never the best for the woods and jungles. The open plain and the desert
have required a different way from the moimtains and from the rolling

430 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

ground, part field, part woods, part villages. All ground and all battle
require craftiness, even in the use of the vast fighting power of machines
in modern war — ^both the silent craftiness and the noisy yet skillful
fighter’s onslaught that were once typical of the Indian warrior.

Ruse, camouflage, silent movement, keenness, and minuteness of ob-
servation for signs to be seen, heard, and smelled — these are the methods
of the jungle fighter. And they will continue to be, perhaps, until tanks
crash down forests and bomb sights are equipped with X rays.

What the forest Indian knew of the woods and how to fight in the
woods was what he learned from childhood on. He had a lifetime of
training in it. For he lived in the woods and knew them so completely
he could read the cause of every change in them he saw. But the Indian
fighter could also learn the language of the woods, and with his broader
knowledge of warfare and often his better weapons he was able in the
end to win his wars against his native foes.

The Jap of the South Sea Islands is not a native jungle fighter. He
has had to learn the ways of the jungle and how to fight within them.
He has been at it in a thorough manner and now has more experience
of jungle combat than the soldier of any other army. Our own fighting
men have found by now how well he knows the jungle and the ways
of combat that fit the jungle.

We recognized the special difficulties this kind of warfare would in-
volve. We studied its problems and worked them out on similar terrain.
But the necessity for rapid action made us hasten our training, and some
of the main jungle lessons had to be learned at a considerable cost in
jungle battle itself.

These lessons, as one high commander has said, are essentially lessons
of Indian fighting. They are lessons of patience and stealth, of silent
approach and sudden assault, and at the same time of watching for move-
ment and guarding against ambush.

The skill our fighters attained in past wars is being reached by our
new Army. Every special point about the fighting our forces have to do
in every different theater, every correct method, every error, every suc-
cess, every failure, is being sent back without loss of time to the centers
where training methods are developed, the faster to incorporate the latest
lessons of warfare into the general training.

But many of them, especially those of the jungle islands, are lessons
we already had most of the answera to from past wars, above all, those
we fought and eventually won in the early days against Indian foes.

“Indian fighter” has sometimes been used in recent prewar years as a
term of ridicule. It was applied to the soldier who swore by the rifle and

LEARNING WAR FROM PAST WARS 431

could see no great advantage in the tank or the plane. It seemed apt
enough as a name for the reactionary in military thought.

But like most such carelessly chosen catchwords, “Indian fighter** still
meant a number of things in war that are likely to continue to apply for a
long time to come. Certainly we can use, out there on the jungle-covered
islands and on the other fronts, every skill those old tough fighters against
the Indians knew.

Generals

The actual careers of commanders have often formed the topic for
Infantry Journal articles, although professional discussion does not lean
as heavily upon such material as might be supposed. There have been
some good American biographies of military figures by military writers,
but for the most part the lives of generals have been written by biogra-
phers who have had the time to devote to research and who have pro-
duced such works as R, E. Lee (Dr. Douglas S. Freeman), Sherman:
Fighting Prophet (Lloyd Lewis), and Andrew Jackson (Marquis James).
The briefer biographical studies in the service journals have come from
both military and non-military writers.

SWORD OF THE BORDER
By Fletcher Pratt
(^ 957 )

Fate tried to conceal him under one of the most common of names;
Time, by pitching him into the most unmilitary period in the history
of our peaceful republic; his parents, by bringing him up as a Quaker;
the commanding general of the United States Army, by reporting him
as the most stupid and insubordinate officer under his command; and
the government, by giving him neither men nor horses nor guns. Yet he
saved our Northern frontier twice; he won one of the most desperate
battles in American history, and with raw militia at his back he broke the
veterans who had stood unwavering before Napoleon. Not Sheridan or
Longstreet or Mad Anthony Wayne more furiously rode the whirlwind.

432

GENERALS 433

Gentlemen, I give you General Jacob Brown, the best battle captain in
the history of the nation.

A pleasant-faced man with rather sharp features and curling hair looks
at us out of his portraits; there is a keen eye, an erect carriage, and a
skeptical line to the mouth. He was bom into a family Quaker for
many generations, in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, a month after Lexing-^
ton, son of a prosperous farmer who fished in the troubled waters of
commercial speculation in the years following the Revolution and lost
all his money. His education, says a man who knew him young, “was
accurate and useful so far as it went, without aspiring to elegant litera-
ture or mere speculative science.” He supplemented it by reading every-
thing he could lay his hands on, and when the family fortunes ship-
wrecked at the time of his eighteenth birthday young Jacob Brown easily
fulfilled the requirements for becoming a country schoolteacher, a trade
which he followed for three years.

At that period the Ordinance of 1787 had recently gone through, and
the West was opening to ambition. Brown went to Cincinnati and had
enough mathematical equipment to get a post as a surveyor. It is in-
teresting to note that he followed Washington in this profession and
that biographies of such otherwise diverse captains as Frederick the
Great, Napoleon, and Julius Caesar speak of the “surveyor’s eye” — ^the
sense of distance and direction possessed by these men. Perhaps there is
here some clue to the secret of leadership in battle.

Yet Jacob Brown was still far from battles and the thought of battles
when he came East again after two years of failure to make his fortune
in Ohio and secured the position of head of the New York Friends*
School. The life does not seem to have afforded enough scope for his
intellectual activity, which was considerable; he left the post to take
one as Alexander Hamilton’s secretary. The table conversation at that
house must frequently have turned on the Revolution and its military
history; at all events we are told that it was at this period that Brown
began to read Quintus Curtius and the strange military-philosophical
works of the Mar^chal de Saxe. His commercial fortunes also improved
about this time, and in 1799 he bought “several thousand acres” of land
near Watertown, New York, and formed there a small settlement which
he called Brownville.

As the squire of the district and county court judge, he was elected
colonel of the local militia in 1809, apparently less because he was
thought able to command a regiment in war than because his big estate
and comfortable house made a good spot to hold the quarterly drinking
bouts which passed under the name of “militia exercises.” He was
politically active at the period, holding several pocket boroughs in the
northern part of the state, and his appointment as brigadier general in
the state service by Governor Tompkins in 1811 was in the nature of a

434

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

reward for services rendered at the polls and not because he had shown
military ability, for which, indeed, there had been no opportunity.

The appointment made him ex officio military commander of the
northern district of the state, and when news of the declaration of war
was followed by that of a proposed British descent on Ogdensburg'it was
Brown’s duty to keep them off. His men (militia) and munitions were
all at Sackett’s Harbor, some distance away, with the roads so deep in
October mire as to be positively impassable. The British had naval com-
mand of the lake and a fleet cruising on it, but Brown boldly loaded his
force into bateaux and pulled along the shore. He remarked that he could
always make land when topsails came over the horizon, and if the British
stopped to attack his little force he would deal them such a buffet as
would make them forget Ogdensburg. The topsails did not come until he
made Ogdensburg. There Brown received the landing party with an
amateurish but energetic fire, and after a few languid efforts the British
went away.

That closed Brown’s service till the following spring, when a rather
peculiar strategic situation brought him out again. The American naval
and military base on Ontario was Sackett’s Harbor at the eastern end,
faced across the lake by the British base of Kingston. Winter building
had given the United States command of the water, but instead of strik-
ing at the enemy base, Chauncey, commanding the fleet, and Dearborn,
the Army, decided to trot off to the western end of their little inland sea
for an attack on the Niagara frontier and Toronto, then called York.
Lieutenant Colonel Backus of the “Albany draggons” was in charge of a
small detachment and a hospital at Sackett’s. He should have been in
general charge, but Brown was a landed proprietor of considerable sub-
stance and Dearborn, a toady if there ever was one, asked the latter to
take charge of the post if any emergency arose.

Fortunate blunder! For the British learned of the American preoccupa-
tion at the wrong end of the line, and Sir George Prevost, governor of
Lower Canada, came down on Sackett’s Harbor with all the force he
could muster. He had a fleet, not large by any absolute standard, but of
overwhelming power in relation to the defense; for a landing party he
had some six hundred lobster-back regulars and three hundred marines
and sailors. The British sails were visible in the offing on the evening of
May 27, but the* airs fell light and baffling, and they could not close. All
that night and the succeeding day messengers were out rousing the
countryside. When the morning of the twenty-ninth came up, sunshiny
and hot. Brown was at Sackett’s and in command. He had four hundred
regulars, invalids, of whom half were sufficiently convalescent to fight; a
regiment of Albany cavalry, two hundred and fifty strong, who fell in
line dismounted, and five hundred militia, whose experience was limited
to the quarterly keg tapping afore-mentioned.

GENERALS

435

The only place where a landing could be made was on a spit west of
the town, whence a broad beach led some distance toward the line of
barracks that formed the outer boundary. Along these buildings Brown
deployed the regulars under Backus, with a couple of guns. He posted the
militia at the landing point behind a gravel bank. Guilford was the
obvious model, where that other fighting Quaker, Nathanael Greene, had.
placed his militia in the front line, sure they would run, hopeful they
would not do so till they had delivered a couple of telling volleys.

Colonel Baynes of the British looth Regiment led the landing party
and advance; his report speaks of a “heavy and galling fire, which made
it impossible for us to wait for the artillery to be landed and come up”
so that he had to charge out of hand and with infantry only against the
gravel bank. In fact, the “heavy and galling fire” was a single ragged
volley; as soon as the militiamen found their guns empty they became
obsessed with the fear the British would be among them before they
could reload, and vanished into the woods on their left.

The attackers cheered and came on; the fleet warped in and began to
cannonade the flank of the little line of regulars. The naval lieutenant in
charge of the building yard, foreseeing that they could not hold out long,
set fire to everything, so that Backus* tiny group fought with the town
and dockyard blazing in their rear and double their strength of enemies
closing on their front. They fought well, but the British got a lodgment
at one of the barracks and prepared to sweep out the line; Backus was
mortally wounded. Brown nowhere to be seen.

As a matter of fact, he was off in the woods addressing most un-
Quakerly expressions to the fugitive militia. Just what expressions they
were, just what he did besides yell at them, we do not know. Psychological
compulsion, leadership — call it anything you like; at all events, just as
Sir George Prevost reached out to grasp his victory the militia suddenly
came storming out of the forest into his flank with fixed bayonets and
Brown at their head. They did not fire a shot, simply growled and flung
themselves through a scattering volley onto the British regulars from
whom they had run not half an hour before. Colonel Baynes ordered a
precipitate retreat, covered by the ships. He had lost 259 men, nearly a
third of the force, and Prevost, when criticized for not countermanding
the retirement order, pointed out with some energy that he was in an
excellent position to lose the whole force if he stayed.

The armies were diminutive but the results prodigious; certainly the
victor saved Sackett’s Harbor and probably the whole Northern frontier.^
And in the existing state of affairs it is difficult to see how the United
States could have recovered from the loss of their one good base on the
lakes. For SacketPs Harbor was the point through which went all the
supplies for Oliver Perry, who had not yet fought the Battle of Lake Erie,
and for Harrison, who had not yet driven the British from Detroit. Secre-

436 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tary of War Armstrong, greatly impressed by Brown’s rare talent for mak-
ing militia fight, rewarded him with a snap promotion to brigadier gen^
eral of the United States Army and the command of one of the four
brigades being organized for the “conquest of Canada” that fall.

The ofEcer in general charge and ranking leader of the army of inva-
sion was General James Wilkinson, traitor, spy, liar, and hopeless incom-
petent, completely antithetic to the militia general of the North. He had
not been in camp with him a month before he was demanding Brown’s
removal because the latter refused to serve under a personal friend of the
commander’s. General Boyd, and because he was as ignorant as in-
subordinate. “He knows not enough of military duty to post the guards
in a camp,” wrote Wilkinson, “and he compelled his batteries to form in
a hollow for the advantage of elevating the pieces to fire at the opposing
heights.”

That last item is too odd to be imaginary; one can only wonder what
in the world Brown was thinking of — ^but the point is that Wilkinson’s
criticism can be admitted as perfectly just without denying Brown’s use-
fulness as an officer. Winfield Scott, certainly with no animus against the
fighting Quaker, said much the same thing in more friendly fashion —
“Not a technical soldier; that is, he knew little of organization, tactics,
police, etc.” — ^but thought him of great value, for he was “full of zeal and
vigor.”

And he had something else as well. In those lugubrious fall months
while the high generals wrangled over this plan and that, their men
dying like flies under pouring rains and “lake fever” (whatever that was) ,
Brown’s brigade had fewer men on sick report than any other and was
the only one that kept its strength. Why? We have one flash of insight
into his methods. Alone among the brigade commanders he made his
men build proper huts with fireplaces, drainage, and clean latrines. They
worshiped him. Wilkinson complained he was coddling the privates for
political purposes. Wilkinson would.

In November the expedition finally got untracked and wandered
vaguely down the St. Lawrence, with its commanding general spending
his days in bed aboard a bateau, weeping that he had a flux when called
on to make decisions and sustaining himself with rum. The British fired
at them from the bluffs. At first the opposition was not serious, but it
showed an annoying tendency to coalesce. On the seventh Macomb, with
the small reserve, was landed on the north bank to drive them off. He
could not handle the situation he found, so on the next morning Brown’s
brigade also was put ashore and by night had bruised a path through the
gathering clouds of Canadian militia.

Wilkinson next turned his attention to Captain Mulcaster of the British
Navy, who was following the expedition up with some eight hundred
men. Since it seemed that some reputation might be gained by driving

GENERALS

437

him ofF, Wilkinson put another brigade and a half ashore under his fa-
vorite, Boyd, to turn back against Mulcaster, while Brown was instructed
to keep straight on away from the battle. On the eleventh came the clash
at Chrystler’s Farm — ^it represents, perhaps, the lowest point the Ameri-
can Regular Army ever reached. In a blinding sleet storm Boyd fed his
triply superior force into the fight in small parties, saw them riddled one
by one, and himself led the disgraceful rout that ensued. Mulcaster might
have cleaned up the whole force but for the brilliant covering charge of
Walbach’s small cavalry regiment and the skill and steadiness with which
Brown, who had marched without orders toward the guns, covered the
retreat.

The expedition, however, was ended, and that winter there was a
housecleaning among the higher officers. Wilkinson, Boyd, Wade Hamp-
ton, Dearborn, all the old period pieces from the Revolution, were
shoved into retirement, and to their horror Jacob Brown was appointed
major general of the United States and commander at Sackett’s Harbor.

Secretary Armstrong appears to have had a clear sense of Brown’s
limitations as well as his merits, for he gave him for brigadiers two of the
strictest professional soldiers in the service — ^Ripley and Winfield Scott. It
was a happy combination.

The campaign of 1814 started badly when Brown permitted the timor-
ous Commodore Chauncey, with whom he had been instructed to con-
fer, to convince him that nothing could be accomplished against King-
ston. Accordingly he moved his troops to the Niagara frontier. A talk with
Scott and Armstrong showed him the strategic error of trying to lop off a
branch when he could strike for the trunk of the tree. “I am the most
unhappy man in the world,” he wrote, and hurried back to have the
matter out with the naval commander.

But the latter was one of those officers whom nothing can persuade to
fight unless odds-on. He flatly refused to give naval support for a move
on Kingston or any other point until midsummer had brought his new
battleship from the building ways. So Brown had to return to Niagara
and make the best of things there. Meanwhile, Scott, left in charge of
the little army, had drilled the troops well. But the strategic situation his
commanderfound at the Niagara was bad.

The Americans held only the ashes of burned Buffalo at the Lake Erie
inlet of the Niagara. Facing that place, on the Canadian side, was a
strong but half-complete work. Fort Erie, in British hands; at the Ontario
outlet of the river were similarly paired fortifications, Niagara on the
American side, George on the Canadian, both excellently planned, well
provided with guns, and both in British hands. This gave Ae British three
comers of a quadrangle, split down the center by the river, which was
passable only at the fortified points. Their commander. General Riall,
had something over 4,000 men, all regulars and veterans. His mobile

438

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

force, however, numbered not more than 2,800 men; the others were
parceled out in garrison.

Brown’s men, though nominally regulars, were actually the greenest of
recruits, with no drill but what Scott had given them during the three
spring months. This force comprised three brigades:

Scott’s

Organization

Commander

Recruited in

Number

9th Inf

..Maj. Leavenworth

.Massachusetts . .

642

nth Inf

..Maj. McNeil

.Vermont

••••577

22d Inf

..Maj. Brady

.Pennsylvania . . .

287

25th Inf

..Maj. Jesup

. Connecticut ....

— 619

Staff

Ripley’s

.... 4

Organization

Commander

Recruited in

Number

2ist Inf

..Maj. Miller

. Massachusetts . .

....917

23d Inf

. .Maj. McFarland

.New York

....496

Staff

Artillery. . .Maj. Hindman 327

Porter’s

Pennsylvania militia 600

The size of the 21st Regiment is accounted for by the fact that it in-
cluded some detachments from the 19th. The total number of effectives
was certainly not over 3,500, and probably much less, when the campaign
began in July.

The war in Europe was drawing to a close, and heavy reinforcements
were already on the sea for Riall; his plan was simply to wait until he
got them and then crush the Americans. On our side Chaunce/s new
warship was nearly completed. It would give him command of the water,
and he had promised Brown a naval blockade and bombardment of Fort
George for the early part of the month if the Army was at hand to
co-operate. Brown therefore planned a quick stroke at Fort Erie, a sweep
down the Canadian side of the river, and a siege of Fort George to chime
with the arrival of the fleet. Fort Niagara would fall of its own weight
once its companion piece was gone.

The move began on the first day of the month, Scott landing below
Fort Erie, Ripley crossed above. The two pinched out the area between
them, taking 170 prisoners and sustaining no casualties. Riall, who had
not thought the Americans so bold, was taken by surprise. He gathered

GENERALS

439

up what troops he had, not over 1,500 men, and came forward to hold
the line of the Chippewa River, which flows into the^Niagara some six-
teen miles below Fort Erie.

Brown threw forward Porter’s militia and a handful of Indian allies as
scouts, with the design of feeling along the Chippewa for a spot where a
crossing might be forced. They encountered Riall’s skirmishers, Indians
and Canadian militia in about the same number, and there was a little
desultory firing. Scott was back at a smaller stream, Street’s Creek, hold-
ing a parade. He had with him the three small guns of Towson’s battery.
Ripley was in camp behind Scott, and Brown up on reconnaissance. The
date was July 4.

Riall’s experience of this war had been that Americans always ran
when vigorously attacked by British regulars. He ployed his 1,500 into
column, whipped them across the Chippewa hard by its mouth, and
punched through the scattered scouts of Porter’s brigade with a cloud of
militia and Indians round his front. Porter’s men went back in disorder.
Brown, galloping past Scott to bring up Ripley, shouted, “You are going
to have a battle!”

Scott remarked that he did not think there were three hundred British
within miles, but scarcely had he got his men across Street’s Creek and
into a crescent formation when Riall topped the last rise and came down
toward him with two twenty-four-pounders and a big howitzer banging
away. The Englishman got the surprise of his life. Not only did these
Americans fail to run; they received him with volleys hotter than he
gave. His column hesitated, came to a halt, and hung fixed in the semi-
circle of fire. Towson’s little battery dueled fiercely with the British gun^
mastered them, blew up an ammunition wagon in the English rear, and
turned in on their column of assault just as Scott, catching a hint of
wavering in the line opposed to him, rode out in front with his sword
swinging for a countercharge.

Brown came rushing across the creek with Ripley’s men to put in on
the American left for a sweep, but before they reached position it was all
over; Riall had lost 515 men, a third of his force, and was behind the
Chippewa, trying to rally what he had left. The American casualties;,
including Porter’s, were only 297.

Brown followed his opponent in crisply, touched the shore of Lake
Ontario, and there received the dismaying news that Chaimcey’s new
two-decker was not ready and would not be before September. The Navy
could give him no help of any kind. Meanwhile, the British had been
heavily reinforced by a corps of Peninsular veterans under Major General
Gordon Drummond, an officer who had made a considerable reputation
in Spain.

The precise extent of the British additions and their plan of campaign
was unknown to Brown. He fell back to the Chippewa River, Lott’s

440 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

brigade holding there for observation with the rest behind. On July 25
Drummond and Riall were ready; the former came forward and estab-
lished himself in a strong position along Lundy’s Lane^ at right angles to
the flow of the Niagara, with 1,200 men and six pieces of artillery. Three
miles behind him was Drummond in person with the reserve of his forces,
another 1,200 men and two guns. Up near Fort George were 1,700 more
men imder a British Colonel Scott, all ready to cross to Fort Niagara.
Their plan was simple and should have been effective: Riall to hold
hard in his prepared position, Scott to cross and turn the Americans out
of their position at the river mouth or trap them in Fort Erie, Drum-
mond to throw his reserve in with whichever force met the most opposi-
tion.

Winfield Scott and his brigade were 1,400 strong with those same three
little guns of Towson’s; Ripley was behind near Fort Erie with 1,200 men,
and Porter near the same spot with about 600 militia, maybe less. The
American position was truly desperate; they had not enough men and
artillery to put up a defense, and there were no good defensive positions;
heavily outnumbered at every point, they had no place to wWch they
could retire nearer than Albany.

The best device Brown could think of was to keep the British so oc-
cupied that they could not finish their turning maneuver. As soon as he
had plumbed the situation he ordered Scott to hit Riall with all his
strength. At the same time he ordered Ripley’s brigade forward and fol-
lowed with Porter. He was staking everything on one blow.

Scott formed the 9th on his left wing, with Towson’s three guns next,
facing Riall’s battery; then the nth, the 22d and the 25th, the latter’s
right against the river. The setting sun threw long shadows across the
field as they took their positions in the hollow below Lundy’s Lane. There
was a brief cannonade; Riall, a trifle disturbed by the unshaken bearing
of those regiments he had so good cause to remember, had just ordered a
retreat when Drummond in person arrived with his division, giving the
British a two-to-one superiority in numbers.

Scott came right on. In the center the fighting was fierce, but the three
regiments could accomplish nothing against slope, numbers, and cannon;
but on the right Scott himself burst through the British line at the head
of Jesup’s men, hurled back their flank, wounded Riall and captured him,
and completely broke up one of the British regiments before artillery
from the flank and Drummond’s heavier weight drove him out again.

Towson’s guns had now been silenced, but Scott ordered another
charge and then another; three charges we count on the right and center
before nine o’clock. Scott himself took a wound that finished him for the
rest of the war; Majors McNeil and Brady were down; the 9th, iith,
and 22d had lost nearly all their officers and organization, but Major
Leavenworth formed what was left of them into one single mass and

GENERALS 441

was planning a last-ditch defense in the hollow against the now-advanc-
ing British when Brown came up on the run with Ripley and Porter. He
seized the situation at a glance; nothing would go right until he got rid
of that British battery which was tearing his center to pieces. Meanwhile,
Drummond had called in the British Colonel Scott and there were now
over 3,000 men along Lundy’s Lane, less than 2,000 below it.

“Can you take those guns?” Brown asked Major Miller.

“I’ll try, sir,” said Miller in the words that have become a regimental
motto, and went up the hill into the dark with the 21st. Brown gave him
all the help possible, himself leading the 23d as an advance echelon on
Miller’s right, Porter and the militia going forward on the left in loose
skirmishing formation around a big stone church. Under cover of their
advance Miller went right into the muzzles of the guns and bayoneted the
cannoneers at their pieces. Then with militia on one side and the 23d on
the other, he formed a new line, not twenty paces from the British, while
“the space between was all one sheet of flame.” The raw Americans stood
it better than the Peninsulars; Drummond’s men gave up and went tum-
bling down the reverse slope.

It was ten o’clock, but the stubborn fight went on. The British regulars
were not used to being treated in so cavalier a fashion. Drummond got
them in order and came back with a furious charge — “You could see the
figures on their buttons in the light of the guns” — ^was beaten, came again,
again was beaten, but returned still a third time. Brown was wounded
now, too, and in a faint; so was Leavenworth. There was hardly an officer
left in the American Army, which was all one mixed line, militia and
regulars together.

As the last English wave rolled back, Drummond’s confused ranks be-
gan firing into one another and collapsed. The battle was won, and the
whole British Army was taken had there been a regiment of cavalry or
the tiniest reserve. But there W2is not, and Ripley, left in conunand,
counted his own desperate state and ordered a retreat to Fort Erie.

The wagoners sent back for the captured British cannon found that a
British wagon corps had had the same idea and earlier, and when Brown
recovered consciousness and heard of it he called Ripley a coward and
sent for General Gaines to take command till he should be on his feet
again.

The charge was not just, as Ripley had proved before and would again,
but this was a tiny wrangle; the important thing was that Drummond’s
hopeful movement was stopped as though he had been poleaxed. He had
lost 878 men in the battle (Brown lost 853) and, insisting to his dying
day that he had fought not less than 5,000 Americans, won commenda-
tion from the Cabinet for his “gallant stand against superior forces.” “I
never saw such determined charges,” said the man who had faced Junot
and Murat.

442 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

He was immediately and heavily reinforced; strategically his turning
maneuver was as good as ever, but Lundy’s Lane had embedded itself in
his mind. He did not dare try anything till he had gotten rid of the little
American force. Therefore, he came down to lay siege to Fort Erie, where
Gaines could muster but 2,125 men, including some militia that came
up. On August 15 the English tried a midnight surprise; it ended in a
frightful disaster (Ripley seems to have predicted it to the day and almost
the minute) with goo British casualties against only 84 American. A boat
landing off Buffalo ran into a company of squirrel-kilUng Kentucky rifle-
men who emptied two of the boats so rapidly that the rest pulled away
in a hurry.

At the beginning of September the swing was toward the American
side, the more so since Brown was recovered. He held a council of war,
wishful to attack the British lines. The regular officers, particularly Rip-
ley, objected that the lines were well planned, adequately supplied with
artillery, and defended by some of the best troops in the British Army,
including the Scots Highlanders. Assault was madness. Brown began to
fidget, finally snapped that the council was closed, and sent off for some
more militia. He got about a thousand, which gave him a total of 3,000
against Drummond’s 4,500. This seemed to the fighting Quaker about
the proper proportions for battle.

Colonel Wood of the Engineers, under cover of the racket made by the
siege artillery, cut a path through the brush to a point within 150 yards
of the battery on the extreme British right. On the morning of September
17 Brown took this path with his militia and the little remnant of the 23d,
which was to serve as stiffening and example for the rest. Major Miller
had orders to throw a coliunn at the British center as soon as the militia
b^an to shoot.

The attack went off like clockwork. The Scots stood their ground, but
the untrained, rowdy militia — the same men who failed every other gen-
eral of the war — ^followed Brown in on them and in a wave of fury took
losses that would have staggered most regulars (over a third!), killed the
Scots where they stood, captmed the battery, and spiked its guns. Miller’s
column punched through the second battery and spiked that too; there
was a little fighting around the third, but Brown pulled out before getting
too deeply involved.

That finished Major General Gordon Drummond. He was a good
officer and a bold man, but the sortie had cost him 700 more casualties,
bringing his battle losses to more than 3,000 for the campaign. And there
seemed no limit to his opponent’s stomach for combat, nor to his ability
to inflict further damage. Then, too, the British artillery was spoiled or
qxiked. Nor had Brown neglected to bum their barracks during ^e sortie,
and the autumn rains had set in; his own men were housed in comfortable

GENERALS

443

huts. Finally, it is probable that Drummond knew Brown was being rein**
forced at no distant date, for it was difficult to keep any big news quiet
along the border. By sum total the British position had become untenable;
a week after Brown’s sortie Drummond beat a retreat to his fortresses.

The following week General Izard came tramping into Buffalo with
7,000 regulars, including a strong brigade of that cavalry for the lack of
which on the night of Lundy’s Lane Brown had wept. It is a matter of
speculation as to what might have happened after another spring, of
course, but in view of what Brown accomplished with inferior forces, no
cavalry, and little artillery, the likelihood is that with superiority in all
three arms he would have made things extremely warm for his opponents.

He was prevented by the end of the war, which also ended active
service for him, though he remained in the Army, becoming its head in
1821. In 1828, still chief, he died of the aftereffects of his Lundy’s Lane
wound, leaving behind a record of service second to none, but a reputa-
tion overshadowed by that of the more colorful and politically minded
Andrew Jackson. Yet it is not mere wonder hunting to say that Brown did
more than Jackson, for New Orleans was fought after the war was over,
while Sackett’s Harbor and Lundy’s Lane were won at its height. The
loss of either might well have entailed the fall of the whole Northwest
and certainly would have afforded a solid basis for the claim to a foot-
hold south of the lakes that the British put forward with such persistence
at the conference in Ghent.

When it comes to analyzing the reasons for Brown’s achievement, as
startling as it was brilliant, one is a little at a loss. It is the easy and the
common habit among military writers to attribute everything to Scott and
to set Brown down as a sterling fighter with but a single military idea —
that of getting in contact with the enemy and hitting him as hard as
possible. But this picture will not quite do; Brown won at Sackett’s Har-
bor before he had Scott and in the Fort Erie sortie after Scott was gone.

Chippewa was largely Scott’s victory; the discipline he put into the
raw recruits did much to win Lundy’s Lane, but it is surely taking nothing
from the credit due him and his men to say that they behaved on both
fields as they never did before and never did again. And nobody but
Brown ever thought of leading militia in a charge against veteran Scots
or would have gotten away with it had they done so.

There was, in short, some ineluctable secret of leadership, something in
Brown’s presence and manner that made green country boys fight like
the devil, and it would be worth a good deal to know that secret. But it
would be silly to account for Brown’s success on this basis alone. Scott
complained of the general’s ignorance of tactics, yet Brown’s major tactics
were, on the whole, better than Scott’s. At Chippewa, Scott’s plan of a
crescent resting on the river with the right wing supported by artillery

444 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

was gooa, yet Brown had a better one — to hold hard in the center, bring
Ripley in on the left, and knock RialFs whole column into the Niagara.
At Lundy’s Lane, Scott conceived the classical plan of breaking down a
flank, the flank where the enemy thought himself strongest, but it was
Brown who saw that the big British battery in the center would queer any
flanking sweep while it stood and that its fall would entail the wreck of
the whole line — and he saw it in an instant, in the darkness of the night,
in the midst of battle. Again at Sackett’s Harbor it would have been both
easier and more normal for Brown to bring his rallied militia in on the
line where the regulars were holding, but no, he had to lead those troops,
already once broken, in a cold-metal charge against Prevost’s sensitive
wing. The essence of Brown’s concept may be expressed by saying that
while Scott played, and played well, to beat the enemy Brown meant
nothing less than his destruction at every stroke.

This suggests, then, that major tactics are something innate and not
to be learned; all these ideas came out of Brown’s own head, without
benefit of military education. One would expect the same native genius
to make him a good strategist also; but, oddly enough, this turns out to be
his weak point.

Then there is another suggestion in Brown’s career, perhaps even more
important. The fact that the general’s political influence in his home dis-
trict was an influence of affection makes it clear that he treated the
tenants of his estate much as he later treated the soldiers who fought so
well for him; that is, with an attention to their physical well-being even
rarer then than it is now. It was not only Scott’s drill that made the men
of Lundy’s Lane follow their Quaker up the hill; it was those comfortable
huts and the fight the general had made to provide good food and good
clothes.

Yet neither these nor any other details can be tortured into a Jacob
Brown formula. His secret was the secret of all great leaders, and what
man can discover that?

ACADEMIC SOLDIER: GAMELIN
By Captain H. A. DeWeerd

Captain DcWecrd, now associate editor of the Infantry Journal, has for
many years in the academic field (until coming into the Army he was pro-
fessor of history at Denison University and a member of the military sec-
tion of the Institute for Advance Study at Princeton) sought for the proper
recognition of the military side of history within the study of history as a
whole. He has written many biographical articles on well-known military
figures, among them the one on Gamelin which follows (in 1941 ) . He was,

GENERALS

445

for several years, editor of the quarterly, Military Affairs, and is the author
of Great Soldiers of Two World Wars (W. W. Norton and Go.), in which
the following article was included.

Fate played one of its tragic tricks on France in 1935 when into the
office of vice-president of the Supreme War Council at No. 4 Boulevard
des Invalides, just vacated by General Maxime Weygand, walked a short,
grayish officer: Maurice Gustave Gamelin. Weygand’s retirement from
the control of the French Army at the age of sixty-eight was a military
event of more than average importance. Famed as the military brain and
alter ego of Marshal Foch (who left the advice: “Call Weygand if
trouble comes”), Weygand was long regarded as the symbol of France^s
military supremacy. It was known that the retiring commander in chief
was not enthusiastic about his successor and would have preferred Gen-
eral Alphonse Georges, but that was often true of commanding officers
and their successors. Time had not yet healed the wounds of the bitter
wartime quarrels between French generals. Weygand was a Foch man,
Gamelin a Joffre man. Joffre’s treatment of Foch just before his own re-
tirement in 1916 (Foch was placed on the inactive list on the grounds
of ill-health) had never been forgiven. Even after both marshals were
dead their widows passed each other on the street without speaking. Wey-
gand may have preferred Georges (who had worked with both P6tain
and Foch) not because he loved Petain more but Joffre less.

On his record Gamelin seemed to possess all the formal qualifications
for his important office. From a professional standpoint he appeared to
be the most accomplished officer in France — or in Europe, for that mat-
ter. Had he assumed command of the French military establishment at a
less critical time, he doubtless would have carried his brightly burnished
professional reputation with him to the security of the grave. Instead, it
was his destiny to face one of the few great revolutionary changes in
military methods and concepts with the weapons and concepts of an
earlier and happier day. As a result the story of his leadership in 1939-40
is one of disaster for the country he loved.

Gamelin came from a military family. His father, Zephirin Auguste
Gamelin, served in the wars of the Second Empire, was wounded at Sol-
ferino, and ultimately rose to the rank of comptroller general of the
French Army. Maurice was bom within the shadow of the War Ministry
at No. 262 Boulevard St. Germain in Paris in 1872. His education was
given a strong Catholic bent in College Stanislas, where he fell under the
influence of Henri Cardinal Baudillart. He demonstrated a taste for phi-
losophy and a talent for memory work which enabled him to graduate
first in his class of 449 from St. Cyr in 1893. For three years he served in
the 3d Regiment of the Trailleurs AlgSriens and put in an additional
three years in the cartographical section of the Army Geographic Service.

446 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Here he developed a fondness for painting and an interest in the topo-
graphical features of the French frontiers. As captain of a company of
chasseurs d pied he was detailed to the Ecole de Guerre, where Foch was
making a name for himself as the foremost lecturer on French military
problems. Gamelin’s record at St. Cyr and his promising showing at the
Ecole de Guerre brought him to the attention of Joffre, whose star was
rising in the French military firmament. In 1906 Joffre, commanding the
6th Division in Paris, made Gamelin his orderly officer. He stayed with
Joffre when Joffre rose to the vice-presidency of the Supreme War Coun-
cil in 191 1. He was thus prepared to play a conspicuous role in the events
of 1914.

Employing the tenacious memory he had developed at College Stanislas
by memorizing ten lines of prose each night before retiring, Gamelin made
himself master of the military literature on Napoleon. It was widely be-
lieved that he could repeat verbatim every order the Emperor ever issued.
Such erudition was uncommon even in an army which made a fetish of
the study of Napoleon. Two years’ service with the line from 1912 to 1914
made him available for staff duty when the crisis came. In 1914 Gamelin
was a trim, sleek, taciturn, quick-witted major of forty-two who had
given considerable study to the problem of countering a German attack
from the direction of Belgium. Joffre loved to have sharp-witted young
men around him, possibly as a foil for his own ponderous mental proc-
esses, He brought Gamelin (‘‘one of my red corpuscles”) back to his staff
in August 1914.

The events of August and early September gave Gamelin a chance to
utilize his early study on a German attack from the direction of Belgium.
Plan XVII, the French program which called for a concentric advance
by the French First and Fifth armies in a brutal and relentless manner
(V offensive brutale et d Voutrance) y broke down with heavy losses in the
face of machine guns and artillery. With the apparently irresistible force
of an avalanche the gigantic armies of Kluck (First) and Bulow (Sec-
ond) rolled through Belgium into northern France. Berthelot was Joffre’s
chief of staff, but it was Gamelin who on August 25 wrote the famous
Instruction No. 2 which admitted that the French plan of offensive war
had failed and which announced the general plan of building up a
sufficient force on the French left wing to menace the German right when
the time arrived for the counterattack. For more than a week the victori-
ous German armies rolled on, driving before them what appeared to be
“the beaten French armies.” By September 4 it was apparent not only
to Galli^ni, military governor of Paris, but also to Gamelin that Kluck’s
force would not envelop Paris and that the time had come to throw
Maunoury’s French Sixth Army, which was concentrating at Meaux,
against Kluck’s flank. Though historians have found it difficult to de-
termine just who was responsible for the famous Marne maneuver^

GENERALS

447

Joffre’s Memoirs make it clear that Gamelin understood the situation
fully and explained it to a group of officers in his presence at the opera-
tions room of General Headquarters on September 4. He urged that the
the counterattack be delivered the next day. Illustrating his points on a
huge operations map, Gamelin raised his voice (a thing uncommon with
him) and firmly declared: “Now it is the time to bottle them up!” Joffre
pleaded for greater delay so that the Germans might be more definitely
drawn into the trap. But when reports from French army commanders
and the BEF gave some hope for an early offensive action, Joffre asked
Gamelin to prepare the decisive Instruction No. 6. It called for a general
attack by all armies on September 6.

The complicated story of how the CJerman armies blundered into the
Marne defeat out of the feeble hands of Moltke into the irresponsible
hands of a Lieutenant Colonel von Hentsch who presided over the destiny
of the German Empire from the sixth to the ninth of September has often
been told. When the haggard German troops recoiled on September 9
from the menace of the advancing British Expeditionary Force and
French Fifth Army, the “miracle” of the Marne raised Joffre to the
stature of a hero, and long after Joffre had fallen from power it shaped
the career of Gamelin.

Gamelin’s first rewards were the rank of lieutenant colonel and the
post of Chief of the Bureau of Operations. After the failure of the French
offensives in the spring and summer of 1915 Gamelin urged Joffre to
create a large mass of reserves to exploit future anticipated successes.
The long-hoped-for and repeatedly announced “break-through” of the
German line never materialized. But there was a mass of forty or more
French divisions available when the German attack came at Verdun.
The existence of this reserve made the successful but costly defense of
Verdun possible, and it enabled Joffre to think in broad terms when the
British needed help on the Somme. But the “blood bath” of Verdun and
the Allied failure at the Somme brought Joffre into eclipse. He was re-
placed by the eloquent, mercurial, thrusting Nivelle. As a consequence
Gamelin’s position on the staff became insecure and he took command
of a brigade. He distinguished himself in the stubborn fighting of the
Somme, rising to the rank of brigadier general in December 1916. From
1917 to 1918 he commanded the 9th Division.

In the critical days of igi8 Gamelin made the reputation of a tough,
imperturbable, tenacious, fighting commander. The 9th Division was
thrown into the breach when the German offensive threatened to drive
a wedge between the British and French forces on March 23. For three
days his division held up the advance of six CJerman divisions. In the
confused fighting he commanded a makeshift force of French and British
infantry divisions and seven squadrons of cavalry. He impressed the
troops as being a cautious, economical commander who attained his ob-

448

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

jectives with minimum losses by a meticulous regard for terrain, artillery
preparation, and human factors. His philosophical calm inspired con-
fidence. “There is nothing to be gained by getting angry with things,” he
used to say; “it is a matter of indifference to them.” He seemed to agree
with Haldane that “things military must be learned not from the generals
but from the philosophers.” By the time the war ended he also made a
distinguished record as a fighting commander. He had also taken a vital
part in the staff operations early in the war. At no stage in his well-
rounded career had he committed an obvious error in judgment. He was
destined for rapid postwar promotion.

When the German armies collapsed in November 1918, the prestige
of the German military system collapsed with it. Brazil, which had previ-
ously sought the services of CJerman military missions, now asked for
French officers. In 1919 Gamelin was selected to head a French military
mission there and stayed in South America from 1919 until 1925. This
gave him a background of foreign travel and the international outlook
essential for a superior officer. In September of 1925 he was detailed to
the French command in Syria, where he faced the problem of quelling a
revolt of the Druses. One of his first tasks was to relieve a French outpost
besieged at Soueida. His manner was so deliberate and his preparations
so thorough that one correspondent wrote in a sarcastic vein: “General
Gamelin now has more troops than the entire population of Druses, men,
women, and children — ^when he gets re-enforcements he may perhaps
attack.” Six months of campaigning and bombardment of Damascus
which killed fourteen himdred civilians brought peace to Syria.

Gamelin came back to France in 1928 as a corps commander. He was
appointed deputy chief of staff and in 1931 he became chief of staff. His
succession to Weygand as vice-president of the. Supreme War Council
and commander in chief designate in case of war was almost automatic
in 1935. He was then regarded as the most scholarly, accomplished, and
competent professional soldier on the active list. His mastery of all the
topographical features of the French frontiers and its road systems was
al^olute. His acquaintance with the senior officers of the army was such
that he could name and recognize every officer with the rank of colonel
or above. His colorless personality and complete indifference to politics
made him a popular choice to succeed Weygand.

Simultaneously with Gamelin’s assumption of supreme command the
German rearmament program began; Italy was already embarked upon a
program of imperialist expansion. The situation was one of increasing
hazard for France. Gamelin had to deal with rapidly changing ministries,
general strikes. Left Front folly, and a foreign policy as tortuous as it

GENERALS

449

was pusillanimous. In the comparative madhouse of flux the army was
the one solid national element in French society. It alone could have
brought national security back to its rightful place as>the first»objective of
the government. But the voices of the soldiers had to be more resolute,
their vision clear. If professional advice was repeatedly offered, with clear
warnings given as to the danger facing the state, and were repeatedly
ignored — there was always the honorable course of resignation.

It cannot be said that Gamelin was unaware of the growing dangers of
the military situation. German and Italian military preparations were of
such vast and open character that they could be and were described with
fair accuracy by the European and American press correspondents. One
did not need the services of a military attach6. Even so bookish a college
professor as the American ambassador to Berlin could gauge the potential
menace of Nazi war preparations. Pikestaff -plain, too, were the implica-
tions of doctrinal changes in the application of industry and mechanics to
war. Field trials in the Spanish Civil War were not for the Fascists alone.
As a student Gamelin should have been among the first to see the menace
inherent in the fanatical and demonic character of the Nazi system of
thought.

Gamelin did, of course, take steps to meet the dangers of a collision
with the rearmed Reich. But the steps taken were dictated by the military
experience of 1918. He approved the completion of the Maginot Line and
imsuccessfully urged its extension to the sea. When this advice was refused
he did not resign despite the fact that a defensive war was his main
military concept. He attempted to offset the French numerical inferiority
vis-i-vis Germany by extending the period of military service from one
year to two. In simple terms this meant that he still looked at military
problems as something to be solved by numbers. He did not see new
doctrines, individualistic training concepts, the application of machinery
to war, new co-ordination of air and ground forces as means of gaining
equality or even qualitative superiority over an enemy of potentially
greater numbers.

Lest the obvious snap-judgment observation be raised that these are
the counsels of perfection easy to make in the clear light of afterknowl*
edge, I can say only that my library is full of foreign and American
military journals which printed millions of words on just these subjects —
at that time. There is little or no evidence to show that Gamelin took
seriously the significant postwar German military literature such as Gen-
eral Groner’s Der Feldheer Wider Willen and other treatises on German
strategy. Nor did he give more than passing attention to the prophetic
book of Colonel Charles de Gaulle, Vers VArmee de Metier, which ad-
vanced the claim of mechanized forces, or Paul Reynaud’s Le Problime
Militaire Frangais. So great was his faith in the “incomparable” infantry
of France (armed with almost the identical weapons of 1918) that

450 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Gamelin allowed his country to repeat LudendorfFs error of making
trucks to carry the troops rather than masses of tanks and planes to give
them a chance for survival after they arrived where he wanted them to
fight. Even if he could be excused for overlooking the havoc which enemy
aviation could wreak on columns of entrucked infantry after Guadalajara,
he still had eight months to think it over after the Polish campaign.

The existence of the Maginot Line gave Gamelin’s military inking the
appearance of soundness. He strongly supported the concept of a defen-
sive war and took comfort in General Chauvineau’s dictum: “The attack
must have three times as many infantry effectives, six times as much
artillery, and twelve times as much ammunition if it hopes to dominate
the defense.” He did not believe that the German Army had developed
new and effective means of breaking through the fortifications in the
west. The war which he foresaw promised to be a long-drawn-out struggle
of attrition in which the French armies and fortified positions would con-
tain the Grerman armies until the British blockade accomplished its mis-
sion of strangulation and exhaustion.

The military reorganization of 1938 in France pointed toward a prepa-
ration for this kind of conflict. A single Committee of National Defense
was set up covering land, sea, and air forces and representing the eco-
nomic and financial elements of the nation. As chief of staff to Daladier,
who attempted to achieve this co-ordination, Gamelin was in a position
to influence the whole range of French preparation for war. His crystal-
dear academic discussions with the members of the Committee of Na-
tional Defense, his orderly reports and minutes enabled him to dominate
the organization. He towered over the less well-informed members of the
committee like a well-prepared professor over a class of sophomores.
Gamelin’s chief opposition in the committee came from Admiral Jean
Darlan, whose halting, fragmentary salt-water language was an excellent
cover for his growing political ambitions.

Gamelin’s relations with Georges, who was to serve as commander of
the armies in France in event of war, soon became complicated by the
top-heavy military organization set up. Gamelin was to be generalissimo
of the Allied forces in France and responsible for land and air operations
in all theaters. Prewar calculations envisaged him as a sort of super-Foch
with Georges commanding the armies on the German frontier as P^tain
had done under Foch in 1918. But because no war developed immediately
on the Italian, African, or Syrian fronts and Poland collapsed, both
Gamelin and Georges became in effect commanders in France. The
separation of the French General Staff into three divisions located at
Meaux, La Fert6-sous-Jouarre, and Vincennes did not help matters any.
Rivalry between the two men was bound to develop under these circum-
stances.

If French military preparations for war were open to question in the

GENERALS

451

realm of intellect and doctrine, there is less room for question over the
state of material preparation. In the matter of light artillery the French
Army was supreme in the ^riod from 1914-18. But in 1939 the French
field artillery, even when modernized, was out of date. The artillery-
ammunition situation was even more critical. Shells were scarce, and pro-
longed controversy over the type of fuse desired held up the production of
everything heavier than 75-mm. shell. Similar professional squabbles over
the type of fuse for anti-aircraft shell limited the effectiveness of this arm.
It might be well to add, for whatever warning value it may have, that
this intensely interesting professional debate over fuses was, in fact, about
to be settled at the time of the armistice with Germany in June 1940!
The experiences in Spain had shown that the French 37-mm. anti-tank
gun did not possess the penetration required. But the 47-mm. gun which
was to replace it had virtually no stock of ammunition. French efforts to
devise a perfect land mine for anti-tank protection failed. The improvisa-
tions resorted to proved to be just what improvisations always prove to be
in modern warfare — totally ineffective.

The French tanks were excellent, but there was no effective organiza-
tion on larger than a divisional basis and no clear-cut doctrine on their
employment as such. Trucks were available to haul infantry, but they
were not available to transport tanks. The individual fighting capacity of
the French tank was higher than that of the average German tank of its
own weight. But maintenance service, especially refueling, had not been
worked out on the scale of continuous service which the situation soon
demanded. There was certainly nothing like the preparation which
enabled the German panzer divisions to keep rolling day after day from
Sedan to Dunkirk. It has been reported that one excellent French tank
unit in the scrambled fighting on the Somme was reduced to the “Injun-
fighting” tactics of covered-wagon days and forced to form an immobile
hollow circle for want of fuel in the logistic breakdown that followed the
unexpected character of the war. French military aviation, which was the
most formidable in Europe in 1935, was allowed to fall to a poor fourth
in 1939, well below that of Germany, Italy, and Britain.

I think it was the late Webb Miller who made the satirical observation:
“The French Army is perfectly prepared in 1939 — for the war of 1914,”
and it became thoroughly familiar to the clich6-conscious make-up editors
before the outbreak of war. But the military “experts” continued to rate
the French Army as the “finest in Europe” right up to the crash. The
newspapermen were not experts — but they knew better!

When Germany occupied the Rhineland in 1936, Gamelin is said to
have offered to drive them out if Prime Minister Sarraut would consent

452

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

to general mobilization. He was not prepared to act against the thirty
thousand German troops in the area without placing the whole French
military machine on a war basis. He was also unwilling to risk the occupa-
tion of the Saar as a countermeasure. If the second Great War did not
begin then, it began, according to Liddell Hart, when Italy and Germany
gave active assistance to General Franco in July 1936. The formation of
the Rome-Berlin Axis on November i, 1936, ended forever the possibility
of dealing with the Reich alone. From this time on Gamelin had to count
on a war of two fronts.

Gamelin strongly supported the maintenance of France’s alliances even
when these were being undermined by diplomatic events over which he
had no control. He preferred to fight at the time of Munich rather than
see the bastion of Czechoslovakia and her thirty divisions surrendered. He
is said to have urged that the maximum concessions given to Hitler safe-
guard the main line of Czech fortifications, her strategic railways and
armament factories. But the appeasers had their way. Nine months after
Munich, Gamelin came to the conclusion that this surrender had tipped
the balance against France, since by this time the Siegfried Line had
progressed to a point where it made the prospect of military pressure on
the Reich unpromising. He regarded the loss of the Czech war material
and armament plants as more serious than the loss of her thirty divisions.
Until August 23, 1939, there was still room for hope that the vast forces
of Russia might be turned against the Axis. But the German-Russian non-
aggression pact swept that prospect aside. With its signature the calcula-
tions based upon a two-front war against Germany vanished. Poland
could no longer be saved.

Like Joffre in 1914, Gamelin gave the impression of utter confidence
and serenity in the crisis of 1939. To a public alarmed at the prospect of
seeing the French Army bleed itself white on the Siegfried position he
gave assurance that he did not intend to begin the war with a Verdun
battle. This gave the impression that he had another less costly and more
promising alternative in mind. Isolated from the impending harsh realities
of war in his headquarters in Paris and later in the keep of Vincennes,
surrounded by his personal staff of fifteen officers adept at flattery and
skilled in the ritual of idol worship, he presided over the mobilization of
the French Army like an “imperturbable military Buddha.”

Under the hot sun of a late summer the mobilization of the French
Army was completed without molestation from the enemy. The new
British Expeditionary Force took up its position in France in the period
of false calm, and the two armies marked time while Poland was struck
down in a three weeks’ campaign by the amazingly effective co-ordinate
action of the Luftwaffe and the German armored forces. The press of the
Allied countries treated the uninterrupted mobilization of Franco-British
forces in France as if it in itself assured ultimate victory.

GENERALS

453

Since it was impossible to go to the aid of Poland many voices were
raised in France, urging that action should be taken to define Italy’s
position and, if hostile, to strike her down while the Germans were still
occupied in the east. Gamelin did not favor opening new fronts. He was
content to perch au balcon at the head of the Alpine passes and await
developments. When Weygand advocated the opening of a front in the
Balkans he opposed this on the grounds that Gherman numerical superior-
ity and interior lines would render this dangerous. He wanted to confine
operations to western Europe, which would force the Germans to attack
the Allied fortified lines in the west.

Because of the CJerman air supremacy Gamelin vetoed the British pro-
posal to bomb German synthetic gasoline plants for fear of reprisals.
Thus the 2ur stalemate developed along with the “sitzkrieg” on the
ground. The full force of the German air power remained a secret until
the attack of May lo, a circumstance that worked in favor of the enemy.
Boredom as thick as night fell upon the front. It was not dispelled by
Gamelin’s supercautious advance into the no man’s land between the
Maginot and Siegfried lines toward Saarbriicken. One supremely apt
picture of the situation in the west reached the press and picture maga-
zines of the world. It showed a French poilu slumped in a chair in the
midst of a wood behind the front lines, his automatic rifle on the ground
in front of him, on his face the unforgettable impression of utter boredom
and purposelessness. “Experts” were careful to point out that the apparent
shiftless appearance of the French troops, their dog-eared, untidy uni-
forms and amateurish looking camps, their carelessly constructed barri-
cades over which ancient Hotchkiss machine guns pointed with faint
menace at the empty skies, were all marks of a veteran, competent, cagey,
battle-worthy army.

Gamelin was apparently not disturbed or impressed by the rapid
collapse of Poland. The social and military weaknesses of the Polish state,
in his opinion, made it impossible to draw useful military lessons from her
defeat. A single small pamphlet on German tactics in the Polish campaign
was circulated in the French Army, but it was not backed by action on
the part of the high command. The Norwegian disaster, however, focused
criticism on Gamelin since he obviously misjudged the speed and weight
of the German stroke in that theater. Daladier, his chief supporter, was
replaced by Reynaud as Prime Minister, and Reynaud was not so easily
impressed with Gamelin’s facile academic explanations of Allied strategy.
In fact, Reynaud became so suspicious of Gamelin’s leadership early in
May that he was preparing to replace him by either Giraud, Weygand, or
Huntziger when the German blow fell in the west. There was no time
after Norway to apply the lessons of the campaign or to restudy the Polish
disaster from the standpoint of new tactics. The German assault in the
west had to be faced with the concepts and weapons of 1918.

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THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Gamelin had long considered the possibility of a German attack on Bel-
gium and Holland. Since the repudiation of the French alliance by Bel-
gium in 1936 no liaison existed between the two staffs. In January 1940
Gamelin warned Belgium that if France was not permitted to send troops
into the country for its protection before the Germans struck, the French
relief forces could not be expected to advance much beyond their own
frontiers. He anticipated that Belgian resistance would hold up the Ger-
man advance for at least five days and that disorganization of the German
forces after pushing through the Ardennes and Belgian fortified positions
would leave them in a condition favorable for the counterattack of thirty
Allied divisions earmarked for the movement. When the crisis came, how-
ever, he did not adhere to this sound program.

Possibly because he knew that Reynaud had criticized him for want of
energy and daring, Gamelin met the German assault in the west with
more than his customary swiftness and energy. His order of the day un-
wittingly provided the most damaging material for a future criticism of
his own policies by asserting that “the blow which we have been expecting
since September has at last fallen.” This informed the world that his sole
aim during all the months of military reverses had been to force the Ger-
mans to attack in the west. On the morning of May 10 Gamelin felt that
he was on the eve of a complete vindication of his military program.
With the swift, impetuous stroke of a chess player who abandons his care-
fully prepared game when the opponent makes a long-expected move,
Gamelin sent an Allied force of thirty divisions racing northward into
Belgium and Holland. They advanced far beyond the confines of the plan
announced in January 1940. At the end of the second day motorized
forces of General Giraud reached Breda.

Perhaps Gamelin expected to use the northmost Allied armies as a
hammer with which to strike the German armies after they pushed
through the Ardennes into Belgium. The Allied divisions, moving with
great swiftness and precision northward, were curiously free from air
attacks, which in itself should have aroused the suspicion of Gamelin. It
might have told him that the Germans were eager to have him do just
what he was attempting. The long Allied columns were ignored by the
Luftwaffe, which concentrated its attack on rear areas, airfields, and
communications. The confusion existing in Belgium and Holland and
the penetration of the Belgian and Dutch lines on the second day of as-
sault should have made it clear to Gamelin that the five-day estimate of
the German push through the Ardennes was no longer valid. Either
Gamelin was not fully informed of the situation in the north or he was
seized with one of his fits of academic indecision. He did not take the

GENERALS

455

heroic step necessary to save the northern force from what was an obvious
trap. A terrible face-destroying decision to withdraw the whole northern
force, at the end of the first or second day of action, alone could have
prevented the disaster of Flanders.

It took Gamelin five days (the time he calculated the Belgian lines
would be able to hold the Germans) to grasp the full significance of the
developments in the north. By that time the Germans had pushed the
Belgian forces back from the Albert Canal line, and Holland had suc-
cumbed to a bewildering attack of four dimensions. Swarms of Stukas
and highly trained small combat squads cut Corap’s ill-fated Ninth Army
at Sedan to shreds. The mighty armored forces of ten panzer divisions
were ready to pour through the gap. Why reserves were not available to
support this poorly trained and indifferently commanded force at the
hinge of the Maginot Line has never been revealed. The Germans had
always shown a marked tendency to strike at points where Allied armies
joined or other natural lines of cleavage. Corap has been cleared of the
early charges of gross neglect in failing to destroy the Meuse bridges, but
the impression of slackness in the Ninth Army remains. It served no
purpose to replace Corap on May 15 with General Giraud, since the con-
fusion of the Ninth Army was so great that Giraud was never able to
collect its staff and wandered into the enemy lines.

It was at this tragic hour that the division of the French General Staff
into three parts proved fatal. Its ponderous machinery could not keep
pace with the lightning character of developments. Gamelin was not in
touch with the armies in the north. He was not correctly informed of the
situation at Sedan. In a subdued but confident mood he appeared before
the Committee of National Defense on the afternoon of May 15 and
assured them that the situation was not beyond repair. But when he
reached the castle of Vincennes and conferred with his staff the full force
of the impending tragedy broke over him. His quick academic mind told
him that all was lost. Like a nervous chess player who sees a sudden
checkmate looming where he thought to win a coup himself, Gamelin
figuratively swept the pieces off the board in an impatient gesture of sur-
render. He called Daladier on the phone and admitted that the situation
was indescribably grave.

Reynaud, who had been deceived by the confident atmosphere of the
French command, was thunderstruck. At first he refused to speak to
Gamelin and tried to secure cabinet approval of his dismissal in favor of
Weygand. This was not obtained until May 19, and in the meantime
retain, the aged hero of Verdun, was brought to Paris as Vice-Premier to
bolster French morale.

Two decisive acts remained to Gamelin before he was thrust from
power. After spending a hectic day in uncertainty (and without consult-
ing Reynaud) he issued his famous order of May 17 which carried the

456 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

stirring “conquer-or-die” words of the Marne order of 1914. But the
magic did not work this time. There was not the slightest change in the
Allied strategic position to warrant it, and in view of the colossal concen-
tration of German armored and infantry strength rolling toward the sea
in the Somme area there was not the remotest hope of its fulfillment. The
message was utterly meaningless. Even if all the French troops in that
area obeyed the order literally and died fighting with their puny weapons
against the terrifying team of the dive bomber and the tank, the situation
would not have been materially altered. Morale sagged immediately and
irretrievably. France was lost.

The final act of Gamelin in the fearful drama of Flanders also bore the
faint remembrance of happier days at the Marne in 1914. Five hours be-
fore he was replaced on May 1 9 he ordered CJeneral Billotte, commanding
the Allied forces in Flanders, to launch a counterattack against the Somme
gap. Before this could be undertaken Weygand assumed supreme com-
mand. His first question to Gamelin was: “Where are the French and
British forces in the north?” So great was the confusion and breakdown
of French intelligence that Gamelin could not give Weygand any clear
picture of the situation in Flanders. The order for the counterattack was
postponed, and Weygand was forced to undertake personal air recon-
naissance in order to judge the situation.

It becomes clear that Gamelin’s eleventh-hour order for a counter-
attack by the northern armies was a leap in the dark. It would be unfair
to suggest, as some have done, that he made this move in order to fore-
stall his dismissal, since it would be difficult for Reynaud to remove him
while the only possible measure for the relief of the entrapped northern
forces was under way. Nor does it seem fair to compare Gamelin’s dis-
missal on May 19 with a hypothetical removal of Joffre after the Battle
of Charleroi in 1914 and say: “In this case there would have been no
victory at the Marne.” Joffre at least knew where his own forces were.
He developed a plan possible of achievement. Gamelin was acting in the
absence of information.

One is forced to admire Gamelirfs composure in this moment of per-
sonal and national disaster. There were no heroics or melodrama. The
mask of academic serenity was never lifted to reveal the extent to which
he considered himself personally responsible for the fall of France. On
May 123 he was found trimming the roses in the back yard of his apart-
ment at No. 55 Avenue Foch in Paris. He assured his friends that he
could and would defend his military policy and program. When the final
collapse came he submitted to arrest and imprisonment at Riom with
dignity and silence. Hard at work on the preparation of his memoirs, he

GENERALS 457

has been an example and inspiration to other less confident prisoners. He
looks upon his final vindication and exoneration as certain.

It is obviously too early to pass anything like final judgment on Game-
lin. Some of the French archives were destroyed in the evacuation of
Paris. Full documentary evidence may never be available. The findings
of the Riom court should be discounted when they appear because of the
political implications involved. The whole matter of Gamelin’s responsi-
bility for the French military position on May 19 is bound up with the
supreme question of the Weygand-Petain decision on June 16 that the
whole war was lost and that Britain could not possibly prevail against
Germany and Italy. Thus the full truth about the first stages of the war
in the west may be hidden for years. But because of the immense warning
value they contain, certain conclusions can and must be drawn.

Along with many others Gamelin completely misjudged the character
of the social and military revolution which was taking place in the Reich
during the years of his power. He compromised with the politicians in-
stead of forcing them to provide for the security of the state. He was blind
to the tactical innovations which the Germans had prepared in peace and
had practiced in Poland and Norway. He staked his whole concept of a
defensive war of attrition on the Maginot Line despite the ancient maxim
that everything immobile can be destroyed in war. He put the discredited
idea of the thin strong line to its final test despite the World War teach-
ings as to the strength of positions in depth. He abandoned his safe and
cautious program of a limited advance in Belgium in favor of a bold
stroke as far north as Holland. He took no warning from the notable im-
munity which the Allied relief columns enjoyed from German air attack.
He did not interpret the events of the first two days^ fighting in Holland
and Belgium as invalidating previous concepts as to time and disposition
of forces. He spent five vital days in arriving at a correct estimate of the
German plan of attack. It was then too late to withdraw the northern
forces. By the time he turned over control to Weygand he had lost touch
with the French armies in the field and had no clear grasp of the
situation.

The question may well be raised : “How could a professional soldier of
Gamelin’s attainments perform with such incredible maladroitness in a
crisis which he admitted he foresaw since the start of hostilities?” A com-
plete answer (if it were possible) would be of immense importance to
professional soldiers everywhere. A partial answer might be that Gamelin
was an academic soldier. Viscount Gort said flatly: “He was not a
fighter.” In the isolation of high office Gamelin retired more and more
into the ivory tower of philosophical reflections on past military events
and paid insufficient attention to the practical aspects of war. Combat
officers visiting his headquarters at Vincennes found no opportunity in
the erudite discussions of philosophy and art to comment on their front-

458

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

line experience. According to Andr6 G6raud, Gamelin’s ideas “came
ready-made — ^he ceased to examine whether they were still valid. He felt
that he had foreseen everything, calculated everything, arranged every-
thing, and that he had nothing more to do.” When the crisis of May
smashed his little academic world to bits he was incapable of elasticity of
mind or resolute action. “He was a cold light.”

Lord Tweedsmuir, writing about another soldier, summed up with
amazing exactness the tragedy of Gamelin. He said:

He was first and foremost a highly competent professional soldier. Now, a
soldier’s professionalism differs from that of other crafts. He acquires a body of
knowledge which may be varied and enlarged by new conditions, such as new
weapons and new modes of transport, but which in essence is a closed technique.
... A powerful mind might work brilliantly inside its limits with little impulse
to alter fundamentals. Change and expansion were consequently in the nature
of a revolution and were brought about either by a great genius, or slowly and
grudgingly by some cataclysmic pressure. Hence the more competent and better
trained the soldier was, the more averse he would be to alter his traditional creed
until its failure had been proven with utter finality.

Because of the utter finality with which the career of Gamelin set the
seal of failure on his methods and concepts, it may well mark the end of
one military epoch and the beginning of another. Certainly any soldier
after Gamelin who permits himself to enjoy the luxury of complacency
and the comforts to be found in the maintenance of old concepts, who
does not subject himself and his thinking to repeated and vigorous ex-
amination, whose mind is closed to the almost limitless application of
science to the “new face of war,” courts similar disaster for himself and
for his country.

Other Armies

Military journals the world over reproduce each other’s articles. For
avery nation with an army of any size has its service journals. These, like
any other group of professional magazines, differ greatly in their alertness
and thought. Some run strongly to justification of the past; some dig into
all sides of war and seek from within their armies the men who think
most proficiently.

In view of the fact that there has been for many years an official maga-
zine in the United States, a large part of which has been devoted to trans-
lations and abstracts from foreign-language military journals (the monthly
Military Review, formerly the Command and General Staff School Qjuar-
terly) , the Infantry Journal has never had the policy of trying to cover
the same ground as fully. But it has often printed articles from foreign
military magazines and by foreign military writers. It has indeed printed
a number of articles by men now high in command in the armies of
Nazi Germany, and it has reviewed others at length. A few of the most
important of these are included in this section along with other kinds of
articles that come from or touch upon or deal with foreign armies and
their methods of making war.

The Infantry Journal missed a few of the prophets of war, such as
General de Gaulle, though this author’s book received such scant circula-
tion originally that it is not surprising no copy reached the Journal
editors. Then, too, the editorial staff has not at all times had members
capable of combing the military literature of several nations. But most
of the well-known foreign writers, such as Guderian of Germany, Von
Eimannsberger of Austria, Fuller and H^rt of Britain, have appeared in
the Infantry Journal, and usually their writings have aroused much in-
dividual interest.

459

460

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

GERMAN METHODS

An editorial by Major (later Colonel) John R. M. Taylor

(^9V)

We are publishing a certain amount of information concerning German
methods of warfare, as it is important to know what methods the man
you are in training to conquer is using to conquer you. This war we are
in is not war in general, but war against Germany, and will be fought
out this year or next spring with United States troops on French soil.

So it is different from the Red and Blue forces which so many of us
have maneuvered on the Leavenworth sheets without having to consider
the extreme improbability that Red and Blue forces should be there.

We now have a definite problem in front of us. It is hoped that the
glimpse this German information gives of how the other man is playing
his cards will help us to take the trick.

ARMORED FORCES

By Major General (now Colonel General)

Heinz Guderian, German Army

{^ 937 )

The pages of the Infantry Journal for the past twenty years have con-
tained articles about tanks and their uses in warfare. One of the early
studies (“Tank Discussion,” 1920) was by Captain (now General) Dwight
D. Eisenhower in which he argued for a more concentrated use of tank
power. There were many other American officers, most of them now in
high command, who also wrote on one aspect or another of mechanized
warfare. The magazine also carried the thoughts of leading foreign writers.
“Armored Forces,” by General Guderian, who has been one of Hitler’s
principal commanders in the field, was one of the most complete studies of
the tank that appeared in the JournaVs pages during the two decades be-
tween the wars.

A MILITARY CONFLICT of the futurc is inconceivable without the participa-
tion of air and armored forces. As early as 1919 General Buat of the
French Army expressed his reaction to the experiences of the World War
in the following words :

OTHER ARMIES

461

Of the two elements of tactics, only fire power profited by the invention of the
machine. In fact, mechanical aid proved so helpful to fire power that mobility
in combat ceased almost completely. The horse was virtually eliminated. Fighting
was carried on from trenches. The soldier could move only when all firearms of
the opponent were silenced. However, with the appearance of the motor on the
battlefield, mobility has regained its full importance. The infantry cdimpany of
the line henceforth will be a tank company, though this does not mean that the
foot soldier will disappear altogether. The automatic weapon designed for killing
human beings will give way to the automatic weapon intended for the destruction
of armored vehicles.

The tremendous strides made since the World War in the technical
development of the air service and the mechanized arm have greatly
added to their importance. Their effect on theories and plans, on strategy
and tactics is increasingly felt. Therefore, it is the natural desire of the
older arms to become better acquainted with their younger relatives.

In this article we shall illustrate the organization and tactics employed
by today’s amored forces and examine their influence upon the other
arms when co-operating with them.

We may base our study on the fact that the mechanized arm is divided
into two main groups, reconnaissance forces and combat forces.

Mechanized Reconnaissance Forces

Reconnaissance calls for highly mobile, flexible, and easily handled
units that possess a wide radius of action and good means of communica-
tion. Reconnaissance forces must observe and report to a maximum,
without being observed themselves. Therefore, the smaller the recon-
naissance element and the more readily it lends itself to concealment,
the easier the accomplishment of its mission will be. It must possess
enough fighting power to be capable of defeating any similar opponent.
Certain reconnaissance missions call for additional fighting power; in
such cases the reconnaissance elements must be suitably reinforced.

The heavy armored scout car constitutes the principal means of mod-
em ground reconnaissance. For this purpose most armies employ a
wheeled vehicle, designed primarily for travel on roads but which, when
equipped with three or more axles and a multi-wheel drive, is also cap-
able of cross-country movement. Recent years have witnessed consider-
able progress in the constmetion of cross-country vehicles, and further
advances in this field are being made constantly. These vehicles possess
a maximum speed of 40 to 60 mph and a radius of action between 120
and 200 miles. They are armed with machine guns and 20-mm. to
37-mm. guns firing armor-piercing ammunition. The armament of these
vehicles is limited to a certain weight because of the speed required,
but it offers protection against small-arms ammunition.

462 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Depending upon the mission, the organization of the armored-car
troop varies in number and types of vehicles employed. In some instances
the armored-car troop must be reinforced by engineers, motorized in-
fantry, and heavy arms. The armored-car troop is capable of maintain-
ing permanent contact with the enemy, even at night, and reporting
its observations by radio.

The reconnaissance squadron is generally composed of two or three
armored-car troops of nine to twelve armored scout cars each. As a rule
its mission will be to reconnoiter the main roads and, on the basis of
the results thus gained, to enlarge upon the reconnaissance net in the
vital directions. When in close contact with the enemy the latter type
of work may be executed best by light armored scout cars and motorcycle
elements.

Reconnaissance is of value to the command only if the results are
reported in time. Therefore, the problem of equipping the reconnaissance
unit with adequate communication requires careful study. Of primary
consideration, in this respect, are the radio and the radiotelephone. The
number and radius of the communication means control the tactical em-
ployment of the reconnaissance squadron. To avoid interception and in-
terference with radio communication, the trend is to limit its use as much
as possible. Until contact with the enemy is established, reliance is placed
upon other means of communication, such as the telephone, motorized
messengers, and aviation.

The mechanized reconnaissance squadron is the communication center
of its respective armored-car troops. It devolves upon the squadron
commander to furnish timely reliefs for the troops on reconnaissance;
moreover, he must have in reserve a sufficient number of armored cars
to enable him to execute reconnaissance missions that may, require several
days and, if necessary, to make a sudden shift of the direction of his
effort without depending upon outside support.

To some extent missions involving minor combat and protection of
the communication centers of the mechanized ground reconnaissance ele-
ments require reinforcements of infantry carried on motorcycles or cross-
country trucks, light guns or mortars, pioneers and anti-tank guns. In
sudden clashes the armor and armament of the armored-car troop and
reconnaissance squadron will usually permit offensive tactics. A mecha-
nized unit on reconnaissance should not provoke combat that might
divert it from its reconnaissance mission, but it may properly take ad-
vantage of a favorable opportunity to inflict damage upon the enemy.
Moreover, the general rule that a reconnaissance unit avoids combat
need not interfere with the occasional assignment of combat missions
to it when there is a shortage of other forces. Such assignment may be-
come necessary, for instance, in situations involving pursuit, cover of a
withdrawal, screening, and protection of flank and rear.

OTHER ARMIES

463

Mechanized reconnaissance units may execute both strategic and
tactical reconnaissance. In the case of strategic reconnaissance they
function as army troops or as independent units operating between armies
and groups of armies. They perform tactical reconnaissance for armored
forces and other highly mobile bodies of troops, such as motorized in-
fantry divisions. Strategic ground reconnaissance supplements air recon-
naissance or may even replace it, especially at night, in fog, and in
wooded and mountainous country. In turn, strategic ground reconnais-
sance, particularly that executed by mechanized elements, must be sup-
ported by air reconnaissance whose elements are much speedier and have
a larger radius of action. The command and reconnaissance elements of
both these arms must be carefully trained in this co-operative work.

Tactical reconnaissance for infantry divisions and army corps takes
place within a narrow zone of limited depth; moreover, both flanks
usually are joined by other forces. This type of reconnaissance is most
suitably assigned to horse cavalry, but the combination of horse and
motor in a reconnaissance imit does not seem advisable.

The mechanized reconnaissance forces are the first units to contact the
enemy. Upon the outbreak of hostilities the mechanized elements are
given their first as well as their greatest opportunity for speedy gains,
for no one can say how the situation may develop ^ter the initial en-
counters. It is vital, therefore, that the individual components of the
reconnaissance units be thoroughly trained in co-operating with each
other; that the leader and his command work together as a team, and
that the crews of the scout cars be well acquainted with their means of
communication and support weapons. For this reason the organization
of the reconnaissance units in peace must be identical with the war
organization.

Armored Combat Forces

The bulk of the armored forces is most usefully organized into large
combat units, as is done in Great Britain and Russia. On the other hand,
France continues to adhere to an organization which provides for the
employment of one or more battalions within the infantry division or
army corps.

The mission of the armored combat forces is the delivery of surprise
attacks with concentrated strength, with the view to gaining the deci-
sion at the point determined by the command. The armored combat
forces combine fire power with mobility and armor protection that is
proof, at least, against small arms. They are, therefore, exclusively an
offensive arm whose advantage over other ground forces consists in
capacity to fight while in motion.

Compared with tanks of the types used in the World War, the modem

464 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tank is principally noted for its considerable increase in speed, which
makes it impossible for the older arms to follow a tank attack closely
for an extended period of time. Armament, fire effect, aiming devices,
means of observation and communication have all undergone great im-
provement, but at the same time the defense against armored forces has
also been considerably strengthened. The principal foes of the tank are
the hostile tank and anti-tank gun; these compel the tank to take all
possible advantage of its own speed. Other dangers are obstructions of
all kinds, especially mines.

We shall briefly describe the most important types of tanks now in use.

(a) The light tank is armed with one cannon, 20-mm. to 50-mm. in caliber,
and several machine guns. Automatic rifles, pistols, and hand grenades serve the
crew in close combat. Some tanks carry smoke-screen equipment. The armor
throughout is proof against steel-core projectiles; the vital parts of the super-
structure and the turret are often constructed of still heavier armor. The light
tank averages about 12 mph on the march and 7 to 10 mph in combat. Its maxi-
mum weight is about 18 tons. This tank is designed for combat in the forward
zone of the infantry, where it attacks hostile tanks with its cannon and animate
targets with its machine guns.

(b) A lighter tank armed exclusively with machine guns and weighing between
four and seven tons, is largely used for missions involving close reconnaissance,
close security, and transmission of orders. In addition this lighter tank is useful
in combat against animate targets. Presenting a small target and possessing great
speed and mobility, it is also one of the most dangerous foes of the anti-tank
gun. Its low construction cost permits manufacture on a large scale.

(c) The medium tank carries guns, 75-mm. to loo-mm. in caliber. Its speed
and armor are comparable to that of the light tank. It supports the light tank,
especially in attacking distant objectives, immobile targets, localities, field forti-
fications, ‘Woods, and anti-tank guns.

(d) The heavy tank is armed with several machine guns, light cannon, and
guns larger than loo-mm. in caliber. As a rule this type of tank is heavily armored
(in France up to 50-mm. steel plates) and is designed for attack on field or per-
manent fortifications. Weighing up to 90 tons, it sometimes requires specially
constructed carriers for railway transportation.

Medium and heavy tanks with armament larger than lOo-mm. guns usually
carry smoke projectiles for blinding hostile observation posts, artillery, and, above
all, anti-tank guns.

Tank units designed for mobile warfare include a combination of light,
medium, and heavy tanks. The ratio of light to medium tanks depends
upon the kind of combat for which the particular unit is intended. The
heavy tanks constitute separate units designed for attack on fortified
positions. Hence the distinction drawn in some countries between bat-
talions of light, medium, heavy, and mixed tanks. Two or more battalions
form a tank regiment, several regiments a tank brigade.

While the tank unit in action is directed by radio, small elements

OTHER ARMIES

465

(such as companies and platoons) may be guided by visual signals. Up
to the time the radio goes into operation, orders and messages may be
transmitted by telephone, motorized messengers, and aviation.

The staffs frequently have at their disposal radio-equipped command
tanks and a platoon each of lighter tanks for messenger service. The
command of tank units from an airplane — ^an idea repeatedly advanced
in some countries — presupposes that control of the air over the zone
of attack is established in advance. Also, it requires faultless radio com-
munication and a special type of airplane. To date, this problem remains
unsolved.

Let us assume that the command tanks, from the brigade commander
down to the platoon commanders, are equipped with both transmitting
and receiving sets while the other tanks contain only receiving sets. Let
us assume further an average speed of 12 mph on the march and 10 mph
in action and endeavor to draw a picture of the attack of a tank brigade.

We know that a tank attack ordinarily produces decisive results only
when the requisite mass effect is obtained by a concentration of force.
Consequently the tank brigade should be the smallest combat unit to be
entrusted with an independent mission (cf. the Russian maneuvers of
1935, where one thousand tanks were massed for an attack in four
waves).

As previously stated, mechanized forces fight while in motion, their
attack being a combination of fire, movement, and armor protection.
But the fact that they fight while moving does not mean that it is the
primary object of the tank to run down an opponent steam-roller fashion.
It is the actual fire effect — the destruction of the enemy by fire — ^which
is the important thing; the crushing effect is merely incidental, of
secondary consideration, and is chiefly used for the destruction of
materiel.

The fire effect of the tank depends upon:

(a) The quality of the arms and ammunition used. In firing from a moving
tank a rapid rate of fire and the use of tracer ammunition are desirable.

(b) The perfection of the aiming devices. Good telescopic and open sights
as well as an ezisily manipulated elevating and traversing gear are essential.

(c) The construction of the running gear of the tank, especially of the springs.
Good springs absorb shocks and minimize vibration.

(d) The terrain. Uneven ground results in unsteadiness and causes difficulty
in keeping the sights on the target Steep slopes may produce large dead angles,
both horizontal and vertical. Groimd covered with high grain, bmsh, woods, set-
tlements, and so on, tends to interfere with the recognition of targets and reduces
the fire effect.

(e) The state of training of the tank crews. Constant practice in the use of the
aiming devices; thorough knowledge of the weapon as well as experience in serv-
ing it in dusk or poor light or while the tank is being shaken about; fixed atten-

466 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tion upon the enemy and alertness in firing — all these qualities are vital for the
tank gunner. The driver must know how to co-operate with the gunner by driv-
ing smoothly while the guns are in action.

When the vehicle is in motion machine-gun fire is effective up to five
himdred yards and cannon fire up to about one thousand yards. The
French training regulations state that “the tanks can use their arma-
ment at short range with precision and rapidity.” The British training
regulations have this to say: “One must clearly bear in mind, however,
that the mission of the taiis consists not merely in gaining a certain ob-
jective but in locating and eliminating all resistance from machine-gun
and small-arms fire . . to which I may add “and from tank cannon
fire.”

Of course when stationary the tank can fire effectively on more distant
targets. When the situation and a due regard for the cohesion of the
tank unit permits, fire from the stationary tank is preferable to fire from
the moving tank. Yet this opportunity will rarely present itself in an
attack by large units. Hence fire from the vehicle in motion constitutes
the essence of tank gunnery training.

Possessing both strategic and tactical mobility, mechanized forces may
be more speedily concentrated and employed than any other ground
force. This inherent characteristic of the mechanized arm permits sur-
prise, and the preparations for the attack must aim to get it. This calls
for the utmost abbreviation of preparatory measures. The concentration
must take every advantage of speed and darkness. Also necessary are
careful traffic regulation, timely storage of most urgently needed sup-
plies, and precise and comprehensive orders. In 1918, at Amiens, the
British successfully concentrated their tank forces within two nights.
During the night of August 6-7 the tanks occupied the concentration
zones located two to three miles behind the front, from whence they
proceeded the following night to the line of departure about one thou-
sand yards behind the front line of the infantry. In the future the speed
of the modem tank will generally render it unnecessary to occupy a
special line of departure but will permit the mechanized forces to launch
an attack from a concentration zone out of range of the hostile artillery,
unless terrain obstructions and other circumstances demand the employ-
ment of a different method. The concentration zones must provide con-
cealment and contain a good road net, for in these areas the tank forces
make their final preparations for the attack, refuel, feed the troops,
and replace crews wearied by long marches. Necessary reconnaissance
and liaison with the other arms must be established.

The reconnaissance should take up no more time than that of the other
arms. Expert map reading, correct evaluation of aerial photographs, and,
in certain instances, a personal air reconnaissance of the zone of attack

OTHER ARMIES

467

by the tank commanders must furnish the basis for the attack orders.
Careful determination of the various approaches in friendly territory,
especially for night movements, will add greatly to a smooth traffic flow.
Guided by an ample number of road signs and traffic guards, the tanks
may reach the concentration zones quietly and without the use of lights.

From the concentration the tanks develop for the attack. By develop-,
ment is meant an advance equal in width and depth to the combat
formation that the tanks will assume. The individual units should remain
in coliimn to take advantage of roads, negotiate narrow defiles, and pass
through the front line without interfering with the other arms already
deployed there. Greatest care must be taken to avoid disturbances to the
communication service.

A favorable time for the attack is at dusk or, better yet, at dawn,
when fog, smoke, and poor light reduce the field of vision of the defend-
ing side to a few hundred yards, thus minimizing the effect of the hostile
defensive weapons. Camouflage, artillery fire, smoke screens, air activity
and attacks simulated along other parts of the front, all tend to divert
the attention of the opponent from the actual zone of attack. A simul-
taneous advance made on a wide front will help disperse the hostile fire
effect.

Immediately before entering actual combat the tanks change from
the development to the combat formation. Until the tanks open fire, all
maneuvers that take place within sight of the enemy must be at great
speed, and advantage must be taken of all cover offered by the ground.
A terrain which slopes toward the enemy will help to increase the speed
of the attack and consequently favor surprise effect. Topography to a
large extent determines the direction of the tank attack; it is more im-
portant to assign the tank units favorable ground than to co-ordinate
their attack with that of other arms on unfavorable ground. Thus,
driving home a powerful and uniform attack on a wide front and in great
depth, the mechanized forces may take the enemy by surprise and pene-
trate his front. Each component of the tank brigade must endeavor to
gain its objective as rapidly as the hostile resistance permits. Provided
all weapons are held in readiness to open fire without delay and the
crews are well trained and constantly on the alert, the fire action may
be executed with great force and at most effective ranges. For it is the
actual fire effect which, in the end, determines the moral effect of the
tank attack.

From the foregoing we may draw certain conclusions regarding the
conduct of the combat. Firing requires that speed be reduced to between
7 to 12 mph, depending upon terrain and vehicle types. This speed range
will permit an accurate aim. The tactics must be simple and permit of
an effective use of the weapons, without causing mutual interference
between the tanks.

468 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The platoon of three heavy or medium tanks or of five to seven light
tanks comprises the lowest tactical unit. The platoons cross the terrain
in line or wedge formation, with about fifty yards’ interval between tanks.
Preparatory to the attack, the companies form in waves. The companies
of light tanks, which constitute the first wave, often are directly supported
by a number of medium tanks armed with cannon; Great Britain, in
particular, favors this practice. Similarly disposed are the battalions,
which form in several lines. The brigade may form its regiments either
in waves or in line. In the former case the regiments generally will form
their battalions in line; in the latter they will form in column or echelon.
All commanders must post themselves far in front, where they may
constantly supervise the advance of their units and bring their personal
influence to bear.

Each wave and, within it, each unit must receive a clearly defined
combat mission. For instance, if the mission be to penetrate the hostile
front, the orders would read : “First wave will penetrate to and eliminate
the hostile command posts and reserves. Second wave will silence the
hostile artillery. Third wave will attack the hostile infantry and contain
it until the friendly infantry has moved up. Upon accomplishment of its
mission, third wave will follow the commander of the tank forces and
remain at his disposal.”

The zone of attack covered by a tank brigade of four battalions
measures one to two and a half miles in width and two to three miles in
depth. The width corresponds to about that of an infantry division;
however, the tank brigade brings a larger number of light and heavy
firearms into action in the forward zone of combat.

At the end of the tank attack the various units are reorganized for
further employment. At this point it may be necessary to bring up
ammiHiition, supplies, and reinforcements and replace worn elements
by fresh ones.

The most dangerous foes of the tank and anti-tank weapon are hostile
armored forces. Therefore, they must be attacked first. Hostile tanks may
be initially engaged by fire delivered from a stationary front of tanks
and anti-tank guns, but if this be not feasible, or if it becomes necessary
to interrupt the fire, the tanks must change to combat in motion. Since
fire will determine the outcome of such an action it is important to
maintain order among the various tank units and adhere to a prescribed
rate of speed so that the fire may be effective. Intelligent utilization
of the ground will help to reduce losses, and in certain cases it may be
of advantage to use smoke screens. But fire control and a high standard
of gunnery training are the factors that will contribute most toward
victory. And, once launched, an attack on hostile armored forces must
be carried through to annihilation; other missions must wait until that
one is accomplished.

OTHER ARMIES

469

Infantry

In the matter of co-operation between mechanized forces and other
arms there exist two directly opposing views. The advocates of one con-
tend that the infantry is the principal arm and that all others merely exist
to serve it. They believe that the tank must move no faster than the
foot soldier. In a sense it should constitute a moving shield for the in-
fantryman who is unable to attack in the face of hostile machine-gun
fire without this protection. The inherent speed of the tank is not to be
exploited. For the sake of the infantry the adherents of this conception
are willing to accept the considerable tank losses which these tactics
make inevitable. They take little account of the strategic potentialities
of a speedy armored force. The protagonists of the other school look
far into the future. They are not much inclined to co-operation with
other arms. They prefer to combine the armored forces in purely mecha-
nized units and use them primarily against the enemy’s flanks and rear
or on large-scale raids that reach far into hostile territory. By taking
the defense by surprise they would overcome road obstructions, difficul-
ties of the terrain, and fortifications. They expect this method of employ-
ing the mechanized arm to decide the war.

In point of fact various unresolved technical difficulties handicap
this adventurous conception to such an extent that, for the time being,
it is better to compromise between these two schools of thought. There-
fore, we seek a solution that will permit the mechanized force to support
the other arms and at the same time take full advantage of its strategic
and tactical potentialities. Above all, we must be careful not to hamper
the development of the mechanized arm by adopting a rigid and in-
flexible organization or by saddling it with obsolete tactical conceptions.

Co-operation is necessary, for, like any other arm, the tank is incapable
of solving all combat problems by itself. This necessity for co-operation
imposes certain obligations both upon the armored forces and the other
arms. These obligations are especially binding upon the arms which
are suited for habitual co-operation with tanks. On this point the Ger-
man training regulations state:

The commander must synchronize tank operations and their support by the
other arms. Within the tank zone of attack the action of the other arms depends
upon that of the tanks.

The British regulations say, in substance:

The conception that armored cars must always operate in close liaison with
cavalry or infantry is obsolete; armored cars are weapons of opportunity. They
can exploit their inherent strength best at the time and place and with the com-
bat methods that best suit their characteristics.

470 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The British point out that the direction of an attack is selected with
regard to its tactical results^ regardless of whether or not it runs parallel
to that of the infantry. The German regulations say much the same thing
in a different way:

The ground is of decisive importance [for the direction of the attack]. Close
contact with the infantry will deprive the tanks of their advantage in speed and
possibly sacrifice them to the hostile defense.

Of late there has been a return to the conceptions that prevailed dur-
ing and shortly after the World War. In Great Britain the maneuvers
of 1935 were marked by close teamwork between tanks and infantry.
The tank brigade was divided and a tank battalion attached to each
infantry division, despite the fact that the British tank is not ideal
for joint action with infantry. The British vehicles, on the whole,
are too speedy and too large, and their armor is too weak for this pur-
pose. Tank units larger than the battalion were not used. Because of this
division of strength the effect of the tank was negligible. Nor did the
motorized infantry brigade play a decisive part in these maneuvers, for
it operated in close contact with the foot troops.

The British explain this return to World War tactics by claiming that
the introduction of a heavily armored, low-speed accompanying tank
would materially reduce the disadvantages cited and permit close co-
operation with the infantry. However, in order to be proof against the
minimum caliber (25-mm.) anti-tank gun, armor must exceed a thick-
ness of 30 mm. The weight of such armor would require a much bigger
power plant, hence a much larger tank. And the cost of producing such
tanks in large numbers would be tremendous. Yet only a large number
could effectively support infantry.

But even disregarding the cost, there are important strategic and
tactical objections to the organization of separate low-speed tank units
for the infantry. The tank units that are designed for strategic purposes
may also be used tactically, either as entire itoits or divided. On the
other hand, it would be impracticable to combine the division tank bat-
talions for strategic employment. Aside from the fact that their equip-
ment is not suitable for missions of this kind, the combined force would
lack the requisite headquarters and could not produce them at will. The
greater the speed of an arm on the march and in combat, the more im-
portant that it and its commanders be trained in units that are organized
in peace the same as they would be in war. In this respect we have a
valuable lesson in the misfortunes suffered by the German cavalry in 1914
as a result of untrained staffs, poor communications, inadequate equip-
ment, and faulty march technique on the part of large units: all of this
can be attributed to its prewar organization. With the exception of the
Guard Cavalry Division, the cavalry was parceled out to the infantry

OTHER ARMIES

471

divisions by brigades — a peacetime practice that had an unfavorable in-
fluence on the early operations of the large cavalry units. This error
should not be repeated with our armored forces. Slow infantry tanks,
even though their armor be reinforced, will be unable to execute their
mission in infantry combat if speedier hostile tanks are encountered.
The slow tanks have no chance against a similarly armed opponent of
greater speed. In this connection Major General J. F. C. Fuller says: .

. . . infantry cannot under their own fire attack infantry equipped with maga-
zine rifles and machine guns. . . . They can do so only when supported by a
dense shell barrage or when led forward by tanks, in which case they are but
a drag on the free movement of these machines. To give them special tanks for
this purpose is merely to restrict the value of these weapons. . . . {The Army
in My Time)

In an article published in the Army, Navy & Air Force Gazette of
September 26, 1935, General Fuller says:

Even if the frontal attack is persisted in, and even if infantry are to continue
to assault — ^seeing that most enemies we shall meet in the next war will possess
three to four times the number of machine guns they did in 1918; will have an
artillery designed and trained in anti-tank tactics, and will be equipped with
fast-moving tanks (the most effective of anti-tank weapons) — is it sane to sup-
pose that in this war a slow machine will be superior, even as a protective
weapon to infantry, to a fast machine? It will have more machine guns to
destroy and more anti-tank projectiles fired at it, and if attacked by fast-moving
tanks it will be bunkered.

Although certain British views lean toward independent employment
of tank forces, the French continue to demand closest co-operation be-
tween infantry and tanks. The latest edition of RigUment tTInfanterie,
Deuxieme Partie {Combat), 1935, cites tank figures that are based upon
the technical development of the tank as of the final phase of the World
War. For instance, light tanks are given a maximum speed of 7 km.p.h.,
a combat speed of 2 km.p.h., and an average speed on tracks of 3.5
km.p.h. In other words, the regulations treating of co-operation between
infantry and tanks refer to an old equipment whose speed in combat is
no greater than that of the infantry.

The French call for close teamwork between the two arms and make
it a rule to subordinate the tank units to the infantry. Infantry and
tanks both are assigned the same objectives. The tanks are to withdraw
rather than to advance independently beyond the objectives of the in-
fantry. As a rule, the attack of an infantry company is to be supported
by a platoon of tanks, that of a battalion by a company of tanks.

The principles governing the employment of the modern French tanks
have not yet been released. According to a number of statements pub-
lished in the French press, the modem French tank is more heavily

472 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

armored^ carries more powerful guns, and is a good deal faster than its
World War forerunner. Discussions of the new Tank D in current pub-
lications indicate that, despite these technical improvements, the French
continue to rely mainly on close co-operation between tanks, infantry,
and artillery. This conception, however, is not without opponents, even
in France. For instance. Colonel de Gaulle, in his book Vers VArmie de
Mitier, has this to say:

The tanks, usually divided into three waves, form for attack a favorable
distance to the rear. The first wave is made up of light tanks whose mission it
is to establish contact with the enemy. The second or combat wave is composed
of the mediums and heavies. . . . Finally comes the reserve wave which is
designed to relieve the forward waves or to exploit their gains. . . . Leaving the
line of departure at a high rate of speed, the light tanks make the initial attack.
Then, organized in large groups, the combat wave enters the battle. . • . The
direction of attack will usually be oblique to the hostile front, so that resistance
may be taken in flank. The advance must not be unduly delayed by the time-
killing task of clearing the zone of attack. ... In other words, the forward
waves must merely clear a passage for themselves and then push on to their
objectives as rapidly as possible. As soon as the tank attack shows results the
infantry, too, will gain ground. The infantry may advance either by cross-country
vehicles or on foot. Its mission is to occupy the ground that the tanks have seized.
In many cases it may be necessary for the infantry to wipe out the final vestiges
of resistance; to do this it will have to put its accompanying guns into action.

Modem tank forces must not be developed merely with the object of
using them in direct support of the slow, laborious attack of the infantry.
On the contrary, there must be tests to see whether it is possible to
utilize the characteristics of the tank more fully, so that its effect may
be more beneficial to operations as a whole. Several countries, for in-
stance, are conducting experiments to discover ways and means of
increasing the infantry’s battlefield mobility, thus enabling it to keep
up with a faster tank attack. There are several methods of accomplishing
this. One is to issue the soldier a lighter-weight uniform and to remove
his pack. Another is to motorize those rifle units designed for permanent
co-operation with tanks. This method has already materialized in France
in the form of the dragons parties. The dragons parties are largely
equipped with Citroen-Kegresse cars — ^half-track vehicles of considerable
cross-country ability. A number of these are now protected by light armor,
proof against small arms.

Co-operation between tanks and infantry may be carried out in a num-
ber of ways:

( I ) The tanks attack in advance of the infantry. The infantry follows, taking
advantage of the neutralizing effect of the tank attack upon the hostile infantry
and machine guns. The infantry supports the tanks by assaulting positions known

OTHER ARMIES 473

or suspected of harboring hostile anti-tank guns. This situation will occur if
the attacking force has to cross large exposed areas in gaining its objective.

( 2 ) The tanks attack simultaneously with the infantry. In this case the infantry
supports the attack in the same manner as above. This method is suitable if the
enemy is close and the terrain favorable for the attack.

(3) The infantry attacks in advance of the tanks. In this case the infantry
must be initially supported by other arms, especially by artillery and combat
engineers. This method should be used if obstacles, such as rivers or blockecl
roads, prevent the immediate employment of tanks and if bridgeheads or pas-
sages must first be established.

(4) The tanks, jumping off from a different zone, attack obliquely to the
direction of attack of the infantry. This method is contingent upon a suitable
terrain.

In crossing the hostile zone of combat the tanks must clear a path for
the infantry by destroying recognized targets — primarily anti-tank guns,
heavy arms, and machine guns — and neutralizing suspected localities.
Merely to push through the hostile combat zone with the idea of shatter-
ing the enemy’s morale is not enough; the tanks must break the enemy’s
strength by the full use of their weapons and open a gap in the hostile
defense system.

Rarely, if ever, will the tank attack completely wipe out the resistance
of the hostile infantry. Individual machine guns will remain undiscovered
or come to life again. Tanks can materially facilitate infantry action and,
in many cases, will be indispensable in preparing the infantry attack, but
they cannot take over the infantry’s role in combat. The infantry’s job lies
in an immediate exploitation of the tank attack by a rapid advance. Nor
does the foot soldier pause until the ground seized by the tanks is defi-
nitely cleared of the enemy.

While advancing with tanks the infantry must maintain formations
that permit it to move rapidly and must display signs that will enable
the tanks to identify it as friendly infantry, especially in twilight and fog.

Artillery

Armored forces have also created new tasks for the artillery. In the
World War, for example, it was practicable and advisable to cover a tank
attack by an artillery barrage, but today the high rate of speed of a tank
attack prohibits this method of support.

When tank units attack as part of an army, the division artillery assists
mainly by firing a preparation; in this it must put forth its utmost effort.
The shorter the artillery preparation, the more effective. If enough artil-
lery is not available in the zone of attack, and if the concentration of
adequate artillery and ammunition is so conspicuous and involves so
much time as to render a surprise effect doubtful, it is advisable to dis-
pense entirely with the preparation. In event of this the artillery will

474 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

be charged with guarding the tanks and firing on any targets that might
endanger their attack.

As a rule the artillery must shift its fire out of the zone of attack simul-
taneously with the opening of the tank assault. It may then box off the
flanks of the zone of attack, shell suspected anti-tank positions, or engage
localities unsuitable for tank attack, such as woods and steep slopes.
These tasks may be carried out partly with high-explosive shell and
partly with smoke projectiles. While this requires great attention and
expert fire control, it is facilitated by modem means of communication,
especially radio.

This type of support does not reach very deep into the hostile zone
of action. Furthermore, it is impossible for the artillery observation posts
to keep up with the rapid development of the tank attack. And, finally,
an aggressive artillery would not be content to see itself limited to such
a small battle role. Actually it is the aim of the artillery of all armies
to participate in the tank attack and, with this end in view, to motorize
its components. Motorized artillery may be either motor-drawn or self-
propelled. Drawn artillery has been the rule so far. Its advantage lies in
the divisibility of gun and tractor; the tractor can be easily exchanged
and does not have to be taken into the firing position. The question of
weight is of little consequence in motor-drawn artillery.

The self-propelled mount is something new; it possesses the advantage
of constant readiness for fire, combined with constant readiness to move.
It gives a great radius to the individual gun and to the entire battery.
It also has a certain degree of armor protection. Self-propelled artillery
seems to be a desirable companion of tank units. Great Britain has em-
ployed several types of this artillery for some time, and both the United
States ^nd the U.S.S.R. are experimenting with it.

As to the tactics employed by this artillery. Colonel de Gaulle says :

The rapid development of combat will not permit artillery to carry out mis-
sions in the manner customarily established for the opening of an attack. It
cannot be assigned definite zones of fire as in position warfare; nor can its firing
data be prepared with mathematical accuracy. On the contrary, as soon as the
hostile position is taken, the artillery fire must keep up with the rapid develop-
ment of events. In other words, the artillery must tread closely upon the heels
of the attacking elements not only with its guns and combat trains but with
its observation and communications sections as well. Thus, the artillery itself
becomes a masse mouvante whose components, on their own initiative, select
the most favorable positions in accordance with the needs of the situation and
deliver their fire from all angles on the most fleeting of targets. When it is
equipped with anti-tank weapons and machine guns the artillery can protect
itself. It compensates for lack of established position, inability to deliver indirect
fire, and the loss of uniform fire control by its mobility, direct observation, and
inherent independence.

OTHER ARMIES

475

In this description Colonel de Gaulle gives his idea of an ideal artillery.
He calls upon it to discard habits acquired in a long war of position^ with
its reliable firing bases^ its careful^ studied survey methods^ and its
abundance of time^ in order to be capable of speedily following the tank
attack.

Chemicals

Smoke screens are becoming more and more important as an adjunct
to the tank attack. Three main forms of employment can be recognized :

( I ) smoke projectiles fired by artillery in position during the preparation
and at the beginning of the tank attack; (2) smoke projectiles fired by
self-propelled artillery accompanying the tank attack, and (3) smoke
produced by the tanks themselves.

There is nothing new about the first method. It is used to blind enemy
observation. So, too, screens are laid down between the advancing tanks
and localities suspected of harboring enemy troops or anti-tank guns. This
enables the tanks to approach the enemy unobserved or outflank and
invest him without drawing fire. Smoke may also be used for purposes
of deception.

When smoke is fired by self-propelled artillery accompanying the
tanks, the fire is executed by platoons or batteries. These guns travel
immediately in rear of the forward tank waves and seek to blind any
anti-tank guns that put in their appearance. Smoke projectiles are fired
by trench mortars or by guns of 105-mm. caliber or larger. In England
light, medium, and “close-support” tanks are combined into companies
with the object of assuring teamwork between tanks and accompanying
artillery.

Originally great results were expected from the method of tanks con-
cealing themselves by self-produced smoke. It was soon found, however,
that, owing to the conspicuousness of its source, the smoke tends to reveal
the position or course of the tanks. The tanks travel either within the
smoke or — still worse — are clearly outlined by the screen they have just
laid. Therefore, it is only under the most favorable weather conditions
that this method can be used in the attack. On the other hand, it may
serve to facilitate a withdrawal.

Tank crews are relatively immune to gas. This applies particularly
to corrosive gases used in the contamination of an area. Protection is
furnished either by the gas mask or by the overpressure maintained in
the interior of the tank. Some countries are trying to make tanks that
are inherently gasproof; others are experimenting with filters to purify
the incoming air. The U.S.S.R. mentions tanks equipped with a gas-
blower apparatus.

476

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Engineers

The tanks have given the combat engineer some knotty problems to
solve, especially in getting them over streams, marshes, and soft ground,
and in removing obstacles, particularly mines. Minor tasks of this nature
may be carried out by the regimental pioneer sections, but major obstacles
will usually require entire units of specially trained and specially equipped
combat engineers.

Several countries, notably Great Britain and the U.S.S.R., have pro-
duced amphibious tanks that have proved highly satisfactory for crossing
unfordable streams. It is to be assumed that these will be used for recon-
naissance and for the establishment of bridgeheads.

Bridging material must possess a high carrying capacity because of the
tremendous weights it is to support. On the other hand, bridges designed
only for the accommodation of tanks do not require full decks.

Engineer units must be specially trained to recognize obstacles and
schooled in ways and means of removing them. Particular emphasis
should be placed on the removal of mine barriers.

Where engineers work in co-operation with tanks their jobs will ordi-
narily have to be accomplished in great haste and in sight of the enemy.
If they are to reach their place of activity and be effective they must
be protected by tanks. Some countries, especially Great Britain, have
introduced bridge-carrier tanks and mine-sweeper tanks and placed them
at the disposal of engineer units designed for co-operation with tanks.

Combat engineers will find another field of activity in operations
against hostile field fortifications. A tank attack on field fortifications
can be successful only if the size and strength of the obstacles do not
exceed the capacity of the tanks. Whatever the obstacle, both the heavy
and medium tanks are capable machines. For instance, the French heavy
tank can negotiate a thirteen-foot trench, a slope of forty-five degrees,
a vertical wall of six feet, a stream seven feet wide, and trees up to three
feet in diameter. If the tanks are unable to negotiate the obstacles the
engineers must go into action. Frequently they will be employed in ad-
vance as a precautionary measure. During the World War special anchors
were constructed for the removal of wire entanglements, and fascines
were carried along to be used in crossing trenches. There will be frequent
calls for demolitions and excavations for the purpose of overcoming
obstacles or enabling stalled vehicles to move on.

All of these tasks require training which in many respects goes far
beyond the former sphere of action of the engineer soldier. Therefore,
co-operation between tanks and engineers will be most successful if the
latter are familiar with the characteristics of the tank and possess the
requisite equipment. Irrespective of this requirement, however, the entire

OTHER ARMIES 477

corps of engineers must train for co-operation with tanks in offensive
as well as in defensive action.

Signal Corps

The width and depth of tank units and their motorized support
weapons on the march and in combat, the dust clouds raised by them,
smoke, fog, and rough or covered ground prohibit the use of visual
signals in controlling units larger than a company. The swift maneuvers
over wide areas which the tanks must execute even in combat make it
impracticable to employ the field telephone except in quiet periods and
during approach marchs behind the front. Therefore, we find that all
command tanks carry radio transmitters, and even the light tanks carry
radio receivers.

Signal troops designated for co-operation with tanks will therefore
consist primarily of radio elements. Their task is to maintain communica-
tion from the commander of the tank unit down to the regiments and
independent detachments, with adjoining troops, with the air service,
and, in certain cases, with the next higher commander in the rear. Ab-
breviated codes and special signals must be used in order to assure the
speedy delivery of messages and orders. To this end signal detachments
permanently assigned to tank units must receive special equipment and
training.

Maneuver being rapid and it being necessary for the commander of a
tank unit to be at the head of his command, only armored signal vehicles
that possess a high mobility and full cross-country ability can meet his
demands.

Air Corps

Information is valueless unless it be delivered to the commander in
time for him to act on it. This means that reconnaissance elements must
be speedier than the troops following them and must possess highly
effective means of communication. These two basic requirements throw
into sharp relief the difficulties that beset tactical and combat recon-
naissance for speedy tank forces.

Aerial reconnaissance promises the best results. As early as the World
War, the British High Command permanently assigned aviation to the
Royal Tank Corps with good results. Air reconnaissance personally con-
ducted by the commander of the tank forces before going into action may
be of material advantage.

The reconnaissance aviator receives his instructions before taking off ;
supplementary orders or changes may be transmitted by radio or pickup.
He reports eiAer upn^n arrival at his landing field or by radio or dropp^
messages. Of course it must not be forgotten that the aviator cannot

478

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

maintain continuous contact with the enemy and that his ability to
observe still depends on weather conditions.

To allow for the high rate of speed of the tank unit, instructions must
be issued carefully before the movements begin. The reconnaissance air
forces must be acquainted with the plan of attack and, if possible, with
the general course to be followed by the tank unit. Above all, they must
be able to distinguish between friendly and hostile tanks. Even with this
information the aviator may encounter difficulty in locating the tanks
and establishing communication. He communicates by radio, by dropped
messages, or by landing in the zone of action. Training should be con-
ducted in all three methods.

Air reconnaissance must be supplemented by a fast, strong ground
reconnaissance force which relays its messages either by radio or motor
vehicle. At present the demand for speed is best met by wheeled vehicles,
although their cross-country performance is inferior to that of track-
laying types. Of course wheeled vehicles are more sensitive to obstacles.

Combat aviation can lend considerable support to a tank attack. As
early as August 8, 1918, British airplanes effectively supported the ad-
vance of tanks by bombing and machine-gunning German batteries, re-
serves, and troop columns. Today, owing to the great improvements
in anti-tank defense and to the mobility of the enemy’s motorized and
armored reserves, the employment of air forces against ground targets
becomes increasingly important. By attacking such targets as men-
tioned and lines of communication, known locations of troops and head-
quarters, air forces will render it practicable for the ground attack
to penetrate speedily the hostile zone of defense. Particular pains must
be taken, however, to synchronize the actions of the two arms both in
time and space.

The U.S.S.R. is working toward a still closer teamwork between air
and ground forces, specifically the landing of infantry contingents by
parachute. Landed in proper time, parachute troops may seize vital points
in rear of the hostile front and then establish points of support and
supply bases to assist the break-through by the tanks. Parachute troops
working in co-operation with tanks may seriously damage and interfere
with the hostile services of supply.

Antiaircraft

Since tanks will quickly attract the attention of hostile aviation, an
antiaircraft defense must be provided. Tanks can contribute substantially
to this defense by an Intelligent use of their own weapons and by skillful
camouflage. Though the danger is not to be minimized, only direct or
very close hits will destroy the modem tank, and this is not an easy thing
to do when the tank is in motion. On the other hand, an air attack that

OTHER ARMIES 479

catches the tanks at rest with their crews dismounted or — ^worse yet —
while fueling strikes them where they are most vulnerable.

Since most of the support weapons of tanks are not armor-protected,
separate antiaircraft weapons must be furnished them. This applies also
to all combat trains.

Supply

The supply problem is the ball and chain of the tank commander.
The more far-reaching the plan of tank employment, the more vital and
the more difficult this problem becomes. Tank units cannot fight in-
definitely without drawing ammunition, rations, and fuel; nor can they
stay in action without medical service, repair shops, and replacements.
It is of paramount importance that fuel and ammunition be supplied
in proper time.

When operating as part of an army tanks are supplied by the army;
when operating independently they require a separate service of supply
and a mobile base of operations. And in this connection it should be
remembered that tank units will operate independently as soon as the
desired penetration is accomplished, and particularly during an envelop-
ment or investment of the hostile front.

Since a large part of the supply vehicles are unarmored, they require
covering elements as soon as they enter the zone of hostile fire. Further-
more, since supply trains offer a prime target for the enemy’s armored
attack, the attached covering elements must have a liberal allotment
of anti-tank weapons. On occasion it may even be necessary to withdraw
armored cars or tanks from the front and assign them a protective role
with the trains.

Conclusions

Since the mechanized arm, its supplementary weapons, and its various
counteragents are still in a state of development, no final answers can
be given to the problem of co-operation between armored forces and
other arms. And yet there are certain conclusions which may be drawn
from the evolution of the mechanized arm to date.

First, there are a number of fundamental elements which determine
the construction, organization, training, and employment of armored
forces. These are:

( 1 ) The materiel on hand and its past performances.

(2) The domestic facilities for the manufacture of mechanized weapons.

(3) The maintenance and supply facilities, particularly with regard to fuel.

(4) The effect of the weapons fired from and against tanks, as determined by
experience gathered on proving grounds.

480 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

(5) The organization of the command, as determined by maneuver expe-
rience.

(6) The order of battle.

(7) The nature of prospective theaters of operations.

(8) The armament of prospective opponents.

Although the various nations follow different routes in their develop-
ment of the mechanized arm, they all move in a more or less common
direction. This general trend can be summarized somewhat like this:

( 1 ) The importance of aviation is incontrovertibly established and is admitted
even by those who refuse, in general, to accept the doctrines of the Italian Gen-
eral Douhet. The air forces require the support of a partner on the ground who
is in a position to supplement and exploit the results gained by aerial recon-
naissance and combat. This partner must be speedy, aggressive, and strong.

(2) The older arms lack the penetrative power, mobility, and speed to carry
the attack so rapidly and deeply into the hostile front that the enemy will not
have time to take countermeasures. On the one hand, the defensive power of
modem firearms and, on the other, the speed with which motorized reserves may
be shifted to critical points prevent the older arms from decisively exploiting
gains. If the defense has motorized reserves at its disposal the attack must also
have motorized forces, and vice versa.

(3) The older arms cannot repulse the attack of strong armored forces. Even
a large number of anti-tank guns cannot strengthen the defense enough to
frustrate surprise attacks by large bodies of tanks. An attack of this kind must
be met by tanks.

(4) On the other hand, the increasing effectiveness of the anti-tank defense
calls for the utmost concentration of force on the part of the mechanized arm
if decisive results are to be obtained. In order to be decisive, a tank attack must
be launched on a wide front; this is to prevent the enemy from striking the
spearhead of the attack in flank. The attacking forces must be organized in con-
siderable depth in order to secure their flanks, effect a deep penetration, and
roll up the flanks thus created. To be decisive, an attack must cover much wider
zones than can be occupied by a brigade. In 1917, at Cambrai, three brigades,
each three battalions strong, fought in a zone six miles wide without any organi-
zation in depth. In 1918, at Soissons, sixteen battalions attacked in two waves —
twelve battalions in the first, four in the second — on a twelve-mile front. In 1918,
at Amiens, fourteen British and French battalions (two battalions and several
cavalry corps were combined in the second wave) attacked in a zone about
eleven miles wide. The widths of the zones of attack employed in major opera-
tions during the last year of the World War must now be regarded as minimum
in view of the defensive powers of modem armor-piercing weapons and armored
forces. In the future many times the number of tanks that fought in 1918 will
take part in battle.

(5) The tank attack must be carried out with the utmost speed in order to
take advantage of the surprise effect. It must drive deep into the hostile front,
prevent the reserves from going into action, and convert tactical gains into
strategic ones. In other words, speed is the main requirement of armored forces.

OTHER ARMIES 481

As the great Frederick said, “The faster the attack, the fewer men it costs. By
making your battle short you will deprive it of the time to rob you of many men.
The soldier who is led in this manner will gain confidence in you and expose
himself gladly to all dangers.” The swift execution of the tank attack being of
decisive importance, the auxiliary weapons of tank units must be as fast as the
tanks themselves. Auxiliary weapons designed for co-operation with tanks should
be combined with them into permanent units comprising all modem arms. This,
should not be construed as meaning that the whole army must be motorized.
Nevertheless, it must be emphasized that armored forces without speedy aux-
iliary weapons are incomplete and will not be able to realize their maximum
potentialities.

(6) Even in earliest times armies included slow infantry and more mobile
units, such as chariots, elephants, and horsemen. The numerical relationship
between the two arms varied according to the ideas of the commander, the
ability of the arms, the technique of the weapons, and the object of the war.
In periods of indecisive position warfare the armies had to be content with a
few mobile units. As a rule such times indicate a decadence in the art of war.
Nobody desires them, but since nobody can predict them, they cannot be pro-
vided for. Great generals have always aimed at decisive warfare, which is another
way of saying mobile warfare. To that end they have seen to it that the strength
of their fast troops compared favorably with that of their slower ones. Alexander,
at the outset of the war against Persia, commanded 32,000 foot soldiers and
10,000 horsemen. Hannibal, at Cannae, had 40,000 dismounted and 10,000
mounted troops; Frederick the Great, at Rossbach, went into action with 27
infantry battalions and 45 cavalry squadrons. These few figures indicate that the
great leaders maintained mobile elements comprising one fourth to one sixth
of their entire strength. Similarly, modem mobile units can be of decisive value
only if their strength is in due proportion to that of the whole army.

As early as his campaign in Spain, Hannibal entmsted his gifted brother
Hasdmbal with the training and command of the mass of his cavalry. At Ross-
bach, Frederick placed 38 of his 45 cavalry squadrons under the brilliant Gen-
eral von Seydlitz. As a rule, improvisations of mobile units and their commands
have proved of little value. Therefore, in the future mobile forces should have
a uniform command even in time of peace and should be formed in large units.
The leaders of those forces will do well to recall the trenchant expression of
Frederick the Great: “Be active and indefatigable; cast off all indolence of body
and mind.”

It was my intention not to stray beyond the limits of the technical
possibilities of today. Yet I could not deny myself the right to study new
methods of employment for new weapons. There will always be men
eager to voice misgivings, but only he who dares to reach into the un-
known will be successful. The man who has been active will be more
leniently judged by the future.

“Until then, we, whose fate is spun without our being conscious of it,
are left to our own determination and courage and are consigned to
the voice of our inspiration.”

482

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

KAMPFWAGENKRIEG: A Review
Reviewed by Major (now Colonel) Harvey H. Smith

O938)

Kampfwagenkrieg {Mechanized Warfare) y by General Ludwig Rittei

von Eimannsberger, Austrian Army, Retired. Munich: J. F. Lehmanns

Verlag, 1938. 236 pages; 10 charts, and 3 maps. $3.00.

The first edition of this book, published in 1934, aroused no little
interest and comment. That the French read, ponder, and respect the
author’s opinions is indicated by Lieutenant Colonel L. G. Rosseau’s
translation of the 1934 edition, published in France in 1936. Further-
more, a 64-page review and discussion appeared in La Revue d'Infanterie
for December 1935.

At the outset General von Eimannsberger frankly admits his total lack
of experience with tanks. But this handicap, if it be such, enables him to
approach the subject with the open mind of a scientist. He searches for
facts in thoroughgoing and methodical fashion and arrives at sincere,
straightforward conclusions.

The rapid development of armament and corresponding changes in
organization since 1934 — not to mention combat experiences in Ethiopia,
Spain, and the Far East — call for a revision of ideas concerning the
employment of tanks and mechanized units. General von Eimannsberger
does not hesitate to revise and correct whenever necessary. But he feels
that the bulk of his earlier conclusions and predictions are substantiated
by present-day developments.

“Mechanized” warfare as defined and discussed by the author is
synonymous with tank warfare. His theories concerning future tank war-
fare are based upon a study of World War tank-combat experiences.
The battles in Flanders (August to November 1917) are cited as the
last major offensive which depended upon a ponderous artillery prepara-
tion. The well-known result was a long and bitter no-decision contest
which finally petered out in blood and mud. Prior to the Flanders offen-
sive tanks had been used by the British and by the French, but only
in small groups and not en masse.

After Flanders came Cambrai (November 1917), the first offensive
marked by the large-scale use of tanks and the absence of artillery prep-
aration. The Germans were not entirely without warning of the attack
or of the presence of tanks but were surprised by the use of the tank

OTHER ARMIES

483

en masse. Hence the British Tank Corps accomplished its mission within
a few hours — ^in striking contrast to Flanders — but the planned exploita-
tion by tanks and cavalry failed because the employment of small tank
units in narrow zones was ineffective. So, says Von Eimannsberger, Cam-
brai showed the British how to penetrate a position, but it did not show
them how to transform this success into victory.

The French tank attack at Soissons (July i8, 1918) was planned in*
general like that at Cambrai — ^there was to be no artillery preparation,
and the tanks were to follow behind a rolling barrage. After initial success
the attack halted to await the forward displacement of artillery. As at
Cambrai, the resumption of the attack was marked by reduced tank
effectiveness because they generally encountered disaster when they ran
ahead of the infantry and poked their noses into hostile artillery areas
without the support of friendly weapons. Soissons showed the French that
the German front could be penetrated quickly by tanks en masse but
failed to show them how to exploit success.

The British attack at Amiens (August 8, 1918) was, in the main,
another repetition of Cambrai — 3, surprise break-through without artil-
lery preparation, the tanks advancing in mass with their infantry behind
a rolling barrage. The result was almost identical — a lull in the attack
after the initial success, then a continuation with insufficient forces.

From Amiens until the Armistice there were many repetitions of the
same picture — the attack with tanks employed in mass, an initial success,
then several days of fighting with decreasing numbers, and finally their
withdrawal behind the lines for overhaul.

Thus, the author states, the experience of war ceased, and the tech-
nique of the tank attack stopped right in the middle of its development.
He summarizes the tank-employment lessons of the World War as fol-
lows: Tanks, to be sure of success, must be employed in large numbers
on a broad front with the defensive artillery neutralized by smoke, fog,
or other suitable countermeasures.

Questions concerning technical development of offensive and defensive
materiel, organization, attack methods, and exploitation can be answered
finally only by the next war. But now is the time to study these problems
because a nation’s existence may depend upon their solution. This is a big
assignment, but the author does not shrink from the task, and he submits
his conclusions as a solution — not the solution.

General von Eimannsberger disagrees with the French doctrine of tank
employment as laid down in the 1937 edition of UEmploi Tactique des
Grandes Unites, which prescribes that tanks are to be tactically employed
in two groups: (i) accompanying tanks, operating subordinate to, and
in close co-operation with, the assaulting foot troops; (2) general ma-
neuver tanks, operating under orders of higher commanders and on mis-
sions relating to the unit as a whole. This latter group is the first wave

484 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

in the tank attack and bears the brunt of the fight. It should be remem-
bered that today’s anti-tank defense is organized against attacking tanks^
just as machine guns were organized against attacking foot troops during
the World War. Accordingly the French believe that tanks can be em-
ployed only when protected by powerful artillery. As a result, the author
states, the same restrictions are imposed that handicapped World War
tank attacks; namely, intermittent attacks on intermediate objectives
with pauses for reorganization and forward displacement of artillery and
ammunition. After considering time and space factors Eimannsberger
concludes that in a French attack the tank battle is in movement for five
minutes and in place for sixty minutes. All of which brings up the im-
portant questions as to where the tank masses are to go and what they
are to do during these pauses in the attack. And what will the enemy
be doing in the meantime?

The general believes that hostile fire and the absence of cover will
make it impracticable for tank masses to remain quietly in hiding for
this period. Moreover, these pauses will give the enemy more time to
bring up reserves and readjust his defenses. He contends that enemy
reserves can be moved up faster than the attack can advance by this
methodical method, thus precluding the possibility of a break-through.

As for tank employment in Spain and China, the author says that
nothing new has been tried, and the experiences thus far have been
simply repetitions of lessons already learned during the World War.

Von Eimannsberger also has some definite ideas on anti-tank defense.
In this and in the earlier edition he states that there is but one practical
defense against tanks; namely, to move the defense as far forward as
possible and give the foot soldier a counterweapon. Then, and then only,
can it be demanded of the rifleman that he remain under cover until his
armor-piercing infantry weapons have put the tanks out of action. Thus
the fate of the infantry soldier will depend upon his own skill. This
infantry anti-tank gun must be a part of the infantry as is the machine
gun — even more so, for in an emergency the machine gun can be re-
placed by a certain number of riflemen. Obviously this is not true of the
anti-tank gun. He proposes to give each rifle battalion an AT company
of six guns and to create a divisional AT battalion of eighteen guns — a,
total of seventy-two AT guns per division. In addition, the regiment
should have a cannon company of at least six infantry cannon. Anti-tank
defense, of course, should be considered in distributing divisional artillery.
On this point the French probably will differ. A study of their World
War tank losses discloses Aat 8o per cent were caused by direct Are
from light artillery. No wonder that the French have a profound respect
for the efficiency of this type of weapon and emphasize its importance.

Since there is no historical example of a defensive position organized
against mechanized attack, the author again turns to World War methods

OTHER ARMIES

485

and selects a defense against an attack based upon artillery. This he
modifies so as to create a defense against an infantry-artillery-tank attack.
The result is an interior division defending an area 6,600 yards wide and
6,600 yards in depth, with three regiments abreast. Each regimental
sector is organized into three echelons. Thus he conforms to the doctrine
of dispersion to avoid undue losses from artillery fire. The first echelon
in each regimental sector consists of the front-line battalion, defending
on a frontage of 2,200 yards with two companies abreast and one in
reserve. The depth of this echelon is 1,650 yards, and it has the usual
mission assigned to front-line units. The presence of the battalion AT
weapons gives considerable anti-tank protection. The rear limit of the
second echelon, which consists of the “readiness battalion” with one
company from the divisional AT battalion attached, is about two miles
behind the front line. The basic mission of this echelon is anti-tank
defense. The third echelon comprises the area in rear of the second
echelon, extending to the rear limit of the position. Within this area is
found the division artillery and the reserve battalion.

The author realizes that he may be criticized for placing the tank
defense wholly within the infantry position and for using artillery as an
incidental reinforcement of the tank defense. But he feels that this pro-
cedure is essential, since it is necessary to disable the tanks before they
have overrun and destroyed the front-line troops. Moreover, it would be
undesirable to place the tank defense within the artillery area.

In rear of such a defensive system the army commander should have
a reserve of one or more motorized divisions. These are considered indis-
pensable to check tank attacks. Furthermore, in the mechanized battle
only tanks or armored units have offensive capacity; therefore, a tank
division should be in reserve for counterattack missions.

Thus we see that the author has given his assaulting tank or mecha-
nized divisions a hard nut to crack. He does not set up a favorable
situation such as the envelopment of an exposed flank or the pursuit of a
defeated enemy. He may be criticized as being too pessimistic as to the
effectiveness of anti-tank weapons and for placing his estimate of the
numbers needed too high. Nevertheless, if tanks appear upon the battle-
field in the masses contemplated, any front-line battalion commander
and his men may be glad to welcome these weapons.

To illustrate his conception of a modem tank battle General Eimanns-
berger concludes his study with a map problem entitled “A Battle before
Amiens on August 8, 194--.”

The armament of the opposing armies is assumed to be that which
would be available today after protracted fighting. Each army is pro-
vided with a number of normal infantry divisions and in addition has a
number of motorized and mechanized divisions for whose conception
the author takes responsibility.

486 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The proposed mechanized or tank division is a self-sustained — although
unproven— organization for independent strategical employment. It is
composed of two tank regiments having 250 tanks each, a three-battalion
panzerschutzen or armored-rifle regiment, an artillery regiment, a recon-
naissance battalion, an air squadron, and service troops. It is intended
for use solely in the attack or for counterattack against similar units.
In addition, there are independent tank brigades, having the historic
organization and mission, which are to be attached to infantry divisions
as required.

The principal missions of the motorized division are: in the defense,
to stop the hostile tanks; in the offense, to occupy the ground gained by
tanks.

The defense is organized along two positions about ten miles in depth.
The attack consists of three phases: a penetration of the first position,
four to five miles deep; a penetration of the second position; the advance
of tank units through the gap thus made and their independent opera-
tions. The width of the penetration is to be about twelve and a half miles.

The requirement in tanks is computed to be about 2,500 (five tank
divisions), comprising 1,000 light tanks and 1,500 medium tanks. The
infantry divisional artillery is reinforced by additional batteries — ^prin-
cipally medium and heavy — to three times ordinary strength.

With respect to air operations, the author believes that there is one
irrefutable principle — the complete surprise of the enemy by the tank
assault is more important than all air attacks during the previous night.
During the attack, in addition to the usual air missions, some airplanes
should be used to nose-dive and fire upon AT guns as these guns open
fire. He realizes that opinion among fliers is divided on this point. Some
contend that the modem airplane is far too fast for such missions. He sub-
stantiates his opinion by recalling that British aviators performed such
missions successfully in the last war.

The tank division attacks in three echelons. The first echelon, consist-
ing of a tank regiment (one light and two medium battalions) and one
panzerschutzen battalion, attacks at H-hour into the artillery area of the
hostile position. This echelon is assisted by attack aviation.

The second echelon, consisting of a tank regiment and two panzer-
schutzen battalions, follows the first after a seven-minute interval and
attacks as far as the forward edge of the artillery area.

The third echelon, consisting of a light-tank battalion, accompanies
the assaulting foot troops and remains with them until the entire hostile
position is occupied.

All artillery opens fire at H-hour on every known hostile artillery and
AT gun position. Observation points are blinded by smoke. The tank
regiments attack with their two medium battalions abreast in the assault,
eai^ having at least two companies in the first wave. Behind them,

OTHER ARMIES

487

arranged in depth, is the light battalion, followed by the panzerschiitzen
units. Each tank battalion has available twelve tank-support guns which,
advancing by -bounds, furnish the battalion with artillery direct-fire
support.

The author herein approaches the French plan more closely than
he did in his 1934 edition, but he still intends to grab the hostile position
in one bite while the French plan to take it in two or three. His assaulting
tank units apparently will depend for protection chiefly upon attack
aviation, organic tank-support guns, and the panzerschiitzen battalions
until the infantry foot troops arrive to take over the conquered terrain.
It will take the infantry about three hours to arrive at the rear limit of
the first position, according to the author’s calculation.

A successful break-through of the first position still does not make a
gap in the defensive system, because ten miles farther to the rear is a
second position prepared in the assumed defense. General Eimannsberger
believes that separate tank units must be used for this attack, because
the tank divisions engaged in the initial assault will probably suffer severe
losses which is certainly no preparation for a battle with counterattacking
tank forces. Besides, if the hole should close after the tanks have passed
through — then what?

The attack on the second position must be supported by aircraft
instead of artillery. The author calculates that 650 attack ships and 502
bombers are required for the attack on the second position.

The basis of the entire operation is founded upon the theory that an
initial surprise can be preserved only by continual attack on important
areas.

Skeptics may question whether such masses of fighting machines will
be available — apparently they are not now. But doubt may vanish when
it is recalled that, at the time of the Armistice, France and England
claimed a production rate that would have put 20,000 tanks in the field
by the spring of 1919.

Perhaps the Allied commanders visualized such a mechanized attack
for 1919. Certainly their orders for delivery of armored combat vehicles
in such numbers show that they thought the solution to the ^‘attack
problem” lay in that direction.

Naturally this leads to the conclusion that only nations or groups of
nations with very highly developed industry are in a position to make
war with any prospect of success. This was true even during the World
War. The fate of czarist Russia is a striking example.

General von Eimannsberger, in his profound study, has tackled a com-
plicated and controversial problem. He has attempted to devise an attack
method that will not fold up and retire to its comer after one staggering
blow. His attack is to follow up its initial advantage with speedy blows
to ensure a knockout before the adversary has revived. As for his solu-

488 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tion, you may ask, “How can it be true?” The answer up until now is,
“How can it be otherwise?”

AUDI ALTERAM PARTEM
By Mercutio
(1936)

Despite the most vigorous denials, the thought persists that the bril-
liant campaigns of the Great Captains were brought about by adherence
to some secret and potent formula. Let any embattled general rise above
mediocrity, and at once the military witch finders gather their para-
phernalia and set about smelling out his secret. Military men discover
the secret of successful combat as regularly as the duffer discovers the
secret of good golf. In each instance the result is the same. Nevertheless,
the student soldier and the student golfer continue in their efforts to
conform to the great masters.

Now it seems to me that success in any line of endeavor is not purely
a positive matter. A man gets to the top not merely by doing but by a
nicely balanced combination of doing and not doing. Indeed, it might
be argued with considerable force that success in war, for instance, de-
pends more on not doing certain things that are incorrect than on doing
certain others that are correct. In any event it appears that one-sided
leaders will result from a system that stresses the positive at the expense
of the negative.

It will be contended, of course, that our schools are not guilty of this
indictment, that they point out the “don’ts” as well as the “dos.” There
is no question of this so far as the marked problem is concerned. But
military history is another matter. As it comes to us today, it is no more
than the distilled essence of victory. We are stuffed with Caesar, Hanni-
bal, Frederick, Napoleon, et al., to a point little short of nausea. They
did this; they did that, and victory crowned their arms. The defeated
army and its commanders seldom receive more than a half-contemptuous
glance to determine dispositions. The thousand and one factors so meticu-
lously dissected on the victorious side are almost universally ignored on
the other. We seek our formulas for success exclusively in success, over-
looking the rich fields of experience the great failures have left us.

For instance, Frederick’s principal adversary was a third-rater. There-
fore, we concentrate on Frederick and dismiss his enemy. General Daun,
with the word “cunctatory.” Actually *‘cunctator” Daun has as much
to teach us in a left-handed way as Frederick has in a right. We cannot

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489

escape the fact that there are two sides to every battle and that if one
wins the other loses. Similarly, we cannot avoid the conclusion that
the victor is seldom exclusively responsible for the success of his arms;
the defeated contributed, at least, an equal part.

Therefore, I suggest that we couple our study of the great conquerors
with an equal study of the great failures to the end that we recognize
not only those roads that lead to victory but those other deceptive high-
ways that plunge down to ruin.

GUERRILLA WARFARE

By Bert (Yank) Levy

One of the most remarkable developments of the present war is Britain’s
Home Guard. The threat of enemy invasion after Dunkirk caused the
Home Guard to be developed on a big scale and led to the interest in
Great Britain in all possibly useful forms of guerrilla warfare. There
resulted a number of handbooks and manuals of instruction, one of the
most realistic and popular of which was ‘‘Yank” Levy’s Guerrilla War-
fare, which appeared in 1940 and which has had a wide distribution in
the United States through the Infantry Journal publication in the maga-
zine and in book form.

The author, a Canadian with much battle experience in the first World
War and in Spain, covers every practical method of scouting, patrolling,
ambush, assault, and destruction which irregular troops might use in con-
junction with professional forces. In the following chapter the author
describes some of these methods.

Ambushing is not the only method of destroying the enemy’s cars, lorries,
or tanks. The guerrilla is also adept in the practice of “invisible destruc-
tion.” This means that you destroy the enemy’s transport, stores, and so
on, without letting him know about it until the time comes when he
needs to use it. If you make a noise, or if you bum or blow up something,
he may be able to catch you; also, he has earlier warning of his loss and
therefore more time in which to replace it.

Of course some forms of destruction cannot be done invisibly and
silently. You cannot destroy an ammunition dump quietly. But it is
better, for instance, to let petrol leak away than to bum it. If you have
to blow up objects, use delayed-action bombs so that you have time
to make a getaway.

For destructive raids, usually you should not have less than three
men in your party. Sometimes two is better, and there are some jobs best
done by one man. To do them you may need disguises of various kinds —

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THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

not false whiskers and sunglasses, but civilian clothing, perhaps, or an
enemy uniform, or women’s clothes — only pick someone who can wear
them naturally— or maybe a postman’s uniform.

Let us say we are out to destroy a canal barge or barges. I would
never try to bum it and let the enemy know for miles around that
guerrillas are active. I would sink it quietly. The additional advantage
of this would be that the sunken hulk might hold up traffic on the canal.

For this purpose, if it is a wooden barge, you can use a bailing hook,
such as is used by dockers to handle cargo. With this you will pull out the
calking between the planks. It may take you anywhere between twenty
minutes and two hours to pull out sufficient to sink the barge. You might
also drill holes in the barge. Circumstances and your equipment will
dictate which is preferable. ' *

In the case of a steel barge you need a spanner to take out the draining
plug at the bottom of the barge. These methods, of course, can also be
used with boats. If you can’t use silent methods blow a vessel up with a
long-delayed-action bomb.

When destroying vehicles keep an eye open always for petrol-tank
lorries — ^to cripple or destroy them is doubly advantageous: the enemy
loses the use of the vehicle and also of the petrol.

If I succeeded in entering an enemy lorry park — almost certainly by
night, of course — ^and had plenty of ti^e, I would quietly remove one
spark plug in each engine, then insert a quarter-inch or half-inch nut
or bolt and replace the plug. When they step on her to start her off the
next morning, the nut or bolt will smash up the motor. Or you can
damage the distributor with a screw driver.

A good trick, but a bit more elaborate, is borrowed from gangsters,
who have often used it successfully to remove competitors or anti-
racketeering politicians. For this you need a stick of dynamite with a
detonating cap at one end to which a wire is attached. You then attach
the free end of the wire to a spark plug or. switch contact and have
another wire grounded to the framework of the car. When the enemy
steps on his starter or turns a switch he blows his car up and himself too.

One of the oldest sabotage tricks is to put some sand or emery dust
into the bearings of a vehicle. This can also be done to railroad trains
and engines.

Whenever you can drain off or destroy petrol, do so. Petrol is the life-
blood of the modem army. Three or four lumps or spoonfuls of sugar put
into the petrol tank, or a small bottle of linseed oil emptied into it, will
immobilize any car after it has traveled three or four miles. Shredded
cotton or waste, confetti, wool, or sand in a petrol tank will probably
block the feed line or filter. Some modem German tanks have a filter
good enough to prevent this blocking, but their lorries do not.

Petrol draining out of a car’s tank makes a splashing or trickling noise.

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491

So if there happens to be any sand or sawdust — or perhaps a sack —
around^ put it underneath to deaden the sound. You can puncture petrol
tanks with an awl or drill.

Tire slashing can be done by night or day, and the guerrilla should
find lots of opportunities for this, even when other jobs which take longer
are impossible. Don’t unscrew the air valve from the tire if there are
people near, because the escaping air makes a protracted hissing noise.
One good nine-inch slash with a strong, sharp knife along the wall of
the tire casing will let the air out in one short gasp and will not attract
so much attention.

Among the enemy’s most formidable weapons are tanks. Every tank
the guerrilla can destroy, or even put out of action for a time, is a minor
victory for our cause. As we have seen, tanks can be ambushed by day.
And the guerrilla can also go out after them at night, when they are
laid up.

For tanks do have to lie up at nights. If you had ever tried riding in
the hot, airless, constricted interior of a tank you would realize that
tank crews must have their rest. By nighttime they are exhausted, prob-
ably suffering from headaches, perhaps “tank-sick.” They are all in.

Then is the time for you to sneak in — ^if. the tanks are not heavily
guarded by infantry — ^and either steal the tanks or blow them up, or
throw grenades into the opened turrets.

You should be able to snaffle their sentries quietly, then go down to
the laager and kill their drivers and destroy the tanks. Molotov cocktaik
and AW bombs hurled at the bogie-wheels will set the rubber on fire.

Supposing an enemy airplane has made a forced landing not far from
your guerrilla band. Here is a heaven-sent opportunity. If it is a fighter
it will have only one pilot. If a bomber, only a few men. And one or
more will have to go out to make contact with his forces to get help.
At most you will have only three or four men to overcome.

Or sometimes it may be possible to sneak into an airdrome by night.
At any rate, it is well worth while knowing how to immobilize an air-
plane. When working quietly the best plan is to attack the elevator,
which is lightly made and therefore easily damaged. And it is the one
control surface which renders it impossible for the plane to take the air.
If you can use a little noise plant a Mills bomb in among the instru-
ments, tie a fishline to the pin, and walk away. When you come to the
end of the line jerk the pin out.

If you have to set fire to a plane — ^and don’t forget that this will bring
the enemy down on you in a pretty short time — remember that there is
bound to be petrol somewhere near the engine. Light some oil-soaked rags
there. If you find a petrol tank puncture it with any sharp object and
let some of the petrol run out onto the ground. Then throw a lighted
match into it and make the quickest getaway you can, before the bombs

492 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

and ammunition start popping. If you have a bomb, of course that will
do the trick more quickly.

If you want to destroy an ammunition dump or perhaps a big store
of other war material, you must use a time bomb. The same applies to
a petrol dump, if you have not the time to open up the tanks with a
hand drill to let the petrol flow out.

It takes a long time to tear up railroad tracks, and the probabilities
are that there will be guards posted along the line to prevent this. They
can be blown up but can usually be repaired in three or four hours. Still,
this delay counts when the enemy is working to a time schedule. It is
better to blow up a railway bridge, however, if you can, as this takes
much longer to repair.

Furthermore, you can blow up trains, which will also have the effect
of blocking the track and wrenching rails out of place. This is an easier
job, from the point of view of your getaway, because you can lay the
detonators on the track, so that the train blows itself up. A slab of gun-
cotton laid on a railway metal and properly detonated will blow a piece
of the rail right out.

A land mine is good for blowing up trains because it does not function
until you want it to, if you have your wires leading from it to a position
where you are protected but can view the track. Then you can blow up
whatever part of the train you choose, always remembering, if it is a
passenger train, that generals usually ride in the last coach, or the last
but one.

Rails unbolted and displaced will tip a train off the lines. Try this at
an embankment, on a curve.

If all this is too difficult you can still delay a train if a couple of you
slither down to the track with a few gallons of good grease — say axle
grease, but even smooth tar will serve — ^and smear the rails, always choos-
ing a section of track which is level or upgrade. Then the pistons will be
driving the engine wheels fast, and they cannot grip the rails, and the
train will be going no place fast! No engine carries enough sand to cover
a long stretch of track.

Whenever there are bridges or culverts which cross rivers or streams
you have an excellent opportunity of doing some long-distance exploding.
The water, of course, must have a fairly good current. Find some good
cover about one hundred yards from the bridge. Float a piece of wood
downstream from there, timing the period it takes to reach the bridge.
Then make a tiny raft and float that down, timing it too. Then you can
make another raft on which you will place some sticks of dynamite or
gelignite, together with a few pounds of blasting or lifting powder, with
a time fuse coiled inside a can. As you have timed the current — the
length of time it takes to float your raft down to the bridge — ^you can
cut yoiu: fuse to match so that, when the raft passes imder the bridge, up

OTHER ARMIES 493

she goes. This is only effective when the bridge undersurface is near the
water.

There are also various types of buildings which you will want to
destroy, either by fire or explosives. If they contain stores, then by fire.
If they contain troops, then by explosives. For this purpose you will
have to learn something about explosives, how to use them, and how
to improvise bombs, hand grenades, and so on. This, I am afraid, I
cannot tell you about here. But the “Explosives” article in the Encyclo-
pcedia Britannica will give you everything. A good deal of instruction
has been given to Home Guards in this subject — although not by any
means to enough of them — so that in each guerrilla band there should
be at least one person who can instruct the others in these matters. You
can, for instance, make a fairly good bomb out of an empty tin can if
only you have the explosives and know how.

No one should run away with the idea that, in performing the above
destruction jobs, all we have to do is stroll quietly down to the car park,
ammunition dump, or whatever it may be. We have to approach these
places with infinite caution, and often we shall have to dispose of a
sentry or two before we can go about our job.

Therefore, we must know how to rid ourselves of a sentry’s presence
silently and expeditiously. Sometimes we shall not want to kill the sentry,
for then someone may find his body and give the alarm. It will not do
us any harm if we now seek instruction, right in our home town, from
wrestlers, jujitsu experts, and even doctors and bonesetters, who can show
us the nerve centers of the body, the vulnerable places, and how to con-
trol a man or put him out swiftly.

A hammer blow between a man’s shoulder blades will paralyze him.
If you want to take a sentry and walk him off you must keep your left
hand, with a handkerchief balled up in it, over his mouth, so that he
makes no outcry. The palm or base of your hand should be pushing up
under his chin, while you pinch his nose with thumb and forefinger,
pulling it down. You, of course, are standing behind him. And with your
other hand you are pressing your knife against his body.

Always try to take a sentry from the rear. But if you must tate him
from the front, never hold your gun up against his tummy and tell him
to put his hands up. Odds are he knows the trick to pull and will get your
gun before you can pull the trigger. If you do have to take him from the
front, place the sole of your left foot — ^if you are right-handed; if not,
reverse these instructions — on the arch of his right foot, pulling your
revolver hand — or knife hand, or the hand holding whatever weapon you
have chosen — as far back as possible. Then with your left hand you tear
open his tunic or greatcoat, leaving the bottom button still fastened. Then
grab him by the shoulder and swing him around quickly. You may slap
his ears with the revolver barrel to intimidate him. Then pull his straps.

494 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tunic, greatcoat, and braces down over his shoulders to his elbows. This
will lock his arms. Unless you need to march him away, you should also
drop his trousers to lock his feet. Then search him from head to foot — ^he
may have a knife too.

Never tell him to put his hands up. His hands may show up on a moon-
lit night and attract attention; also, this elongates his shadow. Besides,
German sentries often carry egg bombs, and he may have one in his
hand. If you make him put his hands up you are helping him to chuck
it at you. Or if he has his back to you he can throw it some distance
away to attract attention. He won’t drop it if his hands are down, for
that would hurt him as much as you, and he probably doesn’t care for
the death-with-honor business.

Take away a sentry’s pens and pencils. He may have a tear-gas gun,
which looks exactly like a propelling pencil.

Practically any military or scouting manual will give you various other
methods of taking sentries, so I shall not dwell on this.

But usually you will not be able to take sentries. You will just have to
dispatch them as quietly as possible. For this purpose you may not be
able to carry visible weapons if you are passing through, or very close to,
the enemy’s lines. However, there are invisible weapons which are very
efficient.

Here are some of them: ladies’ hatpins, five or six inches long. Or a
wrist knife, strapped to your wrist with the hilt downward. A knife worn
round the neck on a thong or cord. A small revolver held up your sleeve
by rubber bands or in a shoulder holster. A stiletto with a nine-inch blade,
no wider than three quarters of an inch at its broadest, and double-edged
for its full length. Be sure it has a hilt guard on the haft. This instrument
you should grasp solidly, placing the ball of the thumb along the flat of
the blade. You use it with a twist of the wrist, stabbing upward and in-
ward, under the lower rib toward the heart, or aiming at the spinal cord
to sever it.

Other useful weapons are hammers — either to smash a man’s skull or
hit him between the shoulder blades to stun him; cheesecutters — ^the
wires with wooden handles you see in the grocery stores — which are
handy for strangling people; fishlines, for strangling, too, but also useful
to tie a man’s hands or ankles; a handkerchief with a fistful of sand in it,
and so on.

If you are going to use a knife on a man, taking him from the rear, you
should keep the outside of your foot against his heel, then drag him down
onto your left knee while pushing a knife between his lower ribs, or in
some other vulnerable spot. Your left hand is over his mouth to prevent
an outcry. Note first what vulnerable points are protected by equipment.

If ever you take a sentry or any other enemy prisoner, with one of you
covering him with a rifle, never forget the golden rule that, to search him

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495

or for any other reason, you should never pass between him and the man
who is covering him. The other golden rule is : Have him turn his back
to you at the earliest possible moment. When he can’t watch you he can’t
think up tricks to take you off your guard.

Sometimes, also, you will blindfold a prisoner — not only if you do not
want him to see where you are taking him, but also because a blindfolded
prisoner is not so likely to cry out. Gags are never as good in real life as
in the movies; they work loose, and a man can usually emit some sort of
yell through them.

The various methods of dealing with sentries, of course, are also useful
when capturing or destroying strayed enemy soldiers or small enemy
patrols. These methods are so well known — particularly when used in
connection with a rifle — that I can refer you to a dozen or more well-
written handbooks, from any one of which you can learn all that I could
teach. For while these things are part of guerrilla warfare, they are also
part of regular warfare.

Sometimes, when trying to get through enemy lines, you can have a
companion whose job it is to distract the sentry’s attention. He can quite
simply toss a stone at him and make off noisily in the brush. Or you can
rattle some tin cans tied to a rope several yards away. If in or near a
town or village, a fake fight between two apparently drunken men may
do the trick. Sometimes, then, you can whiz by the sentry or sentries in a
small light car, toss your hand grenades into the factory, car park, or
other objective, drive on for a bit, immobilize your car, and take to the
woods.

Good practice for taking sentries is the stalking game. One of you sits
blindfolded while the others, in turn, try to walk right up to him and
touch his shoulder without his hearing their approach. As soon as he
hears you he claps his hands and you are technically dead, and the next
fellow tries.

SIX MONTHS WITH THE JAP INFANTRY
By Lieutenant (now Colonel) Harold Doud

Colonel Doud was on duty with a Jap infantry regiment in 1934-35.

In 1937 he wrote of his experiences for the Infantry Journal, This article
and others on the Jap Army have also appeared in How the Jap Army
Fights,

As THE FINISHING TOUCH to my two-and-a-half-year language detail in
Japan I was to do a tour of duty with troops. To all intents and pur-
poses I was to be a company officer of the Imperial Japanese Army. For

496 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

six months [the winter of 1934-35] I was to serve with the 2d Company,
7th Infantry Regiment, at Kanazawa. I looked forward to it.

My orders were followed by letters from the regimental adjutant and
my future company commander. Both expressed the hope that my stay
with them would be profitable.

In the meantime I had written to a missionary acquaintance at Kana-
zawa asking his aid in finding suitable quarters. He replied that there
was only one house in Kanazawa suitable for one of my station. It was
rather expensive, he said; the rent was eighty yen (about twenty-five
dollars) a month. However, its seventeen rooms would be just about right
for one of my rank. We were rather staggered at the thought of seventeen
rooms, but since the letter implied that nothing less would do, we ac-
cepted it. Accordingly we packed our furniture and a few days later
entrained for Kanazawa.

Although it was nearly midnight when we arrived, a reception com-
mittee met us at the station. The delegation included the regimental ad-
jutant, the color lieutenant, the captain and senior warrant officer from
the 2d Company, and a detail of soldiers to handle our baggage. After
the baggage had been equitably divided we marched in a body to the
local inn, where we were to put up until our furniture arrived. All hands
accompanied us to our rooms, and the officers and warrant officer re-
mained for a chat and the inevitable cup of tea.

A few days of sight-seeing and I was ready to report for duty. Buckling
on my saber and giving a final pat to my uniform, I started for the bar-
racks. The regiment was housed within the walls of an old feudal castle
beautifully situated on a small hill in the center of the town. A soldier
met me at the front gate and conducted me to the 2d Company’s bar-
racks. At the door he handed me a new pair of slippers, neatly stenciled
with my name in Japanese characters. Following his example, I took off
my shoes, put on the slippers, and pattered after him to the orderly room.

There the captain introduced me to the officers and a few of the non-
commissioned officers. He then announced that I was to be presented to
the company. We put on our shoes and stepped out to the company
parade. There I found the company drawn up in a hollow square, three
sides of which were made up by the three platoons and the fourth side
by the company staff and an empty table.

I was invited to climb up on the table. As soon as I had taken this
elevated post the captain introduced me to the company. The company
was then brought to attention; the senior warrant officer turned out a
salute, and the ceremony was over.

Next we went to regimental headquarters, dropped our shoes, and
went in. The adjutant escorted us to the colonel’s office. Upon entering
the captain and I bowed to the colors and then to the colonel. The
colonel spoke a few words of welcome, saying, among other things, that

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497

if it ever seemed to me that he was not treating me with the consideration
due a guest, it was merely because he wished me to feel at home. He
assured me that I would be treated like any other officer of the regiment.

I thanked the colonel for this sentiment, put on my shoes, and went
with the captain to make the rounds of the principal staff officers and
the battalion commanders. At each place we took off our shoes before
entering. Before the morning was over I was thankful I had not worn
boots.

At eleven I was presented to the regiment. This time there were two
tables. The colonel mounted one and I the other. The adjutant presented
the regiment and the colonel introduced me, making a polite reference to
the friendly relations then existing between our two countries. The ad-
jutant brought the regiment to attention and the colonel and I faced each
other and saluted. That ended that ceremony.

It was now time for lunch. In a Japanese regiment all officers lunch
at the officers’ mess. There my worst ordeal was the speech each new
officer must make. When all were in their places I made my shoeless
entrance. Having obtained the colonel’s permission to speak, I delivered
my prepared oration. That over, I laid aside cap, gloves, and saber and
took my place at the colonel’s left.

Lunch, served in an individual tray, consisted of five dishes. There
was the usual enormous bowl of rice which is the main dish at every
Japanese meal. A one-eyed fish head stared fixedly at me from the bottom
of a bowl of bodyless soup. Another small dish contained pickled daikon,
a Japanese turnip which tastes like a radish, and another a handful of
sugared beans. At my first luncheon the piece de resistance was an in-
dividual octopus for each officer. Boiled, but with legs and eyes still in-
tact, it rested upon its back and glared at me. I couldn’t quite stare it
down.

The instant I took my seat all hands fell to with a will, not to mention
speed. I took up my chopsticks and followed suit. In the Japanese fashion
I smoothed the way for my rice with gulps of soup. This I supplemented
with an occasional bite of daikon and sugared beans. I made a few tenta-
tive picks at my octopus, but every time I did those baleful eyes dis-
couraged me.

I had just made a good start on the meal when I felt, or rather sensed,
a silence. I glanced up to find that all hands had finished and were ap-
parently waiting for me. I hastily laid down my chopsticks. Immediately
an officer arose and launched into a talk on a technical military subject. I
soon learned that this was standard procedure. Of the hour reserved for
lunch only a few minutes were devoted to eating, the rest of the time to
military education. The colonel left immediately after the lecture, and
the officers began drifting back to their duties.

At this time the regiment was having its “dog days* training.** Although

498 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

it was intensely hot, training was purposely intensified in order to accus-
tom the men to great exertion in extreme heat. During the hottest part
of the day a strenuous and lengthy bayonet practice was held. The officers
were not exempt; from eleven to twelve they fenced with the Japanese
two-handed sword.

Since each Japanese officer owns a fencing outfit, I equipped myself
and joined in the daily workout. When my opponents got over their
initial politeness I began to get some bad beatings. After a few days of
taking stiff raps on the bare elbow I grew wary — I began to pick field
officers for opponents, avoiding the young and agile lieutenants and cap-
tains.

During this period much of our time was taken up with the ceremonies
incident to the semiannual transfer of officers. In our division both the
division and brigade commanders were transferred, and in our regiment
we drew new commanders for the ist and 2d battalions and for a number
of the companies. The Japanese custom of the service requires farewell
and welcoming formations for all outgoing and incoming officers. Hence
the novelty of the hollow square, the tables, and the speechmaking soon
wore off.

After the welcoming formation for the new division commander I was
called aside to meet him personally. Following the usual amenities he
expressed an interest in a trip I had recently taken to Formosa while he
was governor general there. Since I had never met this officer I was sur-
prised and showed it. He smiled and said that his knowledge came from
my dossier made up by the military police.

I was now getting used to garrison life and looked forward to our first
holiday scheduled for August 2jt. This was the anniversary of the storm-
ing of Banryu Hill during the siege of Port Arthur; here the regiment had
distinguished itself by an assault against withering fire with the bayonet.

When the looked-for day finally arrived I soon discovered that our
conception of a holiday as a day of rest was not shared by the Japanese
Army. The festivities started with a 3:00 a.m. reveille. After breakfast the
men filed into the orderly room, a section at a time, and bowed low be-
fore the pictures of their comrades who had been killed in action.

Following this ceremony, the 2d Company marched to a shrine of the
regiment’s war dead on Mukoyama (Yonder Mountain). Here, after
fitting obeisance, a bayonet tournament was held in commemoration of
the bayonet assault that had carried Banryu Hill. The tournament ended
shortly after daylight. Another bow to the shrine and back we marched
to barracks. There the supply sergeant produced sake and a species of
dried flounder, which we downed with a will. Then after a few minutes’
rest the regular day’s work began. The other companies celebrated the
holiday in similar fashion. And so I learned that if you start your holiday
observance early enough it will not interfere with the drill schedule. To

OTHER ARMIES 499

the Jap soldier a holiday is a day for additional sacrifice and effort in the
service of his emperor.

Several days after this celebration I got my first taste of Japanese field
service. It was our battalion’s turn to go to Camp Johana for a few days’
combat firing. This camp lay about twenty-five miles inland beyond a
range of mountains. We started out at nine o’clock at night in a driving
rain and marched through a steady downpour until seven the next morn-
ing, when we reached Johana.

The camp boasted several old barrack buildings which had been pre-
pared against our coming by an advance detail. One building was allotted
to each company and one reserved for the battalion officers. The soldiers
slept side by side on a long wooden platform which ran the length of the
barracks. The officers’ accommodations were a bit more elaborate. The
major, adjutant, surgeon, three company commanders, and I occupied
separate rooms furnished with an iron cot, a table, and a chair. The
lieutenants bunked together in one large room and the warrant officers
in another.

After breakfast the senior officers and I went to bed. As I dozed off I
heard the lieutenants supervising the work of cleaning equipment in
preparation for an inspection at noon by their company commanders.

On these trips away from the garrison the officers ate the same food
the men did. Instead of rice we had mugimeshi, a mixture of rice and
barley, supplemented by a vegetable stew of lotus roots. This was topped
off by two or three slices of daikon for dessert. Breakfast differed some-
what from this typical noonday and evening meal in that a thick, sweetish
bean soup replaced the vegetable stew.

At Johana we put in two days of firing platoon combat problems and
then at 4:00 a.m. on the third day began the twenty-five-mile hike back
to Kanazawa. The march was completed in a burning heat at two in
the afternoon.

The 1st Company did not fall out when the battalion was dismissed.
Instead its company commander double-timed it around the area of bar-
racks two or three times. This seemed so unusual to me that I asked,
“Why?” The company commander smiled. “I’m just proving to my men
that they still have lots of ‘go’ and are not nearly as tired as they may
think they are,” he said.

We now fell to for a week’s arduous work in preparation for the regi-
ment’s organization day. Each company was scheduled to put on a stunt
or act of some sort, and most of our time was devoted to this.

The ceremonies began at 7:30 a.m. with a Shinto service at the regi-
mental shrine. At nine-thirty came a regimental review. After the review
the 2d Company put on the sham battle it had been rehearsing all week.
Following this, all hands returned to barracks, which had been thrown
open to the public for the day.

500 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

At noon the officers gave a banquet for the principal citizens ot the
town. The officers’ wives, children, and servants had also been invited,
but these were entertained separately, because in proper Japanese society
mixed parties are taboo.

After dinner we listened to speeches and watched the soldier entertain-
ments. Our sham-battle stunt was matched by hula dances in one com-
pany, and by amateur acts in others. One company constructed a huge
sphinx in front of their barracks by piling up cots and covering them with
canvas. Another set up a large globe, representing the world. Atop this a
life-sized, straw-filled Japanese soldier waved his rifle and a Rising Sun
flag. This figure bore the date 1937 (prophetic, in view of the China
incident) . The day ended with a sake party at the officers’ club.

The next few weeks were largely devoted to training for the division
autumn maneuvers. During this time we made another trip to Johana
for a two-sided maneuver against the 35th Infantry Regiment from
Toyama. We also put on several two- or three-day maneuvers, using
Kanazawa as a base.

The twelve-day autumn maneuvers were divided into three four-day
periods devoted respectively to regimental, brigade, and divisional ex-
ercises. These exercises were chiefly remarkable for the long distances
marched and the long periods without rest or sleep. One day we marched
thirty-seven miles. Twice the troops went three days and two nights with-
out sleep, except what could be snatched during ten-minute halts and
brief lulls in the situation. Sometimes the men slept while walking. Our
junior lieutenant caused much amusement by marching squarely into a
lumber pile on the side of the road while sound asleep.

The last four-day period was the most strenuous. We started out at five
in the morning and marched almost continuously until ten the next morn^
ing. In that time we covered fifty-six miles. At ten o’clock the umpires
stopped the war long enough to untangle the situation which had gotten
jDut of hand. Our regiment found itself halted in front of a Buddhist
temple. We all piled into the temple compound, and those of us who
could keep our eyes open long enough ate a couple of our nigurimeshi (a
mess of rice rolled into balls for ease in carrying and sometimes contain-
ing a salted plum in the center) .

This blessed halt was all too short. It seemed we had just closed our
eyes when orders came to fall back a mile or so and go into a defensive
position. Fortunately for the tired soldiers, the line of defense ran through
unharvested rice paddies, so they were forbidden to dig trenches. While
the company organized its position I crawled into the bushes for a short
snooze and didn’t come out until awakened by the smell of cooking rice.

At nightfall everybody was occupied with outpost duty and patrols.
The Japanese go in for patrolling in a big way. In bivouac virtually every-
body who is not actually on post as a sentry is out on a patrol of some

OTHER ARMIES 501

kind. I remarked on this to Captain Teshima^ and he replied that the
idea was to keep everybody busy.

“But why not let some of them sleep?” I asked.

“Oh no!” he said. “That is not necessary. They already know how to
sleep. They need training in how to stay awake.”

The next morning at dawn the enemy attacked our position. Just as
the two opposing forces confronted each other with fixed bayonets the
bugles blew recall and the battle was over. The troops assembled under
their NCOs and started out on the five-, six-, and seven-mile marches to
their billets, where they were to rest until the following morning. The
officers gathered for a critique at the primary school in a neighboring
village. When this was over we boarded the local trolley and headed for
the billeting area.

Japanese troops always billet on the civilian population whenever this
is possible. The Japanese citizen does not look on this the way an Ameri-
can does. In Japan practically every family has or has had a son with
the colors and therefore has a direct interest in the army. The policy of
recruiting soldiers in the locality where they are to serve further adds to
this interest. The people regard it as a privilege to have soldiers quartered
in their homes, and they do their utmost to entertain them and make
them comfortable.

The officers were quartered with the more substantial citizens. Captain
Teshima and I were always billeted together. Our hosts felt it their
bounden duty to entertain us with food and sake until late at night, not
realizing that perhaps we had not slept for two nights in a row. In other
respects, also, their attention was sometimes slightly embarrassing. On one
occasion, while boiling at my ease in the family bath, the door opened
and in walked my hostess to inquire if she could be of any assistance. I
quickly assured her that I had everything needed.

One of the families with whom I was quartered boasted a foreign-style
bed. This they had prepared for my special use. I found it too short for
me and hard as a rock, but they were so proud of it that I could hardly
admit that I would rather sleep on the mats.

Our last problem was a twenty-four-hour division staff exercise. This
time we marched only sixteen or seventeen miles, and but for the heavy
rain which began to fall during the forenoon, we would have had an easy
time of it. The next morning, after the usual dawn assault, the buglers
sounded recall for the last time, and a few hours later we were entraining
for the trip back to Kanazawa. To me Kanazawa meant sleep, breakfast,
French-fried potatoes, apple pie, and coffee.

One of my minor trials had been the matter of food. In barracks and at
Johana I had learned to like the soldiers* regular garrison ration, but the
field ration was another matter as far as I was concerned. There are no
field kitchens in the Japanese Army. Therefore, when in the field the

502 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Japanese soldier lives on his emergency ration of canned beef and hard-
tack^ plus an occasional meal of rice and barley. The rice and barley are
cooked individually when time and opportunity permit. The beef is eaten
uncooked just as it comes from the can.

In billets, however, we were feasted and toasted until all hours of the
night. I found that special pains were taken to cater to the queer tastes
of the “foreign barbarian.” The billeting detail always spread the word
ahead that the foreign officer was very fond of sukiyaki, a succulent com-
pound of beef or chicken and several vegetables. As a consequence Cap-
tain Teshima and I had at least one meal of sukiyaki wherever we
billeted. Before the maneuvers were over he said he hoped he would never
see sukiyaki again as long as he lived.

A month after we returned to Kanazawa the second-year men com-
pleted their conscription period and were discharged. This was Novem-
ber 30 . The night before the company threw a sake party for the retiring
soldiers. All the company officers attended, and the captain and I both
made speeches. The soldiers appeared to enjoy my description of life in
the American Army, but I think they enjoyed my funny Japanese even
more.

Early in the morning of the thirtieth the area of barracks was packed
with relatives and friends of the soldiers who were to be discharged.
Shortly after eight a formal farewell ceremony was held on each com-
pany parade. The captain congratulated the men upon the completion of
their service and thanked them for their efforts in helping the company
to maintain its high standards. In conclusion he urged them to remember
the lessons they had learned while with the colors. A spokesman for the
retiring soldiers then stepped forward and thanked the captain and the
company officers and NGOs for their guidance during the past two years
and wished them a successful future. An exchange of salutes between the
two groups terminated the ceremony.

The next day, December i, was the annual, promotion day. When a
man is promoted custom prescribes that he make the round of his
superiors and friends to report his promotion. I was unaware of this cus-
tom until I found the newly promoted men waiting to report to me. Their
report, identical in form, rah like this: “Sir, Sergeant Tanaka respect-
fully reports that by the grace of the lieutenant’s honorable shadow he has
this date become a sergeant in the Imperial Army. He also begs the lieu-
tenant’s continued favor.”

I congratulated each man and hoped he would soon have another pro-
motion to report.

The next few weeks were devoted largely to fatigue, such as cleaning
and repairing clothing and equipment for the new men coming in in
January. The men were given a six-day holiday over the New Year, but I
received seven days in order to permit me to be absent on Christmas Day.

OTHER ARMIES

503

Immediately after the holidays the officers resumed fencing. Every
morning we assembled in the fencing hall at six o’clock. After donning
fencing equipment and removing our socks we lined up in bare fee^
paired off, and fell to for an hour of strenuous slashing and whacking.
The hall was unheated and the windows were wide open. This meant that
we had the choice of fencing energetically or freezing.

After this workout we repaired to the officers’ club for a breakfast of
rice, sweet bean soup, and a raw egg. One feature of these breakfasts was
a peculiar, but not unpleasant, wine made from the powdered flesh of
mamushi, a poisonous Japanese snake. I was told that this snake wine
was especially efficacious in renewing manly vigor after great physical
exertion.

On January 20 eight hundred new conscripts were inducted into the
regiment. They began arriving early in the morning, accompanied by all
their friends and relatives. The processing clicked with machinelike pre-
cision; by noon the recruits had drawn their uniforms and were being
initiated in the mysteries of making up an army bunk. To a number it was
a real mystery; many of these men had never seen a bed on legs before.

The noon meal that day was attended by all the officers and the nearest
male relative of each new man. The captain explained the routine of a
soldier’s life and told the relatives not to worry about their sons and
nephews, for they would be well taken care of and well fed.

A few days later the new conscripts were issued rifles. Giving a rifle to
a Japanese soldier is a ceremony of deep significance. The entire com-
pany was formed on the parade facing a long rack of rifles. Captain
Teshima explained the honor and responsibility of being entrusted with
a rifle. The samurai regarded his sword as his soul, he said, and the sol-
dier must regard his rifle in the same light. Each new soldier then stepped
forward as his name was called, bowed deeply to the rifle in the captain’s
hands, took the rifle, raised it in obeisance to his forehead, stepped back,
made an awkward present arms, and resumed his place in ranks.

Shortly after this the regimental commander, who knew that I was
interested in the pre-conscriptional system of training, invited me to ac-
company him on two inspection trips. One trip carried me to the Middle
School of Komatsu and the other to the Young Men’s Training Associa-
tion at Tsurugi.

We were met on the station platform at Komatsu by all of the principal
town and school authorities. Upon leaving the station we found all the
school children of the city lined up on both sides of the street. Each child
carried a Japanese flag in one hand and an American flag in the other.
As soon as he saw the flags the colonel pushed me ahead of him, saying
that it was my party. As I passed each group the children made a deep
bow at a word of command from their teacher. This was my cue to salute
—which I did for two solid blocks!

504

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Upon arrival at the school we were conducted to a small, concrete,
tomblike structure inside of which were locked the pictures of the
Emperor and the Empress. All bowed to the pictures, which were not
visible. We spent the rest of the day observing the military training and
other school activities. On our way back to the railway station in the
afternoon we again found the children and their flags on hand. Once
more I walked between the lines, saluting at their bows and saying domo
arigato (thank you) to their banzais.

My last few days in Kanazawa were occupied with packing, farewell
calls, and parties. There was a sake party at the company, where I made
my farewell speech, and another at the officers* mess, where I featured
in like manner. At a final geisha party the officers of the regiment pre-
sented me with a fine large equestrian figure of Masashige, a famous
Japanese warrior, engraved with my name in Japanese characters.

On the day of departure, although it was five o’clock in the morning
when we arrived at the railway station, my striker, the NCOs of the 2d
Company, and all the officers of the regiment with many of their wives
were already there waiting to see us off. As the train pulled out I returned
the last salute.

THE TACTICAL PROBLEM— AND A NEW SOLUTION
By Captain B, H. Liddell Hart, British Army

A great deal was written at the time of the blitzkrieg about Captain
Hart’s influence on British military thinking, with particular reference
to his “defensive” preachings; most of this criticism was greatly over-
simplified. It will probably take a full-length book of objective and thor-
ough criticism to establish Captain Hart’s proper place in the world mili-
tary scene of the two decades between the great wars. The Infantry
Journal, like most military magazines published in English, has published
a number of articles from Captain Hart’s able pen. The following ap-
peared in 1937.

It is setting expectations high to count on any program of rearma-
ment and mechanization to bridge the gulf that now separates armies
from their desire — for successful attack. My own view is that these
potential developments in offensive power are far exceeded by the actual
growth, largely unrecognized, of defensive power, and that the progress
of mechanization hitherto has already reinforced the capacity for re-
sistance more than it has any good prospect of strengthening the capacity
for attack. Not only fire, but the means of obstruction and demolition,
may now be moved more swiftly to any threatened spot to thwart a hostile
concentration of force.

OTHER ARMIES

505

The question which armies must face is whether they have any chance
of overcoming resistance on present lines, even when developed. An
alternative way of approaching the problem is to seek a tactical solution,
not merely a material one. If we are doubtful of overcoming the defense
by an increase of offensive strength, as we have cause to be, is there any
prospect in a different solution by an improvement of art? So heavy are
the present odds against effective action on land, however, that some-'
thing more than the art of the individual general is needed. Even if an
army could breed Napoleons, which no army can be expected to do under
its peacetime professional conditions, they would make no headway with-
out an antidote to the paralyzing machine gun. Armies need to develop
their tools to suit this new type of art.

Four years ago the British War Office appointed a committee, com-
posed of the younger generals, to investigate the lessons of the war and
to see whether they were adequately applied in the training of the British
Army. The experience then sifted and collated should have shaken our
satisfaction with customary methods. It is common knowledge that this
re-examination of war experience led to the conclusion that surprise was
of paramount importance, both in attack and in defense, and that the
greatest lesson of the last war was that no attack on an enemy in action
was likely to succeed unless his resistance was already paralyzed by sur-
prise in some form. It is known, too, that this committee expressed the
emphatic opinion that our methods, both during and since the war, were
too stereotyped; also, that the vital importance of surprise and of the in-
direct approach ought to receive greater attention in the training of
the army.

There has been some evidence of efforts to apply this admonition, but
they have not gone wide enough. Exercises have too often become a
competition in obviousness. Instead of developing ingenuity, the main
effort has too often been toward simplifying the enemy’s problem in de-
fending himself. This tendency was the sequel, paradoxically, to the
fresh concentration of attention on training the army for European war-
fare — the very type of warfare in which investigation had shown the
paramount importance of surprise. Under the influence of this “Eu-
ropean” keynote methods became more stereotyped rather than more
subtle. Instead of going forward to the trial of new ideais, they went back
to the repetition of old practices. If this is the best we can hope for, there
should be no hesitation in bowing to the present paramountcy of the de-
fensive and resigning ourselves to the conclusion that it would be better
to relegate the army to a merely protective role — ^as the lesser evil than its
futile sacrifice.

There were, however, some features in the work of the troops, as con-
trasted with the ruling ideas, which held out some promise of greater
effect. One was the increased skill and subtlety which many of the tzxx>p8

506 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

showed in concealing themselves from air observation. Another was the
cultivation of night sense and increased use of attacks in the dark — ^by
some commanders at least.

These developments point a path by which further progress is possible.
By the skillful use of obscurity in its various forms, the attack might re-
cover some of its lost power. Whereas today a mass attack merely spells
massacre, a “masked attack,” under cover of darkness or fog, natural or
artificial, has potentialities that have scarcely been tapped. Obscurity is a
strong antidote to the defensive machine gun and may prove a better
protection than armor. Its risks are mainly those of confusion; they are
certainly less than those of annihilation by machine guns with a clear
field of fire, and they can be greatly reduced by training. The superiority
of well-trained troops over normal troops is much more pronounced in
the dark than in daylight.

The use of obscurity, however, requires judicious adaptation to the
type of troops and a recognition of its limits. Darkness is a better cloak
than artificial fog to attacking infantry because, if skilled, they can see
through it; when moving in fog the man on foot has difficulty in keeping
his direction, while he becomes a target the moment he emerges. Thus
artificial fog would seem to have greater promise as a cloak for armored
fighting vehicles equipped with direction finders. But night, despite its
advantages for infantry who are trained in night fighting, has the dis-
advantage of limiting the effective depth of their attack. They may storm
a position under cover of it, but if they press on, the risks of confusion are
likely to increase disproportionately to the distance traveled. For control
can hardly be kept once advancing troops are engaged in actual night
combat. The actual assault may go well; the difficulty comes in re-form-
ing and pushing on afterward. Perhaps the problem of exploiting a night
attack and extending its reach may eventually be solved by some form
of floodlighting the battlefield when the enemy’s position has been
stormed.

In places that afford plentiful cover — ^woods, villages, and rough
ground — ^infantry may be able to overcome hostile machine guns and
make headway by the use of what one may call the “stalking attack.” It
is a method which puts a premium on individual skill, and it offers con-
siderable scope for development. But enthusiasm for it should not blind
us to its limitations. It is a method which fits only special conditions; it
is bound to be slow if it is to be efficiently executed, and it cannot be
counted on to produce large-scale results. It is of its nature a preparatory
or supplementary part of the attack rather than a separate form of attack.

We are thus left with the “masked attack” or the “armored attack” as
the two main forms of the offensive that seem to have any promise of
Ineaking into an enemy’s position and ejecting him. But there are more
ways of overcoming the enemy’s army than by storming its positions, just

OTHER ARMIES

507

as there are more ways of winning wars than by winning battles. It is for
the art of war to find them, and the need is the greater now that the
strength of the defensive has made the storming of position such a dubi-
ous proposition. The enemy may be forestalled on positions; he may be
levered out of them by maneuver; he may be left in them while his gen-
eral situation is weakened by developing pressure elsewhere, in directions
that his position does not cover. As a sequel or otherwise, he may be
caught in motion without having time to take up a defensive disposition.

There may be more scope for such alternative forms of action than is
realized by those who still think of another war in terms of the last. The
present trend of conditions is by no means favorable to the formation of
continuous fronts, at any rate in the early stages of a war. Mass armies
do not lend themselves to mechanization, and since the mechanized frac-
tions will be available earlier than the rest, there is a likelihood that the
crucial first phase of a war will be fought out between these opposing
fractions; thus we should see relatively small forces on large fronts.
Furthermore, the assembly of the masses on the frontiers will be hindered
by the danger of air attack on the marching columns and by the jeopardy
of supply when their communications are exposed to interruption over so
large an area in rear.

A factor common to all these alternative courses is the time factor. If
the advantage is to be gained there must be an acceleration of action.
The scales of war are inclining not to the side which has the “big bat-
talions” but to the side which “gets there” first. I would suggest that it is
an axiom of modern war that “a hundred men with machine guns who
arrive at a spot first are stronger, at least in daylight, than five hundred
and sometimes a thousand who arrive second.”

This, in turn, suggests the value of using any fragment of one’s force
that is mechanized, or can be motor-moved, to jump ahead and secure
key points. Nothing has been more disappointing in recent years’ exercises
than the way that mechanization has been wasted by moving units and
formations at the pace of their slowest portion, owing to the desire to
move complete. It shows a too-complete disregard of another modem
axiom, arising from the advantage of defense over attack, which we may
express in the phrase that “possession is nine tenths of the war.”

Soldiers today are predominantly concerned with the problem of at-
tack, so dubious of solution. They might wisely spare a little time to study
the possibilities of a form of action which would throw the burden of
that problem on the enemy. I refer to what I would term the “baited
offensive,” the combination of offensi^ strategy with defensive tactics.
Throughout history it has proved one of the most effective of moves, and
its advantages have increased as modern weapons have handicapped
other types of move. By rapidity of advance and mobility of maneuver
you may be able to seize points which the enemy, sensitive to the threat,

508 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

will be constrained to attack. Thus you will invite him to a repulse which,
in turn, may be exploited by a riposte. Such a counterstroke against an
exhausted attacker is much less difficult than the attack on a defended
position. The opportunity for it may also be created by a calculated with-
drawal — ^what one may call the “luring defensive.” Here is another gam-
bit of future warfare.

Whatever form of action be adopted, its effectiveness will depend on
concealment of intention. The mystification of the opponent acts upon
him like a paralyzing drug. The surest method of producing it, as cen-
turies of experience have shown, is that of wide extension. It is a method
unsuited for use by military mediocrity. But in skilled hands its risks are
far outweighed by its advantages. By operating on a wide front, one
thickens the fog of war for one’s opponent, yet minimizes it for oneself.
It is a psychological smoke screen which disturbs the mind and may
shake the nerve of the stoutest adversary. Under cover of it, one has the
best chance of seizing points of leverage. The introduction of mechanized
mobility has added to its potency while increasing its safety. But of itself
it aids rapidity — ^by reducing the congestion inherent in the practice of
operating on narrow fronts.

There have been some instances in recent exercises of a tendency
toward movement on wider fronts, but it has not gone nearly far enough
for its promise to mature. The greatest hindrance is the dogma of “con-
centration,” imperfectly understood. It is not easy for the simple mind to
grasp that concentration is in essence a matter of effect and not of form.
The adaptation of methods to changing conditions is retarded by the
soldier’s customary reluctance to change his traditional terminology. By
putting new ideas in old potted terms we cramp the growth of this under-
standing. I learned this lesson when compiling the postwar infantry
manual. To eradicate the practice of a rigid linear advance and of direct
reinforcement — a “building up of the firing line” which merely piled up
the casualties — it was necessary to replace the terms “firing line” and
“supports” which many, from habit or sentiment, desired to retain. The
benefit of their disappearance was unmistakable. But today, in a higher
sphere, we still suffer such needless handicaps. We still call the pre-
liminary distribution of forces, however widely disposed, the “strategic
concentration.” We ought to drop this terminological absurdity. Again
the idea of advancing on a wide front is cramped by the term “advanced
guard,” which is associated with the practice of moving on a narrow front
— ^with the whole division on a single road. We are likely to be fettered to
this obsolete method until we stril^ out the term.

The greatest need today is to recognize the evolution that is in progress.
Until the end of the eighteenth century a physically concentrated ap-
proach, both strategic {to the battlefield) and tactical {on the battle-
field), was the rule. Then Napoleon, exploiting Bourcet’s ideas and the

OTHER ARMIES

509

new divisional system, introduced a distributed strategic approach — the
army moving in independent fractions. But the tactical approach was
still, in general, a concentrated one. Toward the end of the nineteenth
century, with the development of fire weapons, the tactical approach be-
came dispersed^ i.e., in particles, to diminish the effect of fire. But the
strategic approach had again become concentrated; this was due partly
to the growth of masses and partly to the misunderstanding of the Na-
poleonic method. Today we must recognize the need of reviving the dis-
tributed strategic approach, if there is to be any chance of reviving the
art and effect of strategy. But two new conditions — air power and motor
power — ^seem to point to its further development into a dispersed strategic
approach. The danger of air attack, the aim of mystification, and the
need of drawing full value from mechanized mobility suggest that ad-
vancing forces should not only be distributed as widely as is compatible
with combined action, but be dispersed as much as is compatible with
cohesion. And the development of radio is a timely aid toward reconciling
dispersion with control.

If there is to be any hope of reviving any army’s effectiveness, except
in mere protectiveness, it lies in the development of such new methods:
methods which aim at permeating and dominating areas rather than
capturing lines; at the practicable object of paralyzing the enemy’s action
rather than the theoretical object of crushing his forces. Fluidity of force
may succeed where concentration of force merely entails a helpless
rigidity. The sea is stronger than a steam roller and should replace it as
our military ideal. The main difficulty is the doubtful ability of soldiers
trained on present lines to rise to the level of this new technique. Unless
they can do so, it would be wiser to abandon any dreams of attack and
resign ourselves to the present fact that the defensive is the only role an
army can effectively play in a modern war where both sides are fairly
equal in equipment.

TWENTY MILLION REDS

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Brigadier General)
Charles A. Willoughby

American military men we>e early aware of the great growth of the
Red Army. In 1939 General Willoughby summarized this growth. General
Willoughby is a broad student of warfare and while on duty as an instruc-
tor at the Command and General Staff School was editor of the Military
Review, the quarterly issued by the school (now a monthly), in which
articles from all the world military magazines of every language were
digested. General Willoughby has been a member of MacArthur’s staff
since well before the Japs first attacked Pearl Harbor and Manila.

510 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

With its active forges of more than 1,500,000 men and a trained re-
serve estimated at 18,000,000, the army of Soviet Russia is probably the
largest in the world in numbers, if not the strongest in any sense. Thus
any tactical doctrine emanating from such a tremendous power and any
information on the way its units are organized are worth the careful at-
tention and study of those in every other army. In this article are
presented, from many sources, late matters of Soviet military interest.

To consider, in beginning, the tactics and organization of the basic
infantry units, we may turn briefly to the recent tentative infantry
manual, of which a new edition became necessary through the introduc-
tion of the “combat unit,” similar to the German reinforced-type infantry
squad. In the new manual we find certain chapters of the old eliminated,
viz., marches on skis, bayonet combat, hand-grenade manual, cyclist
formations. These now appear in separate pamphlets. On the other hand,
there is much more on anti-gas protection, particularly on measures for
dealing with the degassing of large areas.

Of basic infantry units the new manual informs us that the standard
combat team is the rifle squad grouped around the autorifle (light ma-
chine gun). It consists of one squad leader, eight riflemen, and one
machine gun. In view of its small size it is not divided tactically into fire-
support and maneuver units.

The platoon (there is no section unit) consists of three rifle squads and
a rifle-grenade squad, which consists of one leader and six men. This
high-angle fire within the platoon shows a tendency toward independence
of ordinary support fire. The same thing is apparent in the organization
of the company, which has its own heavy-machine-gun sections. These
consist of eight men (gunner, assistant gunner, two observers, driver, and
three ammunition carriers) .

As in other armies of the world, we find that Soviet close-order forma-
tions have been simplified. In the platoon assembly formation the three
rifle squads and one grenade squad are abreast, each in a single file of
nine men. The heavy-machine-gun platoon takes post behind the center
of the company. To form march column the flank platoon simply
marches to the front, followed in column by the other platoons.

There are three open-order formations for the rifle squad : column of
files, a skirmish line at intervals of four to five paces, and a wedge, or
lozenge, formation — ^whichever is ordered or signaled. In battle the in-
dividual soldier advances by bounds and creeping. When he gets within
fifty yards of the enemy line a concentrated salvo of hand grenades covers
his final dash. The last hundred yards may, however, be made in bounds
by the entire line. In open order the machine-gun crew conforms to the
formation adopted by the nearest rifle units.

OTHER ARMIES 511

The organization of the infantry regiment is best shown in a table:

The Soviet Infantry Regiment

Regtl Staff:

Commander of Engr Plat
Commander of Gas Plat
Commander of Accompanying FA
Commander of Trains
Commander of Med Dets and Vet Plat
Political Officer

Commander of Regtl School Det
Regtl Reconnaissance Det
Regtl Communications Co
3 Rifle Battalions
Each Battalion:

Bn Hqrs
Bn Com Section

1 heavy MG Co — 3 MG Plats (12 guns)

1 Sec Accompanying Arty (two 37-nim. guns and three light mortars)

3 Rifle Cos

3 Rifle Plats/i Rifle Grenade Sec
I MG Sec
Combat Train
Accompanying Arty:

2 FA Btrys (76-mm.)

I Hqrs Btry

Regtl School Det (training cadre) :

3 Rifle Plats
I MG Plat

Regtl Reconnaissance Det:

I Mtd Plat (20 troopers, 3 light MGs)

I Bicycle Plat (heavy MGs)

I Engr (Pioneer) Go
I Gas Plat:

4 Gas Squads

I Degassing truck (Mtz)

Supply and Service Elements:

Combat Trains (Ammunition)

Field Trains (Animal transport)

It is estimated that 285 such regiments have been organized as active
units up to a recent date. There are also some 600 accompanying-gun
batteries now active.

The next table shows the armament of infantry units :

Rifle: Model: 1891/1930; caliber: 7.62 mm. Rear sight (Vernier) modernized
(meter readings); clip of 5 cartridges; rate of fire: 10-12 shots per minute.
Weight: 9.9 lbs.; range: 2,500 yards.

512 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Pistol: Model: Browning; caliber: 9 mm.; 7-round magazine; weight: 2.2 lbs.

Light Machine Gun: Model: Degtjarow; caliber: 7.62 mm. Gas-operated; air-
cooled; range: 1,400-1,550 yards; rate: 500 rounds per minute; bipod support.

Heavy Machine Gun: Model: Maxim; caliber: 7.62 mm. Water-cooled; recoil
actuated; belt 220 rounds; weight 43 lbs.; rate: 600 rounds per minute; range:
3,800 yards; transported in two- wheeled carts.

Hand Grenade: Model: Djakonow 1933 (PTD); defensive bursting radius:
100 yards (2,000 fragments) if covered by an auxiliary cylinder; without this
cylinder radius of burst (offensive) is reduced to 25 yards.

Heavy weapons [Rifle Battalion ) :

Stokes mortar (and other types).

37-mm. Model: Rosenberg; range: 2,200 yards.

47-mm. cannon (AT guns); range: 1,600-3,300 yards.

The Soviet rifle (infantry) division, like our own, has been subject to experi-
ment and change during the past few years. However, the main divisional sub-
units are apparent from the outlines of tactical doctrine given below.

The Approach March

A Soviet division on the march has an unusual strength of advance
guard — at least one third of the infantry and approximately one half of
the divisional artillery. There is also an occasional attachment of corps
artillery, even of long-range calibers. This strength is based on the desire
to act offensively and fast and thus get the jump in early collisions with
the enemy. The rest of the organic artillery moves at the head of the
main body. Aviation and mechanized units furnish flank and frontal
security.

The advance by bounds or phase lines is only favored in exceptional
cases; it is regarded as time-consuming and as leading to loss of initiative.
Soviet advance guards are expected to act independently and energeti-
cally. Their artillery is to act with equal aggressiveness from forward firing
positions, even in advance of the support, seeking advantageous firing
positions to establish fire superiority. The artillery conducts its reconnais-
sance with the leading infantry elements.

Thus, generally speaking, the Soviet advance-guard doctrine is to gain
surprise and defeat the enemy by speed, aggressiveness, and the superior
strength of leading elements. This means, of course, decentralization of
command and independent action in many cases.

Offensive Combat

Normally the Soviet rifle division is grouped roughly into (i) an ele-
ment of fixation (the advance guard) of about one third the available
strength; (2) an element of maneuver, the main body, and (3) the re-
serve, of about one ninth of the available strength. Frontages for attack,
where the enemy is in position, are as follows: 4,500-6,500 yards for a

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515

corps; 2,200 yards for a division; 1,100-2,200 yards for a regiment, and
600-1,100 yards for a battalion. Much larger frontages are used against
an enemy in movement: corps, 9,000-13,000 yards; division, 4,500-6,500
yards; regiment, 2,200-3,300 yards, and battalion, 1,100-2,200 yards.

The heavy supporting weapons of the infantry regiments are employed
by the regiment. They may, however, be released to battalions and com-
panies for close-in support in close terrain, fog, and like conditions.

The divisional artillery furnishes direct support, with one battalion per
infantry regiment. Corps artillery is often released to divisions but oper-
ates in groupments for unified firing. The corps ordinarily receives an
artillery division from G.H.Q. reserve. Whenever it does it releases one
regiment to each division and keeps the third for its own use.

Soviet doctrine conceives the offensive as one of relentless aggression
like the advance-guard action. The mass of fires is placed far forward,
notwithstanding the risks from lack of cover and vulnerable positions.
Under cover of this fire, the maneuver element attempts flanking actions.
Flank maneuver is sought always, whether the enemy is in position or in
movement. Against an enemy in position a secondary attack is staged to
gain a break-through. The line of departure is as close to the enemy as
practicable, about 800 to i ,000 meters from his leading elements. Artillery
command posts are from 600 to 1,700 yards from the enemy and the
battery locations, from 2,000 to 3,500 yards. Notwithstanding the general
aspect of aggressiveness which colors the Soviet tactical teachings, the
artillery ordinarily undertakes an intensive preparation of three to five
hours.

The battalions of the first attack wave, both preceded and accom-
panied by tanks, seek the enemy artillery and reserve locations. They are
to advance resolutely and avoid centers of resistance that can be turned
or outflanked, leaving their reduction to other attack echelons farther
in rear. To quote,

. . . every unit advances as deeply as possible into the gaps of the enemy dis-
positions. Artillery must support as closely as possible, displacing forward, by
echelons, in order to assure continuity of direct fire support.

This action, as it proceeds, leads to a complete decentralization and is
maintained at “a rapid pace.” In sum, the objective is to break the
enemy’s will, to destroy him, not to gain terrain.

Defensive Combat

The defensive, insist the Soviet regulations, is purely a provisional
measure. Only part of the army will take up a defense, if it must, pending
preparation for offensive action elsewhere, or during a regrouping of
forces, or in any similar situation demanding economy of force.

514 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The general zone of the defense is not strictly defined. There is an out-
post and a main line of resistance^ but here, too, considerable latitude is
left to local commanders.

Normal defensive fi^ontages are as follows: corps, 15-19 miles; division,
9,000-13,000 yards; regiment, 3,000-4,500 yards; battalion, 1,100-2,200
yards; company, 500-1,100 yards. The ratio of strength of the main de-
fense elements runs about two thirds for the main defense and local
counterattacks, about one third for major counterattacks, and about one
ninth for reserves to take care of flanks.

In defensive battle the heavy infantry weapons operate against local
targets and against tanks in particular. The organic divisional artillery
furnishes direct support attached to specific infantry battalion and com-
panies but has contingent missions in neighboring zones. Corps artillery
fires counterbattery and is ordinarily kept in groupments for control.

Each light machine gun, in defensive combat, is to traverse across 75
yards and back at 250 yards* range, firing at a rate of two rounds per yard
of traverse per minute. Thus the sector of fire of a section, based on its
light machine guns, is 225-250 yards. To this density is added an addi-
tional 200 rounds of rifle fire per minute, which enables a section to cover
a front of approximately 300 yards. Additional weapons drawn from the
rest of the company can be used to widen the section front to 500 yards.
Interlocking fire is habitually used from front-line positions.

The above calculation is based on a rate of fire per gun of 300 rounds
per minute. This, of course, is not the maximum rate but is considered
reasonable in firing rapid sequences of bursts rather than continuous fire.
The problem of frontages — ^always a controversial matter as solved by
the Soviets — contains one striking element: density of fire per yard of
front. This, after all, is probably the most important item in fire power.

During the enemy’s preparation the divisional artillery fires concen-
trate on his line of departure to break up his attack as it begins. After
that its fire is concentrated on hostile tanks as they appear. All units of all
sizes are to defend in place, even when surrounded. They deliver counter-
attacks as soon as needed.

Soviet tactics also cover the possibility of larger unit frontages. Here a
system of interlocking fires and loosely connected strong points is em-
ployed or, where the situation requires it, a mobile defense of possible
routes of enemy approach. In the latter case decentralization of units,
especially of artillery, is considered logical. The infantry part of artillery-
infantry teams may be as small as an infantry company.

Tank Attacks

The Soviet doctrine appears to favor mass tank attacks. In spite of the
fact that there is a reasoned opinion that anti-tank weapons are only at

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515

the beginning of their ultimate development and that they are already
capable of putting light and medium tanks out of action by single direct
hits, the Soviet Army pins its hope upon mass attacks designed to overrun
the anti-tank defense. It seems to be thought that an enemy will have
only a limited number of anti-tank weapons in an average defensive sec-
tor.

In one recent article the author examines a typical tank attack. He
assumes an attack by four companies of light tanks on a front of one
thousand yards in four waves of twenty-five tanks each. The tanks are
opposed by an infantry battalion on the defensive. The anti-tank guns, it
is assumed, will probably be in depth, in three lines: first the three guns
of the battalion anti-tank platoon, then three guns released by the regi-
ment, and finally six guns from the divisional anti-tank company. Each
gun commands a field of fire of about one thousand yards. The tanks ad-
vance at twelve miles per hour and consequently are under fire for about
five minutes. In that period each gun can fire from fifty to sixty aimed
rounds. This means 150 to i8o rounds from the first-line anti-tank guns.
It is problematical, of course, how many hits the guns will obtain. It may
be assumed, however, that they can score hits on tanks directly in their
line of fire. And the tanks that get through will, many of them, run
squarely into additional guns.

The author questions whether one hundred light (seven-ton) tanks can
do the job. He thinks seven tanks of one hundred tons would be more
to the point, thus favoring modem French thought rather than the Soviet
mass light-tank attack.

Soviet authors also recommend the use of tanks by night. The attacker
should, as a rule, they believe, employ at night only minor units attached
to infantry. The tanks break through certain sectors of the hostile defen-
sive position in order to facilitate the dawn attack. The tank attack
should be timed so that infantry can occupy before dawn the ground the
tanks capture. The tank units do not operate under orders of the attack-
ing infantry because they cannot receive orders after their departure. Day-
light should see only decisive tank attacks made to penetrate the entire
depth of the hostile defenses. But the object of a tank attack by night is
simply to penetrate as far as the hostile artillery positions in order to re-
duce daylight casualties. A second tank attack follows at dawn into the
depth of the hostile position. During a night penetration of this kind tank
fire is held to a minimum and is delivered only at frontal resistance. Be-
cause of the great difficulties attending night tank attacks, only well-
trained and disciplined units should be employed. Radio communication
is regarded as the solution for close control of maneuvering tanks. Tracer
bullets are used to designate targets. One tank in each section recon-
noiters for anti-tank targets. The commander of this tank should be a
particularly accurate shot. This “scout tank” opens fire only against anti-

516 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

tank weapons; the entire tank company is then expected to follow suit
and clean them up.

Tanks in Defensive Operations

The Soviet regulations provide, as we have already seen, for defense
on a normal front, on an extended front, and on a mobile front. In the
last two, tanks are attached to the reserve and from there are used to sup-
port counterattacks. If there are ample numbers of them they may be
allotted to separate battalion sectors.

In normal defense operations one tank battalion is allotted to every
infantry division. The commander places his tanks in areas from which he
intends to assume the offensive. He may also use them within his defen-
sive position wherever the enemy may penetrate.

Tanks are always attached to reconnaissance and outpost units. In a
normal defense the Red Army sends weak outposts in front of the main
line of resistance, from a platoon to a company per battalion, as the
situation requires. Combat regulations advise attaching at least one
platoon of tanks to these outpost troops to attack hostile reconnaissance
and security units. They can also check the enemy’s advance guards and
compel his main body to deploy prematurely. From this position, too,
they can also screen the outpost units when they pull back.

The most suitable moment for destroying hostile forces in the area in
front of the main line of resistance is when the enemy is concentrating his
forces in forward positions just before he jumps off. At this time his in-
fantry and most of its organic supporting weapons, much of his artillery,
not to say his observers, signal units, and command posts, are concen-
trated in a small area. At this time, also, he has no properly organized
anti-tank defense. So all things considered, attacking tanks may gain a
considerable success. This attack may be delivered by night or day, but
preferably at dawn. The tanks may, of course, meet obstacles or mines,
and the first tanks will encounter the fire of all the enemy’s artillery and
of the tanks supporting his attacks. This is particularly risky if the enemy
happens to have better tanks. Whenever the enemy has fewer tanks or
tanks with inferior armament, and his assembly positions have been ac-
curately spotted, these should be attacked.

An infantry division on a normal front of defense, with a tank battalion
at its disposal, should use the tanks in two waves. One tank company ad-
vances in the first wave against the hostile front line to a depth of some
thousand yards. On the second wave two companies attack with the
regimental and divisional reserves to a depth of thirteen hundred yards.
Routes must be carefully reconnoitered, especially for mine fields. Prepa-
ration must also be made for friendly artillery barrages on routes of tank
withdrawals to cover their return after executing their missions.

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517

Soviet opinions differ with regard to employment of tanks within a
defensive position. Some authors say that ta^s should be allotted to the
first line of defense, others that they should be left at the disposal of sector
commanders for making counterattacks. Where tanks are allotted to the
first line of defense, unit sectors may accordingly be widened. This, in
turn, gives more room for counterattack maneuver, although it un-
doubtedly means also a dispersion of tank force and can be done only*
when there are plenty of tanks. When only limited numbers of tanks are
available they are employed in platoons from behind the front line against
hostile areas.

When tanks are under the control of sector commanders whole tank
companies, alone or with infantry, are directed against the flank of the
attacking hostile infantry before it reaches the main line of resistance.
If a hostile attack peters out, all tanks support the units making the
counterattack. Numerous routes of advance must be reconnoitered, how-
ever the tanks are to be used. Assembly positions before and after a fight
should not be located near the line of departure because of hostile artillery
concentrations.

If the attacking enemy has more and better tanks, the tanks of a Soviet
counterattack are directed toward the enemy’s infantry when it separates
from its tanks. Where possible the tanks should attack from higher to
lower ground to gain greater speed. The tanks should race to reach the
hostile infantry as soon as possible, because this is the easiest way to get
protection from anti-tank weapons. Tanks will also often be employed as
stationary fire units, especially when fast tanks must halt in order to hold
ground until friendly infantry comes up. The commander of tanks must
be on the alert in case he encounters hostile tanks with superior arma-
ments. In this event he can attack only when he is protected by mine
fields and supported vigorously by previously prepared artillery fires.

A Soviet Map Problem

A map problem in the Soviet artillery journal designed for a rifle divi-
sion thrqws an interesting light on Soviet views on the teamwork of
artillery, infantry, and mechanized units. A division is making the main
effort against an enemy established in a defensive position. The grouping
of the artillery and the allotment of tank units here reveals definite
tactical procedures.

The division had available one organic field-artillery regiment of
three battalions; one heavy regiment (four battalions) attached from
army reserve, and one medium regiment (three battalions) from corps
reserve. The division commander directed groupments for direct support
as follows: to the ist Infantry, one battalion each of light and heavy; to
the 2d Infantry, the same; to the 3d Infantry, one battalion of light and

518

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

““ p'”"' “ “pp«

A similar grouping in “direct” and “general” support is evident in the
allotment of Ae four tank battaUons attached to this division. The ist
M^try r«e.^ one tank company, the ad In/an, ry two tank
paniej 3d Intantiy one tank battaUon. The other two tank battalions
were held in a special group, for distant objectives.

Tlus variable distribution of tank units was based on the terrain and
on Ae stren^ to the mmn effort. The tanks were put under the ordem
the irfantry commanders as accompanying tanks to assist the ad-

Ste”nce Th 7

however, attacked simultaneously with the
iirfantry attack in order to explore the hostile disposition to its entire
depth an a single battle action,

. indicated considerable staff co-ordination and com-

at haison. Prehmmary staff conferences, attended by representatives
from eve^ major unit, were held to make clear and tl cZlZt Z
sclwme of maneuver and the factors of time and space.

The tank-group commander indicated his zone of advance itinerarv
and probable duration of attack in the hostile areas in order to

greupmene in geccml .upport iS
poupments in direct support amved at similar understanding with the
rfantry cor^anders. Apparently the Soviet doctrine is wSf aw 2 e of
“son problms, already complicated when it was only a question of
infantry-artillery liaison, and now far more so. ^

Conclusion

These Soviet tactical doctrines, gathered, from oflicial and other
htde that is startiing. But they do indicate an awareness
a 1 m^em tactical problems. Apparently Soviet thought on the uses
y®* become settled and definite.

1 be news of Isserson, an instructor in tactics, will perhaps give us in
wncluAng, ^ indication of the trend of Soviet thought. tLS be“

Strategy. Depth strategy* must take its place, he thinks. He looks for a
greater echelonment in depth than ever before. The modem attack he
conceives as a series of waves which continue with increasbrsteS to
batter ^nst the obstacles in their front. Massed aviation opeitJlTthe
Md £hiiTih*^“^ motorized units constitute the second echelon,
Slwh^^ battering ram of large infantry units. The

break-through was the major problem in 1914-18, but ttwas only a

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519

means to an end: to reach the enemy’s rear areas. It failed because
mobile units for exploitation were lacking. Now they are available in
tanks. Isserson challenges the theories of Schlieffen, who stressed strength
on the flanks for eventual maneuver, and believes in uniform echelon-
ment in depth to gain penetration and decisive exploitation.

A TYPICAL FIGHT IN OPEN WARFARE

By Captain (now Major General) Adolf von Schell,

German Army

General Adolf von Schell has been the Nazi high commander in charge
of wartime transportation in Germany. He has been the co-ordinator of
all kinds of transportation, not merely motor vehicles, but the railways
and water and air transport, throughout the whole European area domi-
nated by the Nazi army. Thirteen years ago he was sent to the United
States as an observer and while here attended the Infantry School at Fort
Benning, Georgia. Von Schell was an affable man with an able, tactical
mind. He had seen a great deal of battle in the first World War. He dis-
cussed many military matters freely with friendly American officers while
he was in this country, and he wrote several articles on the practical tactics
of his World War experiences, some of which he gave as lectures at the
Infantry School and some of which appeared in the Infantry Journal, The
date of the one that follows is July 1931. It holds lessons for fighters as
did everything he wrote. His articles written in this country appeared in
a small book entitled Battle Leadership.

It was about September 20, 1915. From a westerly direction a German
battalion had been marching for some days, ever deeper into Russia. The
roads were very bad. Sometimes there was a very hot sun, and then again
it poured rain. About the middle of September the Germans had had
heavy fighting for several days against the Russians in the vicinity of
Vilna. Now they were marching eastward again. For several days they
had seen no enemy.

The marches were very tiring. They had now come into a land of
swamps. Forest, sand, swamp; between them a few villages. Whether
they were marching as a part of the division or of the regiment, they did
riot know and did not care. That is, however, always true in wartime.
In peace soldiers learn that even the last private should be acquainted
with the situation, but in war no one knows anything about it and gen-
erally has no desire to. This last seems to be one of the main reasons for
lack of knowledge of the situation. The soldier is satisfied if things go well
with him. He has so much to do to look after himself; he must march.

520

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

sleep, eat, and when he meets the enemy he fights. Whether the entire
division is attacking, or only the battalion, is generally a matter of com-
plete indifference to him. Such was the case here. The soldiers marched
and marched, slept and ate. Where they were marching, or what they
should do, was a matter of total indifference to them. Their higher com-
manders could make all the strategical plans they wanted; the soldiers
marched. It is true that they discussed frequently among themselves what
the mission could be. Then someone would say, “We are marching to
Moscow.” Then there was a laugh and the subject changed.

On one of those sunny autumn days this battalion turned suddenly
toward the south at about ten o’clock in the morning. A couple of mes-
sengers galloped up and then left. Something must be wrong. The bat-
talion was marching on narrow forest paths, often cross country. The
battalion commander had ridden in advance. Suddenly he returned:
“The Russians have attacked our cavalry with strong forces and pressed
them back. We are to assist them. About two kilometers in front of us is
a river which we are to defend.”

Soon they reached the river. It was about forty yards wide but very
deep. On the farther bank was a village. On this side the woods and fields
lay in an irregular pattern. Not a shot could be heard; no Russians could
be seen; nor was there any German cavalry visible. The battalion com-
mander was the only one who had a map. He said to his company com-
manders : “Over there on the right, about five hundred meters away, is a
farm; a battalion of the X Regiment will be there. We will defend from
this edge of the wood to the left. The gth, loth, nth companies in front,
each with a sector three hundred meters wide; the 12th Company in
reserve behind the middle of the battalion. To the left of our battalion is
cavgJry. We have no artillery for the time being. Send patrols across the
river. I will get in touch with the cavalry.”

Let us go with the gth Company, which was on the right flank. The
young company commander let his company bivouac about two hundred
meters from the river in the wood and advanced with a few men to the
river so as to look the situation over and see the real lay of the ground.
Before he left his company he sent a patrol to the right to make contact
with the battalion at the farm.

All was quiet at the river. The story about the Russians which the
battalion commander had told did not seem to be as bad as he had
painted it. The terrain was very unfavorable. All about were patches of
woods, some small, some large, so that one could see only about one
hundred meters in any direction.

This company was about eighty to ninety men strong. The company
commander decided to use two platoons in the front line on the river and
to hold back the third as a reserve. He therefore issued such an order. His
platoon commanders were corporals but were men on whom he could

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521

rely. They returned to their platoons. He himself sought a boat along the
river so as to reach the farther bank. He wanted to see what it looked like
on the other side, but I must also admit that his principal reason was to
see if he could find something to eat in the village across the river.
Finally he found a boat. Then he looked back and saw his platoons com-
ing forward from the wood. All was running smoothly. Suddenly a rifle-
shot rang out over to the right. He thought that someone of the other
battalion over at the farm was killing a pig for the field kitchen. Now
another shot. He said to himself: “Aha! A bad shot. The man certainly
ought to have been able to kill the pig with his first shot.” More firing;
two, four, seven shots. Can there be a fight over there? Heavier firing —
and then, more quickly than it can be told, a flood of events, thoughts,
and decisions.

The young officer’s first thought was: “The neighboring battalion has
located and driven back a Russian patrol. The firing, however, seems to
be too strong for a mere patrol fight.” He had in the meantime, however,
climbed out of the boat. His patrol would certainly bring him informa-
tion. Suddenly a few rifle bullets whistled over his head, coming from the
right rear. By the sound he knew that the bullets came from Russian
rifles. The situation suddenly became quite clear to him. The neighboring
battalion could not be there, or the bullets could not have come from the
right rear. The Russians had crossed the river and were at the farm.

What should he do? The battalion commander was not there; he must
make his own decision and act. His train of thought was perhaps as fol-
lows: “Mission: defense of the river. The situation is changed. The Rus-
sians are across the river. Therefore, the decision is to attack quickly with
as strong a force as possible.”

He ran back with his runners to his reserve platoon. On the way he
gave an order to a runner in whom he had entire confidence : “The left
platoon will immediately retire into the wood and will then follow me in
an attack on the farm. The right platoon will defend the entire company
sector. Then report this decision to the battalion.”

The company commander was soon with his reserve platoon. It had
taken position with its front to the farm, which, however, was not visible.
In that direction the firing was still going on. Without halting a moment
he yelled : “The whole platoon will attack in double time in the direction
of the farm.” And then they all plunged into the wood as quickly as pos-
sible.

The Germans must attack the Russians quickly before they could get
across the river in dense masses. Now a messenger came running up from
the patrol, breathing hard. “The Russians are across the river near the
farm. The patrol is lying down along a little road which leads north from
the farm. The Russians are trying to get around us.” A new situation had
now arisen.

522 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Since the first decision of the company commander scarcely ten min-
utes had passed. His thoughts were perhaps about as follows: ‘‘Has the
situation changed? Do I now have to make a new decision? Is it possible
to continue to attack? Are not the Russians already across the river in
too-strong force?” He had only thirty men with him. He decided to at-
tack. We do not want to try to decide whether this decision was right
or not. We only want to state it.

He continued to advance through the wood with the platoon. Now it
became lighter. There was the edge of the wood. Just beyond was another
wood and the road leading to the north. Russians were on this road. “Lie
down, fire, range four hundred meters.” That was the only order given,
and then the Germans’ fire broke loose. For a moment it was quiet on the
enemy’s side, but then a storm of bullets came down on the men. There
certainly must be a mass of Russians concealed over there. At this mo-
ment came a runner from the 2d Platoon. “The 2d Platoon is two hun-
dred meters in rear of us.” Again the young company commander had
to make a decision. Should he continue the attack? No time was available
for thinking long on this matter. He called out : “I am attacking with the
2d Platoon on the right. This platoon will keep up the fire and then join
the attack.” He ran back to the 2d Platoon and then led it forward
through the wood toward the right. As they ran he gave the order:
“There are Russians across the river near the farm. We are attacking.”
In a very brief time they reached the edge of the wood. As they came out
of it they received very heavy fire from the right flank, which forced them
to lie down. The Russians were already much farther across the river
than they had believed possible. The situation had changed again. What
should this company commander do? Would he have to make a new deci-
sion? At this moment a runner came from the battalion. “The Russians
have broken through our cavalry” — ^his last words as he sank to the
ground with a bullet through his head. Again the situation had changed.
What should the poor officer do? Would he have to make a new decision?

Naturally the situation was not as clear to him as I tell it here. He did
not have a map. He stood in the midst of combat. In every fight the im-
pressions are tremendously strong, even when one has been at war for a
long time. One thing seemed clear to him — to carry on the attack alone
with fifty or sixty men would lead to failure. But what should he do?
There were only two possibilities — ^to hold where he was, or to withdraw.

Defense could be advantageous only if fresh German troops were avail-
able which could drive the Russians back across the river. You will per-
haps remember that of this battalion the 12th Company was still in re-
serve. But the 9th Company had neither seen nor heard anything of it.
The company commander therefore believed that it had probably been
used on the left flank of the battalion where the cavalry had retired. Still
another body of troops which might be able to help was the battalion

OTHER ARMIES 523

which should have been at the farm. It was not there. When would it
arrive? Would it come at all? He did not know.

The situation was, therefore, that the gth Company could hold its own
if it received support immediately. If no support was coming it was high
time to retire. To remain where it was fighting, without prospect for im-
mediate support, was equivalent to destruction. The company commander
decided to retire. We do not want to try to determine here whether
his course was right or wrong. We want to make clear that this decision
had rather to be felt than arrived at through logical thinking. We might
recall again that the young officer had these thoughts in neither such
clear form nor in so much time as it takes us to tell them here. He felt
rather than thought.

They retired slowly. By afternoon they had gained touch again with
their battalion. The cavalry was there too; then another battalion arrived,
and a few batteries of light artillery. They had survived the crisis. They
organized a defensive position on a little ridge in the middle of swamp
and forest.

In the next few days they repulsed with heavy loss all attacks of the
Russians but themselves suffered many casualties. I want to tell a little
incident of this fighting because it shows how one often has to operate
in war with the most unique methods.

The German line was very thin in this defensive position; the men
were much dispersed. The battalion had a reserve of only thirty men
which had to help in repulsing every Russian attack. The battalion lay
in the swamp without trenches and without wire. In the terrain in front
they could see only a short distance. Everywhere there were small bushes,
small woods, so that they never could get a general view. Therefore, it
was often very difficult to determine when the Russians were going to
attack. They generally saw them for the first time when they were very
close. They had also too few men to send out strong outguards. How
could they help themselves in this situation? Then a corporal made a very
simple but very good suggestion. About five hundred meters behind the
lines there was a village in which there was a large number of cows.
The corporal went to this village and drove all these cows in front of
the position, where they could quietly graze. When the Russians ap-
proached the cows became uneasy and came toward the lines, and in this
manner the Germans avoided surprise. These cows were the best and
most valuable outpost ever seen in war.

Now, what can we learn from this little fight?

(i) We saw in this fight complete lack of intelligence of the enemy
and knowledge about the situation. Although in this case the German
cavalry had been in contact with the enemy and therefore was probably
in a position to bring information, still this source failed. Suddenly the
Russians were across the river; their strength was completely unknown.

524 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Certainly the approach of the Russians in a future war would perhaps
have been determined by aviators — I say perhaps. But it is my personal
belief — I do not, of course, know whether this opinion will prove to be
correct — that in the future we may not expect too much from our
aviators.

In the first place, both sides will have aviators at their disposal who
will fight each other. And before aviators can obtain good reconnaissance
they must first beat the mass of the enemy’s aviation. If the enemy is
victorious in the air, we could naturally never hope for good informa-
tion. Further, aviators in open warfare prior to combat will obtain prin-
cipally intelligence of the large units of the enemy: marching columns,
direction of march, and the like. This information will reach the higher
staffs in the rear. What we at the front want to know about the enemy
is where the machine guns and the centers of resistance are. Our fliers
can rarely tell us, and then generally too late to do us any good.

Finally, we will constantly try to conceal ourselves from aviators by
marching at night or by splitting our forces into small groups. If we
expect these measures to be successful we must assume that the enemy’s
similar measures will be equally successful.

I believe, therefore, that in the war of the future we shall have to
make decisions without satisfactory knowledge of the enemy. It is there-
fore important to practice this in peace and constantly remember that
one can do in war only what one has learned in peace.

( 2 ) This fight brought with it a very difficult situation which changed
like lightning and demanded instantaneous decisions. How shall we solve
difficult situations in war if we have not learned to do so in peace? If we
read military history everything seems simple and clear because we can
always see the entire situation, because generally we can obtain no
glimpse of the minute details. We must get used to the fact in peace;
we must teach ourselves and our men that in war we constantly come
face to face with difficult situations. Good tennis or football players can
be developed only by practice. What you are not able to do in practice
you cannot do in a game, and what we soldiers do not learn in peace
we cannot do in war.

( 3 ) I believe that this example shows clearly that difficult situations
can be solved only by simple decisions and simple orders. The more
difficult the situation, the less time you have to issue a long order, and
the less time your men have to understand a long order. If the situation
is difficult all your men will be considerably excited. Only the simplest
things can then be executed. We saw that this situation developed slowly
and simply for a time. Then the difficulties came quick and fast. When
I look back on the war this was the condition in almost all situations,
I believe we can draw the following lessons about issuing orders. The first
order for the fight can generally be given without hurry. It must there-

OTHER ARMIES

525

fore contain everything that is necessary — above all, the mission and the
information at hand — ^but we should not expect that during the combat
we can issue new, long orders, either written or verbal. They should be
short but as clear as possible.

{4) And now the last point, which seems to me the most difficult of
all. Our map problems generally close as follows: “It is now such and
such an hour. Required, the decision.” We know the situation; we have
all the information, and we have to make a decision. I believe that the
story of this fight has shown us very clearly that the most difficult thing
is to know the moment when we have to make a decision. The informa-
tion comes in by degrees. We never know whether the next minute will
not give us further information. Shall we now make a decision, or should
we wait still longer? In other words, to find the moment for making
a decision is usually more difficult than the decision itself. Therefore,
go out with your platoon commanders, your section and squad leaders,
in the terrain. Tell them that they are marching with their platoons here
on this road. When you then reach a selected point give to the leader
a bit of information or an impression, then march quietly farther. Now
give another bit of information. Never ask, however, for a decision, and
you will see how terribly difficult it is to determine the time to make a
decision.

We must learn all of these things in peace, and learn them in our
first days in the service. But we must not know these things in only a
general way; we must know them thoroughly. We can do in war only
what we have learned to do in peace.

I want to close with a word of General von Seeckt’s:

“Knowledge of a trade is essential, but gaining it is the work of an
apprentice. The task of a journeyman is to utilize what he has learned*
Only the master knows how to handle all things in every case.”

SOME IMPRESSIONS OF THE UNITED STATES

ARMY

By Colonel (now Major General) Hisao Watari,
Imperial Japanese Army

{1930)

When one reviews the great accomplishments and achievements of the
belligerent nations in the World War one is particularly impressed by
American overnight transition from a state of peaceful industry to a
national mobilization of tremendous fighting forces on land and sea. I

526 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

term this transition an overnight accomplishment, because when the
United States of America entered the World War she was as wholly
unprepared as it is possible for a nation of her potential resources to be.
Yet in a remarkably short period of time her great expanse was dotted
with temporary barracks and the streets of her cities were teeming with
uniformed men. To be exact, within one month after the declaration of
war the Selective Service Act was in operation, and within three months*
time great military cities with a total housing capacity of 1,800,000 men
had been erected to shelter the Republic’s armies while they were train-
ing for future employment on the battlefield.

These myriads of men, recruited from all walks of American life, dem-
onstrated during their training periods in the camps and the operations
against the enemy that a quarter of a century of peace had not robbed
American manhood of the finest qualities of the soldier. Not alone the
literature of the Allies but the press and books pf the enemy pay eloquent
and sincere tribute to the abilities and qualities of the American as an
offensive and defensive fighter.

It was my privilege in 1918 to cross the Atlantic on an army transport
heavily laden with American troops, and it was my greater privilege to
follow them into action and to observe their conduct at the front. This
was my first close contact with United States troops, and I was par-
ticularly impressed by their youthful buoyancy and constant cheerfulness
under all circumstances. I discovered, too, that although the Regular
Army, the National Guard, the National Army troops considered them-
selves all part of one great army, nevertheless, each component had
its own esprit de corps and pride of achievement. I found, too, that re-
ported differences between the regular officer and the emergency officer
did not exist, in fact, and that all personal differences, of whatever kind,
were submerged in the common desire of all to achieve victory for
American arms on the battlefield. I have always considered this unity
of spirit, this comradeship, a remarkable tribute to American democracy,
especially when it is recalled that so many hundreds of thousands of these
officers and men had had no prior contact with the rigors of army life
and discipline and no prior knowledge of the demands that modem war-
fare makes upon the individual.

I marveled, too, at the American soldier’s aptitude in handling the
complicated weapons of modem warfare. It would seem that this facility
of his is particularly due to the fact that such a large percentage of
American men are trained in the mechanical trades; but this in itself
would not be sufficient, were it not accompanied by those remarkable
American attributes of adaptability, ingenuity, and resourcefulness. It
was the unusual American soldier who did not possess all three of these
typical American characteristics. Just as these qualities set him apart,
so was he distinguished above all others for his love of sports, an aifec-

OTHER ARMIES

527

tion which he indulged at every possible opp)ortunity. It is hard for that
soldier to be disheartened and dispirited who, no matter how hard the
day in the trenches, cannot resist the sight of a football or the trying
out of a set of boxing gloves. This love of sport, innate in the American,
I hold to be responsible not only for his physical superiority, but also
for his mental alertness and youthful buoyancy.

Who will say that all these qualities of mind and heart were not most
important factors in the nation’s ability to create, in less than a year and
a half, from a nucleus of two hundred thousand men, great armies num-
bering four millions, equipped with all the machineries of modem
warfare?

In August 1919 I was recalled from the United States to Japan. But
before leaving I had witnessed the amazing spectacle of these great armed
forces absorbed back into civil life, until all that was left of their legions
was a very small Regular Army and the troops occupying German
territory.

In this rapid and smooth demobilization of their great armed forces the
American people were again subscribing to their time-honored policy
that the smallest possible standing army be maintained in time of peace
and that men and money be raised without stint in time of war. They
have adhered to this principle since the beginning of their national exist-
ence and should always find it a practicable and economical policy,
provided that they do not make the mistake of reducing their standing
army to the point of practical non-existence. Reduction beyond a ra-
tional minimum constitutes lack of defense.

In all my contacts with American troops through the years since 1917
I have noted their excellence in rifle marksmanship and musketry. In
Tientsin, China, where detachments are stationed representing five for-
eign powers, and where frequent international competitions in rifle
marksmanship are conducted, I observed that United States riflemen
invariably won first place. This is undoubtedly due to the stress placed
upon the marksmanship of the individual; and although they could not
hope to do such superfine shooting under battle conditions, nevertheless,
such supremacy with the rifle should make itself felt under any and
all conditions.

I have made a study of the American system of bayonet instruction
and consider it very practical and effective. It has undoubtedly been
evolved and adopted after a careful study of the American soldier’s
physical characteristics.

Wherever I have observed American troops, in the United States,
Europe, or China, I have had to admire their strict observance of sani-
tary precautions and principles. It is without question, too, that they
are the best-fed troops in the world, both in time of peace and under
campaign conditions in the field. In France in 1918 I was very careful

528

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

to remain close to units of the AEF, for they were the only troops at the
front who were enjoying the luxury of plenty of white bread and sugar.
In October 1929, while attending the ist Cavalry Division maneuvers
in Texas, I made it a point to dine at a company mess of a colored
infantry regiment. The company commander showed me through the
kitchens, storerooms, and barracks, and I was greatly impressed by the
spotless cleanliness of bedding, dishes, and cooking utensils. The weekly
menu was varied and included all necessary kinds of food for soldier
consumption.

The schools of military thought among most nations agree that victory
cannot be won without good infantry. History tells us, too, that good
infantry has won more than its share of the world’s victories. While that
holds true, the Infantry of the United States should continue its habit
of victory, for I rate it the most efficient and capable of all infantry.

It is a happy thought for a Japanese Army officer to recollect historical
incidents when the colors of Japanese and American troops advanced
together, side by side, in common effort for a common cause. War has
interrupted many international friendships since the days when Japanese
and United States infantry advanced under scathing fire against the
Boxers on the walls of Tientsin, and there have been many international
misunderstandings and differences since the troops of these two great
nations fought shoulder to shoulder against irresponsible foes in Siberia.
But whatever problems may confront them, however distant may be their
national opinions on political or commercial activities, I can conceive of
no eventuality that could strain the traditional friendship that has existed
between the peoples of Japan and the United States since Commodore
Perry ended Japanese isolation from the outside world. This friendship,
this spirit of good will and mutual sympathy which has characterized
the relations of the armed forces of these two great nations whenever
the soldiers and sailors of America have been the guests or hosts of the
soldiers and sailors of Japan, is the surest guarantee of perpetual concord
and amity between two peoples who are achieving great and worthy
destinies.

MY AMERICAN IMPRESSIONS
By Captain Takashi Aoki, Imperial Japanese Army

U934)

It has been a little over a year since I first landed in San Francisco.
Consequently I do not feel fully qualified to give my impressions of the

OTHER ARMIES 529

United States and Americans except in a general way. I shall, however,
endeavor to write down my observations to the best of my ability.

Having come into close contact with the younger men of this country,
I very quickly learned that flattery and pretense are far removed from
their lives. Outspoken words and sincerity are much preferred. With this
in mind I shall attempt to make a frank disclosure of my thoughts,
concerning the United States and Americans, my own country and coun-
trymen, and of the relations between the two nations.

The very first thing which impressed me, almost immediately upon
landing, was the extreme kindness of everyone. I discovered for myself
a spirit of kindliness and helpfulness among all the Americans with
whom I came into contact.

A United States Army officer, who had been at one time attached to
the American Embassy in Tokyo, was the first American to greet me
when I arrived. His warmhearted hospitality greatly impressed me, un-
tutored as I was at that time in the ways of Americans. He was not only
a generous and gracious host but a wonderful help in acquainting me
with the customs of his country. One bit of advice which he gave to me
and which I have ever since striven to follow was “to forget all about
Japanese customs and try to do as Americans do.” At times it has been
difficult to carry out this advice to the letter, not because I am unwilling
or not anxious to do so, but because of the inherent difficulties in always
knowing what an American would do under a given circumstance.

After a brief stay in San Francisco I went straight to Baltimore, Mary-
land. My purpose in doing this was twofold. First, to learn English, and
second, to acquaint myself with American customs. In either event, be-
cause of the fact that few of my countrymen live in Baltimore, I was
assured of the almost certainty that for three months I would not be
embarrassed with having to tell a white lie by saying that I had forgotten
how to speak Japanese! Needless to say, it was very difficult for me at
first, as I spoke precious little English, and that badly. But it is amazing
how, under compulsion, one quickly learns a language. With the aid of
a map of the city, it was not long before I could tell many Baltimoreans
of points of interest which they had never seen! Often, while poring
over my map, some kindly stranger would volunteer assistance, and once
I was even accompanied to my destination, to be certain that I did not
go astray. To me Baltimore was a city of friendly people. Everyone
seemed only too anxious to help me with my language difficulties. I was
invited to various churches and there asked to speak. Unfortunately I
was unable to accept these invitations to be a speechmaker because I felt
the language handicap to be too great, even though I secretly longed to
tell my American friends of my sincere appreciation for their whole-
hearted reception. Thus it went: trips to schools, an involuntary inspec-
tion of a large hotel, trips through department stores. Wherever I went

530 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

everyone seemed only too anxious to explain things to me and at the
same time to seek from me information concerning similar things in
Japan. In short, my three months’ stay in Baltimore was a round of learn-
ing and of gathering first impressions.

It was not long before I grew accustomed to the typical American
frankness. I enjoyed it. It was an entirely new experience to me. This
is because of the inherent reserve which is so much a part of all Japanese.
To be otherwise than reserved, for a Japanese, is to be considered ill
bred. It is perhaps because of this reserve that we Japanese are so often
misunderstood by people on this side of the globe. As a national charac-
teristic, since my sojourn in America, I much prefer the buoyant frank-
ness of the typical American to the cold, quiet reserve which forms so
much a part of the Japanese character. Perhaps in the course of time,
when we have had more opportunity to meet Americans, this desirable
attribute will find its mark in Japan and leave its impress upon the Japa-
nese, who, quite unsuspectedly, also loves his good times, picnics, and
good cheer. The typical Japanese reticence, I might say in passing, is
the fruit of careful teaching from earliest childhood not to display one’s
thoughts or emotions. Possibly, also, this reticence, if we can cdl it such,
is an outward manifestation of the tenets of our national religion.

After my stay in Baltimore I came to Washington, where I found a
repetition of my experience in Baltimore. Again I found the same spirit
of kindliness, of friendliness, and, above all, the same frankness. Perhaps
I have been particularly fortunate in my contacts, although I doubt
that they have been imusual. Generally speaking, all my friends, be
they Army officers. Navy officers, or civilians, seem to have the same
characteristics.

Surrounded as I am by a spirit of friendliness, it is at times difficult for
me to realize that below the surface, in both America and Japan, a spirit
of ill feeling is smoldering. It always seems so absurd to me that such a
condition should continue and that some positive means are not under-
taken in both countries to clear away the veil of suspicion which has been
allowed to becloud the friendly relations between our respective coun-
tries. I think such suspicions come from mutual ignorance.

It does not seem strange to the majority of my American friends that
they have never been in Japan; to them it seems quite natural. This is
home, and consequently, if the Japanese wish to learn to know the
United States and Americans, the Japanese should come here. But like-
wise, to the Japanese in Japan, it does not seem strange that they, the
Japanese, have never been to America; Japan is home to them, and if
Americans wish to know Japan and the Japanese they should visit Japan!
In my opinion this simple reasoning, or lack of it, is the root of most
of the trouble. If and when the two nations again resume that familiar
intercourse which was so general during the second half of the last cen-

OTHER ARMIES

531

tury and during the first decade of the present century, then and only
then will the spirit of good will and friendliness once more be the keynote
of American- Japanese relations.

Relations between countries cannot be judged by the use or non-use
by one country of the materials of the other. Were this not so, American-
Japanese relations would be the hue of a rainbow! I say this because in
Japan, on every hand, we find a steady process of Americanization taking
place. Everywhere we see evidences of the United States: modem con-
crete buildings, asphalt boulevards, traffic lights, automobiles, filling
stations, soda fountains, taxicabs, and a thousand and one other things.
For this reason it is at times difficult for me to grasp the real cause of the
great stone wall of misunderstanding which has so mysteriously arisen.

I am of the opinion that this atmosphere of suspicion and mistrust
has been, in part, fostered by a portion of the press in both countries.
I hold no brief for the press of my country, for I realize that a portion
of it is just as sensational and unfair toward America as a p)owerful por-
tion of the American press is toward Japan. In both cases it is not difficult
to discover the motive. The masses in both countries easily understand
sensationalism, and the American bugaboo increases circulation as well
as the Japanese hobgoblin. We saw in the World War how very powerful
the press can be in controlling the thoughts of a people. It follows that
the press, in a like manner, could be a powerful m^ium for bringing
our countries toward a closer understanding.

Japan has known what it means to have America as its friend. We have
not forgotten the opening of Japan by Commodore Perry; the patience
of the United States during the perilous and troublesome forty years
of the Restoration; the friendly spirit of encouragement during the
Russo-Japanese War, or the generous sympathy shown by your good
people during the Great Earthquake.

A Japanese proverb says that after a rain the ground becomes firmer.
Since the present misunderstanding is shared by only a portion of the
people of both America and Japan, the near future will prove it to have
been a rain which has served to make the bonds of our friendship closer
and stronger.

VII

Todafs War

As THE WAR APPROACHED AND BEGAN, the Infantry Journal made no
attempt to report upon the war in the same sense in which the great
news magazines and the newspapers and radio do so. The editors felt
that it was beyond the scope of the magazine to attempt a news coverage
and that its main value to the Army and to the growing number of
non-Army readers lay in concentrating upon editorial matters which
might help Americans become better fighters but which naturally con-
tained nothing of aid and comfort — only discouragement — for the
enemy— discouragement at the measure of alertness and will to victory
indicated.

At the same time, the magazine has been found worthy of wide quota-
tion by other magazines and newspapers. This is not because it has been
able to obtain any exclusive battle stories through the fact that it is under
direct military supervision. It is simply because the editors, being mili-
tary men, seek for sides of war in their articles which may be overlooked
or considered of too technical an interest by other editors.

Naturally, also, the editors have tried to emphasize not only the rea-
sons for the great fight — the War for the World — but the practical
common-sense battle habits that enable ground soldiers and ground
leaders to fight as efficient fighting men — ^the measures and methods that
enable a soldier to kill a Jap or a Nazi soldier with the least reasonable
battle hazard to himself.

The magazine has also presented what its editors call ^'tactical news,’*
the detailed accounts of military operations. These follow the news as
it appears through the regular channels anywhere from three to eight
or nine months. These accounts, though they contain many technical
military details, are presented in as clear and simple a style as possible.
In this section of the Reader there are several such articles, and they

532

TODAYS WAR

533

do not require for their understanding any particular breadth of tech-
nical knowledge beyond what the average alert newspaper reader has
gained from following the war news.

Above all, there has been no attempt in the Infantry Journal to prog-
nosticate. There are too many military experts busy sticking their necks
out at that job. Besides, the only ones who have a chance at coming near
the mark are the few members of the high command who know ^ the
details about our widespread forces and those of our Allies and the latest
reports on the German, Jap, and other enemy forces.

THE WAR FOR THE WORLD
Editorial
i^94^)

The news gomes in from the fronts. Our American effort, and that of
our Allies, grows greater and broader in its spread. The ofiScial news
recounts to the nation in proper time the expanding operations of our
forces at arms.

The commanding general of the United States Air Forces in India . . .

The American commanding general of Chinese forces in Burma . . .

The supreme commander of the forces of the United Nations in the Southwest
Pacific . . .

The commanding general of the United States Army forces in the Far
East . . .

These distant designations of battle authority, and others of land and
air and ocean that might be added, we accept already with little amaze-
ment. Even a year ago most American minds would not have been able
to span to such foreign fields. But there was no reason last year, or in
any year of peace since the last war ended, for a military man not to
think in such possible terms.

Siberia, Italy, Russia, the Far East, France — ^these are all places our
armies campaigned in before this War for the World began. Hence there
is no astonishment now in the minds of reflective Army men that our
forces are spread so far. It had happened before. It might happen again.
No military man worth his pay and allowances could basically think in
other terms. Widespread thought of peace and hope for peace, and a
wish in the hearts of men, and Army men among them, that war mig^t
go from the world — ^these were not enough to make a soldier say, *Tt
cannot happen again.” His place of trust, his duty, his thought for his
country compelled him to remember that it could. He might not hold this

534

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

thought close in his mind in years when his duties were often narrow
and his Army not encouraged to think or speak. But it seldom took more
than a moment’s reflection to bring back the thought — the hard and ter-
rible thought — that armies might one day surge again across the face of
the world.

By now we have seen on both faces of the world what fighting nations
can do when they plan^ in secret, to conquer, when they gather their
forces for years and loose them furiously across and adown the continents
as the hoiu* and day arrive. By now we have seen again what soldiers
always know can be done if nations with strength endeavor to do it.

The fury and speed of the blows this time have astonished even the
soldier. But it is no new thought to his mind that forces at arms might
advance and seize what they sought and charge over thousands of miles
of water and land, driving ill-prepared foemen before them. He b not
amazed to see it again.

For it has been done again and again. And soldiers remember that
fact if others forget it. It’s been done by armies with swords and spears
or bows for their weapons, as well as by armies with guns. It has been
done without gasoline or wings, and even without powder.

And now it has almost happened again. The Nazi armies have sped
and struck till they gained the heart of Europe. They have to halt them
and force them to rest and gather their means of war. The Pacific foe has
charged down the Asian seas and struck from mainland to island, and
bland to bland, till he seized the Indies and threatened still other blands
and continents. But not with a full success. For the troops of China have
held them — ^had held them for years on lines that lay to the east of
Ghimgking. And the head of one of those Nipponese arrows stopped for
long in its onward course when it struck the hard mountain lines on
Bataan.

The thought that always sticks in the minds of Army men, the thought
that has stayed in their heads through every restricted year of peace-
time activity — ^that thought has come to be true. Again have conquerors
tried to encircle the sides of the earth. Again have they planned and built
and trained their troops for doing what armed forces under conqueror
captains have done before.

And now American forces grow. And the news comes in of their
spread to the farthest waters, skies, and fields. They go to attack and
block, and attack and attack again. They go to find the Enemies of the
World and strike at their hearts.

They go wherever they need to go to find the Enemies of the World.

Thb b the War for the World.

TODAY’S WAR

535

HOW THE GERMANS TOOK FORT EBEN EMAEL

By Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel)

Paul W. Thompson

(^ 94 ^)

The great fortress of Eben Emael^ keystone of the Belgian defense
line, was considered by many military men to be impregnable to direct
assault. It might be besieged and at long last starved out, but taken by
storm quickly? — ^never. Yet less than forty-eight hours after the German
Army had crossed the Belgian border the fourteen hundred officers and
men of Eben Emael filed out of their subterranean fastnesses and sur-
rendered.

Inunediately an incredulous world clamored for an explanation.
Fanciful accounts of a new gas which had paralyzed the garrison ap-
peared in print. Mysterious super fifth columnists, who had tunneled up
to the fortress from below, got a play in the press. The air was full of
conjecture, and the list of Hitler*s ‘‘secret weapons” received some choice
additions. But popular theorizing finally gave out, and the Eben Emael
disaster was left as the one great unsolved mystery of the war.

Military men, however, whose business it is to leave no mystery of war
unsolved, continued to study the case. And at length they got at the truth.

Their starting point was the history of the Sturmbataillonen Boehm,
the heavily armed assault groups with which Germany had experimented
in attempting to break the stalemate on the Western Front in World
War I. Ifcfore the present war military reports had indicated that the
experiments were being continued and extended. At a dozen points along
the invasion fronts of 1940 there was corroborative evidence of the use
of specially trained and equipped troops. And so at last the truth became
known — ^Fortress Eben Emael had been reduced by a revolutionary new
use of that familiar military high explosive, TNT.

Now, more than two years after the fact, it is possible to reconstruct
accurately the whirlwind assault which succeeded in obliterating Bel-
gium’s Gibraltar in a matter of hoiurs.

Let us first draw a picture of the fortress itself. It occupied a com-
manding strategic position on a plateau near the Meuse River and the
Albert Canal, controlling the approaches to both. Ultramodern in design,
it consisted of a score of lesser forts scattered over an area about one
mile square. These individual works were of steel, armor plate, and rein-
forced concrete, deeply embedded in the native rock and connected by a

536 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

system of deep tunnels. Each work had large-caliber guns for blasting
the distant approaches and machine guns for close-in defense. Each one,
and the fortress as a whole, was protected by dense barbed-wire entangle-
ments and belts of mines. Judged in the light of the time, Belgium was
justified in feeling secure behind the fortifications anchored on “im-
pregnable” Eben Emael.

But the Germans had been working ceaselessly on that idea born in
World War I. Certainly they were familiar with many of the details of
Eben Emael, and very likely their advanced experiments were made on
full-scale replicas of the fortress. We can surmise that sometime prior to
May lo, 1940, a final report was made that all was ready for the supreme
effort.

On that dawn of May 10 the German juggernaut pushed across the
defenseless borders, and the campaign that was to shake the world was
under way. Columns of tanks moved slowly but ominously through the
winding roads of Luxemburg toward Sedan. Parachutists dropped on
Rotterdam. Infantry choked the highways. Overhead, airplanes filled the
skies. Everywhere there was action; everywhere, power.

Into this vast scene, on that memorable morning, there moved a cer-
tain motorized battalion, a pin point lost in the great mass, but with the
right of way on all roads leading toward the crossings of the Meuse and
the Albert Canal at Maastricht — the back door to Eben Emael. It was
a battalion of engineers — or, more precisely, of demolition engineers.
And it was peculiarly reinforced, for there were also a company of in-
fantry, a battery of anti-tank guns, a battery of small-caliber (20-mm.)
antiaircraft guns, and a detachment of chemical troops.

This strange new outfit was, in effect, a small combat team. First, the
demolition engineer — ^his outstanding characteristic is his ability to handle
the deadly pale yellow trinitrotoluene, TNT. Second, the infantry com-
ponent — re^y to move in, to occupy, and to hold. Third, the anti-tank
and antiaircraft guns — tremendous accuracy and penetrating power.
Lastly, the chemical troops — expert in making smoke and flame. The
significance of these different attributes will soon be apparent.

By nightfall of May 10 the demolition battalion had crossed the river
and canal at Maastricht and reached the base of the plateau, atop which
lay Fortress Eben Emael. Meanwhile, war had come to the fortress in
no uncertain way. Dive bombers had attacked from dawn until noon.
Precisely at noon a flight of transport planes had appeared low over-
head and disgorged perhaps fifty parachutists, who took refuge in shell
holes and established radio communication with the battalion.

That evening the Belgians no doubt felt shaken but by no means hope-
less. The works had been designed to withstand just such punishment
and were essentially undamaged. The net result of the bombardment
had been to blast some of the obstacles, to explode many of the mines,

TODAY’S Wi«l 537

lUid to pock the terrain with shell holes. Fortunately for their night’s rest,
the Belgians did not grasp the significance of that last item.

But at dawn on May ii the German engineers began working their
way up the slopes toward the plateau. The operation was difficult and
hazardous. The Belgian guns were in full action. But for one vital item
the attackers must have been swept from the plateau as rapidly as they
reached it. That one item was the bombardment of the morning before^
which, while not damaging the works, had left the fields a mass of shell
holes. Into these ready-made shelters the attackers dived.

Now began the climactic phase of the entire operation: the assault.
The immediate objective was to get the engineers up to certain selected
works. To protect their advance the flat-firing anti-tank and antiaircraft
guns delivered point-blank fire against the embrasures, trying to put out
Eben Emael’s “eyes.” The chemical troops blinded adjacent supporting
works by smoke. The infantry covered the embrasures with rifle and
machine-gun fire and stood ready to move up and consolidate any success
the engineers might gain.

There is no minimizing the hazards involved, and the losses among the
engineers, as they bounded and crawled from one hole to the next,
were heavy. These men resembled walking arsenals. Hand grenades — the
familiar potato-masher type of the Germans — ^were sticking out of the
tops of boots and from between the buttons of blouses. Around almost
every neck was slung a canvas container bulging with seven-pound blocks
of TNT. Each soldier carried a carbine or a sub-machine gun. Many
pushed or pulled fifteen-foot lengths of narrow board to which were
tied, end to end, other blocks of TNT. Others carried twenty-foot
“charge-placing poles” which looked like elongated bricklayers’ hods..
Still others lugged flame throwers. All in all, it was a strange and gixK
tesque assembly — ^but one in which every last detail was the result of
innumerable trials.

The boards loaded with TNT were used, as they were in the first
World War, to blast a way through the barbed wire. Each one blew a.
path perhaps twenty feet wide and also destroyed near-by mines.

All the while the guns on both sides were being fired as fast as the
men could load them. The action must have been terrific. Occasionally
there must have been a crash louder than normal — indicating that one
of the engineers and his bagful of TNT had gone up. But the advance
continued. And finally the surviving engineers reached the works. Here,,
oddly enough, right up against the fortifications themselves, they were
comparatively safe. For a fortification is like a tank : it can deliver deadly
fire on areas far to the front, sides, and rear, but there is a small area
immediately adjacent to it which the guns cannot reach because they
cannot be sufficiently depressed to reach targets just below them.

The works, however, were still intact, still strong, and still angry. And.

538 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

now began the action to which all that had gone before was simple
preparation. Those throwbacks to medieval war, the flame throwers,
opened up against the embrasures. The engineers unslung their sacks and
fused up the blocks of TNT. From their points of vantage they began
systematically to demolish the works by detonating the blocks of TNT
against sensitive parts: embrasmes, ports, turrets, joints, and doors.
Obviously the task was not easy. The Germans used a variety of methods
to accomplish it. Where possible they placed the charge by hand, set off a
delay fuse, and took cover around a comer. In other cases the charges
were given a shorter delay fuse and tossed into embrasures like hand
grenades. In still other cases the TNT was placed in the hod end of a
“charge-placing pole” and pushed into place.

If the action during the advance of the engineers was terrific, that
which now was taking place defies description. The flame throwers were
active; the German anti-tank and antiaircraft guns continued to fire;
the Belgian guns continued to answer. Smoke and flame and crashing
detonations — it is doubtful if the history of warfare has ever seen the
like. In a few minutes the work of the TNT began to make itself felt.
Here an embrasure went out of action; there a turret was jammed. As
the Belgian ability to fire decreased, the German engineers redoubled
their efforts and multiplied their effectiveness. The Belgian sands were
running out.

The action was too violent, the effects too decisive, to continue for
long. After several works had been put completely out of action the
Belgian commander saw the hopelessness of the situation. His great
fortress, able to command the approaches to a country, had fallen prey
to a band of men armed, not with great howitzers and cannon, but with
seven-pound blocks of TNT. Early on the afternoon of May ii the
fortress surrendered.

Perhaps the newspapers were not so wrong after all in speaking of a
“secret weapon”; new use of an old weapon, a strange new method, can
be as effective as something completely original. If there is something
new under the military sun, this revolutionary offensive use of TNT is it.

The conventional defensive uses of TNT, however, are still of great
importance — ^and no article dealing with high-explosive combat would be
complete without a word about them. TNT is handy stuff for the demoli-
tion of structures which would be of help to the enemy. It can be placed
on the structure — ^most often a bridge— days or weeks in advance and
fired at any given moment. Thus a bridge may be “prepared for demoli-
tion” at the first sign of danger; may be used by friendly troops up until
the last moment, and the switch pulled as the vanguard of the enemy
heaves into view.

The decision as to exactly when to “let *er go,” however, can be one
of the most onerous a conunander has to face. He wants to hold the

TODAY’S WAR

539

bridge as long as possible, on the chance that it may be of further use,
yet he must think of the consequences if the bridge falls intact into enemy
hands.

The Dutch took a long step toward dooming all Holland when they
hesitated too long over the demolition of the great Moerdyk Bridge over
the lower Maas. German parachutists (aided by fifth columnists) beat
the Dutch engineers to the draw and seized the bridge. A day or two
later the panzer units crossed it and sealed the fate of Rotterdam.

Of course there are also horrible examples of demolitions set off too
early. Hell hath no fury like that of a general who comes up to a river
to find that the bridge leading to safety has been blown five minutes
before by his own engineers. Napoleon lost an important part of his
last great army when his engineers prematurely blew the bridges over the
Saale at the Battle of Leipzig.

A remarkable incident took place during the British retreat down
the Grecian peninsula in the spring of 1941. The issue in Greece had
been decided and the only course left to the British Imperials was retreat
into the Peloponnesos peninsula over the single highway bridge across
the Corinth Canal. As the British soldiers streamed across the bridge
engineers prepared the vital structure for demolition. The detonation
caps— each about the size of a cigarette — ^were carefully adjusted. Mean-
while, the Nazi dive bombers gave the bridge a wide berth. The CJermans
hoped to use it themselves.

On May 26 the Germans decided to seize the Corinth bridge intact.
That morning hundreds of parachutists were dropped near by. The
engineer lieutenant commanding the bridge guard and charged with
demolishing the bridge “when necessary” thus was thrown on the horns
of as cruel a dilemma as ever faced an officer on the field of battle. If
he blew the bridge and the parachutists were mopped up, irreparable
harm would be done. If he failed to blow it and lost it to the Germans,
the resulting harm might be even greater.

The lieutenant’s dilemma was resolved by the parachutists, who were
in greater force than he knew and advanced more rapidly than he had
believed possible. They actually succeeded in seizing the bridge intact.
The lieutenant, however, managed to escape. He took refuge in a briar-
covered recess along the steep banks of the canal, perhaps 150 feet away.

The Germans crowded onto the captured bridge and began methodi-
cally to look for the charges of TNT which they knew must be around
somewhere.

The British lieutenant watched the search with great anguish. But
suddenly he spotted one of the small detonating caps (remember, about
the size of a cigarette) . And so as the CJermans continued their systematic
search he raised his rifle to his shoulder, drew a careful bead on that
tiny target, and let go. There followed a terrific explosion, a deafening

540 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

crash. The lieutenant’s aim had been true; the detonating cap had ex-
ploded and so induced the explosion of all the charges of TNT. Bridge
and Germans lay in a tangled mass far below in the canal.

From Eben Emael to the Corinth Canal — ^between the two there stands
the gap which separates the offense from the defense, the new from the
old. But TNT is one implement of war that now is found in both camps
and is used in both ways. The trusted friend of the defender has become,
in addition, the lusty ally of the attacker. And, incidentally, it has made
of the engineer an elite combat soldier.

WE KNOW OUR FOES
Editorial

The great objective of ending the threat from the armed forces of in-
ternational gangsters has been stated in the plainest and most forceful
terms by our Commander in Chief. Rule by Nazi and Nipponese terror
must be banished from this earth without chance of return. That is our
aim and our job. And it’s not a job we can finish offhand with a battle
or two in a few months of fighting.

It is no news at all to the leaders of our Army that the Jap and the
German are hard-fighting soldiers. They have had that name for a long
time, even to the point of exaggeration. We knew the Boche for a fighter
in our first war against him. And we know what the Nazi has done since
he first began war in earnest. Of the Jap we know how he fought against
Russia early in the century. We know of his wide experience of war in
China since his first “so-sony” act ten years ago. Indeed, we know from
the beginning that the treacherous Pacific enemy, like the treacherous
Eiut>pean enemy, is a fighting soldier. But we know, at the same time,
he’s not good enough to end what he’s trying to do.

The fact that we’re facing, to east and west, a foe in no way second-
rate, who knows how today’s warfare is fought because he has been long
in the field, can mean no short, sharp series of victories and then the
finish. It means our smashing of the Jap and his Nazi masters, a scrap
that may last for years before we and our Allies have ended the job.

We remember, for one thing, that we’re still building our Army, though
it has great strength in men and machines already. We think, too, of the
flow, only now running faster and faster, of guns, planes, tanks, and
ships — z, torrent of the tools of war in the end, but not for a while. And
we think of this war in terms of thousands of miles of air and ocean —

TODAY’S WAR 541

but of air and ocean that shall be the paths to our victories even before
our strength is full.

The war’s history in Europe, and its beginning for us in the Pacific,
has told us one other thing that must be burned into the brain of every
American fighter. We’re fighting enemies who play the dirtiest kind of
pool. There is no treachery and trickery we cannot look for as we begin
our assault to set the Rising Sun and bend the Swastika into a pretzel.

We know from the methods of the Nazis that the Axis powers have
killed whatever honorable rules of conduct men once may have had for
battle. And we’ve seen from what our Jap foes have done in China and
from what they have striven with an insane frenzy to do against our own
possessions and people that they have as little thought as the Nazis of
fighting with what soldiers once thought of as honor. A fanatic fights
with distortion and destruction in his mind, but he can plan efficiently
at the same time to deliver his mad fanatic assaults against the world
that holds the freedom he’s been taught to hate.

Jujitsu is a prime example of the Jap’s idea of fighting. As an experi-
enced wrestling instructor once said, jujitsu is mainly dirty wrestling. It
has in it every foul trick that is barred from the sports of wrestling and
fighting in the ring.

Well, this war is a fight against Nazi and Nipponese fighters who know
no rules. And so long as we remember it, and stay on guard, and use
whatever it takes to knock such fighting out for the count, we’ll win our
battles, and with our Allies we’ll clean up the face of the world.

We should not get the idea, either, that simply because the Jap is a
little man, or the German traditionally a follower, or because our men
and teams have consistently beaten them both in athletic events, they
have any weakness in campaign or combat. The hardened Japanese
soldier is tough, and so is the Nazi. But it’s simply a toughness that
comes through training — ^it’s nothing they are bom with. The German
or Jap recruit, unless he happened first to be a worker or an athlete, is
as soft and flabby as any. Indeed, his physical condition will not meet
the average of the American soldier.

The Jap has the extra disadvantage of being a runt. But a runt who is
strong can fight, as we know from experience in every sport. He can
march and he can fight, and his smallness is no particular disadvantage
in the air or on the sea. His runtiness also makes him cocky and makes
him hate the taller races of the earth, even though there are tall Japs
in some regions.

It’s well to remember, too, that the Jap, for all his imitativeness and
his failure to improve on the inventions he has taken from our civiliza-
tion, believes with an unshakable faith that he’s the best man on earth.
Though we know that the Nazi thinks this way because he’s been told
it so often, it is something we in America seldom stop to think of concern-

542 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

iiig the Jap. WeVe been sure in our hearts that ours is the best way of life
and the best land with the best people in it, despite our faults. We’re sure
of it now beyond doubt. But never does the average Jap — and certainly
not the Japanese soldier — see an American, or an Englishman, or a Rus-
sian, or, for that matter, even a German, without looking down upon
him in his mind as he looks up at him with his eyes. The little brown
Jap is taught from his childhood that his is the superior race of the
earth — ^that white men are bragging scum, unfit to step upon the ground
of the islands where the sun also rises.

Not until such ideas die in their world, die in Europe and die in Asia,
can our world take any time for breath. And we, with Britain and China
and the other Allies who have joined and will join in the fight, are chosen
to make those ideas die. No people ever had a work that meant more than
ours, either to themselves or to this earth. No army and navy of a people
ever had a prouder, more glorious aim in hand and mind and heart than
ours now has.

From where we look to the west the sun doesn’t rise — ^it sets. And one
day, when the might of our arms and the strength of our purpose have
reached six thousand miles to do what it must and should, the sun that
rises on the desperate, fanatic power that calls itself Nippon shall sink
behind islands Aat know at last their place in a modem world. The
force of our arms, now beginning its fight, shall smash alike the little
Jap and his master, the Nazi, till their toughness is tired out and softened
again and their people have learned that the world is a place to be shared
and built up, not grabbed and exploited.

But to smash the ideas and smack down the strength of the Nazi con-
querors and the Nipponese would-be conquerors is probably a job of
years. And whether of months or years or decades, we take it up, knowing
it for the great task it is, and knowing our enemies for just what they
are. We know them across the Atlantic and across the Pacific as treach-
erous, tough, fanatical foes. We know them as foes whose ideas cannot
live in the end and whose ways and weapons of fighting can never in the
end stand up to our own. The heils and banzais may be loud for a while.
But before it’s over they’ll be drowned out forever by good American
razzberries.

DEFENSE BEHIND THE SEINE
By Lieutenant Robert M. Gerard

lieutenant Gerard, a French reserve officer, called to active duty in
time to face the blitzkrieg and now an American citizen in the employ of
the War Department, wrote of his battle experiences in a book called

TODAY^S WAR

543

Tank-Fighter^Team, from which this is a chapter, since the book appeared
serially in the Infantry Journal. There were a number of French units
which held together and fought desperately to the end of the Battle of
France. Lieutenant Grcrard’s was one of these. His stirring story held par-
ticular value to military men because of the detail with which he described
the fighting he saw.

After all the movements our Groupe Franc had made, which I have
told about in the earlier parts of this account, its gasoline was running
dangerously low. My captain, accordingly, decided to send me with two
gasoline trucks to get some more, wherever I could find it. We could
no longer count on supplies coming up from the rear. We could only
count on ourselves.

I left on June lo at three in the morning with two drivers and two
other men to help. At one gas station after another we found the pumps
empty. We tried all the gas stations from Bourtheroulde to Pont Audemer
and all those in Pont Audemer itself — but no gas. I then gave up as far
as that particular area was concerned and decided to drive straight south
for thirty miles, without stopping, to reach Lisieux, a good-sized town
with a big Standard Oil tank depot near it

There was nobody at the depot except two or three workers and an
old French janitor. I told him I wanted a thousand gallons of gasoline
for our Groupe Franc, whereupon he asked me to give him a blue requisi-
tion slip. Form No. 3. I had none, of course, and told him so, but “No
slip, no gas,” was all I could get out of him. I tried argument and even
pleaded with him, telling him that if I didn’t get the gas he alone would
be responsible for the death and capture of the men of our Groupe
Franc, who were, after all, defending him. But he could not rise from
his long life of routine and Forms No. 3 to conceive a different world.

I finally cut things short, pulled my revolver out, and said I would
shoot him if he didn’t give us the gas. He just about collapsed but had
strength enough left to call me a gangster. But we got the gas. And not
just a thousand gallons but fifteen himdred gallons more in big barrels,
more even than my two trucks could quite carry. I had also learned
one fast way to cut red tape.

We^then headed back toward the north and the front. On the running
board of each truck I kept a man standing and constantly watching the
sky for planes. It seemed a good idea not to be caught without warning
while we were still in the gasoline trucks.

In a short time we were driving against the flow of refugees, and as we
passed through Brionne there were houses still burning from a bombard-
ment a short while before. As we came to Bourtheroulde, however, the
refugees and fleeing troops grew fewer and fewer. “The Germans are
already in Bourtheroulde,” some of them cried. But they all seemed in a

544 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

state of semihysteria^ and in such a state false rumors spread at terrific
speed. We did advance very slowly toward Bourtheroulde but found no
enemy. Our Groupe Franc was still there. And the men acclaimed the
arrival of more gas as if it had been gold. In short order it was distributed
to the vehicles.

The captain then decided to move his headquarters platoon to a small
hamlet off the main road, two miles to the southwest of Bourtheroulde,
where the vehicles would be more secure. That morning he had sent
two patrols, each consisting of an armored car and a few motorcycles, to
La Bouille and to Elbeuf. But not a single German had they seen. The
enemy was still not attempting to cross the Seine.

In the afternoon of that day (June lo) my captain received informa-
tion from division headquarters that supposedly sixty German para-
chutists had just landed to the south of the Seine, in the loop below
Rouen, and had sought cover in the woods of the Foret de Rouvray. The
captain decided to send me there to find out what the situation actually
was. There were only a few sidecar motorcycles left. So I got only one
for the job. But my driver and I were equipped. Each of us had a light
machine gun and two revolvers, and several hand grenades besides. And
as my captain put it before we left, if I didn’t get back within three
hours he would know that there were parachutists in the Foret de
Rouvray.

We followed a small dirt road winding through the woods. Our motor-
cycle noisily advertised our approach, and if there were any para-
chutists posted along the road it was not going to be hard for them to
kill us. I rode with both feet hanging outside the “bathtub,” ready to
hit the ditch along the road. As we approached every curve we stopped
to observe and listen intently. But not a sound. And not a German. We
kept on toward Rouen and reached the suburbs. And then we took a
small street leading to the Seine. The whole city was deserted. At the
river we dismounted and watched the far baidc where the two bridges,
now demolished, had led. As we did this we held our light machine guns
in our arms like two movie gangsters. But still we saw no German soldier.
After a little we jumped in our sidecar and headed back full speed on
the straight main road. What headquarters had told us was just another
false rumor.

Not far out of Saint-Ouen and Bourtheroulde we were suddenly
stopped by a group of French infantrymen hidden along the road. They
sprang out at us with light machine guns and rifles at the ready. The
sergeant in charge announced that I was imder arrest, and they ^1 sur-
rounded us, looking as if they meant serious business. I told them that I
was a French officer from the Groupe Franc coming back from a recon-
naissance, but they did not believe me. I showed my officer’s card with
my fingerprints and photograph, but they were still suspicious. They took

TODAY’S WAR

545

us to the young infantry lieutenant in command of their platoon. He,
too, was fully as suspicious. In the end we were dragged to the lieutenant
colonel commanding the infantry battalion, who recognized me, as I had
met him the day before. Apparently these troops, misled by our special
equipment and particularly by the new armored-force helmets we were
wearing, padded in front with leather, had mistaken us for German
parachutists. Back in Bourtheroulde I reported the negative results ot
my patrol.

To my great astonishment I foimd there the commander of the tank
platoon whom I had thought killed in Rouen. He was the one who had
gone out with his tank to hit the rear of the German column north of
Rouen. His attack had been a successful surprise. He had destroyed
three German tanks, then retreated full speed. A little later he had
attacked the flank of the tank column that was in the city itself and got
two more enemy tanks, about the time we had been fighting those same
tanks hardest with our anti-tank guns. His tank was hit once, in the left
of the cupola, but this did not disable it. He could still fire the gun,
however, and managed to get hits on two more German tanks.

Then he had heard the two explosions of the bridges and decided he
might be able to get back across the Seine with his tank on one of the
ferries. The ferry at La Bouille had been destroyed, so he went as far
as Caudebec and was amazed not to encounter a single enemy column
all the way. At Caudebec he found the ferry still operating but had a
hard time putting his tank on it, though he finally got it aboard. In the
middle of the Seine the ferry was machine-gunned by a lone bomber,
but three RAF pursuit planes which suddenly appeared opened on the
German plane and drove it away.

Landed safely on the south side of the Seine, the tank-platoon com-
mander had to spend all the next day (June 9) hunting for some gaso-
line. He kept asking all fleeing troops and refugees whether they had
seen a French motorized unit with our Groupe Franc numeral painted
in white on the sides of the vehicles and was finally directed to Bourthe-
roulde. He had some trouble, he reported, dodging colonels who wanted
to commandeer his tank to ride in as they retreated to the south.

I had just about time to hear this story when some German bombers
came in sight. Not far away from where I was there was an old 75-mm.
gun in position, guarding one of the roads to the town. The officer in
charge of it had lost his unit in the general retreat and had offered his
services to my captain, who had gladly accepted. The German planes had
first dropped a few bombs on the central square of the town near the
church. Suddenly, as they came directly overhead, a man left a small
group of refugees not far away and ran toward the 75-mm. gun, waving
a white cloth. One of the planes saw it, diving straight on the gun, which
was well camouflaged and had apparently not been seen from the air

546 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

before. The plane released three bombs, one after the other, and got the
small crew of the 75 and the officer. But it also killed the fifth columnist,
too, in the middle of his dirty work. The gun was no longer usable.

That same night we heard a sudden shot in the street of the village.
On investigation we found one of our men lying dead, with his papers
gone and the identification plate on his wrist likewise stolen. By now
this continual fifth-column activity had gotten thoroughly on our nerves.
We began to hate such activities more than anything else, except attacks
from the air.

The next morning, June ii, came one of the best surprises of the
whole campaign. On a stolen bicycle, dirty, unshaved, and exhausted,
the first lieutenant who commanded our 25-mm. anti-tank-gun platoon,
and whom we had also thought had been killed in the Battle of Rouen
two days before, came riding into Bourtheroulde. He told us, moreover,
that ten miles from Bourtheroulde there were thirty infantrymen whom
he had brought back from the north side of Rouen, and also the remnants
of our anti-tank-gun crews — a few, like himself, who had survived the
blowing of the bridges and the German artillery fire. At once we gave
him two trucks to bring these men back to us.

When he returned two hours later, the lieutenant explained that the
blowing of the bridge had put his anti-tank guns out of commission and
killed nearly everyone in their crews. Those still alive had luckily found
the men of the infantry platoon. Together they all marched toward the
west along the banks of the Seine. A few miles out from Rouen they
found a barge that would float. On this they got across to the south
side, fifteen miles from Rouen, between Duclair and Caudebec. They
marched from there toward Pont Audemer, inquiring as they went
about our Groupe Franc. But soon they were so exhausted that the
lieutenant ordered them to rest and continued the search himself with a
commandeered bicycle, in the end finding us in Bourtheroulde.

Almost unbelievably our Groupe Franc was now regaining some of
its past strength. We were now five officers and about 120 men. The
infantrymen had brought back four of their six heavy machine guns,
and this boosted our fire power a little. On the other hand, we had a
new and serious problem because these thirty additional men had lost
all their trucks — all transportation of every kind — and we could only
cram them in the few vehicles we had left. But this, compared to the
joy of getting them back, was a small thing.

What we were concerned about more deeply was our ammunition. It
was low, after our battles at Boos and Rouen. But I got word from some
retreating British that there was an abandoned munitions train on one of
the railroad tracks near La Bouille in the middle of the forest. Imme-
diately I took one of our trucks and four men to the spot, where we found
the train. Near its front part; and its rear part were enormous bomb

TODAY’S WAR

547

craters^ but by some miracle the attacking Nazi planes had missed the
part that carried the ammunition. I posted a man in front of the train
and another in its rear to give the rest of us warning with their whistles
if any plane approached.

The bomb craters, the half-demolished train, the dead silence of the
place, the lack of human activity gave us the feeling that we were far
from substantial military protection and exposed to any sudden attack.
Nervously we opened door after door of the freight cars. This took time,
for the doors were all sealed. We looked rapidly inside each car to see
whether it had the boxes of ammunition in it. All the first cars we opened
contained artillery shells for 155-mm. and 75-mm. guns.

Suddenly one of the men whistled three times. We dashed across the
tracks and under the train into the woods on the other side as three
planes came over. They let go a few bombs in level flight but missed
the ammunition train. We let our breaths out, crawled back again to the
train, and in a few minutes more found what we wanted. We jammed
one truck full as fast as we could, took the load back to the Groupe
Franc, and then made a second trip to load the second ammimition
truck. During the time we had three alerts and had to hit cover three
times, but no bombs were dropped on us.

When we came back from the wrecked ammunition train the second
time the Groupe Franc was about ready to leave Bourtheroulde for a
small village, some fifteen miles to the west, called Boumeville. During
the movement I performed the job of serre-file, that of the officer who is
last in the column and sees to it that no vehicle is lost and that those
with motor troubles get repaired and catch up. But no vehicle had such
trouble this time. The mechanics had spent all night overhauling their
motors and checking all possible weaknesses. Several Nazi planes machine-
gunned us on the way to Boumeville, but their aim waus bad and we
had no casualties.

According to the reports of our patrols, there were still no signs that
the enemy had tried a crossing anywhere in our sector. We had sent
patrol after patrol along the Seine all day, in rotation, of course, to enable
our men to get some rest. We now had to rely on continuous reconnais-
sance of this type because we had lost our radio truck in the bombard-
ment of Bourtheroulde, which had been a major blow for the Groupe
Franc. Without a radio truck we were continually losing contact with
our armored cars and tanks during their march, and we were cut off
from information from higher headquarters except for the news brought
by the few motorcycle scouts that we could keep stationed at corps
headquarters to bring us orders and new information on the latest
developments.

Late in the evening of June 1 1 we arrived at Boumeville, a charming
little village still full of refugees. It had not been bombed. We imme-

548 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

diately felt better because of this peaceful atmosphere, even though the
degree of danger here was exactly the same as it had been at Bourthe-
roulde. We were lucky to find there also a few lambs and sheep, which
we killed and ate with much delight. No food, of course, was reaching
us from the rear, and we were getting sick of eating our pain de guerre,
a very dry hardtack, and the cans of singe (“monkey meat” or canned
beef) which we had in our supply truck. We were even luckier to find
four hundred pounds of flour in the town bakery, and we immediately
detailed two men to make some bread. For the next two days these men
made bread without taking a single minute of rest. It tasted better than
any bread I ever ate in my life.

We camouflaged our trucks in two orchards as soon as we arrived in
the village. Beginning at once, also, and all during the night, the men
constructed road blocks on all roads at the outskirts of the village. We
took over the central switchboard at the post office simply by telling the
girl in charge that the Germans were approaching full speed — another
way of cutting red tape. She left at once, scared to death. Once an hour
during the night we sent a patrol, on foot, around the village, mainly to
listen. In the village the patrol saw to it that there were no lights, not
even a match or a cigarette.

The next morning, June 12 , my captain and I went around the village
to determine the best emplacements for the heavy machine guns of the
motorized-infantry platoon. We were walking along a little dirt road just
outside of the village when suddenly, not fifty yards away, a man ap-
peared and aimed a sub-machine gun directly at us. We threw ourselves
into the ditch along the road as bullets whistled past our ears, auto-
matically pulling our revolvers as we did so. My captain killed the
German with his second shot. When we examined the fifth columnist
and his little gun we found that he had fired some sixty bullets at us.
This Mauser sub-machine gun of the Germans is a very inaccurate
weapon, though its use had a marked psychological effect on the popula-
tion. We found no identification papers on the German, only a map of
the region. It was more detailed than the official French military maps
we were using.

Since German fifth columnists were apparently mingled in with French
refugees, my captain decided to take stem measures. We prepared a lot
of small notices and pasted these on the walls of the village. The notice
declared that to avoid any possibility of fifth-columnist activity and
enable us to prepare our defense without being hampered by refugees,
the commander of the Groupe felt compelled to order every civilian to
leave the village within an hour. After two hours had passed any civilian
found in the village without good reason would be locked up and, if there
seemed grounds for it, shot. During the rest of the campaign we executed
several. We may have made a mistake or two, but most of them were,

TODAY’S WAR 549

in all probability, fifth columnists, and all others had been warned. Until
we took this stem action, no matter how well our vehicles had been
camouflaged, German bomber pilots always seemed to know where they
were hidden. But from then on we suffered very few bombings in any
village we defended. I feel, therefore, that the drastic measures taken
by my captain were justified.

Boumeville was to be the headquarters of our Groupe Franc. We were
not only assigned to defend this village, but also were assigned to protect
a line behind the Seine that had a front of about twenty-five miles —
from La Bouille near Rouen to the sea. To hold any such front with 120
men was practically an impossible task. If the enemy tried to cross by
force it was evident we could not prevent them from doing so. We could,
however, hinder their preparations on the far bank and could probably
repulse any crossing attempted by a weak reconnaissance force. Our main
mission, however, was that of warning the division headquarters of any
crossing attempt. Thus we were, in effect, the rear guard of the French
division. What puzzled me during that time was the fact that none of us
had ever seen this division. Was it a myth, a ghost, or just a bunch of
men too afraid to fight in the front lines? Or was it just retreating slowly
on foot to new positions? I found out on June 18, a few days later, when
I actually saw the men in the division surrounded.

A company of customs officers on bicycles, retreating from the coast,
came into our area. They wore vivid blue uniforms with a red stripe
down their pants. Their commander had very little push, and my captain
persuaded him to stay with us, telling him he would have nothing to do,
that my captain would take care of everything. We naturally welcomed
any reinforcements as long as they would stay with us.

We set up our defense in the following manner. All along the banks of
the river we posted these 300 customs officers with their rifles. (They
had no machine guns.) Thus they were used as a line of sentries or
scouts about 150 yards apart. Every two or three miles a sidecar or a solo
motorcycle from the Groupe Franc was posted. If one of the customs
officers saw the enemy trying to cross the Seine or preparing to make
such a crossing, he . was to fire several shots with his rifle to attract the
attention of the motorcyclist, who would at once go to the place where
the shots came from and then report to the headquarters of the Groupe
Franc on the situation. At certain places the motorcyclist could use
a telephone near by instead of racing to headquarters.

We installed the headquarters of our Groupe Franc in the post office
of Boumeville. The town lay several miles south of the Seine behind a deep
forest, and we made it the strong point of our defense, preparing its im-
mediate defenses with mechanized attack mainly in mind. For the fixed
defenses of the village the captain used the motorized-infantry platoon,
the several road blocks, and a 47-mm. anti-tank-gun platoon under the

550 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

energetic young artillery officer who had lost his unit and offered his
services and those of his platoon to my captain instead of fleeing to the
souths like most of the rest of the army. His two anti-tank guns, with
their prime movers and the one cargo truck with them, were a great
help to us and made up for our losses in the fight at Rouen.

The most essential part of our defense was the mobile reserve formed
of two armored cars, the motorcycle platoon, and our three remaining
tanks. The armored cars and motorcyclists were used also to effect
numerous reconnaissances to the east, in order to cover our right flank if
the Germans crossed the Seine east of Rouen. Our three tanks were
ordered to go back and forth along the south bank of the Seine. Once
an hour one of the tanks left La Bouille in the direction of Quillebeuf,
moving along the Seine, stopping often to observe the other bank, and
firing at any CJermans who were sighted. The tank would come back
to La Bouille again after a few hours. Thus our three tanks were con-
stantly scouting along the Seine at different points, toward different
directions. We hoped by using them that way to give the enemy the im-
pression that there was a sizable mechanized force on the south side of
the Seine and thus make them hesitate to attempt a crossing. I doubt
very much whether we actually fooled the Germans, but at least if they
attempted a crossing our fire would certainly harass them and slow them
up. If the enemy tried to cross anywhere our three tanks were to assemble
full speed and concentrate their fire on the point the customs-oflScer
sentries indicated.

I did a good deal of that back-and-forth business in a tank myself
because the tank-platoon commander was worn out and needed a rest.
On the first day I saw nothing of the enemy, driving all the time with
my turret open. Nor did our patrols to the east report any Germans
either. When night came we drove our three tanks back to Boumeville,
and that first night I stayed near the telephone with my captain.

About two o’clock in the morning (June 13 ) the telephone rang, and
one of the motorcyclists told us that between Duclair and Caudebec a
German motorized-infantry column was moving along the north bank
of the Seine on the road that followed the river. Some of the customs
ofiicers had fired across at them to give the alarm, and at once the enemy
had returned the fire, using tracer bullets of all possible colors — red,
white, blue, yellow. The effect on the customs officers of seeing that kind
of show was terrific; they had never seen such a thing. Half an hour
later another motorcyclist phoned. The German column, he said, was
still advancing to the west along the riverbank and was now keeping up
a terrific noise for the purpose, he thought, of scaring our defending
troops. The enemy would send a red rocket into the sky, and the whole
column would stop dead. Then a green rocket would go up, and the
column would resiune its march. They also used white and yellow rockets

TODAY’S WAR

551

for some purpose, and the whole performance was more than puzzling.
From our own side of the Seine our motorcyclists and customs officers
could hear officers shouting orders in German and even the enemy troops
singing Nazi songs. The few customs oflBcers who took up fire with their
rifles didn’t seem to bother the column, which was returning their fire
with tracer bullets, now from machine guns. But daylight approached
without any attempt by the enemy to cross the river.

At five o’clock that morning I again left Boumeville with my tank and
resumed scouting along the Seine, but with much more care than before,
because we knew for sure now that enemy troops were on the other side.
Beyond Duclair I saw a few Germans but no vehicles. I systematically
shelled their general area with the high-explosive shells of my 47-mm.
gun and must have killed a few. I opened fire from a defiladed position
with good protection against anti-tank-gun fire. But apparently the Ger-
man force had no anti-tank guns with it and only returned the fire with
small automatic arms. That kind of fighting continued at intermittent
periods all during the day.

I learned later why the Germans had not appeared on the north
side of the Seine right after our battle in Rouen. Contrary to our belief,
the panzer division whose reconnaissance units we had met in Boos and
Rouen did not stay along the Seine but headed northwest toward the sea
and reached the sea at Saint-Valery-en-Caux, a little southwest of Dieppe,
thus completely encircling the French and British troops retreating from
the Somme River. Only when they had partly cleared up this pocket
did the German motorized infantry turn south to take position along the
lower part of the Seine between Rouen and the sea.

During the afternoon of June 13, as I arrived opposite Caudebec, I
saw that the whole town was in flames. The Germans had just bombed
the place. And all along the road leading to the ferry were himdreds
of abandoned automobiles, all on fire with flames leaping into the sky.
On my way back to Boumeville early that evening, I met a few British
who had built a beautiful road block on the road my tank was following
in the middle of the forest. They had two anti-tank rifles to defend it
but were preparing to leave, which they soon did. They left a lot of
equipment behind, which we salvaged eagerly the next day — excellent
motorcyclists’ goggles, some good light raincoats, and especially the two
anti-tank rifles which they had evidently decided were too heavy for them
to carry in their hasty retreat. We liked that particular anti-tank weapon,
of which our army had none. It was called the Boys rifle from its inventor
and was of caliber .55, weighing around thirty-six pounds with its bipod
rest. It was effective against lightly armored vehicles at short distances.

I spent the night again at the telephone with my captain. One rumor
after another to the effect that the Germans had crossed the Seine east
uf Rpuen came to us over the phone. Louviers, a bridgehead on our side

552

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

of the Seine, south of Pont de TArche, was reported in German hands.
The German column was advancing at night toward the east, toward
us, we were also told. To determine the part of reality and the part of
fantasy in those rumors was impossible except by sending out our own
patrols. At two in the morning a colonel telephoned us from division
headquarters. He said a German column was already a few miles from
Boumeville, in Bourtheroulde, our last previous position. If this was
true our position with our right flank exposed was now untenable. The
colonel wanted a patrol sent at once to confirm this information. My
captain told him that to send out a tank at night on such a mission was
hardly desirable. The tank couldn’t see anything anyway and could be
taken in ambush. It was finally decided to send a tank and a few motor-
cycles with machine guns at dawn. My captain told me that I had been
inside a tank enough during the past two days and that I should there-
fore wake up the tank-platoon commander and direct him to take charge
of the patrol. In view of the importance of this patrol my captain decided
to send an entire motorcycle platoon with its commander.

This patrol left Boumeville at four-thirty on the morning of June 14.
We waited and waited, until an hour later one of the men of the motor-
cycle platoon reported by telephone. The patrol had been mistaken for
a German column by the French artillery still in Bourtheroulde, which
had opened fire. Several men were wounded, and the tank-platoon
commander was dying. The motorcycle-platoon commander asked us to
send a truck at once to transport the wounded to the nearest hospital
or ambulance. My captain sent me with a truck and telephoned division
headquarters to send two ambulances at once to Boumeville. Arriving
in front of Bourtheroulde, I saw the disabled tank near the road. In
Bourtheroulde itself I found the motorcycle-platoon commander, who
told me the story very briefly.

The tank commander with his tank was out in front of the motor-
cycle platoon. He was fired at without warning from the outskirts of
Bourtheroulde. Thinking it was enemy fire, he quickly returned it. The
motorcycle platoon dismounted and sought cover in the ditches along
the road, opening on the supposed enemy with their machine guns. The
“Germans” were firing a 77-mm. or 75-mm. gun, well camouflaged. Its
high-explosive shells burst near the motorcycle platoon. The tank kept
on firing shells at the gun, using fire and movement, stopping only to
fire. After a couple of minutes the tank received a direct hit on its front,
and the shell penetrated the tank as if through butter. Fragments of
armor cut the left arm off the driver and tore the gunner’s right shoulder
apart. Another piece went through the tank-platoon commander’s helmet
into his head.

The motorcycle platoon advanced along the road in the ditches, ap-
proaching the village, to determine the strength of the enemy force^ but

TODAY’S WAR

553

they finally discovered that the enemy was French, Our tank had killed
two men of the artillery gun crew. The tank commander was in bad
shape when I arrived with the truck and was plainly dying. I carried
the wounded back to Boumeville as fast as I could, and from there they
were taken to the rear in two ambulances.

The mistake had occurred partly because of the morning fog. The.
artillerymen couldn’t determine whether the tank was French or Ger-
man. Our tanks had the blue-white-and-red circle of the Republic, and
German tanks had the Iron Cross painted on the front of the tank. But
the Germans had used French colors so many times that this means of
identification was of little practical value. Since the French had so little
mechanized equipment left in the area, the artillerymen could hardly
be wrong in assuming that any mechanized equipment they would see
would be German. The real reason for the mistake was because the
crews of the artillery anti-tank guns had never had any thorough train-
ing in identifying the silhouettes of the different types of French, British,
and German vehicles. And of course the lack of liaison between division
headquarters and this particular artillery unit gave rise to the rumors
that the Germans were there in Bourtheroulde and prevented the artillery
unit from being warned in time that a French mechanized patrol was
approaching.

The tank commander was also somewhat at fault. He would probably
not have been killed if he had stayed with his tank along the edge of the
woods west of Bourtheroulde and sent a few motorcycles to reconnoiter
the village before he exposed his tank in the perfectly flat, open area
between the woods and the village. With hindsight, however, it is always
easy to criticize an action that has proved disastrous. Anyway, the result
was a serious blow to the Groupe Franc. We now had only two armored
cars and two tanks left as armored equipment. We had also lost a few
sidecar motorcycles, destroyed by the 75-mm. fire in the same fight.

Shortly after I had come back to Boumeville we received an order
from headquarters to retreat again. Other rumors that the Germans had
crossed the River Seine east of Rouen had been confirmed by other units.
Our movement had to be effected quickly, otherwise a German column
advancing generally toward the southwest would cut our retreat. Our
Groupe Franc was ordered to go to Campigny and establish its head-
quarters in this little village a few miles southeast from Pont Audemer
and prepare a defense behind the Risle River. The French Army as a
whole was abandoning the Seine as a defensive position.

What made us smile a bit at this news was that, as far as we had
been able to see, the Seine had never been defended by French forces
at all, except for a few rear-guard units like our own. All during the
time we had been making reconnaissance after reconnaissance from one
position after another behind the Seine, our division had been stationed

554 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

back there behind the Risle, building a few road blocks. And now that
the Seine line had been dented, our division was leaving the Risle and
we were to take their place there. Things went this way, in fact, up to
June 1 8, when the division was surrounded. During the whole time it
did not fire a single shot to the best of our knowledge. For its own retreat,
the division was lucky enough to have great numbers of Paris busses
which the army had requisitioned. Without those busses it would prob-
ably have been captured a few days sooner.

My captain used our two tanks to protect the rear of our column as
we dropped back from Boumeville to Campigny. The two armored cars,
with what was left of the motorcycle platoon, protected our flanks by
making small reconnaissances out on side roads, coming back to the main
road after the column had passed. Thus the column had a mobile anti-
tank defense on its flanks and rear. No hasty road blocks were built on the
side roads because this would take too much time and work. Instead,
my captain relied on the armored cars to repulse any small German
mechanized column during the time it would take to re-establish the
Groupe Franc quickly in a new defensive position. Preceding the column
within sight were the solo motorcyclists, acting as scouts.

My captain decided to give me one of the two tanks to command.
I was ordered to stay till the last in Boumeville — until ten o’clock in the
morning, with the Groupe Franc leaving at nine-thirty. I waited near
the east entrance of the village — the Germans were expected to come
from the east near the crossroad of the main east-west and north-south
roads — so that I could move my tank quickly in any direction.

On the road leading to the east we had built a stout road block by
digging holes in the asphalt road and then sticking thick logs vertically
in the holes. We had found this work half completed by some previous
unit, with logs all cut and ready to be placed, and we had had time
to finish it. The road block was of the staggered barricade type, to permit
the traffic to flow through it. But at night, or if the enemy came in
sight, the barricade could be closed by movable obstacles, such as aban-
doned vehicles and sliding beams. Just beyond this barricade the road
turned to the right in a curve. An anti-tank gun had been defending
this barricade but was now retreating with the main column. There were
similar barricades on the roads leading south and north. We left them
all open so that I could pass through them with my tank and attack
the enemy if he came in sight.

At ten o’clock sharp, just as I was preparing to leave Boumeville with
the tank, a German armored car drove suddenly into sight on the road
from the east, stopped dead in front of the barricade, apparently saw
my tank, and began to move back in reverse. It was not more than
150 yards away, and I fired and got a hit on it before it could get back
around the curve in the road. This was probably the point, I thought,

TODAY’S WAR

555

of a whole armored-car platoon. And so I also said to myself, “Let’s go!”
I then took my tank slowly out through the barricade, firing once more
at the armored car without stopping, but hitting it again. It hadn’t fired
a single shot at my tank. It didn’t have time to.

We now went out on the road beyond the disabled armored car and
moved on around the curve of the road. And there a second car was.
heading toward the village to help the other. This was too good. I had
nothing to fear, anyway, as I knew the 20-mm. anti-tank gun on the
enemy armored car could not pierce my armor. It was much like a
battleship fighting a light cruiser. The moment this new German saw me
he headed toward a side road to escape my fire. He opened fire himself,
and a direct hit clanked on our armor but didn’t come through. I had
been right in feeling safe. After firing twice myself this second armored
car was out of business. Several enemy motorcyclists following it had
pulled off to the left of the road and were firing at me with their
machine guns — probably with armor-piercing bullets. Several of them
hit the tank but didn’t penetrate either. I continued on toward these
motorcyclists, leaving the road to do so, and now firing high-explosive
shells. I know I got several of them.

I headed back onto the road but couldn’t see any other enemy cars
or troops. The rest of the armored-car platoon had probably decided
to pull back — the proper tactics for lightly armored vehicles in the face
of a medium tank. I decided not to follow for fear of an ambush. It
was well past ten o’clock now, and I had orders to stay only till ten.
And so I headed back to the village, passing the two disabled armored
cars and firing one good shot at each of them. It was probably pure waste
and child’s play, but it made me feel good. All things considered, I had
nothing to brag about. Anyone in a medium tank could have destroyed
those two armored cars. But I don’t think I would have been able to
destroy them at all if the enemy platoon commander had sent his motor-
cyclists out ahead to reconnoiter the village. I would probably have got
one or two of his motorcycle scouts but nobody else. His armored cars
would have had time to take cover.

Before leaving Boumeville I had my gunner and my driver close the
barricades. I stayed in the tank, covering them, ready to shoot, for by
now the Germans were probably preparing an attack on the village.
I had had a chance to fulfill my mission of slowing down the German
reconnaissance elements and thus give the Groupe Franc more time to
prepare its defense behind the Risle River. This made me feel a little
better than I had for several days. I had made up a little for my poor
marksmanship in our Battle of Rouen.

When I arrived in Campigny I found our two anti-tank guns already
in position in the village and road blocks half completed. My captain
decided to return the tank to its noncommissioned officer, who was in good

556 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

shape again. But I must have been bad luck for any tank I touched.
The tank commander had been killed in my tank the very morning
he took charge of it again. This time the noncommissioned officer of the
tank was killed the next day by a bomb from a Stuka which penetrated
his turret.

In Campigny my captain had installed the headquarters of the
Groupe Franc in a small castle situated in the middle of a big park in
which all the vehicles had been well concealed and camouflaged under
the trees. For the first time in several days I now found the time to
shave and wash my hands and face. In the afternoon I went around
the village, supervising the work done on road blocks and on the anti-
tank-gun and machine-gun emplacements. We had ordered all refugees
out of the village.

At three o’clock I was sent in my sidecar to division headquarters,
which had not given any orders since we had arrived in Campigny. I
found the headquarters at Carsix, thirty miles to the south in a castle!
The staff was standing around big maps, planning the withdrawal of the
division to a new position. The Groupe Franc was again to be the last
to move.

Shortly after I got back to Campigny several enemy bombers came
over. I was in the middle of the town, and there was no time to seek
cover in the woods that lay around the village. So I decided to go into
the cellar of the nearest house. I found there one of my noncommissioned
officers, a placid fellow who never seemed to be bothered by anything.
He hadn’t shaved for a week, and now, having some time to think about
it, he went upstairs in the house, hunted around, and came back down
in a few minutes with an old square mirror, an old blade and razor, and
some soap. He hung the mirror on a nail and began shaving. By then the
bombs were coming down, with attack apparently centered on the park
and our vehicles. Some more good fifth-columnist information, I thought.
But now the bombs were coming much nearer. It was funny to watch my
noncom trying to shave. He had kept his helmet on as a precautionary
measure. Every time a bomb fell a little nearer his mirror swung on its
nail, and plaster fell from the ceiling. But he kept on shaving, unper-
turbed, until a terrific crash came and I thought for one moment it was
the end of things for us both. Plaster came pouring down, covering us. A
part of the ceiling above us broke. But the hit was not quite direct, and
we were still safe even though the house above had been partly destroyed.
My noncom, with razor still in his right hand, was now white with
plaster. He slowly turned toward me and said very calmly, “The only
trouble with this damn war is you can’t even shave in peace!”

The planes dropped a few more bombs and left. They had destroyed
many houses in the village. I now headed toward the park and saw ^t
two of our trucks were demolished. One was a gasoline truck, and the

TODAY’S WAR

557

men were busy keeping the flames from spreading. On the outskirts of
the village one of our anti-tank guns had also been destroyed and some of
its crew killed. Decidedly our Groupe Franc was getting smaller and
smaller with each day.

Next morning, June 15, we got the order to withdraw once more, this
time about sixty miles to the south, to Argentan. But before our Groupe
Franc left it must blow up the two bridges on the Risle: one at Saint-
Paul-sur-Risle, the other at Pont Audemer. Our tanks, armored cars, and
sidecar motorcycles had been patrolling along the south bank of the river
all the preceding afternoon but had seen no Germans. The enemy was,
however, expected any minute. Our movement to the south had been
ordered because the French Army was expected to make its next big
stand along the Loire River.

The order to blow the two bridges was a perfect example of an im-
possible task. If even one staff officer from headquarters had visited the
Groupe Franc since it left Rouen, the division commander would have
known that we had no explosives. And so my captain sent a motorcycle
scout back to tell them that we would have to be given some explosives
if we were to do the job. We did have several tank mines and a few
petards de cavalerie, but it would take a good deal more to blow two
bridges. The messenger came back an hour later to report that head-
quarters had already gone.

We had to do something. For the protection of our Groupe Franc
itself we couldn’t leave the bridges merely with a barricade on each side,
especially since our tanks and armored cars would have to leave with our
column in order to protect it on the march.

The captain decided to leave me behind with a sergeant and four men
and three sidecar motorcycles to blow one bridge, and gave the lieutenant
commanding the anti-tank guns the job of blowing the other; he had one
truck and a few men. But first we had to find something to do it with.
Together we hunted all along the Risle for some TNT left behind by
some French unit in its hasty retreat. And we finally did find a few blocks
in an abandoned British depot, but not as many as we needed. To our
surprise, the supply depot seemed mainly full of British cigarettes in big
wooden boxes, hundreds of them. We decided that a few thousand ciga-
rettes were practically as important as TNT, in view of the boost they
would give to the morale of our whole Groupe Franc, And so we left our
truck there with two men to pack it full.

I then went on to Pont Audemer with my three sidecars and half of
the explosives, and the other lieutenant took his half to the bridge at
Saint- Paul-sur-Risle, only a few hundred yards from the British depot. I
found Pont Audemer completely deserted. It had been bombed and many
buildings destroyed. All stores had been looted, all shopwindows broken.
Arriving at the river where it passes through the northern part of the

558

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

town, I found that “the bridge” of Pont Audemer was, for practical
purposes, three bridges!

True, one of them was nothing more than a small wooden lock to
regulate the flow of the river, too small for vehicles, though troops could
easily walk across it. And the middle bridge was no real bridge either,
but simply a big building built across the river, which was very narrow
at this point. The building served as the market place for the town. At
both ends of this “bridge” French troops had piled sandbags and
anchored them with cement. The floor of the building wasn’t strong
enough, it seemed to me, to bear the weight of a tank. A light armored
car might cross without going through the flooring into the river, but I
had my doubts. But enemy motorcycles and passenger cars could use it
easily enough, provided the sandbags were cleared away first, which
would be quite a job to do by hand but could easily be done with one or
two blocks of TNT.

I simply didn’t have enough explosives to blow this so-called bridge
and the regular stone bridge where the main road crossed the river. I
therefore decided to concentrate on the main bridge. At both ends of this
bridge the French had also built sandbag barricades. My men began to
dig a big hole in the middle of the bridge into the heavy pavements,
working as fast as they could.

Meanwhile, with my driver, I reconnoitered what to do if we were
surprised by a German column. I decided to put the three sidecars in the
first side street to the right from the bridge, where they were protected
by the buildings from machine-gun fire. We could get in them and then
t^e another street to the left out of town and be out of German fire
because of the cover given by a big building on the other side of the
river. In this way we could hit the main road again a few hundred yards
to the south. There a stretch of some fifty yards would be dangerous
because it would be under direct machine-gun fire from the bridge, but
this was a distance so short I thought we could cover it without casualties.
I went back to the bridge. The hole was getting bigger and deeper.

Just at that moment we could hear an explosion oflF a few miles to the
east. The anti-tank lieutenant had blown the other bridge. I then told
my men they had dug deep enough and had them put the dynamite in
the hole and cover it. It seemed to me time to act fast, and everybody
helped. We put some big paving blocks on top and covered the hole witlx
tightly compressed soil. Then I had my men leave the bridge and wait
behind the sandbags. I started ofT the bridge myself, unrolling the wire
that connected the detonator to the TNT. Just as I was climbing over the
sandbags at the French end of the bridge I heard the noise of a motor.
A German armored car was coming around the curve of the road just
north of the bridge, and it at once began firing at us. I had just time to
jump over the sandbags and throw myself flat. We had no machine guns

TODAY^S WAR

559

or any weapon to do much good. The men behind the sandbags opened
fire at the armored car with their rifles, using armor-piercing ammuni-
tion. We had to blow the bridge fast, now if at all. As I connected the
cord with the detonator the sandbags gave excellent protection from the
fire of the German car. Finally I was able to light the wick leading to the
detonator. We then had exactly ninety seconds to get out before the
bridge would go up. I lined the men behind the sandbags, and at a signal
from my hand we leaped toward the little side street to the right all to-
gether at highest speed. We made the side street fifty yards away in about
five seconds — Tm sure it was a record. The German gunner, surprised by
this unexpected action, didn’t hit any of us, we were so fast. In the side
street we kept close to the walls of the houses on the north side of the
street. A few seconds later up went the bridge, but none of its pieces hit
us as they fell because we were protected by the houses. Arriving at the
dangerous spot on our route, I lined the three sidecars up, and we dashed
over it all together, instead of one after the other. The German fire
missed us again. We heard some bullets whistle, though.

When we finally reached Campigny, our rallying point, I found the
other lieutenant there waiting for me. He told me he had just blown his
own bridge and was heading back to the British depot across the fields,
when German motorcyclists appeared on the north bank and fired at him
and his men, but by leaps and bounds they reached the depot. His men
had kept their truck on the safe side of the building and were still load-
ing cigarettes, even though the door was on the north side and they had
to carry the boxes around under fire. The truck left the depot under long-
range German fire, but nobody was hit. I looked in the truck. The lieu-
tenant told me there were approximately 350,000 cigarettes. That made
at least 3,000 cigarettes per man for our Groupe Franc. What a capture!

THE FIGHT AT PEARL HARBOR
By Blake Clark

The following passages from the author’s Remember Pearl Harbor
(part of which has also been published in a book limited in distribution
to the armed services only under the same title as that given to this
article) is as powerful writing on battle as this war has yet produced. It
ran in the Infantry Journal during 1942.

Wheeler

Lieutenants welch and Taylor, sitting at the officers* club at Wheeler
Field, saw the Japanese dive bombers swoop low over the ammunition
hangar and drop their load. Sinewy steel and thick bastions of concrete

560 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

were twisted and shattered from the high-power explosion. The lieuten-
ants rushed outside^ leaped into their car, and hit a hundred miles an
hour on the way to a near-by airfield where they had their planes on
special duty. They did not stop to hear the size, number, or type of the
attacking planes but grabbed their airplane orders from the interceptor
control and dashed for their pursuit planes on the field.

They rose to battle and headed straight for a squadron of a dozen or
more Japanese planes over Barber’s Point. Their planes were armed with
only . 30 -caliber machine guns. The enemy planes were near now, and
the two lieutenants bent to the attack. Lieutenant Welch made for one.
It was a two-man dive bomber. The rear gunner was spraying lead at the
attacking American, but Welch sat on the Japanese plane’s tail and shot
it down with one well-aimed burst from his three machine guns.

One gun jammed. An incendiary bullet hit his plane, passing through
the baggage compartment behind the driver’s seat. He climbed above the
clouds and checked. The plane was not on fire. He dived through the
clouds and returned to the attack. A Japanese plane was flying out to
sea. He caught it, shot it down, and saw it fall into the broad Pacific
below. His plane needed refueling, so he headed back for Wheeler Field.

Lieutenant Taylor’s plane overtook his first victim so fast that he had
to throttle back to keep from overshooting. He found his mark and the
plane went down. During his second attack the enemy rear gunner nicked
Taylor’s arm. The bullet spattered when it hit the seat, and a fragment
pierced the American’s leg. He felt it but paid no attention. He joined
Welch in the return for refueling, and the two landed together.

Before Welch’s gun could be unlocked or Taylor’s wounds receive first
aid a second wave of fifteen Japanese planes swept in, flying low and
heading for the two planes on the runway. Taylor had been advised not
to return to the air because of his wounds. He leaped to his plane, took
off, rising at high speed, and turned in a perfectly executed chandelle.
The Japanese were on his tail. Welch, in the air behind them, swept fast
upon Taylor’s pursuers and dived on the one most dangerous to his
partner. The Japanese rear gunner poured lead into Welch’s plane.
Bullets struck the motor, the propeller, the cowling. Still Welch pursued
like an avenging fury, letting fly with all his guns. The enemy plane
burst into flames and crashed. Taylor escaped. Welch followed another
enemy plane seaward, caught it about five miles offshore, and gave its
two-man team an ocean grave.

These fighters were not alone. Other squadrons were in the air. In
another part of the sky Lieutenant Harry Brown saw his friend Lieuten-
ant Robert Rogers in a dogfight with two Japanese planes. Brown singled
out the one on Rogers’ tail and began shooting. He got nearer and nearer
to the Japanese plane, so close that he saw his bullets plowing into it
from the belly to the tail. One of his guns jammed. He pounded it with

561

" TODAY’S WAk

his fist until the skin burst. The plane in front started wobbling, then shot
into flames and crashed into the sea. Brown’s throat was sore and his
voice hoarse from yelling during the excitement.

An old-timer, Lieutenant Sanders, led a unit of four planes up through
an overcast of six thousand feet. He saw a group of six Japanese bombing
an airfield. He signaled his men to the attack, taking the enemy leader
for himself. Although the sun was behind Sanders’ unit, the Japanese saw
them and fled north. The unit came in fast, dived on the Japanese, and
started firing. Sanders opened up on the leader. The Japanese plane
smoked up, faltered, and fell into the sea.

Lieutenant James Sterling was hot after one of the enemy.

A Japanese plane was on his tail. Lieutenant Sanders closed in, but
the attacker was already pouring bullets into Sterling’s plane, and it burst
into flames. The American continued to fight the Japanese plane ahead,
and the four went into a dive — the Japanese in front. Sterling still firing
at him, the second Japanese after Sterling, and Sanders following
through. They plunged down into the overcast at an altitude of six thou-
sand feet, all motors roaring at full speed. Only Sanders pulled out.

Lieutenant Rasmussen was in a dogfight with a Japanese over the
pineapple fields of Wahiawa. Each was desperately maneuvering to get
on the other’s tail. Bullets flew into Rasmussen’s plane. His radio equip-
ment fell to pieces before his eyes. The Japanese plane was fast, well
armed. Below, thousands of people who had evacuated their homes at
Hickam and Ford Island and thousands who had run outdoors at Scho-
field Barracks and Wahiawa stood anxiously watching the dogfight, the
most exciting form of modem warfare.

Rasmussen pulled up out of a fast maneuver. He caught the Japanese
plane in his sights. He pulled the trigger of his .50-caliber machine gun.
Tracer bullets ripped into the enemy plane. He held the deadly stream
straight on the Japanese. When he quit firing the plane was going down.
All the anxious thousands broke into a great cheer of relief and pride
when it fell to the ground in a burning, broken mass of wreckage.

When Rasmussen landed he looked at his plane. The rudder was shot
away, and the fuselage was as full of holes as a sieve.

The Japanese got full satisfaction from their visit to “the eagles of
Wheeler.”

On the ground at Wheeler men were running through dust clouds
arising from the Japanese strafers’ incendiary bullets that were ripping
up the ground. Dive bombers were planting demolition bombs on the
hangars. Just before this blitz started Sergeant Bayham tore down to the
supply house for a machine gun. He was breaking down a door when the
supply sergeant, who was still thinking “practice,” refused the gun and
ammunition unless Bayham signed for it. By this time the door was down,
and Bayham was dragging out a .50-caliber machine gun.

560 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

were twisted and shattered from the high-power explosion. The lieuten-
ants rushed outside, leaped into their car, and hit a hundred miles an
hour on the way to a near-by airfield where they had their planes on
special duty. They did not stop to hear the size, number, or type of the
attacking planes but grabbed their airplane orders from the interceptor
control and dashed for their pursuit planes on the field.

TODAY’S WAR

561

his fist until the skin burst. The plane in front started wobbling, then shot
into flames and crashed into the sea. Brown’s throat was sore and his
voice hoarse from yelling during the excitement.

Lieutenant James Sterling was hot after one of the enemy.

When Rasmussen landed he looked at his plane. The rudder was shot
away, and the fuselage was as full of holes as a sieve.

The Japanese got full satisfaction from their visit to “the eagles of
Wheeler.”

On the ground at Wheeler men were running through dust clouds
arising from the Japanese strafers* incendiary bullets that were ripping
up the ground. Dive bombers were planting demolition bombs on the
hangars. Just before this blitz started Sergeant Bayham tore down to the
supply house for a machine gun. He was breaking down a door when the
supply sergeant, who was still thinking “practice,” refused the gun and
ammunition unless Bayham signed for it. By this time the door was down,
and Bayham was dragging out a .50-caliber machine gun.

562 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

“I don’t have time to sign for it!” he yelled.

When he finally mounted the gun somebody cried out, “Hey, you
can’t fire that water-cooled gun without water!”

“To hell with the water — I haven’t got any water!”

Staff Sergeant Benton joined him and fed the ammunition as Bayham
pumped it at the approaching Japanese two-motored bomber. The gun-
ner in the rear cockpit was shooting at them. Dust popped up around
them. Their own tracer bullets told them that they were hitting the
attacker. Holes were going into the plane. When it had passed and was a
couple of hundred yards away the plane shook like a dog shaking off water,
circled jerkily to the right, and fell.

Oahu’s defenders fought. They fought on the sea, in the air, and
wherever men found guns to fight with. Two Japanese planes came
strafing the streets of Wahiawa, a few miles from Pearl Harbor. At the
sound of firing a lieutenant and a sergeant in charge of a communications
section grabbed automatic rifles and rushed out to the sidewalk. The two
planes flew low, slowly and deliberately. They raked everything in their
path with machine-gun fire. Puffs of dirt exploded as the bullets whipped
into the earth. One plane, blazing away, swooped down toward the un-
protected communications station. Our men knelt, took a lead on the
plane as if aiming at a duck, waited until it was within 150 feet, and
emptied their magazines. The machine guns stopped firing. The plane
went out of control. It slipped sideways and crashed in flames a hundred
yards behind the communications post.

Higkam

At Hickam Field, the airfield so near Pearl Harbor that it is virtually
the same target, a long row of hangars and bombers invited the Japanese.
The attack combined bombing and strafing. The enemy planes bombed
the hangars and strafed the quarter-mile-long row of planes drawn up
in front of the hangars in orderly parade formation.

A bomb hit on a hangar announced the news to the thousands on the
post. Men came pouring out from all nine wings of the barracks — ^men
in slacks, men in shorts, some in their underwear only, some without
anything on at all. What was going on? Another mock war? No, bombsl
Everyone ran for clothes and then for his battle station.

Colonel Ferguson was in a building up the street from the hangar line.
He ran out into the open, saw the damaged planes, and jumped into
the gutter. While strafers bounced bullets off the road by his side the
colonel crawled down the gutter to the line. There he directed the tactical
squadrons who were arriving a hundred to a hundred and fifty at a time
on the double-quick.

TODAY’S WAR

563

“Disperse those planes!” was the order.

Up and back, up and back, the Japanese squadron was flying, strafing
the airplanes on the wings. The men ran on, heedless of the rain of
bullets. Some of the men faltered and fell.

A general’s aide was already on the line. He was trying to taxi one of
the big bombers. Strafers had put one motor out of commission. It was*
no easy job to taxi such a heavy plane with only one motor going. He
did it by racing the one engine until it pulled its side of the plane brake,
which forced the other wing up. Wading and crawling along under
enemy fire, he brought the plane across the landing mat to comparative
safety.

While the fire department fought flames at the tail end of some of the
planes, daring crew men jumped upon the wings, disconnected the en-
gines, and pulled their eight or nine hundred pounds’ weight to the edge
of the apron. Fine engines were saved by their quick thinking.

Inside one hangar twenty-one Hawaiians were fighting fire. Planes
roared hoarsely; machine guns stuttered overhead. In the middle of the
smoke-filled hangar Solomon Naauao, 245-pound athlete, trained the
water from his fire hose on the fuselage of a four-motor Flying Fortress,
pushing back the gasoline fire that leaped out from the fuselage onto the
wings. Solomon is a giant Hawaiian, a true son of a warrior. Short, thick
black hair fits his massive head like a fur cap. He was hoping the chief
would come soon with the foamite. Water was not much good against
gasoline.

One end of the burning hangar fell through to the floor, revealing a
sky dotted with three approaching Japanese bombers. They were flying
just a few feet above the hangar. The first one passed directly above
Solomon and his fellow fighters. Solomon heard an explosion and felt
hot pain.

“Lord help me!” he prayed, falling to the concrete floor. The inner
side of his right leg was blown away.

With his arms and sound leg he crawled through the smoke, away from
the flames. When two soldiers picked him up he learned that five others
with him had been wounded, three more blown to pieces. They left him
in the doorway to wait for the ambulance just coming in. As he lay there
Japanese planes flew slowly above, just clearing the hangar, and strafed
the men running to carry him to the ambulance. Others quickly picked
him up and sped him to the hospital.

Sergeant Dwyer got a machine gun out of ordnance, put a corporal in
charge of it, and dashed back for another. A bomb fell, and its deadly
fragments flew. He got his second gun and set it up on the parade
ground. He felt wet and looked at his shirt. It was soaked with blood.

564 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The sergeant remembered that something he had thought was a stone
had hit him when the bomb exploded. He was taken to the hospital with
a shattered shoulder.

A lieutenant ran toward a plane. A Japanese flew over, strafing. The
lieutenant fell to the ground, mortally wounded. A young corporal by
his side lifted him to an ambulance, sped back across the apron, leaped
in the plane, and taxied it out.

The raid lasted fifteen or twenty minutes. As soon as it ceased activity
burst upon the streets and flooded them. Ambulances and all the cars
that could be pressed into service as ambulances were whizzing up and
back from the bombed area. School busses. Army station wagons, Ameri-
can Factors delivery trucks, and private cars helped to deliver the
wounded and to rush surgical supplies from Honolulu to the hospitals.

Before half their work was completed they were caught in the second
most destructive raid. Two rows of high-flying bombers dropped over
twenty heavy and light demolition bombs from a height of ten to twelve
thousand feet. They landed in the most populous section of Hickam
Field. For what seemed a full minute after the bombs had landed there
was a dead silence in which nothing happened. Then the new mess hall,
large enough for six complete basketball courts inside, the photograph
laboratory, the guardhouse, the fire station, the barracks built to house
thousands, an immense hangar — everything in the entire area — ^seemed
to rise intact from the earth, poise in mid-air, and fall apart, dropping
back to the earth in millions of fragments and clouds of dust.

The third wave came strafing. Ground defenses were going full blast
and accounted for several of the raiders. Guns were set up on the parade
ground, on the hangar line, and even around the flagpole at post head-
quarters. One man — no one knows how — ^had lugged a machine gun up
on top of one of the unbombed hangars and was perched up there,
popping away at the strafing planes.

Green men under fire acted like veterans. All moved swiftly to their
places without any confusion or disorder. The cooks ran back into the
kitchen to remove all the stored food to a safer place. The kitchen was
hit. The staff sergeant in charge was struck on the head by a piece of
shrapnel. He ripped off his shirt, tied up his head to stop the blood, and
went on directing the work.

Outside, a corporal was speeding across the parade ground to help man
a machine gun. It was entirely in the open, without any protection what-
ever. Halfway there he was strafed by a low-flying Japanese pilot.
Mortally wounded, he kept on, trying to get to the machine gun. He fell
dead on the way.

His place was quickly taken. Eager privates ran out and took over the
gun. They did this time and again, dashing out under fire and taking

TODAY’S WAR 565

over free machine guns, even though the men who were operating them
had just been strafed and killed.

On the apron opposite the hangars a lone man was firing a .30-caliber
machine gun which he had carried out and set up on the mount of a
B-18 bomber. It was unstable because the mount was made for an aerial
gun. He braced it against his shoulder and kept up a steady stream of’
fire. An enemy plane flew low, strafed the plane he was in with incendiary
bullets, and set it on fire. There was no way for the lone machine gunner
to get out of his position in the nose of the bomber. All behind him was
a flaming deathtrap. Spectators not far away said that he did not even
try to get out but kept on firing. Long after the leaping flames had
enveloped the nose of the plane they saw the red tracer bullets from his
machine gun mounting skyward.

There was humor with the tragedy. When the Japanese came over
Hickam the third time they placed a bomb squarely on the “Snake
Ranch,” the boys’ name for their recently opened beer garden. A first
sergeant of a truck company had endured the first two waves bravely
enough, but this was too much. He dashed out of his barricade, shook
his fist at the sky, and shouted, “You dirty S.O.B.s! You’ve bombed the
most important building on the post!”

A group of United States bombers, all unarmed, were just flying in
from the mainland when the bewildered pilots found themselves pounced
upon by a fleet of armed and shooting bombers. Many of the Americans
did not see the Rising Sun on the planes and simply could not imagine
what had broken loose above their heads. What kind of Hawaiian wel-
come was this? The planes were to be delivered to one particular fields
but they dispersed in every direction and landed wherever they could.

LESSONS OF BATAAN
By Colonel Milton A. Hill

There were many things among the battle and campaign experiences
of our own troops and those of the Philippine Army during the whole of
the fighting against our Japanese foes in the Philippine Islands which
bring out lessons of marked value to all our troops in training. Some de-
tails we can’t go into for military reasons. But there are many other things
which to my mind should be known and discussed by our military forces
in general, and especially by our infantry and other ground forces since
the Philippine fighting was mainly warfare on the ground.

566 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The Japs had planes, of course, and ours were gone in short order, a
large part of them lost through the concentrated Japanese attacks on the
airfields where most of our planes were standing. (There should be no
need, any longer, of pointing to the folly of failing to disperse as widely
as possible the planes used in any theater of war, but it ought to be re-
peated every so often just in case somebody forgets, even momentarily.)
The small number of planes that did continue in service lasted for a
time, but as the papers in the United States told you, they became
casualties one by one till all were gone. Thus we never had any number
of them with which to strike at the enemy, and what we had were more
valuable, as long as they lasted, for the information they could quickly
obtain of Japanese dispositions. And so the fighting was mainly ground
warfare.

It would have been largely ground warfare, anyway, unless we assume
that we had started the fighting with enough air forces to possibly prevent
a landing. And if we had had that many planes it is doubtful whether the
attempt would have been made at all. Under a reasonable assumption of
greater air strength on our side, the added planes would have been a
powerful addition to our total fighting power. But too much of the Philip-
pines are made up of terrain over which air forces are at too heavy a
disadvantage for them to contribute decisively to the result unless the
comparative air power had been very one-sided.

This is shown by the way in which the fighting continued week after
week on Bataan. The Japs had planes, a good many of them, and they
did much scouting and bombing with them. But neither afTected the hard
ground fighting much, for as long as our troops were careful to make full
use of camoufiage and cover — they did very well on this; they soon
learned they had to— the reconnoitering planes couldn’t find many tar-
gets to report upon to their own artillery and aviation.

After our planes were gone we had observers on many high points, both
for artillery observation and air- warning purposes. Often these observers
had stations up in trees high up in the hills. Japanese planes would come
circling over low to the ground, trying to detect our dispositions or find
some installation to bomb or shell. They seldom, if ever, appeared to see
these observers even when they came within a few hundred yards of
them.

Where we had anything concentrated — supplies or troops — and the
Japs spied them out from the air, they soon came bombing, as we could
only expect in modem warfare. This meant, of course, as our tactical
manuals have told us for years (this is a thing we used to neglect so
badly in peacetime training that we had to learn it sharply in war), that
a practically continuous deployment of troops was necessary and, also, as
much dispersion as possible of supplies. For big dumps and storehouses
cause too much traffic and concentrated activity. The Japs destroyed

TODAYS WAR

567

without much diflSculty a big cold-storage warehouse. But such supplies
as the gasoline hauled to Bataan during the withdrawal from the other
Luzon sectors and hastily unloaded at a great many different spots were
spread out too widely, either to be found by Jap fliers or to be worth
bombing if they were found.

No, if we don’t go into the big aspects of the Philippine campaign — ^the*
lack of preparedness not in any way due to President Quezon or General
MacArthur, or anyone else in the islands themselves, and things like that
— the big lessons we find are fighting lessons for ground troops. And those
are the things I will especially stress in this article.

I find, when I think things over and go through my notebook to help
the details come back to mind, that one thing above all else about the
Philippine fighting needs emphasis — ^the proper training and hardening
of the soldier for combat. The Filipino and American troops in the islands
had all been training hard when war struck the islands. Some of the
newly formed units were not far along in their training, but most of the
older outfits had had a good deal of it. But superbly as they fought when
the time came to fight, none of them had gone far enough in their train-
ing before then. They could shoot, some units better than others, but all
of them probably better than the Japs. They were hard enough from the
work they had had to cover the distances they had to on foot and keep
fighting with good endurance. But they had not had what seems to me
now to be utterly requisite in the training of all combat units in this war
— a thorough toughening process through extended and realistic
maneuvers.

When troops go into campaign and battle they often have to operate
for days on little food and less sleep. They have to spend hours daily in,
close, hard contact with the ground. They have to drop automatically to
the ground and the nearest cover when planes surprise them overhead.
They have to use, in battle itself, every bump and pocket of ground for
the life-preserving cover it gives when fire is heaviest. They have to dig
themselves in habitually or find equivalent cover whenever they rest.

Our troops in the Philippines knew of these simple fighter’s truths.
They had not in general been omitted from tactical instruction except
where shortness of service had not brought the training thus far. But
these plain, vital matters of battle had not been pounded in and
emphasized over and over until they were part of the very reactions of
the troops.

Our prewar training in marching and endurance, I think, lacked reality
most of all. The way to train troops for the rigors they are bound to meet
sooner or later in war is to give them some actual practice, not only in
making thirty or forty miles on foot, but in doing it hungry. This shows
the troops what one of the tough sides of war may be like later on. But
above all else it shows them — or most of them, anyway — that they have

568

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

got the guts to do it. The American soldier — and the Filipino soldier too
— ^has a splendid tenacity and toughness, as the whole story of Luzon and
Bataan did show. But he’s a far better soldier in his first battle if you give
him beforehand every possible experience he is going to run into later,
and this with all possible realism and emphasis on the things that count
in actual campaign.

It shouldn’t be necessary to say that our Jap and Nazi enemies do this.
It’s only good, common soldier sense to train in this way. And it’s my
positive belief that the American soldier thrives on such training and
appreciates it to the full as what he must go through to be a soldier in the
real meaning of the word.

I think every man in our Army of a few years’ service will remember
how it was always the toughest, longest hikes of peacetime training the
troops remembered longest and talked about (and bragged about) most.
And it’s sure to be the same in all our newer units. The hard jobs, the
hard maneuvers, when there was a sound reason for the hardness, make
officers and their men alike proud of getting the hard jobs done, proud
of going through the hard maneuvers.

But there’s a better reason than pride. The soldier who knows what’s
coming is not surprised. He knows what to do and how to do it. He kills
more men of the enemy’s troops and preserves his own life for further
fighting far more readily.

Take the simple business of hitting cover when the warning comes of
planes, or no warning comes, as it sometimes doesn’t, and the planes
come over fast and low. There’s no excuse whatever for a leader who
neglects to train his men to get the advantage of the ground, not only
as protection against bombs, but against bullets or shells. Readers of the
Infantry Journal know how often this point has been pounded home in
its pages. And every soldier with a few months of training knows what
the training manuals say about it. It’s all in the Soldier*s Handbook,
which every recruit receives to study. But just the same, there were a lot
of men killed and wounded in the Philippines standing up when bombs
came down. Somebody — a lot of somebodies, in fact — ^hadn’t pounded it
into them that a soldier flat on his stomach in even a small depression has
ten or twenty times the chance of not getting hit by a piece of bomb or
shell that a man does standing up.

It’s all in the same general lesson of efficient soldiering that a fighting
infantryman must make the most of the ground at any time he’s fighting
an enemy in strength or has reason to think he is. We lost men in the
Philippines when they used the half-squat, semi-crouching method, com-
mon in peacetime maneuvers and training, as they approached the
enemy. If the enemy is there, opposite, in strength, or if you have any
reason to think he is there, your advance must either be a long-distance
crawl from cover to cover, or a combination of crawling and rushes so

TODAY’S WAR 569

short that the Japs or the Nazis can’t take aim and fire or shift a machine
gun upon you before you are down again.

It’s all in the books we learn war from. We can’t learn the experience
of battle itself from tactical manuals and training instruction. But we can
come so close to it, if we insist on realities and actually read for gospel
and put into full effect in our training what the manuals say, that we can <
save the lives of hundreds in every battalion in the first few days of actual
combat.

Naturally, troops learn these things for themselves very rapidly during
heavy fighting — at least those who live or stay out of the hospital long
enough to learn them do. At best this war is going to cost more American
lives than we as a nation have been willing to think about. We who are
American Army leaders have the knowledge, the authority, and the
absolute responsibility to see to it that battle training is never slighted in
any unit.

Make our troops tough and hard. Make our troops wise in the ways
of battle. Do this by putting into their training as close to battle experi-
ence as it’s possible to get without bullets and bombs and shells. Make
sure not a man has to learn for himself in combat or waste his life or his
service in the learning. Even give punishments to the soldier who is slow
or careless. It may easily save his life.

To put all this another way — the platoon or company commander who
brings his outfit in from tactical drill with no dust and dirt on their uni-
forms, the result of plenty of hard contact with the ground, is the leader
who will lose lo per cent or more of his men in their first fighting day.

I know I’m repeating. I intend to repeat, and I’m going to come back
to it later. This, I am certain, was one of the biggest lessons of Luzon.
There were reasons why at least some troops had to learn it the hard way
there; they hadn’t had time to train. There is no reason on earth why
any of our other troops should have to do so. It’s up to every American
leader of fighting Army men to see that they don’t.

Once our American and Filipino troops learned the simple, practical
basic lessons of warfare, they excelled the Japs opposing them in several
ways. Our men were better shots than the Japanese with every weapon,
up to and including the artillery.

They were also wiser and more efficient in close-combat methods. Our
troops didn’t go in for letting the Japanese close in if they could kill them
before they could do so. Our troops had plenty of will to close with the
enemy. But they knew it was only common sense to use rifles and machine
guns and then hand grenades, if they had to.

Most of the American and Filipino troops carried hand grenades on
their belts as sidearms — they liked them better for close-in fighting than
any other weapon.

570 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Even when the Japs did manage to get close they weren’t so good as
bayonet fighters, so I was informed. I was also told, however, that they
are very good with swords.

Our troops improvised grenades from bamboo, including the fuses.
The joints of bamboo are closed by partitions and thus form a natural
closed tube. The engineer troops would fill these tubes with nails or any
other scrap iron or steel, tamp in some powder, close them, and attach a
fuse, usually a match head. The troops saved cellophane from cigarette
packages to keep the moisture out of the fuses.

There isn’t a great deal to say about the use of tanks because we didn’t
have very many and I do not have any full reports on what they did.
During the Luzon campaign the tank units were switched from one front
to another, wherever they were needed worst. Unquestionably if we had
had large numbers of good tanks they would have been of much value in
the early fighting, but since much of the Philippines is not good tank
ground it is hard to say what the final effect of an adequate number
would have been. We could have used a lot more of them, just as we
needed more planes, more artillery, and more troops of all kinds.

On Bataan the tanks that were left after the withdrawal were used to
patrol narrow trails over which they could travel. They did some good
work at such patrolling.

I have already made some references to planes in the Philippine fight-
ing. Despite the lack of planes on our own side, our troops brought some
down with their own fire. The big AA guns on Corregidor knocked down
a number; the mobile AA-gun units on the mainland did, too, and so did
the infantry and other troops fighting as infantry, when the planes came
low. The Jap air units took their losses when they really meant business —
when they had a mission they wanted to carry out. The losses to them
from ground fire were not great, perhaps, considering the planes available
to the Japs. But these losses from our own ground fire counted, as they
always do.

When planes come over at low enough ranges for infantry to open up,
it depends upon the situation whether they should open fire. Sometimes
to do so betrays their positions to the enemy in the air, but this usually
won’t happen when fire is opened from imder good overhead cover, as
in firing upward between the branches of trees. Often the enemy fliers
will already know that troops are in a given area, as when they come
over to bomb repeatedly. Troops can open fire briefly at such planes but
dmild dive for cover a second or so before the bombs hit the ground.
What the manuals say about such fire is sensible, and I wouldn’t suggest
any changes in it.

You have to be fast when the bombs are about to fall. Once I wasn’t
anywhere near fast enough. I was riding in a command car, with a driver

TODAY’S WAR

571

and two noncoms, on the way up to the ist Division. On one side of the
road which ran near the sea was a perpendicular bank about seven feet
high. The road and the side out to the sea was flat and without a particle
of cover in the ground. All of a sudden the car stopped running and I
was sitting in it all by myself. I never saw anybody disappear faster than
the driver and the two sergeants. We were near an area occupied by an
AA-gun battery. They had heard Jap planes coming either to attack the
guns or us or both. They assumed I heard them, too, but I didn’t. But
with the first bomb I was up over that seven-foot bank into a hollow in
the ground in just as fast time as they made it. There were nine bombs
altogether, but they didn’t hit us or our car. One of the fliers saw the
car, and the beaten zone of his machine-gun bullets passed close by it
but didn’t hit it.

Our troops made some use of reconnaissance patrols into the Jap lines
to gather information. In the Filipino units some individual soldiers
would steal out on their own into the Jap lines just to get a Jap or two
and bring back some souvenirs. One soldier of the 41st Infantry was cap-
tured, and for some reason the Jap officer who took him got angry and
drew his sword to cut off his head. The Filipino soldier took the sword
away from him, killed the Jap, and escaped, bringing the sword back
with him. There may have b^n individual scouts who went from our
forces behind the Jap lines and stayed there for some time. If so, I did
not hear of these, except for some men who crossed the bay to Cavite
and sent back radio reports on the Japanese gun positions to Corregidor.

Since Bataan is largely covered with jungle or heavy growth there was
much cutting to be done. Here the troops found the bolo absolutely
essential. There is so much tough bamboo and cane in the Philippine
jungle growth that a heavy blade, like the bolo, is needed. The lighter
machete, which is probably better for a softer type of jungle growth, is
too light for use in the Philippine jungles.

During the whole campaign on Luzon, and later on Bataan, I never
once heard of any friction of any kind between the different branches of
the fighting teams. Nor did I detect any signs of lack of co-ordination.
Splendid teamwork was particularly noticeable between the infantry and
the artillery. They worked together perfectly. The whole fighting force
pitched in, and there weren’t any hitches at all due to different collar
ornaments. I should say that this extended also to the naval units and
marines and the air units, which operated as ground troops after their
planes were gone. An army is supposed to work as a combat team, ac-
cording to all the tactical doctrines taught in our military manuals. Well,
the teamwork was there, in our force, from the beginning to the end.

The work of the artillery can hardly be praised too highly. The artillery

572 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

served the infantry time after time by breaking up Jap concentrations or
convoys of trucks coming forward to attack. They used both direct and
indirect fire, whichever served the purpose, and they gave quick, accurate
support.

One day up on the front an outpost located a sizable number of Japs
in an assembly position under some trees. The outpost commander picked
up the telephone, called the artillery CP and told them about the Japs
and where they were. In a fraction of a minute the shells of our artillery
came down on the right spot.

The larger artillery fir^ at ranges up to ten thousand yards. There
was excellent observation on Bataan at first since the northern part of
that area is fairly open and flat, right up to the foothills and the moun-
tains. It was possible even after that, when we dropped back to the south
to new lines, to obtain very fair observation, and the artillery broke up
Jap concentrations time and again. At first, of course, the few planes we
had helped the effectiveness of our artillery also.

There was nothing special about the artillery methods to fit the situa-
tion. They just did their stuff as good artillery always does. After we had
settled down on Bataan the artillery probably had accurate ranges
worked out to every conceivable area to Ae front, which of course is the
normal way of doing in such a situation.

Our artillery made good use of nets and foliage for camouflage. It isn’t
hard to do this on Bataan, where most of the area is heavily wooded. One
artillery battery was especially good at this.

In fact, the Japs generally had a considerable amount of difficulty in
locating our artillery. They did knock some guns out by bombs and some
by shelling.

The firing of the Jap artillery was not as good as our own, probably
owing to the lack of observation because of our good camouflage. Their
artillery fire was pretty accurate when they could see the target. When
they had captured Bataan and there was nothing to oppose them their
heavy artillery fire was most accurate and effective against Corregidor.

I do not know of any use of chemicals of any kind by our forces during
the whole campaign. We didn’t even use smoke or tear gas, since there
were strict orders out against it.

The Japs did try to use white phosphorus shells to set fire to the trees
and imdergrowth. But white phosphorus doesn’t bum long enough to set
fire to Philippine jungle growth. There were not many casualties from
these white-phosphorus shells.

Most of the troops of the Philippine Army had no gas masks, and our
own troops didn’t carry theirs regularly.

Our troops wore their helmets only when it was necessary. Most of the
men of the Philippine Army didn’t have any. Those of us who went back
and forth from the front to headquarters would take a helmet along but

TODAY^S WAR 573

often would forget it. Most of the helmets our American troops and the
Philippine Scout regiments had were of the old World War type.

Command and staff functioned generally according to our prescribed
methods throughout the campaign. What we were taught ateut these
methods is genially sound. The commander should be out with his fight-
ing troops as much as he can, but his staff should stick at the command
post unless there is some important reason for a staff member to leave it.
The commander, however, by just being up with his troops, gives them
confidence.

Our commanders followed this principle right up to and including Gen-
eral MacArthur and the different corps and army commanders. General
Wainright liked to get into a pair of jumpers and take a rifle right up
into the front defense areas. The troops were very fond of him, and the
fact that he was there sometimes, bossing them aroimd and fighting with
them, meant a lot.

But the staff should stick to its work in the relative safety of the com-
mand post because it has all the work it can do. Besides, the command
simply falls on the shoulders of the next ranking man if the commander
becomes a casualty, but a hard-plugging, smooth-functioning staff can be
badly disrupted by losses, thus in turn disrupting for some time the
essential details of an operation.

This applies especially to the G-2 of large units. He should stay at
headquarters and not go out trying to rustle up information on his own.
He should send his assistants for any information that he needs which
doesn’t come in from other sources. But his own mind, with its grasp of
the known information of the enemy, may be of vital value to the com-
mander at any time. He must evaluate for his commander all information
of importance as fast as it comes in. He must be able to give him a quick
picture of the situation at any time. He is needed at headquarters con-
stantly.

The same thing generally applies to the other main members of the
General Staff. They, together, have the whole picture in mind for the
commander to refer to for any particular details he needs. He, too, has
the general picture. But when he is away he often loses it, even when he
can keep frequent contact with his staff, and he has to be brought up to
the moment by his staff as soon as he comes back.

As for an inspector general, which I was, he ceases to be an inspector
in the customary sense of reporting on detaik of administrative operation
and general housekeeping, and becomes a tactical investigator for his com-
mander. The experience of Luzon points to duties of inspecting the
tactical operation, combat efficiency, and fighting condition of specific
units. That is what the Jap IG does, and every commander of a division
or bigger unit docs need a special assistant to help him in this respect. G-g

574 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

is too busy with the great number of details regaurding our own operations
to handle this duty. Either some G-2 agency or the inspector general
should carry out this job.

Naturally we were short of officers on the Philippines, and I worked
mainly by myself on such specific tasks of investigation as were needed.
I’m not using the word “investigation” here particularly in its ordinary
peacetime sense, which refers to the duty of looking into alleged offenses.
I mean a general agent of the commander when he wants an especially
detailed and firsthand report on any matter that arises under campaign
conditions.

A good many of the staff customarily carried rifles when they went up
to where the fighting was. I usually carried a Garand and almost always
found somebody who needed it when I went forward. Then I would
get another one when I went back to take along on my next trip up.

At the lower headquarters the usual necessary administrative duties
continued right on through combat. The first sergeant kept the morning
report and the sick report and made out the ration report. His main job
was to keep track of the men of his company and help take care of them.
Regimental headquarters kept the records required. Their load was not
particularly heavy since there were no replacements, which greatly in-
creases regimental paper work in most war situations.

There weren’t any orderly rooms as such, of course. But you would
find a first sergeant usually with a dugout of some kind, or other suitable
protection, with his field desk in it and all he needed to keep up his cus-
tomary and necessary administrative duties.

All other administrative offices appeared to function reasonably well
under battle conditions. True, there were bound to be complete break-
downs of some activities. 1 never did get a bill from the commissary in
Manila for my December purchases. I suppose they burned all records
up when the city was evacuated and the QM left Manila. So this is one
bill that will hang over me for a long, long time. Property records, too,
eventually became meaningless. As accountable officer 1 had signed for
all United States property the Philippine Army troops had received —
millions of dollars in Ordnance and other equipment. The regulations
were that the different American supply agencies — the Quartermaster,
Ordnance, and so on — didn’t deal directly with the Philippine Army. So
an officer was appointed to sign for all such government property, and I
happened to be the one. Then I, in turn, would get memorandum
receipts from the Philippine Army. When General MacArthur’s Far
Eastern Forces Headquarters moved from Manila to Corregidor, the
papers about this property were packed up and taken along. I had the
papers all stored away carefully when we got over there. But a bomb hit
it and destroyed it all, clearing me very simply of a good many million
dollars of accountability.

TODAY’S WAR

575

There were, as the newspapers and radio said, a good many promotions
made during the Philippine fighting. Promotion was recommended within
each regiment and usually went through higher up, though I do recall one
case of an enlisted man of marked ability who didn’t get the full promotion
recommended. I have not intended to take up space in this account by tell-
ing of individual exploits. There were many fine deeds, but others have
done a better job than I possibly could in telling about them. However, I
don’t think the story of Frenchy Saulnier has been told, and it should be
told. Frenchy Saulnier was an American private who somehow took com-
mand of a battalion of the Philippine Army in battle. This unit had had
losses and was, for the time, without direction, and Frenchy took it in hand
and straightened it out. Since his army commander had earlier received a
report on Frenchy telling how he had assisted the artillery by taking over
liaison duties and ordering the fire moved up until it was almost upon his
own position but right on the enemy’s, the army commander recommended
that Frenchy Saulnier be commissioned as a major. He had proved in
battle that he could handle the job, but it finally worked out that Frenchy
was made a lieutenant. He was one of those natural leaders of men in com-
bat every war brings out. He was later decorated, I believe. Everybody
said that Frenchy Saulnier was a natural.

There was naturally a shortage of insignia on Bataan for those who
gained promotions. Some had to go without. The soldiers of the Philip-
pine Scout units, some of them long expert in such work, made beautiful
insignia out of aluminum — ^better than you buy in some shops. They also
made colonels’ eagles out of 20-centavo pieces. The Ordnance came
through with aluminum stars for the new generals.

The problem of supply, as everybody knew in the United States from
the reports that were in the paper, was just about the worst trouble we
had. When the troops moved out to the different defense sectors upon
the opening of war they naturally took out with them a considerable
amount of supplies. There was the usual system of railheads, dumps, and
even “boathcads.” If anything, we erred on the side of having too many
supplies in the advanced sectors. For when we pulled back eventually to
occupy Bataan, a lot of supplies were lost to the enemy, although great
quantities were carried to Bataan by truck. How much more food we
would have had on Bataan if those supplies had not been lost it is hard
to tell, but I imagine it would have made a considerable difference in the
length of time we could have held out.

On Bataan there were some main supply dumps established according
to plan, but there were also a whole lot of small ones scattered well
around where trucks unloaded hurriedly when they came out from
Manila after we knew the withdrawal to Bataan would have to be naade.
The issuance of the rations on Bataan was kept under very good control
both as to the supplies brought into the sector and as to those that existed

576

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

in the area, such as rice. It was the harvesttime for rice and it was possi-
ble to gather all the crops on Bataan itself, but this wasn’t a great deal
since so much of Bataan is uncultivated. There wasn’t much time to get
anything from the areas farther north where there was a great deal more
rice and other supplies. Our reports were that the Japs made the people
continue their harvesting as fast as they occupied a new area.

The story of the food during the last few weeks has probably been thor-
oughly reported. One of the worst blows, of course, was the destruction
of the big cold-storage plant on Corregidor. This had a large quantity of
carabao and other meat in it — ^frozen meat. There was much of this not
destroyed by the bombing, though the bombing put the refrigerator plant
out of business. The only thing to do then was to get this meat out for
the troops and refugees to eat as fast as possible before it spoiled. But a
lot of it did spoil.

Toward the end, since there was no forage — ^no grain or hay — ^for the
pack mules and other military animals, they were all slaughtered except a
few pack mules which were still needed to carry supplies and weapons
up into the different parts of the mountainous area of Bataan. I think
some animals were still in use at the time of the surrender.

It might seem that it should have been possible to obtain sizable sup-
plies of fish. Fishing fleets did go out, but the Japs bombed them. The
bombs themselves killed a lot of fish, and it was possible to collect some
of these in small boats. Some fishing was attempted at night, but it was
almost impossible to co-ordinate the activities of the fishing boats with
those of the defending troops both on Corregidor and on Bataan. For the
Japs did make attempts to land by boat in the area we occupied, and it
was only natural that our own troops would open up on any boats they
saw.

All rice and carabao obtained from Filipino farmers, was, of course,
purchased by the government. One thing it was possible for us to manu-
facture was salt. This was made from sea water.

There were some other special sources of food. The Filipino troops
pieced out their meager rations with the leaves from certain trees which
seemed to go all right as spinach. A small amount of Japanese rations
was captured. The Jap ration was in a small compact package contain-
ing some little cakes of food and a few cigarettes. These rations were
taken mainly during the attempted raid from the sea by several hundred
Japanese troops on our west-coast fiiank. Jap planes brought the food
over and dropped it. The aim of the Jap fliers was poor, and our troops
got most of the food instead of the isolated Jap groimd troops. A good deal
of it also hung in trees.

One of our veterinary officers shot some crows and cooked them. He
insisted that they were not bad at all. Practically anything fresh was very
tasty when the rations got low.

TODAY’S WAR

577

There was never at any time any shortage of water on Bataan, al-
though there was on Corregidor. On Bataan there was some artesian
water and plenty of good, clear creek water coming down off the moun-
tains.

There was some smuggling of liquor and cigarettes from Manila to the
troops on Bataan after Manila was occupied. Very high prices were
charged by the smugglers — for example, as high as two hundred dollars a
carton for cigarettes. There was not a great deal of such smuggling, how-
ever, because of the high risk. The Japs killed a good many of the
smugglers.

At first there was an issue of cigarettes to the troops. The smoking
ration grew smaller as time went on, and finally tobacco ran out entirely,
except on Corregidor. I think there was a little left there at the end,
mainly for distribution in the hospitals. Coffee also got very low toward
the end.

There was money to pay our American troops each payday but, of
course, money didn’t mean much on Bataan. There wasn’t much of any-
thing to spend it for. Stakes got pretty high in some of the card games,
and a good many of the troops just didn’t take their money on payday
but permitted it to accumulate. Some took it and immediately deposited
it with the finance officer. A good many got checks and mailed them
home. Personally I found practically no use for money during almost all
of the Philippine campaign until I reached Australia.

For the most part the normal methods of supply proved sound in the
many emergency situations during the Philippine campaign. There were
bound to be many improvised methods set up, but I observed no par-
ticular weaknesses in our prescribed supply methods for the field. The
quartermaster and ordnance troops were eternally busy, and I often won-
dered how they got as much done as they did under the conditions.

There was so much for them to do in the line of their regular duties
that it wasn’t possible to consider using any of the service units as com-
bat troops. The only special fighting units formed were those composed
of air troops. They made very good ground soldiers after they got the
hang of it. These “air-ground” units had to learn practically everything
from the beginning. They held the western sector of the lines on Bataan —
the strongest ground, which it was logical to assign to such inexperienced
ground troops.

The engineers handled the demolition work most efficiently. They
blew up many bridges, destroyed oil tanks, and demolished other installa-
tions. Among the things they destroyed were the big oil and gas tanks in
Manila.

The work of demolishing bridges had to be done on close schedule
during the withdrawal because, of course, the engineers couldn’t blow up
the bridges until the last of our units had cleared them. This required a

578 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

timetable in close co-operation with the other ground-unit commanders.
Only once that I know of did this co-ordination fall down. This hap-
pened in the Lingayen area a good many miles north of Manila when we
lost a few tanks because the bridge was blown before the tanks got over,
and there wasn’t any way for them to go around and get across the stream
somewhere else. Somebody must have blown the charge too soon.

The Philippine Army and our own troops both had a considerable
number of motor vehicles. The motorization of our American units began
a good many years ago and has continued steadily. But there were no-
where near enough vehicles in the military forces when it came to making
the big-scale withdrawal into Bataan. The result was that hundreds of
civilian busses and cars were requisitioned through the Quartermaster,
and hundreds of others were simply commandeered. This is a possibility
of warfare in any region where there are enough non-military motor
vehicles to be of help to the armed forces. It is also a matter on which I
recall little, if any, practical instruction in our military manuals. From
what happened in the Philippines it seems to me highly desirable to work
out some general method of commandeering and requisitioning non-
military motor vehicles which could be applied in any region where there
were vehicles to take over.

It is true that there were no great difficulties about this except for a
good deal of confusion. Cars were taken out of dealers’ display rooms;
they were taken out of secondhand yards, and they were commandeered
right on the roads and in the towns. Some of the bus lines, I believe, were
taken over in accordance with long-standing plans. But for the most part
the requisitioning and commandeering were emergency measures. An-
other thing that simplified matters was that there was no unwillingness on
the part of car owners. Many were, in fact, glad to turn them over to the
government and receive a receipt for them when things began to look
bad, which was only natural.

The busses and cars thus taken over were used for every imaginable
purpose. They were used for hauling supplies and troops, for evacuating
wounded, for liaison and messenger purposes, and every other kind of
military errand.

On Bataan itself it was possible to use trucks and cars to some extent.
Thei« was enough gasoline on Bataan so that I believe some was still left
at the end. This was despite the fact that the rationing of gas and oil was
not under good control for some time after the withdrawal. I have men-
tioned elsewhere how gasoline was brought into Bataan and dumped all
over the area. Often a truck bringing food and other supplies from
Manila would bring one or two drums of gasoline also. During the last
few weeks the gasoline was rationed and there was very little allowed for
administrative purposes but still enough for most tactical purposes. It.

TODAY’S WAR 579

was necessary^ also, to mix the aviation gas with low-octane gas to get a
product that would work well in motor vehicles.

It was my observation that the different means of signal communica-
tion we used held up very well throughout the whole campaign. Of
course there is a considerable amount of long-distance commercial wire
in the Philippines, and this was a good thing because one of the many
things we were short of was military wire. Between the combined com-
mercial and military wire nets and the radio net, we kept up fairly good
communications at all times. There was also a system of scheduled mes-
sengers between the advanced command post of General MacArthur and
the I and II Corps, and each corps had its own courier system down to
the different divisions making up the corps. All three methods of com-
munication — ^wire, radio, and courier — ^were used between Bataan and
Corregidor.

There was also a system of observers up on the mountains of Bataan.
These were, for the most part, trained spotters and were in wire com-
munication with their units. Ladders were built up to the tops of tall
trees, and then the observation nest was camouflaged. I never heard of a
Jap flier being able to find one of these.

Colonel de Jesus, G-2 of the Philippine Army, kept up a messenger
service through the Japanese lines back and forth to Manila. These
messengers usually went by banca (a small native boat) across Manila
Bay. Word was sometimes sent into Manila this way to friends held
prisoners, and the messengers brought back reports of numbers, move-
ments, and other military news.

We even had a newspaper on Bataan, a single sheet published both in
English and Tagalog, as long as there was any paper which could be
used for it. This little war newspaper contained brief items of news from
the States, news about possible relief and anything that would help
morale.

News also came in from outside from over the regular radio waves. I
think all the American troops had radios in their companies. The Philip-
pine Army units had a few of them, but since they were newly organized
units most of them had not been able to build up any company funds
with which to buy radios for their men. Some of the reports we heard
from the United States didn’t make much sense to us there on Bataan,
especially because of the groundless and sugar-coated optimism on the
part of a good many radio commentators. But all in all, radios were help-
ful to morale.

Our troops had some of the walkie-talkie type' of radio. These proved
most useful. One of the cleverest jobs of reconnaissance done during the
whole campaign was the result of making use of these radios. The Japs
had some big-gun emplacements near Cavite, which was several miles

580 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

across Manila Bay from Corregidor. By then we didn’t have any planes
to observe the position of these big-gun batteries. A patrol of our men
slipped over to the mainland from Corregidor with walkie-talkies — I
believe they went over by night — ^succeeded in getting close enough to the
Jap gun emplacements to report on their positions, and stayed there for
the better part of a day, sending back information to the gun crews on
Corregidor while keeping under cover. Our own guns silenced these big
batteries that day, and the men who used the walkie-talkies got back to
Corregidor O.K.

A good many men found comfort in religion as the situation grew
tougher on Bataan. You would hear prayers pretty regularly from some
men, and there was evidence that most of them felt comfort in religion
during the hard days especially on the battle front. The chaplains were
constantly busy holding services and conducting burials, and there were
even three weddings that I know of.

When there was time to rest — ^and you have to take some time for rest
in any long-drawn campaign; you can’t keep going all the time — officers
and men alike read anything they could lay hands on that was in print. I
remember reading some thoroughly asinine novels and dipping into old,
tom magazines and reading stuff I probably wouldn’t ever have thought
of reading in other circumstances. It was just tripe. It was much the same
with everybody else. Old magazines were passed around until they were
worn to tatters. It was the same way with such books as there were. Read-
ing matter is practically a necessity wherever troops stay put for any
length of time.

Music was also a help. The regimental bands apparently didn’t have
their instruments on Bataan, for I heard no bands playing. However, a
number of men, both in the Philippine Army units and our own, had
instruments of one kind or another, and there was a good deal of singing.

There was a chorus not far from the main headquarters which made
some good music. I’m not musical, but it sounded good. The troops sang
all the old songs that troops always sing — some newer ones too. A war
will never interfere with the singing of American soldiers.

I haven’t said much, so far, about the enemy, and there’s a good deal
to say. Others have described him in various ways, so a part, at least, of
my own observations and information may be repetition, but some of it
may be helpful.

The Jap can fight, and fight hard, and no question about it. And he
has endurance and the spirit and will to keep on attacking.

When Japanese infantry attacks, you have to kill them to stop them.
They use mass formations much more than we would, and they often
assault in such formations. It is also generally true that a Jap will fight
to the death rather than be taken prisoner.

TODAY*S WAR

581

The Japs will, however, retreat, and they often did. Once when the
Japs attacked in an infantry sector they attacked in three waves. Our
infantry simply mowed down these three waves, mainly by aimed rifle
fire. A great number of other Jap casualties were due to our machine-
gun fire, however. Once in another infantry regimental sector an Ameri-
can machine gunner whose gun was in a good position commanding a.
road got left at the gun position when his outfit pulled back. Somehow,
it was nearly two days before a patrol went forward again and found him.
They found him pretty well out of his head, yelling, “They’re coming by
thousands!” But there were hundreds of Japs piled up dead and dying
in front of his position, and none of them had been able to get to the gun.

The Japs like to attack at night. They usually make a feint at one
place and the real attack in another. They sometimes keep alignment at
night by using a drummer who regulates the advance by different beats
of the drum.

It shouldn’t be thought that the Japs always attack in the open. They
are good at infiltration, too, as good as Indians ever were. They will work
forward and stay frozen in one position for hours at a time, until they
get their chance. They like to work in behind the enemy and shoot him
up and worry him. Our troops had to keep skirmish lines out to stop
such infiltration.

We had nowhere near enough barbed wire or other similar defensive
aids. It often seemed to me that if we had had something like sharp-
pointed “jacks” of the type children play with, but a good deal larger —
thousands of them scattered well out to the front of our defensive sectors
— ^it would never have been possible for Jap troops to infiltrate either by
day or by night. The sharp points would have injured their feet severely.
But we had no particular amount of defensive obstacles of any kind.

The Japs left their dead on the field. When we made a counterattack
the smell of the rotting bodies made it tough on our troops. When we
gained an area they had been occupying we took their dead back by
truckloads and burned the bodies. Grave-registration units took care of
our own dead with the assistance of the troops.

Infiltrating small groups of Japanese were more than once successful
in getting through our lines and then setting off firecrackers in the rear
of our troops. Once one of our Filipino divisions was pretty badly
panicked by this because the troops thought they were surrounded. If
troops do keep their heads, as thoroughly trained troops will, such fire-
cracker efforts are a waste of energy.

The Japs tried a number of other tricks besides firecrackers. The slang
habit of calling everybody “Joe,” which was common some time ago in
the States, prevailed strongly among our American soldiers during the
fighting in the Philippines. The Japs tried the trick of calling out, “Hey,
Joe, come here and help me,” or words to that effect. This worked a

582 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

few times^ but our men soon found ways to detect this trick. There are
plenty of American words you can fire at a Jap who knows some Eng-
lish, which he can’t understand or can’t pronounce without an easily
detectable accent. Our troops learned every trick of combat fast. They
lost men unnecessarily in the beginning, as I have said earlier in this
account. But they learned fast, and any initial unsteadiness soon disap-
peared as they settled down to the business of war.

When the Japs captured Filipino prisoners they stripped them naked
and sent them to the rear without any guard. They did not take in-
dividual American prisoners, though they did apparently send some
groups of captured Americans to the rear. Where a single American
fought until surrounded he wasn’t given any chance to give up. But at
close quarters the fighting was usually to the death on both sides. We
didn’t take many prisoners ourselves, largely for the reason that the
Jap soldier preferred to die.

It’s true, also, that the Jap fliers didn’t carry parachutes. All our own
fliers said they never saw a Jap with one. When a Jap plane falls the
flier falls.

The fact that the Japanese simply quit fighting and waited through a
number of weeks for us to get weak and sick does not reflect on the battle
courage of the individual Japanese soldier. For that must have been
done on the orders of the high command, who decided that their forces
could not stand the heavy losses we were inflicting. We did get reports
from Manila to the effect that some enemy soldiers had been executed
there for refusing to go to Bataan when the fighting was heavy in January
and February. But there was little sign of fighting weakness in the troops
immediately opposed to us. They apparently would attack anything they
were ordered to attack, and do it in any formation, however vulnerable
to our defensive fires. It is possible that the heavy losses broke the spirit
of some Jap units, but in general there was no sign of it at any time.

Colonel Donald Hilton informed me of one x)peration which shows
clearly the Jap military character. Some of his men found a diary of a
dead Japanese officer. The entries in the diary were in a script that indi-
cated a man of high education. In the diary this Jap officer told how
he had come from Manchukuo and landed at Legaspi in southern Luzon,
and from then on, there was a day-to-day account of his duties during
the invasion.

Upon reaching the forces opposite our own lines in Bataan, his com-
mander ordered him to take his unit in boats down the west coast of
Bataan to land behind our lines. He carried out his orders by having
a few of his men get ashore the first night and . another fraction of his
forces on succeeding nights. The first men who landed would not begin
a fight but would simply lie quiet during the day until the force had
been built up.

TODAY'S WAR

583

Our outguards discovered this attempt, and Colonel Hilton’s battalion
was ordered to drive the Jap forces out. The battle lasted about three
days, and 1 understand much was said about it here at home in the
papers.

The Japanese infantrymen carried an efficient rifle of small caliber — a
bolt-action weapon which he loads from clips. This rifle has no windage
regulator on it. The Jap soldier fires more from the standing or kneeling
position than from the prone position, which we use for most of our firing.

A general exception to this was the Japanese sniper. These were good
shots, especially selected. They learned to fire from almost any position,
even tying themselves up in trees to shoot. They also used shell holes for
sniper posts. The snipers used all kinds of camouflage. Their instructions
apparently were to kill all officers possible, because they would let enlisted
men go by in order to kill an oflScer. It was accordingly necessary for
all officers not to wear their insignia of rank on their shoulders when
they were up near the front.

One day an American officer of one of our Philippine Scout regiments
was going through the jungle and noticed a dead Jap in the crotch of a
tree. This enemy soldier had no shoes on, and one of the Philippine
Scouts with the officer made a practice jab at the Jap’s foot wiA his
bayonet as he went by him. Another Scout a little to the rear happened
to see the Jap’s face wince and, realizing at once that he was alive,
killed him.

Once it was decided by the Jap high command not to keep on taking
losses but to wait for us to weaken — they knew what supplies we had,
and their blockade was almost airtight — they just sat in front of us and
harassed us by bombing whatever they could see to bomb. There was
enough bombing to keep troops well on the alert in the daytime but
very little at night; hence our troops could usually get rest at night. This
continued until the Japs knew we were hungry and sick, and then they
made their biggest push with everything they had.

I was sick myself and in the hospital for some time with a combination
of malaria and diet-deficiency diseases, the illnesses that weakened most
of us. From firsthand experience and from all of my direct observations
and what was told to me by others during the whole campaign, I want to
say that the work of the Medical Corps deserves much praise. It was
untiring and efficient throughout. They were everywhere they were
needed — ^first-aid men right with the troops, well-functioning first-aid
stations just to the rear of the front-line fighting units, and larger installa-
tions farther to the rear. But the story of the hard-working nurses, doc-
tors, and enlisted men on Bataan and Corregidor has been well told
by others, and I will not go into it further except to say one other thing.
It appeared to me that the medical methods of aid to the troops now

584 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

established need no particular alteration; they worked out well under the
most difficult conditions.

During the period when illness and hunger steadily weakened our
forces they nevertheless begged more than once to go on the offensive.
I don’t know when the point came when we began to feel we knew
the Japs had us. I do know we thought for a long time we could whip
them and then toward the end began to realize we weren’t going to
make it.

That is what we must do— are doing now — ^to the Japs. They have
never been licked in past wars or in the first months of this one. Until
they know, through one defeat after another, that they can be whipped
and whipped badly, they are going to stay cocky and keep on thinking
they can whip the world. We have got to make them feel, time after
time, what we Americans finally felt in the Philippines — ^that we were
going to lose that particular fight.

I don’t think the Jap propaganda had anything to do with our final
defeat. They dropped a lot of leaflets advising the Filipino troops to
surrender. The leaflets directed the soldier to take one along — ^that it
would insure his safe passage into the Japanese lines. These were dropped
on Corregidor as well as Bataan. They weren’t at all convincing. I doubt
whether a single one of them was ever used for the purpose it was in-
tended for, though I know they were used for other purposes.

In these informal recollections of one of the hardest campaigns that
troops have ever fought under the American flag, the thing I have so far
tried to emphasize most is the absolute need for hard and complete battle
training. A fighting soldier is still an amateur until his leaders have taught
him every trick and made him practice over and over every hardship of
war that can be practiced. Even then it will take at least one fight to
make him anything of a professional. But if he receives the fullest train-
ing — ^in which nothing whatever he is going to need to know in battle is
skimped or slid over — she’ll round out into a real soldier fast, once he
gets fighting. But if he goes into battle with any part of his training
neglected or in the slightest ignorance of the demands battle is going to
make upon him, we’ll have the same old story of the early battles in our
other war — great lists of casualties, most of them needless, and lost
battles too.

I know that we’re having more time to train, and train properly, for
this war than for any other we’ve ever fought. The story of the half-
trained troops, or replacements hardly trained at all, entering battle, as
happened in France in 1918, is not going to have to be repeated in this
present fight. With the time we have in this war for proper training there
is no reason for putting even troops three-quarters trained into battle.
We have the chance to. make all our forces into hardened fighting men.

TODAY’S WAR

585

We are opposed by such fighters and not by amateurs. And to get any-
where we shall have to be certain the troops we send in against them
know all there is for them to know of modem fighting methods. It isn’t
a matter of highly complicated individual or small-unit tactics. It’s just
a matter of complete training and toughening in the trade of a fighting
soldier. And it’s every commander’s first duty of all to see that his troops
get such training.

There is, however, one other side of war today that is probably still
more important, if you can make such a comparison. I think of it as
‘‘spiritual” training, though I don’t care what name you give it. What I
mean here is something to give American fighters the desire to kill their
enemies.

Most American soldiers don’t have much honest hate for the German
or Jap until some of his comrades have been killed by the enemy, or
until he himself has been made to suffer at the enemy’s hands. This was
true right on Bataan, and I say this without taking away one particle
from the splendid fighting spirit I saw there or from the innumerable
deeds of fighting craft and courageousness that were done there.

But the Jap hates the American with a downright hate that carries
him through in battle to success or death. And we could do with more
of a similar individual fighting spirit. On Bataan our troops soon learned
the usual lesson of battle — that it is a case of kill or be idlled. And as I
have said, a lot of them were killed or wounded because they had not
had complete training in this basic idea of combat. They learned this
lesson, but by no means all of them gained the spirit that goes beyond
it — the belief in the heart of every man that he must kill the enemy,
and the feeling that he wants to kill him to the extreme of his own
fighting ability.

I don’t mean here a spirit of wild rashness that will make a man forget
to fight as a thoroughly trained fighter ought to fight — ^forget to apply
every skill and craft of battle whether it meets ideas of fair play or not.
I don’t mean a spirit of useless sacrifice among commanders that will
lead them to waste their troops, as sometimes happened in France. I
don’t even mean a blind, unthinking hatred based on lies and psychologi-
cal deceit from the high command, which is what the Jap soldier has in
his heart. But I do mean a spirit just as strong and stronger, because it
can be based on the truths of this war.

I consider this too big a thing for me to preach about. It needs more
expert thought than I could give it. I simply know from what I saw that
it’s needed. I think about it more than anything else in this war because
its building seems most important of all.

It can’t be a separate thing, given to troops through lectures, movies,
and reading matter. These all help, but it’s got to be mixed right in with
^e battle training. Every time a soldier handles his weapon in training

586 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

he needs to remember its purpose. An infantryman’s rifle^ for example^
has only one purpose. It’s made for him to kill Japs or Nazis with^ not to
keep clean^ to practice with^ or carry to parades. The same with every
other weapon up to planes and tanks.

So the spirit that makes a soldier want to kill the enemies of his coun-
try has to be instilled in him from the very beginning. It has to be put
b^ore him, with reasons, from the first day of his training right on
through all of his combat training to his time of battle.

It makes little difference, as I said, what name you call it by. I don’t
think it ought to take the form of constant preaching or any other form
that gets tiresome. I think it ought to be treated always as an utterly
serious matter, and not as a matter for joking.

But I’m not an expert. There are plenty of practical students of the
human mind who ought to know how to make a man understand the
thing I’m trying to express. I think an appeal to American pride has a
place in what I am suggesting. We have pride in many things now,
but we as a nation have lost out on pride in our fighting abilities. We
just haven’t thought much about it. No American soldier would even
think of admitting that a fanatic Jap, with his mind plugged full of
what his leaders have told him about his being the best fighter in the
world, is the best fighter in the world. But he tr a good fighter, bent
on killing every American he possibly can. So there’s only one answer,
to be better at killing than he is. If we are not, then what the Japs
think about being better fighters than we are is true.

I think the toughening processes of training have something to do
with it too. We’re accustomed to think of plenty of good food and a lot
of passes to town as important things in building morale. Yet with all the
good food and chances to relax, I’ve seen marches not long before this
war when men would begin to fall out of the column with sore feet
after six or seven miles of marching. Now that we’re training for war
the troops undoubtedly do far better. But do we use heavy marches for
the kind of practice we need to? And do we make them hard enough
to get men’s minds out of the idea that steak every day and ice cream
on Sundays are important matters?

Unless the morale we build is based on pride in overcoming hardships,
such as a day or two of hard marching with no food, it is a morale that
won’t hold up in battle. When demands like this are made on troops in
training, every man must understand why he is being tested — ^why Ameri-
can troops, if they really are better than the troops we are fighting — ^must
equal and surpass them in hardness and endurance and ability to kill.

I don’t expect anybody to make the American character over again
into some imitation of our enemies’ that wouldn’t be American at all.
I only think that we need to take more steps to toughen up the char-
acter we have. It is always news in our wars to great numbers of new

TODAYS WAR

587

soldiers that killing the enemy is the principal work of an army and that
expert killing is the only thing that will save us from defeat and, this
time, slavery, WeVe got to make this sink in deeper, whether you call
what you use to do it propaganda, indoctrination, or, as more experi-
enced soldiers would say, military common sense plus love of our country
and what it is. I think that there are enough fine things to fight for to
make men eager to kill the enemies who want to destroy them. That’s
why I think of it as “spirituar’ training, though some may object to
the word.

I know that others have thought even more about this, perhaps, than
I have, and that a good deal is being done about it. From what I saw
on Bataan, there is nothing else so important in winning this war.

NO TIME FOR A DRY RUN
By Major (now Lieutenant Colonel) Leonard H. Nason

{J94S)

This is my third emergency, or war, whichever you care to call it. Three
times in a man’s short life I have had to leave my peaceful pursuits and
train for combat. Each time my regiment was organized, reorganized,
and disorganized, changed from one branch to the other, and finally
cast into battle, where it always did well for itself. And we discovered
there how war boils men down, how a few minutes of battle show
whether a man is made of oak or only covered with a thin veneer quickly
warped and cracked in the heat of conflict.

Maybe a lot of the warping and cracking is due to the sudden shock
of contact with an alert and active enemy. Every nation, once a war is
started, at once begins to vilify the enemy in press and pulpit and call
him hard names. This, of course, has its place, but the soldier who reads
and hears these things, too, is misled. I know, because when I was
younger, in the last great peril, I believed what I read and heard, and
when I first met up with what we then called a Hun I was surprised. I
was surprised to find out that though he might be abased and brutal and
the ravager of Belgium, he was a better shot than I was with a machine
gun. And so I was carried out feet first.

The last time, the last two times, I was much younger. I had no
responsibilities, at home or in the Army, and war was pretty much of a
romp, with periods of repose mixed in during which I acquired a working
knowledge of local beverages. But in this one I have a grown-up family
and some three hundred earnest youths in my battalion who look to me
to get them through this thing.

588

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

These last are my main worry. They have been brought up proud of
the fact that they were Americans and could do as they pleased. Many
of my young officers have graduated from places where it was smart
to be “collegiate,” that is, to be dirty. I knew a man once who died be-
cause he wouldn’t clean his pistol and wouldn’t wash his shirt. And
when his pistol jammed a low Hun shot him and the bullet carried a bit
of dirty shirt into the wound.

We will, of course, eventually lick the Japs and the Germans and all
their rabble following. But when the two great forces, Democracy and
Tyranny, come head-on into collision, there are going to be a few
basketfuls of human fragments after the party is over. I don’t want to
be in one of the baskets and I don’t want any of my boys in one either.
I can’t reproduce a battle for them; it’s like trying to describe a sunset
to a blind man. But I can train them to the utmost before they actually
fight. I can explain the purpose of a lot of things that seem useless and
stupid. I can point out, for instance, that a man who leaves the lid of
the coal box up will probably forget to clean his pistol after a dusty
march, and so becomes a poppy in Flanders Field. I can tell them that
the man who does not salute because he “did not see the officer, sir,”
will not see the lurking Jap scout.

The day when you and I and our buddy from the next bunk come
face to face with the enemy, nothing will stand between us and death
but what we learned before the battle. There is no time, then, to learn
how to clear a jammed machine gun. No time to fill the gas tank that
should have been filled that morning. No time, with the enemy at the
bend of the road, for a dry run. If you’ve got it you can put it out. If
you haven’t you had better say your prayers.

The responsibility of a commander in wartime is heavy. He has to
order men to possible death. Not to certain death, as the unthinking
sometimes say, because if death is certain a commander who is any good
won’t order his men into it. But if men are killed as a result of his orders,
the commander’s conscience will be clear if he knows he has done his
utmost to train them, to teach them skill in their weapons, alertness,
and self-confidence in all their actions.

So before combat the commander who has the welfare and safety of his
men at heart insists that they be smart in appearance, that they march
well, that they go to formations promptly, that they have the benefit of
his constant attention to see that they know how to use their weapons.

TODAY’S WAR

589

FROM AN OLD SOLDIER TO THE NEW"

By Gerald W. Johnson
{194s)

This ... is a word from an old member of the AEF to the men who
now go to war more than two decades later.

Gentlemen, I am sorry for you — ^but not too sorry. You are going to
catch hell for a while. Even though you may not stop a bullet you will have
what we used to call beaucoup trouble, hard work, hard living, hard beds,
and hard rations, not to mention hard men over you. This is not pleas-
ant, and nobody likes it. For all that it implies, I am sorry. Any man
who has to do active service in time of war is entitled to sympathy, as
everyone knows who has done it.

But I am not too sorry, for you are going to win a victory that is worth
winning. I do not speak of glory. Never mind glory. Too much of it is
rather tin-pot stuff, won by doing things that really are pretty idiotic.
Every old soldier knows that the man with the most hardware on his
chest is not necessarily the best man. Sometimes fakers get away with
the medals and good men go without.

But apart from glory, you are called on to do a job that needs doing.
This country of ours is not perfect, God knows, but it is a pretty good
old country, at that, and it is by way of getting better. It has been getting
better for 150 years in spite of occasional setbacks, and it is because of
you that it is going to stand and continue to get better in the future.

You know, gentlemen, you have had it pretty soft for the last twenty
years. Times have been hard, and all that, but by comparison with the
young man in any other country in the world, the young American has
been doing right well. At least he could call his soul his own. He hasn’t
had to get off the sidewalk and hold up his hand in a silly attitude every
time some swine in a Sam Browne belt passed by. He has been able to
read the news in his papers. He has been able to go to a school where
they taught the facts. He has been able to cast his vote as he pleased,
without a thug with a blackjack in his hand standing looking over his
shoulder as he marked his ballot. He has been able to collect his pay and
spend it as he pleased, without having to cough up for the party funds,
in order that a lot of plug-uglies called party chiefs might live at ease.

And why? Well, if I may say so, because in 1917 and 1918 a lot of
us old fellows also caught hell — ^worked hard, lived hard, slept on hard

^Reprinted from the Baltimore Evening Sun.

590 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

beds, and jumped when hard men told us to jump. And because, long
before us, other men did the same — ^in i86i, and in 1846, and in 1812,
and in 1776. Say what you will, this country has survived because, when-
ever it was threatened, it was able to produce a tough man with a gun; a
man a little tougher than the toughest any enemy could bring against it.

In between, whole generations of Americans have had it easy. Most of
us who were caught in the jam a quarter of a century ago hoped that
you were going to be one of those generations. We have done our best
to make it so, but our best efforts have failed. You are in for it now.

All right, you will stand up and take it. I am sorry, but there is nothing
else for it; and, after all, when this business is over you will have some-
thing in the consciousness that you belong to one of the generations that
didn’t take everything and give nothing.

Maybe that doesn’t seem much to you now, but it will in time to come.
The man who has gone under fire for his country is forever after a man
apart. He has paid for his keep. He has paid his part of the debt we
all owe to the long line of brave men who won our freedom and have
maintained it. He can look George Washington in the eye, with respect,
yes, but without servility. He is, in the fullest sense, a free man, for he has
met the final test of a freeman and has passed it.

It’s a great thing, gentlemen, worth a lot of hard work, worth a lot of
risk.

Unfortunately some of you will not experience it. Some of you have
already died, and more will die. But if you die in this service you will
go out cleanly and, since you have to die sometime, anyhow, that is
something. In other words, while you may not win the greatest prize,
you who serve honorably in this war cannot lose altogether. At worst
you will go in a way that becomes a man, and your family and friends
will never think of you without a glow of happy pride.

For there isn’t going to be any disillusionment about this war. We
didn’t want it. We know there isn’t any profit in it, and we don’t want
the sort of glory that may be won in it. We did everything we honorably
could to keep out of it. But it was thrust upon us.

But we did not try to get out of it because we were afraid, although
the enemy apparently thought so. Now that we are in it we are going
to fight it in a way that will make those who thrust it upon us wish that
they had never been born. When we get through this world is going to
be pretty safe for decent nations, who want no more than a chance to
attend to their own business, letting other people alone.

It is you, gentlemen, who are destined to establish that state of affairs,
by your efforts and by your risks. It is an honorable task which will win
you the right to the gratitude of many generations. Therefore, it is not
altogether a hard duty. It is also an enviable opportunity. Yours is the
chance to establish yourselves as one of the great generations of Ameri-

TODAY’S WAR

591

can history, to take a place alongside the men of 1776, and of 1812, and
of 1846, and of 1861. It is an enviable place, but you will fill it worthily.

Therefore, I am not too sorry for you. Only in the shortsighted view
are you to be listed among the unfortunate, for if you are called upon to
endure hardness it is without fault on your part, and therefore it opens
the door to greatness. It is not to every generation that such an oppor-
tunity comes. Take your fortune, then, realizing that it is not altogether
ill, and as you do valiantly, so shall all the future admire and envy you.

GROUND TROOPS’ AA METHODS
By Major (now Lieutenant Colonel) Carl T. Schmidt

{1942)

In a great many of the general accounts of battle since the war began
there has been much emphasis on the effect of dive bombers and hedge-
hoppers on ground troops. There has been so much, in fact, that we have
been apt to discount the possible action of ground troops in the face
of such attacks. But by now there has been enough detailed information
to furnish a clear answer to the old question of whether ground troops
would fire back or duck when attacked from the air.

The answer is easy. It is the only one you could expect to a question
of such breadth. The only answer, indeed, that can be given to any broad
tactical question. It depends upon the specific situation.

But before we get into the detadls we should first try to clear up two
or three general aspects of the matter. For example, is the fire of ground
troops effective enough against fast planes at short ranges to warrant
its use at all? And if so, why was it apparently so ineffective in the battles
of Poland, Flanders, and France? In other words, how could it be dis-
regarded by the enemy’s planes as freely as it apparently was?

Here we can undoubtedly find the answer in two facts. The Polish and
French armies, besides having no adequate amount of special AA weap-
ons, were not thoroughly trained to pour lead into the skies at attacking
planes with every possible weapon, as we have been taught for many
years to do. Moreover, the French method of getting a machine gun
ready for AA fire was particularly slow, and their infantry in general
used passive measures rather than active ones. And, to be sure, the French
morale was not conducive to sustained AA firing by the troops in general.

As for the general effectiveness of ground fire at low-flying planes, both
British and German tactical doctrines, like our own, emphasize the use
of small-arms fire in addition to that of heavier infantry AA weapons.
But we should note a continual tendency toward giving ground troops

594 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

These things being true, it is evident that troops may gain the feeling,
after some experience of air attack, that their fire against planes is
wholly ineffective. But so long as there continues to be evidence that
heavy ground fire has effect on low-flying planes, there are at least two
ways of offsetting any particular effect upon the morale of troops which
such lack of specific knowledge of results might bring about. One is a
frequent emphasis in orders of large units, giving probable credit for
crashed enemy planes to all troops within a mile or so of its point of
crash. The other, of course, is the use in training of actual damaged
parts of planes to show the effect of small-arms fire, and a full explana-
tion of how hard it is to tell just what man or what small unit brought
a plane down.

Another general point we may clear up here is that of the so-called
“paralyzing” effect of dive bombing on troops that have to take it. The
fact is that any heavy bombardment, whether of air or artillery, may have
such an effect. And of the two, it is entirely probable that a modern
artillery concentration is the more intense, for more shells may fall within
a given area in a given time. But the general moral effect here, it is
plain, will depend upon the degree of training and battle experience
of the troops bombarded, and therefore very largely on their habitual
measures for protection against such attacks.

The number of ground troops killed by machine-gunning from the
air in this war has certainly been small. Even in Poland, where this
form of attack was frequent, the casualties are reported to have been
light, though the confusion caused among horse-drawn transport was
considerable. As with bombing, however, the moral effect is considerable
and often disproportionate. Here again the soldier’s instinctive reactions
need breaking down — ^he assumes too readily, when he hears a rattle in
the sky, that the plane is shooting at him. It is a frequent practice of
German bombers, even when flying at three thousand feet or more, to fire
large quantities of ammunition in what appears to be a more or less
indiscriminate manner. The tendency is for inexperienced troops to take
far too much notice of this sort of thing and also to indulge in a good
deal of loose talk about it afterward. No casualties may occur and
probably no more than one soldier in a hundred even sees a bullet strike
the ground. But the enemy will achieve his object of intimidation, if
only by virtue of the fact that every man believes himself to have “been
machine-gunned” and says so. Inevitably this delusion spreads and has
its effect on morale.

There may indeed be a marked moral effect in the air instead of on
the ground, as Axis forces have demonstrated in at least one battle in-
stance in Africa. German columns attacked by British planes proved
to have flank guards with so many A A weapons (probably 15-mm.,
20-nim., or 37-mm. automatic guns on special mounts) that the planes

TODAVS WAR

595

had to fly through a regular barrage to attack. The air losses were so
heavy that the mosale of pilots making such attacks was plainly lowered.

It is clear enough from the methods given in our training manuals
that small-aons AA fire from troops that have not been thoroughly
trained in it may only result in wasting much good ammunition. The
methods of AA fire taught on the range must be kept fresh in mind, for
example, through frequent practice in estimating altitudes and aiming
at planes.

It is also of great importance for troops to learn to distinguish between
hostile and friendly aircraft, and this again is simply a matter of training.
Given plenty of practice, men can come to recognize types of planes as
readily as they can tell the makes of cars on the road. But under combat
conditions it may often be necessary to distinguish hostile planes by their
actions rather than their appearance.

Troops with some knowledge of bombing tactics and technique derived
from watching not one or two demonstrations, but a series of demonstra-
tions and exercises, will settle down much more quickly in the field than
troops to whom every aircraft in sight is an immediate potential menace.
In combat troops soon learn things they should have known before they
went into action — for example, that a large formation of aircraft flying
in the usual V-shaped formation down a narrow road is not going to
bomb that road so long as the planes keep that formation. Troops who
do not learn this lesson until they are in action learn it at some expense
to their nerves and morale. The expense is unnecessary.

There are, of course, many situations in which purely passive measures
are better than active AA firing. If concealment of a unit or an installa-
tion from either ground or air observation is desired, the position must
obviously not be given away by small-arms firing, and this requires a
strict AA discipline, since troops have normally the impulse to let fly
at repeatedly attacking planes with the weapons in their hands. How-
ever, the fact that planes are attacking an area is certainly a sign the
enemy has a good idea it is worth attacking.

It is also rarely advisable to open fire at night, not only because of the
inaccuracy of such fire, but even more because the flashes may give away
the position. Again, when troops are engaged in an intense fire fight with
a ground enemy, as our field manuals plainly say, it seldom will be de-
sirable to divert front-line or close-support weapons against hostile
planes. At times, also, the ammunition supply is bound to be an important
consideration.

In situations where AA fire is desirable, there can never be the maxi-
mum of fire placed on attacking planes unless constant readiness is an
ingrained habit. And no military unit can be considered a trained unit
today without this habit. During the past fifteen years the Infantry
Journal has published many articles explaining in detail how fleeting a

596 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

low air target is but also how, in a few seconds’ fire, an alert infantry
unit can direct a storm of bullets toward attacking planes.

Indeed, it is worth repeating here that a deployed infantry regiment
in open country — ^for example, a desert — ^has the organic weapons to fire
over twenty-five thousand rounds in five seconds’ time, provided every
man who carries a weapon is ready to fire it when an air attack comes.

The bulk of this is armor-piercing caliber . 30 , but there is a sizable
fraction of heavier stuff. And all of it that hits a plane may do serious
damage. With trained troops at least i per cent of it will strike a plane
fired at from the side and perhaps 5 per cent a head-on target. In other
words, there are sure to be several hundred hits from the organic AA
fire of a regiment in five seconds. Not all units will be firing at the same
planes during the same five seconds, but this does not change the total
quantity of fire.

The duties of air guards are emphasized plainly in infantry tactical
manuals. They work in pairs for frequent relief, scanning the sky in
every direction and listening for planes and sounding their warning
when they come.

Though night restricts air operations, attacks by bombing and machine-
gunning may nevertheless be delivered through the use of flares or by
moonlight. But troops are not usually visible from the air at night unless
they give themselves away through lights, such as vehicle lamps, flash-
lights, fires, matches, cigarettes, and lights of buildings. Obviously win-
dows and doors of buildings or shelters must be screened and outdoor
lights covered. This may, however, be carried to excess in at least one
respect. The British found it better in Greece for motor convoys to risk air
observation than to suffer heavy losses from blind driving.

Except when hostile planes use flares, marching troops should usually
push on at night even when planes come over. But if they are on a road
its center should be kept open, since a pilot can readily see an unlighted
road but not troops moving in single file along its sides. If flares are
dropped every movement must cease, for then movement more than any-
thing else will betray the presence of troops. And it is generally best to
withhold the fire of infantry weapons at night since the flashes establish
the troop locations.

The fact that concentrated infantry fire is often desirable against
planes that attack by day does not mean at all that troops should not use
passive measures as well as active. Every unit must ordinarily employ AA
camouflage habitually, not only for protection against attack but chiefly
for concealment against the planes that may serve as the far-seeing
eyes of the enemy’s artillery. Naturally this is more applicable to resting
or defending troops than to troops in an attack. Camouflage is practically
impossible during an attack, and in no circumstances do troops let air
reconnaissance deter them from carrying out their mission. Besides, active

TODAVS WAR

597

AA measures are not generally the concern of troops leading an attack —
these are carried out by units farther back. It is also worth noting that
fully deployed infantry is, on the whole, a poor target for air attack,
and that often in the course of the present war German planes have
paid no attention to deployed troops, seeking out more remunerative
column targets.

This, of course, may well indicate that deployed troops are hard to see
from fast-flying planes. And it most certainly shows that deployment,
even of rear echelons, is highly desirable whenever it can be done — ^not
only to avoid detection but to reduce casualties if an air attack is actually
delivered.

The number of casualties from air attacks in the present war has
proved to be surprisingly small. So long as troops lie down, even where
they have no trenches or other depressions, they suffer little from bombs.
And this can likewise be said of machine-gun fire — except when planes
attack along roads. There the fire appears to be more accurate. It will
be remembered that in the Russo-Finnish fighting in 1939 the Finns got
so used to low-bombing attacks that they considered it simply as harass-
ment. They fired, if they had warning of approaching planes, then ducked,
and then went ahead with their business at hand on the ground. Here, of
course, the terrain was largely wooded and the work of the Soviet airmen
therefore often inaccurate. It appears, however, from accounts in later the-
aters, that steady, disciplined troops, though they may receive casualties
from the air, can rarely be defeated by aviation alone.

At every halt and rest troops must take advantage of cover if air attack
is at all possible. The slit trench has proved one of the best protective
means, especially against dive bombers. It protects its occupant from
bomb fragments and bullets and also from the blasts of heavy bombs.
Whenever a unit halts for any time men should dig these trenches at
once. The trench is simply large enough for a man to lie down in — ^about
two feet wide, six feet long, and three or four feet deep.

The British have learned the lessons of aerial security from bitter
experience. British troops who made habitual use of slit trenches in
Greece suffered almost no casualties from air attacks. Once men realized
the protection these trenches gave they dug them enthusiastically and
became nonchalant about hostile planes. At one place in North Africa
during a single day dive bombers attacked a division headquarters seven-
teen times and machine-gunned it from the air eighteen times. But slit
trenches had already been dug, and there were no casualties. In the cam-
paign in East Africa a South African brigade was bombed steadily for
nine days. Eight men taking cover in a single trench were killed by
one direct hit, and the only other casualties were two men wounded.
Other examples of the almost complete protection given by suitable
trenches have been numerous.

598 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Troops certainly should not be trained to scramble at all cost into
whatever cover is available and there remain prostrate with their faces
to the ground. This practice has a negligible effect, if any at all, on their
chances of surviving an attack, and it has an extremely bad effect on
morale. Indeed, frantic running may enable the hostile aviator to spot a
target that he would otherwise not have seen.

At most halts in bivouac British troops now dig slit trenches imme-
diately; orders are no longer necessary. Vehicles and installations are
separated by at least one hundred to two hundred yards — ^sometimes
much more. Bivouacs are usually established by battalions or other small
units. At least one third of the light machine guns are mounted for anti-
aircraft defense. When available, a section of two 40-mm. AA guns may
be assigned to cover such an area. Every uniform formation of troops,
vehicles, armament, and shelter is avoided. Sentries sound warning
signals when enemy planes appear. Hostile planes are seldom able to
approach without detection, for in a threatened area every man of any
experience is thoroughly aware of what a surprise air attack may do,
and whenever a plane comes within hearing someone invariably tries at
once to identify it. Nevertheless, this excellent habit does not warrant
dispensing with sentries, no matter how small the group. For example,
one detachment of six men did not post an air sentry; four men were
killed and the other two wounded, although slit trenches were available
for them. They simply had no warning.

On the march troops and vehicles must be widely scattered. Air attacks
on columns are focused on the most conspicuous and valuable targets.
Consequently anything that might become a target should not be closer
than two hundred to five hundred yards to its neighbor if this is pos-
sible. That the maximum number of vehicles on a single road should
certainly be no more than ten per mile is the opinion expressed by troop
leaders experienced in such attacks. The British disperse Bren machine
guns on antiaircraft mounts throughout their marching columns and
place an antiaircraft sentry on each vehicle. But when a column is
attacked every effort is made to keep the formation moving. (On the
desert vehicles may disperse off the roads and still keep rolling.)

Before one action a British column of thirty thousand men advanced to
concentration spread out over an area of fifteen by forty miles. Hostile
scouting aircraft were active as low as three thousand feet, but apparently
the troops were so scattered that they were not observed or at least not
as being a force of any size. For when the fighting began this large force
obtained surprise. On the other hand, a battery of two-pounder AT guns
(sixteen guns) was attacked by aircraft while going into position. Here,
because the unit disregarded disp)ersion and permitted a temporary lax-
ness in its air sentinels and AA personnel, it was practically annihilated.

Men must be trained not to take shelter under motor vehicles, for

TODAY’S WAR

599

these are always a mark for airplanes. The best protection is obtained
by the side of a truck, not under it. For example, the commanding gen-
eral of the British forces in Greece habitually stood on the running board
of his car when in movement, and when an air attack came along he
took cover in the ditch or any other defiladed spot along the road. Two
of his cars were destroyed practically at his side. His aide-de-camp,
however, took cover under a truck and was killed by a well-aimed bomb.

A few general methods we can arrive at in addition are as follows:
When it is deemed best by a unit commander to deliver fire at attacking
planes, machine guns must be sited so that there is as little dead space as
possible for each gun. All weapons should be already alerted and ready
to fire the moment hostile planes appear. But fire should never be
opened by riflemen or machine gunners without command or without
a reasonable certainty that the situation is such that their leader, if
present, would authorize it. The use of infantry small arms against planes
is a decision of the unit commander, not of the individual soldier. It may,
however, be covered by standing operating procedures or exceptions to
SOP for a given situation. Very evidently, no single hard-and-fast rule
can be given on small-arms AA fire except the old and none-too-satis-
factory dictum: “It depends upon the situation.” One broad conclusion,
however, is plain to see : Air support and adequate special AA weapons — >
properly mounted and sited — are essential to the active protection of
ground troops against air attack. Better yet is such an aerial superiority
that hostile aircraft can operate over our troops only at excessive cost.

CONQUEST BY AIR

By Major (now Colonel) Paul W. Thompson

During 1941 and 1942 there was seldom an issue of the Infantry Journal
which did not contain an article by Colonel Thompson. The same was
true of the Military Engineer, the service journal of the Corps of Engineers
of which Colonel Thompson is a member. Colonel Thompson’s Modern
Battle, a collection of his Infantry Journal articles, including “Conquest
by Air,” has reached the distribution of over 200,000 copies. He is also
the author of Engineers in Battle and What the Citizen Should Know
about the Army Engineers, and of articles which have appeared in general
magazines. Colonel Thompson has the ability to explain for military
readers what went on during a battle in terms so clear that the general
reader doesn’t have to concentrate very hard to find out how much more
there is to a battle than what he read in his newspaper. Colonel Thomp-
son is now on duty in a war theater.

This is the story, necessarily incomplete and probably somewhat in-
accurate, of the conquest of Crete. It is a story of conquest by air, a

600 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

conquest in which a small mixed ground force, without heavy supporting
weapons, without transportation, and without important land or sea com-
munications, was literally blasted into victory by overpowering support
from the air.

This war of tremendous events has produced no more significant or
lesson-rich campaign. Indeed, the danger is that the spectacle of a
defended island being reduced without control of the sea tends, by its
very uniqueness, to suggest unjustified conclusions. Therefore, let us
attempt to recast the events as they occurred and then attempt to divine
what they mean.

Physical CoNsroERATioNs

Of all the unfavorable theaters to which this current war has one
time or another spread (Ardennes, Albania, Greece, North Africa), per-
haps the most unfavorable is the island of Crete. Unfavorable, that is,
in the sense of imposing grave limitations on movement, observation, sup-
ply. Nature must have intended Crete to be anything other than a
theater for modem war.

Nevertheless, Nature did endow Crete with the inherent characteristic
of strategic position and thereby made of the island a military prize of
importance. Geography tells the story: Crete is a barrier dominating the
entrance to the Aegean Sea. It is a steppingstone between Sicily
and the Dodecanese Islands. Held by Great Britain, it is a base for air
operations against objectives on the Grecian mainland and even against
objectives farther to the north and west. Held by the Axis, it is a base
for air operations against Cyprus, Syria, Suez, and the North African
coast. The strategic situation being what it is, it is not surprising that,
following the occupation of Greece, Germany decided that the further
occupation of Crete was worth a major effort.

Our estimate of Crete as a theater of operations may be facilitated
by reference to a large-scale map. Crete is long {i6o miles) and nar-
row (average, eighteen miles in width). Crete consists essentially of
the upper levels of a range of mountains which rises out of the very
deep eastern Mediterranean waters. Along the axis of the island the
mountains rise to elevations above 7,000 feet. The various mountain
masses are connected by high, rough saddles. The mountains are com-
posed largely of limestone and igneous rock. They are not wooded but
in general are covered by wild bushes and thickets.

There are very few plains or flat areas on the island. Generally speak-
ing, the mountains fall precipitously into the very deep surrounding
waters. As a result the island has a regular coast line with very few
acceptable harbors. Indeed, along the entire south coast there is nothing
deserving the name of a harbor, and along the north coast the only

TODAY’S WAR

601

harbor which is at all suitable for deep-draft vessels is the one at Suda
Bay., Even Suda Bay is far from ideal — ^it offers little protection against
the north wind; its anchoring grounds are too deep, and its docking
waters are too shallow. Suda Bay formed the base for such British
naval units as operated from Crete after the British occupation in
October of 1940.

An indication as to the climate of Crete is the fact that the island lies
in the latitudes not of Europe, but of North Africa. Thus the spring
and summer days may be very hot (say to 120 degrees), while the nights
may be quite cold. Water supply for troops in the field is a problem
almost as difficult as in Libya.

Crete has a population of about 400,000. A few of the people eke
out a living in the mountains, chiefly by sheep raising, and a few cling to
the fishing villages of the south coast. Most of them, however, live along
the narrow northern coastal plains where the chief means of livelihood
is the raising of olives. Thus the few flat places on the island are usually
covered by olive trees — trees which have a low, thick foliage, such as to
make observation for military purposes very difficult.

The road net of Crete is exceedingly simple and sparse. There is one
road running generally along the north coast, connecting all the principal
centers of population. This road, poor as it is, is the backbone of the
island’s communications system. A few subsidiary roads (trails is a better
word) extend south from the main coastal road to specific points in
the interior or on the south coast. These subsidiary roads run through
the saddles which connect the mountain masses. An example of such
a road is the one from Kalami (just east of Suda) to a point just short
of Sphakia on the south coast. (The fact that this particular road stops
short of its logical terminus — to which it is connected by a footpath —
is illustrative of the general status of Cretan communications.) All
Cretan roads, including the main coastal one, pass through many defiles.
Meanwhile, the country between and off the roads is exceedingly rough,
being practically impassable for any sort of self-propelled vehicle.

The Cretan terrain being what it is, it is clear that good airfields on
the island are few and far between. As a matter of fact, in their six
months of occupation, the British appear to have attempted to develop
only three sites: the chief one at Maleme, ten miles west of the island
capital of Canea; one at Rethymnon, and one at Candia. Little is known
concerning the characteristics of these fields, but certainly none of them
offered any exceptional natural advantages.

The Forces Involved

To arrive at an estimate of the forces with which Crete was being held
at the time of the attack, we must resort to deduction. At the time of

602 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

the British occupation^ during the closing months of 1940^ it was gen-
erally understood that the occupying force was a single division. During
the Grecian campaign certain Australian and New Zealand units were
evacuated to Crete. One unofficial source puts the number of Australians
so evacuated at about 6,500. Since the entire British force in Greece did
not itself amount to more than about two divisions, it is logical to con-
clude that no more than, say, the equivalent of a division could have
been landed at Crete, and the figure for Australian strength quoted
above leads to the conclusion that the evacuis were about equally divided
between Australians and New Zealanders. In addition to the British
military forces, there were, according to the Prime Minister, about 2,000
marines in action. Finally, along with the British, of course, were some
Greek troops.

All in all, this evidence leads us to estimate the British forces in Crete
at about 32,000 (15,000 English soldiers, 15,000 Australians and New
Zealanders, and the 2,000 marines), and to this we may add a guess of,
say, 10,000 Greeks. (Pursuing the same process of deduction, German
commentators arrive at a total British-Greek force of about 50,000— a
reasonable check under the circumstances.)

The defenses of Crete were commanded during the critical days by
Major General Freyberg, a distinguished New Zealander whose “exploits
in war and peace rival those of the heroes of antiquity” and who had
commanded the New Zealand division during the Grecian campaign.
One of General Freyberg’s peacetime exploits had been an almost-
successful attempt to swim the English Channel in 1925.

An estimate of the German forces employed in the attack on Crete
involves further uncertainties. Prime Minister Churchill is authority for
the statement that 3,000 parachutists were dropped near Suda Bay during
the first day of the attack, and if we double that figure we have a reason-
able estimate as to the total number dropped on the various objectives
over the island. Meanwhile, as the battles progressed German reinforce-
ments poured in constantly. Regardless of the total number of Germans
thus involved, however, we shall see that the critical actions were fought
and won by two regiments of mountain troops and a special “pursuit
detachment,” acting in conjunction with what was left of the parachutists.

The German action against Crete was in general charge of Reichs-
marschall Goring. The “tactical operations” were under the direct com-
mand of Generaloberst Lohr, commanding the 4th Air Fleet. The chief
figures in the Lohr task force were the following: CJeneral-of -Aviation
Student, “with strong parachute, air-bome, and mountain units,” and
Greneral-of-Aviation Richthofen, “with his strong VIII Air Corps.” The
commander of the mountain division which, as we shall see, played so
important a part in the battle was one General Ringl, an Austrian.

It is likely that the British division (?) which originally occupied Crete

TODAY’S WAR

603

was deficient in equipment and especially in supporting AA artillery.
There is evidence of a few light tanks having been on hand, but it is
certain that the units evacuated from Greece were lacking in almost all
types of equipment and armament — so much so, in fact, as to suggest
the thought that these 6vacues may have been more of a liability than
an asset in the fight. Finally, it is clear that the British had never reached
the point where they were basing considerable numbers of aircraft on
the Cretan airdromes.

‘ During the critical phases of the battle the German troops also were
operating with only light equipment and armament, but between the
German and the British cases there was one far-reaching difference. The
German attackers were supported by the practically unlimited resources
of Richthofen’s air corps. It was a case, as we shall see, of poorly armed
ground forces advancing behind a terrific artillery preparation.

The fundamental relationship which delivered into German hands
absolute air supremacy over Crete was set up at the moment the Ger-
mans moved into southern Greece and occupied the airfields there. Six
of the occupied fields — two near Athens, one each at Argos, Sparta, the
island of Melos, the island of Scarpanto (one of the Dodecanese Islands) —
were within effective fighter-plane range of Crete. On the other hand,
the distance from Crete to the British bases in North Africa was about
400 miles — ^beyond effective fighter-plane range. The net result of
this situation was to make the Cretan airfields untenable for British
aircraft. This condition had been reached even before the invasion proper
took place, with the result that the defenders of the island were almost
completely without air support from beginning to end.

The Parachutist Operations

The actual invasion of the island came as no surprise to the defenders.
As early as May 12 large assemblies of Ju-52 troop-carrying airplanes
had been reported on the various Grecian fields listed above. Meanwhile,
German activity in the air over Crete had been becoming progressively
more intense. The British installations were bombed constantly, and it
is safe to assume that every critical part of the terrain was carefully
reconnoitered and photographed from the air. All of these signs pointed
to an attempt at invasion. Finally, on May 18, two German aviators
fished out of the sea confided to their Greek rescuers (whom they naively
believed to be friendly to the Germans) that the zero hour was set for
the morning, of the twentieth.

The invasion did come on the morning of the twentieth. The sequence
of events at each of the points of attack appears to have been about as
follows: first a terrific bombardment by high-level and dive bombers,
followed by and mixed in with machine-gun strafing by fighter planes;

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THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

then the attack by “several thousands” of parachutists, still with the
support of the dive bombers.

It is possible to build up a fair picture of the parachute-dropping
phase of the action by analyzing several eyewitness accounts. The violent
preparatory bombardment had the effect of pinning the defenders to
the ground and of shaking them up. Everything was perfectly co-ordi-
nated by the CJermans, the troop-carrying transports appearing on the
scene immediately following the preparatory bombardment and before
the defenders could regain their cohesion. The transports came in from
the sea in formations of about fifteen planes each. They were flying very
low — ^some accounts say as low as 200 feet — ^and before the parachutists
from one formation had much more than touched ground another would
be overhead discharging its load. Apparently the parachutists came in
waves of about 600 each — the inference being that there was a lapse of
time between successive waves. Perhaps one third of the parachutes car-
ried equipment. There are authentic accounts of the dropping of infantry
howitzers and anti-tank guns — ^by means of double and triple chutes.

The parachutists were dropped, as usual, from three-motored “Junkers
52” planes. The Ju-52 is a large (wing span 100 feet), cumbersome
plane with a maximum speed of less than 200 miles per hour and a range,
fully loaded, of about 500 miles. Each Ju-52 accommodates about thirty
parachutists.

Interspersed with the parachutists were a few glider-borne troops. The
normal Gennan glider is only slightly smaller than the Ju-52 (wing span
of glider seventy feet), and accommodates about twelve men. Reports
indicate that the gliders came in low trains of four to six, towed by a
loaded Ju-52 (giving the tow unit a strength of as much as 100 men).
They were released as they approached the landing fields. They “looked
more ominous than the parachutists,” but frequently they were carried
away from their landing objectives by contrary air currents. Since the
gliders were used so sparingly, it is likely that> so far as they are con-
cerned, the operation was nothing more than an experiment.

The parachutist himself carried a tommy gun with bands of ammuni-
tion slung around his neck. He carried also a knife and at least one
hand grenade. There are reports of parachutists firing with their tommy
guns as they descended.

On the point of picking the parachutists off while in the air there is
some conflicting evidence, this possibly being illustrative of the confusion
into which a large-scale bombing-parachute attack may throw a defend-
ing force. One account states that out of ten typical parachutists one
was killed through failure of the chute to open in the short descent
(this witness says the jumps were from 300 feet) ; one was picked off by
the defending riflemen on his descent; one was put out of action by
breaking a wrist or ankle on alighting, and the others “spouted about

TODAY’S WAR

605

helplessly with tommy guns,” only to be “picked off with rifles at 600
or 700 yards’ distance.” Another account states that it is impossible to
hit a descending parachutist with a pistol and it is almost impossible with
a rifle but that it is “easy enough with a (captured) German tommy gun
if you can get close enough.”

The very first action on the part of the parachutist after cutting him-
self loose from his chute was to seek local cover. Here again the Luftwaffe
entered the picture: the most readily available covers often were the
craters resulting from the bombing attacks. After gaining local cover the
parachutists attempted to orient themselves, to form into small combat
groups, and to reach their equipment chutes.

As has been indicated, the German parachute attack was directed
against four vital points and four only. These four points were:

( 1 ) The airfield at Maleme ;

(2) Thecity atCanea;

(3) The airfield and town of Rethymnon, and

(4) The airfield and town of Gandia.

In general the parachutists were dropped outside their objectives and
hence outside the lines of the defenders. The descents on Maleme and
Canea came early in the morning, but those on Rethymnon and Candia
began during the afternoon. As to numbers, we have already noted the
estimate of 3,000 men dropped in the Suda Bay area (Maleme and
Canea) and have already ventured the estimate that a like total applies
to Rethymnon and Candia (1,500 on each objective).

Obviously, as of May 20, there was nothing to indicate to the de-
fenders which of the attacks constituted the main effort. As a matter of
fact, there is some evidence that the Germans themselves were in doubt
on the point and were awaiting developments. Significantly the German
communiques were silent on the entire operation until May 24, by which
time the crisis had passed and success was all but assured. This indicates
more than a German doubt as to the point of main effort. It also indi-
cates a doubt as to the success of the operation as a whole. Perhaps the
Germans undertook the operation as an experiment and were agreeably
surprised at the quick results.

German accounts emphasize that the critical hours of the entire
operation were the ones immediately following the initial descents. Those
accounts throw some light on the matter of the German conception of
the psychology of the parachutist in such an operation. During the critical
first hours the parachutist must operate with no knowledge of the general
situation. He must be prepared to undergo the most severe physical
hardships and to carry on against any enemy elements which may be
encountered. The parachutist must have complete faith in the high
command and must operate in the belief that he will be supported and
relieved in due course.

606 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

It is clear that the British and Greek defenders must have exacted
a considerable toll from the parachutists dropped on May 20, but any
estimates as to percentages or numbers lost at present are nothing better
than guesses. Whatever the losses may have been, the fact remains that
the parachutists, with their ever-present dive-bomber support, were not
wiped out but after passing a hot and thirsty day and a cold night were
situated about as follows on the morning of May 21: holding areas
around the edges of the airfields at Rethymnon and Candia (the fields
and towns being in British hands), holding areas close to the city of
Canea (the city itself being in British hands), and holding the airfield at
Maleme,

The italics are mine, and they are completely justified. The seizing
of an airfield was the key to the German plan. As of the morning of
the twenty-first the German hold on the field at Maleme was precarious.
The British were still controlling the field by artillery emplaced in posi-
tions among the hills to the east. Thus the Germans had the field, but
they could not use it — at least not effectively. The situation appears
analogous to a river over which there is a shallow bridgehead but on
which there is still falling observed artillery fire and across which, accord-
ingly, a pontoon bridge may not yet be constructed.

Details of the manner in which the German parachutists seized the
field at Maleme are not available. One eyewitness British account lays it
all at the feet of the bombers and the strafing fighter planes which “did
what the parachutists failed to do” and “forced us off Maleme.” This
is a reasonable — almost an obvious — explanation. During those first hours
the artillery of the air did the leading, and the parachutists did the fol-
lowing.

From the German standpoint everything now depended upon gaining
full use of the Maleme field. However, the parachutists were barely hold-
ing their gains, and the dive bombers were proving ineffective against
the well-emplaced artillery. The inadequacy of the parachutist-bomber
team to complete occupation of the airfield is tacitly acknowledged by the
German decision to land infantry on the field, come what may.

Operations around Suda Bay

Therefore, as of the afternoon of May 21 , the Germans began to land
JU-52S on the fire-swept field at Maleme. It must have been an expensive
proposition although, considering the results obtained, it was cheap at
half the price. There are several eyewitness accounts to help us build up
the picture. One German aviator describes how his first attempts to
land were completely frustrated, how he returned his first load to the
Grecian base, and how he was able to return and land with great diffi-
culty later. A British officer describes how the first twelve JU-52S to

TODAY’S WAR

607

attempt the landing were ‘‘smashed to^ pieces,” but how “that did not stop
them . , . they went on landing, one plane regularly every three minutes,
losing one, then getting another down, then losing another.”

By nightfall of this second day one battalion of mountain infantry
had been landed on the field at Maleme. No details are available, but it
appears that this battalion had with it no armament heavier than its
machine guns. The packs of the men were stripped to the minimum (the
soldiers suflfered severely during the cold nights for lack of blankets and
overcoats), and there was no transportation.

This first mountain battalion — ^the ist Battalion of the 85th Regi-
ment — ^had the definite mission of eliminating the artillery fire on the
Maleme field. It seems likely that attempts to land additional air-bome
elements on the field were suspended pending the actions of the ist Bat-
talion. Few details concerning those actions are available. Authentic
German accounts place the main British positions on the heights of Hag
Marina, four miles east of the field, and tell of an envelopment effected
over difficult terrain to the south. In any event it is certain that the ad-
vance of the 1st Battalion was supported by the usual— or perhaps in this
instance by the more than usual — ^number of dive bombers. British and
German accounts agree that the Maleme airfield was free of artillery
fire and was completely in German hands by the morning of May 123.
Everyone agrees that diis was the decisive development of the Cretan
campaign.

We may be sure that the JU-52S poured into Maleme during the
twenty-third and the days following. Full details again are not available,
but as of the evening of the twenty-third we find the ist Battalion of the
85th Mountain Infantry swinging off to the southeast along the road
Maleme-Episcope, “protecting the right flank of a mountain regiment
attacking along the coastal road toward Canea.” By this time contact had
been established with the parachutists dropped on the first morning of
the attack near Canea.

During the next two days (May 24 and 25) the remaining elements
of the 85th Mountain Infantry — ^the regimental headquarters, the 2d and
3d Battalions, and the light-howitzer company — ^were landed at Maleme.
By evening of the twenty-fifth the regiment was assembled in the area
southeast of Modion.

Now we may reconstitute the situation as it stood on the evening of
May 25. Certain combat elements of the Mountain Division, consist-
ing chiefly of two regiments, had been landed and were in action. One
of the regiments was attacking due east from the vicinity of Hag
Marina against the main British positions at the head of Suda Bay. This
was in the nature of a holding attack. The other regiment — ^the 85th —
was assembled as already described, ready to move due east from the
vicinity of Episcope toward Stylos. This advance, which would take

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THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

the regiment straight across the pathless mountain wastes^ was directed
against the flank and rear of the main British positions. The British, on
their part, were holding to the west and south of Canea, and in the sector
of the 85th Regiment they were holding lightly the heights southwest
of Alikianou and south of Episcope.

We are able to follow the advance of the 85th Regiment in some
detail, and since that is something we have not often been able to do
in this campaign, let us do it here. The advance was an exercise in pure
moimtain warfare, conducted under conditions which called for the
greatest physical exertion on the parts of the troops. The terrain was
exceedingly rough and rocky; it was roadless and almost pathless. By
day the sun was broiling-hot and there was no shade and very little
water. There was no transportation of any kind — ^weapons, ammunition,
water, rations, all had to be carried by the soldiers. In the course of
the fighting units were often separated from their ration dumps and
often went a day or more without food. No attempt at all was made to
warm the food. By night it was cold and there were no overcoats. There
was also little sleep since it was invariably necessary to post a large part
of each company on security missions.

The technique of the advance of the 85th Regiment seems to have
involved assigning definite terrain features as objectives to certain bat-
talions. Often one battalion would be held back until another battalion
had reached its objective, whereupon the first battalion would be pushed
ahead, and so on. The regiment had no artillery of its own, the guns of
the light-howitzer company having been left behind with orders to be
brought up later along the coastal road. Dive-bomber support is not
mentioned in the German accounts, but perhaps it had become too com-
monplace to receive special mention.

The advance across country began on the morning of May 26. The
3d Battalion led out and forthwith discovered that the British had
abandoned the positions southwest of Alikianou and south of Episcope.
As the 3d Battalion reached the heights south of Barypetras the regi-
mental commander ordered the ist Battalion to smash ahead. It encoun-
tered some resistance but by nightfall had reached the line of Pyrgos-Hill
542. Early on the morning of May 27 the advance was resumed, this
time with two battalions abreast: the ist Battalion on the left and the
2d Battalion on the right. The objective for the day was the road running
southeast through Stylos down which the British would necessarily with-
draw. On this day the assault battalions covered about eight miles (they
had covered five miles the day before), but they fell short of their
objective by a mile or so. On the twenty-eighth the regiment reached
the road at many points, and one company of the ist Battalion is reported
to have pushed ahead on its own initiative and seized a bridge on the
main road one mile south of Kalami. From a point of vantage the regi-

TODAY’S WAR

609

mental commander watched columns of British soldiers moving south
toward Neon Chorion. His reaction was to regret his lack of artillery
for use against the “highly observable targets.”

While the 85th Regiment was advancing from Pyrgos to Stylos it waS'
by-passing the fight which all the time was raging to the west and south
of Canea. As the 85th Regiment approached the main coastal roads;
in the vicinity of Stylos and Kalami the British positions near Canea
became untenable. The positions were abandoned on the afternoon of
the twenty-seventh. As we shall see, many of the defenders managed to
slip away to the southeast that night, using the roads which the 85tb
Regiment had fallen just short of reaching.

Having reached and cut the vital roads on the twenty-eighth, the
85th Regiment, following a division order, sent its reserve battalion
(the 3d) down the road to a point south of Neon Chorion. There the
battalion was to take up a position covering the assembly of a “pursuit
detachment” then being formed back at Maleme.

Operations of the Pursuit Detachment

This pursuit detachment deserves a few paragraphs. The first note-
worthy point is the one just made: the detachment was being formed at
Maleme while the attack on the Canea position was still in progress.
Therefore, the detachment was ready to move out the moment the roads
were clear. Obviously the detachment was composed of all-fresh units
which had not yet seen action. In fact, the clear indication is that most
of the units had just been landed, and there is the good possibility that
they were components not of the Mountain Division but of an air-
infantry division.

The chief elements of the pursuit detachment were:

( 1 ) One motorcycle battalion;

(2) One mountain-reconnaissance battalion;

(3) Several mountain-artillery batteries;

(4) One platoon of tanks, and

(5) One section of engineers.

No further details concerning any of these units are available. It is
probable that all except the tank platoon were air-bome. The tanks may
have been small ones brought in by air, or they may have been boated
over to Suda Bay by night.

In any event the detachment moved out of its assembly area near
Platanias at 3:30 a.m. on May 28. There had been a little delay in
departure, due to failure of the tanks and the motorcycles to arrive, and,
in fact, these elements were missing when the movement started. Just
east of Suda the column was delayed for three or four hours, due to
demolitions on the road, and during this enforced wait tanks and motor-

610 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

cycles caught up. The detachment continued the march in a formation
concerning which we have only one detail : the leading unit was a bicycle
company (apparently from the reconnaissance battalion). Just west of
the road junction north of Stylos the bicyclists were brought up short
by fire from the cliffs which lined the road. The rest of the reconnaissance
battalion (the “heavy** company) came up and took over the frontal
advance^ and the bicycle company turned south for the inevitable en-
velopment. After bringing mortars, anti-tank guns, and artillery into
action the enemy was finally dislodged; a crater in the road at the
junction was by-passed, and the advance continued. The time was about
noon. It will be noted that the pursuit detachment had reached the Stylos
road practically simultaneously with the 85th Mountain Regiment. It is
likely that the enemy dislodged by the detachment were cut off, or barely
escaped being cut off, by the mountain troops.

Following the action north of Stylos, the pursuit detachment took up
an advance-guard formation. The advance guard consisted of one motor-
cycle company, the section of engineers, one platoon of artillery, one
platoon of anti-tank guns, and the “heavy** company of the reconnais-
sance battalion. Meanwhile, the bicycle company with one platoon of
anti-tank guns attached was sent down the alternate route, Kalami-
Vamos.

As the advance guard passed through Stylos it made contact with the
85th Regiment and no doubt was brought up to date on the current
situation. The object of the detachment now was to push ahead as rapidly
as possible in the hope of disrupting the British withdrawal. At a point
about a mile south of Neon Chorion — apparently just beyond the posi-
tion held by the 3d Battalion — the point of the advance guard was taken
imder heavy rifle fire. This evidently was from the rear guard of the with-
drawing enemy column. It was still early in the afternoon.

An attempt by the advance party to steam-roller its way through the
pass was repulsed, apparently with considerable losses (“The party got
itself into a difficult situation,** says the German account). During the
afternoon the remainder of the advance guard and finally the main body
came up and joined the action. Finally the 3d Battalion of the 85th was
called in to serve as the enveloping force. Obviously the British were
fighting a determined action. The German commander got the impression
that “the enemy was employing all means at hand in order to hold out
until dark with the intention of withdrawing during the night . . . [the
British] made occasional small counterattacks, so that much of the action
was at close quarters.*’ He found his own artillery was ineffective, owing
to poor observation, and so he decided to await the withdrawal.

The British did withdraw shortly after midnight — withdrew to the
south, and away from further contact with this pursuit detachment. The
detachment resumed the advance early on the morning of the twenty-

TODAY’S WAR

611

ninth. There were occasional delays due to road blocks, mines, and weak
or demolished bridges, but there was no enemy resistance worthy of the
name. At i:oo p.m. the advance guard reached Rethymnon and a few
minutes later made contact with the “Rethymnon west” group of para-
chutists. This group of parachutists were defending themselves near
where they had fallen about two miles east of Rethymnon. The town had
remained in Australian-Greek hands. Here as elsewhere along the coastal
road the defenders appear to have abandoned their positions after the
fall of Canea and to have moved to the south coast in the hopes of being
evacuated.

Up to this point — the road junction east of Rethymnon — there con-
tinued to be little or no enemy resistance (although a few hundred Greeks
had given themselves up as prisoners) . However, the road farther east of
Rethymnon is cut out of the sides of the hills which rise from the sea.
The parachutists reported that the hills were strongly held and that the
road was covered by enemy fire. Under the circumstances the detachment
commander decided to bivouac for the night where he was — ^near
Rethymnon.

At 5:00 A.M. on May 30 the detachment again moved out. This time
the advance was led by two tanks, closely followed by two infantry
howitzers (on self-propelled mounts?). Apparently the tanks and infantry
howitzers went on down the road a distance of about three miles while
the mass of the detachment awaited the results of an artillery bombard-
ment of the sides of the hills. When the artillery fire at the near end of
the pass was supplemented by fire from the tanks and infantry howitzers
at the far end, the defending Greeks and Australians (1,100 of them, the
Germans say) came down and surrendered.

The action cast of Rethymnon was over by 7:30 a.m. At 8:30 a.m. the
advance guard of the detachment made contact with the “Rethymnon
east” group of parachutists. This group, like the “Rethymnon west” one,
had been unable to better its position and so had simply held on through
the ten tough days.

At 1:30 P.M. the detachment was resting on the airfield at Candia,
having made contact a half an hour before with the Candia group of
parachutists which had been held west of the town. Leaving Candia at
4:00 P.M., the detachment marched to Neapolis. There one platoon of
motorcyclists was detached and sent on ahead to the day’s march objec-
tive, Herapetra. As the platoon passed through Spakia it made contact
with a motorized Italian reconnaissance psurty. With the battle already
won, the Italians had landed (by boat) the day before. Their current
mission was to hold the insignificant village of Spakia. The German
motorcycle platoon reached Herapetra at 10:00 p.m. An hour later the
remainder of the motorcycle battalion came up. The distance covered
during the day figured up at about 120 miles.

612 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Throughout the operations of the pursuit detachment there is no men-
tion of support by dive bombers. The conclusion seems to follow that al-
though the Germans provide dive bombers liberally when needed, they
»do not provide them at all when not needed.

Pursuit to the South Coast

By now there will have arisen the question of what happened to the
defenders who succeeded in getting away. Light on this matter is thrown
by the further activities of the 85th Regiment of mountain infantry. It
will be recalled that we left that regiment along the Stylos road on the
afternoon of May 28. The regiment’s 3d Battalion had just assisted the
pursuit detachment in an attack on a British delaying position near Neon
Chorion. By the afternoon of May 29 the 85th Regiment (less the 2d
Battalion) had occupied a pass two miles south of Alikampos, where we
again pick up its story. The British troops who had evacuated the Suda
Bay region were heading south toward Sphakia on the southern coast
(not to be confused with Spakia, where we left the Italians) . The mission
of the 85th Mountain Regiment was to turn that retreat into a rout.

About 9:30 A.M. on May 30 the ist Battalion, leading the advance,
came into contact with scouts of the British rear guard near Imvros.
There was an exchange of rifle fire, following which the weak British
screen withdrew to what developed to be another main delaying position
in the vicinity of Hill 798 and the end of the road. (It will be recalled
that the road ends at Komedates and that from there on there is nothing
but a footpath.) The British had thrown up field fortifications. Their
position was so strong as to induce automatically the adoption by the 85th
Regiment of the Umfassung (envelopment) tactics which characterize
German operations, even minor ones. There was no frontal attack but,
as indicated on the map, the ist and 2d companies of the leading bat-
talion moved out across country for a double envelopment of the enemy
flanks. Apparently the 3d Company was in battalion reserve.

This envelopment operation of the ist Battalion progressed during the
night (May 2^30), but when morning came it was found that the
British had extended their flanks. The German reaction to this new de-
velopment was again to decline a frontal attack and again to resort to a
double envelopment. This time the 7th and 8th companies of the 3d
Battalion were sent wide around the flanks. This was a double envelop-
ment of a double envelopment.

Meanwhile, during the course of May 31 a regimental OP had been
established on the commanding heights of Hill 892. From this point of
vantage a long stretch of coast could be observed. The British were seen
to be crowding into the area between Kometades and Sphakia. They
were continuing to hold the line of Hill 798 and were erecting field

TODAY^S WAR

613

fortifications facing east between Kometades and Wraskos. The attack
on Hill 798 (by the enveloping forces) had been set for dawn of June i,
but after observing the strength of the British position the regimental
commander decided to hold up the attack until he could get dive-bomber
and artillery support.

The dive bombers (four of them) appeared early on the morning ot
June I. Meanwhile^ a light infantry howitzer had been installed on Hill
892 (being pulled up by man power) and, beginning at 8:30 a.m., it
added its fire to that of the bombers. The observation being excellent, the
fire of the infantry howitzer was highly effective — ^by inference, more
effective than the bombs of the Stukas. The combined fires of howitzer
and bombers is alleged to have “forced the enemy to leave his positions
and to seek safety by dispersion in the fields.”

At 9:00 A.M., under cover of the bombardment, the 7th and 8th com-
panies launched their converging attack on Kometades and Sphakia. By
10:00 A.M. the 8th Company was in Kometades, and by 1:30 p.m. the
7th Company had broken through to Sphakia. By 8:00 p.m. the 85th
Regiment was in possession of the coast from Wraskos to Loutrou, and
the final action on Crete soil was finished.

Naval Operations

The operations around Crete constituted one of the most heroic but
altogether one of the saddest experiences in the history of the Royal Navy.
When the parachutists began to drop on May 20 the Navy waded into
the thick of the action. At the time it was generally believed that the
parachute-and-air attack was preliminary to a large-scale water-borne in-
vasion, and the Royal Navy undertook to prevent it.

All during the twentieth strong units of the Mediterranean fleet,
operating out of the base at Alexandria, patrolled the northern Cretan
beaches, particularly those at Canea and Candia along which landings
were likely to be attempted. Nothing happened that day, and at night
the units of the fleet withdrew from the Aegean waters. During the night
there was a brush with Italian E-boats, as a result of which several of
those fast motor-driven craft were sunk. A short time later, as the fleet
was passing through the straits between Crete and the Dodecanese
Islands, it was attacked from the air and one destroyer, the Juno, was
sunk. Even with that loss by nighttime of May 20 it looked as though
things were going well enough at sea.

The day of May 21 appears to have passed quietly, with the main
British fleet units keeping out of the Aegean. During that night (May
21-22), however, there came reports that the water-borne invasion was
under way. The fleet which had been standing by in readiness moved
immediately to the danger jxiints. During the very early hours of May 22

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the ships encountered the convoy — a, convoy of about thirty small Greek
ships, escorted, apparently, by a single destroyer. The action was short
and decisive, the convoy and its destroyer being quickly and completely
annihilated. The Germans later put their losses at 200 men — a figure
probably as far under the true mark as British estimates of 5,000 lost were
over the mark. There is good evidence to show that the convoy was made
up of mountain troops. This suggests the thought that the unit involved
may have been the missing third regiment of that mountain division
which figured so prominently in the land operations.

Apparently the British fleet had disposed of the convoy before the
Luftwaffe could get into action, but a little later in the morning the bomb-
ers arrived. There followed a plane-versus-ship fight which likely will go
down in history as a military epic.

Details of the historic battle are lacking. Apparently as it began only
“light” units of the fleet were in the Aegean while the “heavy” units were
patrolling the nearby Ionian Sea. The light squadron, or a part of it con-
sisting of four cruisers and three destroyers, was attacked by dive bomb-
ers at 8:30 A.M. between Candia and the island of Melos. Apparently
the technique of the dive bombers was to concentrate on any ship which
happened to get separated from the others and, conversely, the technique
of the squadron was to keep all ships within mutual supporting distances.
The ships themselves kept moving at high speeds, “repeatedly changing
course, dodging the falling bombs, while speeding at over thirty knots.”

Meanwhile, as the battle in the Aegean raged the heavy squadron was
speeding through the straits northwest of Crete to the rescue of the lighter
units. During the afternoon all units, heavy and light, were violently en-
gaged. Heavy losses were suffered and inflicted. At 1:30 p.m. the destroyer
Greyhound fell back, was heavily attacked, and was sunk. Two destroyers
and two cruisers went back, the destroyers to pick up survivors, and the
cruisers to provide antiair protection. Both cruisers (the Gloucester and
the Fiji) were sunk.

The terrible day in the Aegean finally ended, and the British ships with-
drew to their base. The two cruisers and perhaps four destroyers bad been
lost, and practically every ship had been subjected to a terrific pounding
from the air.

The elements of the Battle of the Aegean were clear. It had been a case
of land-based aircraft against ships with no protection other than their
own antiair guns.

It appears that the British fleet never again entered the Aegean in
strength after the battle of the twenty-second. At the same time it appears
that the Germans never resorted to large-scale water-borne troop trans-
port during the operations on the island. Possible answers to this seeming
inconsistency are the following: Having effected the air-borne landing of
the battalion of mountain infantry of May 22, the Germans had no bum-

TODAY’S WAR

615

ing need of water-borne transport and, with the British fleet still strong
and still in position to move into the Aegean quickly, the Grermans feared
to risk the loss of another convoy.

The Royal Navy did indeed continue to perform invaluable services
during the remainder of the Cretan campaign. Perhaps the most im-
portant of these services was in aiding the evacuation of troops from the
southern coasts. It appears that light units of the fleet — such as destroyers
— would lay well off the southern coast of the island. By night these vessels
would come in close and would send boats ashore to pick up any troops
who happened to have reached the points in question. Thus while the
British were fighting that delaying action north of Sphakia, it is probable
thatl each night saw the evacuation of hundreds of troops via the destroy-
ers lying offshore.

The clearest evidence of the work of the Royal Navy during those later
days of the operations on Crete lies in the official British figures of num-
ber of troops evacuated: approximately 15,000. About half of that num-
ber were English. The remainder was divided between Australians and
New Zealanders. Incidentally, it will be noted that the British succeeded
in evacuating about one half of the force which garrisoned Crete at the
start of the invasion. Of course most of the force’s equipment was lost.

The figures for British losses, according to British sources, have been
indicated above: approximately 15,000 killed, wounded, or missing. On
the other side of the picture, German figures for German losses, officially
announced, give a total of about 6,000 killed, wounded, or missing. The
British say this German figure is about one third of the true one, and they
add that the Germans lost on the order of 250 troop-carrying planes and
180 fighters and bombers. One thing is clear: On a percentage basis, the
losses on both sides were extremely high. In view of the nature of the
operations that fact comes as no surprise.

The Lessons

The campaign in Crete gives us a remarkable and clear-cut example
of unity of command. Absolute co-ordination of land and air forces was a
prerequisite to German success. That co-ordination was attained by plac-
ing all the forces concerned — ^the VIII Air Corps, the mountain division,
the parachute units, the air-bome units — under the direct command of
CJeneral Lohr. The action in so constituting the “Task Force Crete” was
typical of German doctrine. Under that doctrine the question as to the
merits or demerits of a “separate” or a “non-separate” air force becomes
merely a play on words. When it comes to the fighting no one element is
separate-^everything is blended, by deliberate directive, into a co-ordi-
nated whole.

The command of the Task Force Crete was not only unified; it was

616 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

also especially fitted for the task at hand. General Lohr is a general of
aviation. The selection of such an officer to command an operation in
which air power played so important a role is another item typical of
German doctrine.

Also typical was the composition of the task force itself. It might have
been expected that the first air-bome troops to land would be the air-
infantry units which had operated the year before in Holland. However,
Crete is a mass of mountains, and so it was logical (and typical) for the
mountain troops to be landed first. We have seen that these mountain
troops had, in fact, broken the back of the defense before other units
arrived.

The campaign in Crete was another powerful illustration of the Dun-
kirk-proven fact that an air force is only effective when it has bases within
range of the action. Much of the explanation of the events in Crete lies
in the following picture: hundreds of German fighters and bombers
operating out of bases between ninety (Melos) . and two hundred
(Athens) miles away; against an insignificant number of British bomb-
ers operating out of African bases beyond effective fighter range (400
miles) .

The sad situation cited just above has one cheerful angle : It reassures
us as to the chances of success of an invasion of England. Just as the in-
vasion of Crete turned on acquiring complete control of the air, so does
a successful invasion of England presuppose complete control of the air.
But the island of England is dotted with airdromes, and the invader will
meet not bombers that have flown four hundred miles, but fighters that
left the ground five minutes ago. Owing to the unfavorably located Afri-
can bases, Germany seized the air over Crete practically by default. The
price of seizing the air over England would be an all-out encounter with
the RAF pursuit fleet. Judging by past events, the price will be beyond
the invader’s means.

The events of May 22 in the Aegean Sea will long be cited as prime
evidence in discussions of air and sea power. These events seem to have
established definitely a fact which already had been widely accepted,
namely, that naval vessels can operate in narrow waters covered by
hostile land-based aircraft only at the cost of heavy losses.

As it happened, the tragic losses of the British Mediterranean fleet were
largely in vain since the Germans were able to make the invasion stick
without benefit of sea-borne convoys. However, the fact remains that the
fleet was able to destroy the convoy, and the strong indication is that it
could have destroyed subsequent convoys had any appeared and had the
fleet been willing to take the losses. Thus the fact that land-based aircraft
can inflict heavy losses on naval vessels in narrow waters does not mean
that shipping friendly to the aircraft may sail such waters with impunity.
And under some conditions that fact may be very important indeed.

TODAY^S WAR

617

The tactical developments of the campaign were a demonstration of
the possibilities of the bomber used as artillery in conjunction with ground
troops armed with automatic weapons (tommy guns). While “the de-
structive power [of the bomber] is less than its paralyzing power, it does
paralyze . . . and it is able to ferret out anything.” It is only belaboring
the obvious to note once again that the parachutists were sustained by
the bombers and that the mountain troops were literally blasted into vic-
tory by them.

The direct strategical consequences of the fall of Crete are not yet dis-
cernible. There was a prevalent expectation that the successful invasion
would be followed rapidly by an attack on the long-established British
naval base at Cyprus. But such an attack has not materialized, and if it
did it would find Cyprus a harder nut to crack. However, there seems no
doubt but that the occupation of Crete has materially restricted the
British use of the eastern Mediterranean and has given Germany an ad-
vanced bastion of great value both from the offensive and defensive
standpoints. Among other possibilities there is the one that Crete-based
bombers may play an important role in any forthcoming action around
Suez or in North Africa.

THEY SAY . . .

By Colonel R. Ernest Dupuy

Colonel Dupuy is the author of several books on military subjects and
a contributor for many years to the service journals. “They Say . .
appeared in 1942.

. A CONVOY will sail tomorrow for . . “The new mortar has a
range of . . .” “General MacArthur will hit first at . . “Our latest
bomber carries . . “We’re going to seize . . “The Navy lost . .
“Our troops are griping because . .

So runs the gabble full tilt in cocktail bar and at soda fountain; in
home, restaurant, bus, and smoking car; in gossip columns and under the
by-lines of “military experts” ; in letters home to Mother and the best girl
and the guy who worked across the desk before the war.

Who are They? Who told you? More to the point — ^why in hell should
you be wagging your jaw? Do you work for Hitler, or are you just a big
goodhearted guy who doesn’t care who dies so long as you get the credit
for knowing something?

Snap out of it, soldier. The limber-lipped boys have always played the
enemy’s game for him. That’s why we — and our enemies — ^have that
patient puzzle-picture solver we call “military intelligence.”

Maybe you’ve never bothered much about military int^Jligenge. Ms

618 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

you think it some newfangled thing. Have you ever read your Bible?
Take a peek at Joshua 2: i to 24:

And Joshua the son of Nun sent out of Shittim two men to spy secretly, saying,
Go view the land, even Jericho. And they went, and came into an harlot’s house,
named Rahab, and lodged there.

That’s the way the first story of military intelligence opens. Look it up.
It’s all there, down to the final successful assault of the city, based on the
information gained. There was no counterintelligence in those days, no
protective censorship. Censorship, be it of our own lips, or of the written
word, or the picture, in so far as the military are concerned, consists of
barring from the enemy knowledge of the things he wants to know in
order to defeat us.

These are matters which we call “military information.” They are the
same things we want to know about the enemy so that we can defeat him
the more easily. They are facts which, when collected, evaluated, and
fitted into a mosaic, become military intelligence. Unless we recognize
these facts, recognize the inherent danger in publishing them, inadvertent
publication of such things in effect penalizes our side. In war this means
death and disaster.

What are these elements of military information of value to the enemy?
Let us look them over. They are: factual information of the strength,
armament, equipment, morale, state of training or tactical doctrines of
our armed forces; information which may affect the morale of our own
people or that of allied, neutral, or enemy peoples and which may be used
by the enemy for propaganda; strategic information which would lead
the enemy to an interpretation of our own war plans or intelligence.

Basically the enemy, in order to crush us, must know what we are
doing, how we propose to do it, and what resources we can command.
From all the information which he can gather he makes an estimate of
the situation which is nothing more or less than a trial balance. This
estimate is continuous, and it must be projected into the future. If the
enemy can obtain accurate knowledge of our plans, strength, and re-
sources as of a given date, either global or in a given theater of opera-
tions, that is so much grist in his mill.

Let me repeat. These enemy estimates are continuous. They consist in
piecing together a mass of fragmentary information, bits of news them-
selves seemingly unimportant but which, put together, make an important
picture.

Whether we talk loosely or write loosely, the results are grist in the
enemy’s mill. Perhaps, however, by looking at historical examples of the
printed word we can get a better idea of the evils of loose talk. History
is full of instances of battles lost, campaigns wrecked, nations shattered^
because of the disclosure of information by the press.

TODAY’S WAR

619

Who would believe that there would be harm in publishing the fact
that in a certain camp a measles epidemic had broken out and that there
were so many cases hospitalized? Measles? Nothing serious about an out-
break of measles. Such things happen all the time. Yet for that very rea-
son actuarial expectancy tables based on past experience exist; one can
predict the number of cases per one thousand persons in any given group.
How easy, then, to reverse the process, given the number of cases, and
arrive at the group total. This has actually happened in this war.

Who would think that there would be harm in the publication of a
picture showing British soldiers handling an unexploded delayed-action
bomb in London? It was the enemy’s own bomb; surely he knew all about
it. Quite so. But, having found out the British method of handling these
bombs, the enemy made such changes in his detonators as to ensure that
future unexploded delayed-action bombs would and did explode on
handling!

Let’s go back to World War I. On April i6, 1917, just ten days after
the United States declared war on Germany, the French so-called Nivelle
offensive was launched and failed. As a result, six weeks later, had Ger-
many but known, a large part of the French Army was practically in
mutiny. But the Germans did not know — and neither did we, by the way.
Before General Pershing had ever arrived in France a confidential report
to the French Minister of War, on April 24, stated, “By the end of the
summer we will have guns, planes, to say nothing of the Americans — ^but
there will be no French soldiers!” A determined CJerman drive would
have won the war. But Germany didn’t know, or wasn’t convinced — and
no less a personage that Ludendorff admits it — ^until June 5. By then it
was too late. The mutiny had been checked. French military intelligence
had choked the news, delayed it until too stale to be of any use to the
enemy. That was plain suppression of news. Was it justified? I leave the
answer to you.

The identification of units — the order of battle — ^is something to be
sought, particularly if there be prior knowledge of the time of organiza-
tion of tihe unit or the state of its training. It is the starting line-up, im-
portant in sports, doubly so in war. Thus in war we must discourage much
of the regional or home-town news coverage which in peacetime is one
of our great means of letting Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public know how
their son is getting along. The mention of a group of men hailing from
a specific locality leads to the conclusion that they belong to some specific
division — everyone knows our normal territorial organization in divisions.
On the other hand, the cessation of news from a particular division which
has been widely publicized in a certain area may lead to the assumption
that that division has left for some battle front.

The publication of society notes, harmless enough in themselves, may
give information to the enemy. It was only a comparatively short time ago

620 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

that a Washington newspaper mentioned the name of a young naval
officer present at a social gathering, adding the chirpy gossip that he
“was waiting until repairs to his ship, the U.S.S. Blank, had been com-
pleted.” The U.S.S. Blank, one of our battle fleet, had been at Pearl Har-
bor, but until that time it was not known she had received even a scratch.
Here was confirmation of damage well calculated to cheer an enemy’s
heart, to set him right on casualties he had inflicted.

One of our former military attaches, through careful and continued
study of social notes in the press of one of our present enemies, succeeded
in making a very accurate analysis of the divisional organization and
strength of that country’s army — carefully guarded facts which he could
have obtained by no other means. Just one man, sitting in an office poring
over the newspapers.

It was only a few weeks ago that an irresponsible reporter published a
fanciful story relating to a “mighty armada” of American ships traversing
the South Pacific. He related the story as an eyewitness, although he had
actually never been in the South Pacific. That was plenty to set our blood
running cold, for by coincidence there was, in fact, a convoy of United
State troops on the Pacific seas at that time. Had a single ship been sunk
as a result of that yam whose would have been the responsibility?

Let’s look at the Civil War. In September 1863 CJeneral Rosecrans put
into operation a plan for crushing the Confederacy by whipping first
Bragg and then Johnston in detail in the Chattanooga area. The Chicago
Times published the plan in full, the correspondent ending his story with
the statement: “Twenty days from this time, if I mistake not, the signs
will see Georgia redeemed and thoroughly regenerated.”

Bragg read and digested the story, sent it on to Richmond and the
Confederate War Department. As a result came the Federal disaster at
Chickamauga, September 19, 1863. Instead of seeing Georgia redeemed
in twenty days, the Union Army was almost destroyed. Instead came a
long succession of bloody battles up to September 2, 1864, when Atlanta
fell, and April 9, 1865, when Lee surrendered at Appomattox. What
price in blood, tears, and sweat that newspaper story?

In the Spanish-American War the entire plan for, and destination of,
the expeditionary force to invade Puerto Rico was published in the Ameri-
can press. The result was that General Miles had to reroute his defense-
less transports, thus disclosed to the enemy, to an entirely different
destination on the opposite side of the island from that originally chosen.

Going back to the Crimean War, we find Lord Raglan complaining,
with reason, that the London Times was publishing full information of
the British losses from disease, location of British strong points, effect of
hostile fire — all items of great value to the enemy both directly and
indirectly.

In the Franco-Prussian War, as before it in the Austro-Prussian War

TODAY’S WAR

621

of 1866, the German military authorities received from the British press
priceless information on enemy plans and dispositions, including news of
French concentrations which enabled them to attain the victory of Sedan.

In World War I the British, prior to the great German offensive of
March 1918, which resulted in the destruction of Gough’s Fifth Army,
received a tip-off — that they did not act on it is another story — on the
enemy’s intentions. The fact that General von Hutier, heretofore a leader
in violent and successful offensives on other fronts, was on the Fifth
Army front was disclosed by reading an item in an obscure Baden news-
paper. The British had downed a German aviator in the Fifth Army
area. They knew his name. A few days later this Baden newspaper pub-
lished a letter of sympathy to his parents from General von Hutier, and
a Briton read it in Berne, Switzerland. Just a question of adding two and
two, provided one were furnished with both facts.

So much for the disclosure of military information. Let’s look at the
aggressive side of the tongue-wagging picture — ^the spreading of rumor
campaigns by whispers or by reprinting what the enemy sends out to at-
tract our attention. These are the artillery fire of psychological war —
the war of nerves.

A skillful enemy, well versed in the art, today sets trap after trap to
catch our press and our newscasters. The traps are baited with news
interest; they are timed to deadlines; they carry the punch that in peace-
time news gathering would ring a flash bell on every news ticker in the
nation. And they are just as deadly as the spray of high-explosive shell
fragments.

There is more to wartime radio broadcasting than just that, however,
because of the instantaneous action of radio, its immediate impact. The
enemy speaks and his voice is heard by thousands of our own people. If,
topping that, the American radio rebroadcasts his utterances, millions of
Americans hear. Therein lies danger. Why? Cajinot Americans be trusted
to draw their own conclusions, to evaluate his words? Of course they
can, given a complete presentation. But unless this accurate documenta-
tion is made, they are as wide open to the hostile emotional attack as un-
protected soldiers to the physical bomb blast.

These things we are combating by the protective shield of censorship,
by tight-lipped reticence. And we will aggressively combat them success-
fully, too, despite the continuous enemy effort. Already we have started.

What must be scored as the most brilliant psychological blow on our
part in the present war is the cloud of secrecy which hung over the details
of the bombing of Tokyo.\From the viewpoint of the Japanese General
Staff it is a “must” that they know whence came the bombers that hit
their country, where they were boimd. Where are these mysterious bases?
Where Shangii-la? They don’t know yet. Not only the Japanese propa-
gandists but, in fact, the entire Axis propagandist machinery developed

622 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

in this case a severe hotbox, as evidenced in the halting, conflicting stories
they sent out, childish attempts to goad us into telling them these all-
important facts.

The story includes also a very neat bit of shoe fitting on the other foot.
The bombers who performed that task under Jimmy Doolittle winged
their way into battle, in broad daylight, riding the radio beam of a Japa-
nese station which at the time was broadcasting a little rhapsody on the
scenic beauties of Japan, nestling peacefully in the assurance that it could
never be bombed. That’s exactly what the Nip was saying, in English.
Suddenly he went off the air. On came an excited voice, talking Japanese.
The monitor, who of coiurse understood Japanese, listened while the Jap
announcer screamed, “Enemy bombers coming! Coming fast! They are
flying low; they go too fast to be caught!”

As the bomb sticks whirled down this Nip announcer kept on the job.
Screaming in high-pitched panic, he called our shots in a play-by-play
description, noted the fires caused, shouted casualty bulletins. Our bomber
monitor kept him on as our ships winged their way on. And from the Nip
station they received the fullest information that anyone would want on
their accomplishments. It was not until twenty-four hours later that the
tone began to change, that casualties and damage were played down. But
in the meantime we knew — we had received from the enemy — ^precious
confirmation of our successes. Why? Because it was a complete surprise,
because there apparently existed at that time in Japan no internal defense
against psychological warfare, no linking of national effort to combat
panic.

Someday we in the United States are going to get a token air raid. Its
objective will be the production of fear, panic, and uncertainty in the
minds of our people. Are we going to play it like soldiers or are we going
to cackle and squawk on the air like barnyard hens when a hawlr flies
over? ,

Let’s play it safe. Let’s play it all safe, by tongue, by pen, by photo-
graph. To transpose the adage — ^what the enemy don’t know can’t hurt us.

GAS ON A HOSTILE SHORE

By Colonel (now Brigadier General) Alden H. Waitt

(^94s)

After two weeks of preparation the Greek fleet and army assembled
at Aulis in Boeotia to avenge the seduction of Helen, wife of Menelaus,
by Paris, son of Priam, king of Troy.

TODAVS WAR

623

“The wind thereupon proving fair, the fleet made sail and brought the
forces to the coast of Troy. The Trojans opposed the landing valiantly.
At the first onset many were slain and one of the noblest of the Greela,
Protesilaus, fell by the hand of Hector.”

Several thousand years later another fleet stood off Gallipoli within
cannon shot of Troy. The Turks opposed the landing valiantly. At this
first onset and at the other bloody subsequent assaults, thousands of Brit-
ish troops were slain.

The passage of years has not lessened the problem which confronted
Greek and British in other wars. The landing of troops on a hostile shore
is still one of the most difficult of operations. And if the defender adds
chemical weapons to his inherent defensive advantage the task of the
attacking force becomes still more difficult.

One of the important obstacles that must be foreseen by any com-
mander planning such an operation is the chemical obstacle. Every plan
for a landing on the enem/s shore must take into account the chance of
running into chemical agents, and it must provide a means of overcoming
them. These things must be covered by the plan whenever there is any
probability that the enemy may use gas.

As defensive means of warfare, chemicals are highly valuable and
flexible. They serve many purposes, and not the least of them is to provide
an effective defense over a period of several days without the necessity
of holding a large number of troops at the area to be defended.

The commander must first foresee the obstacles. He must estimate all
ways in which a defender might make use of chemicals. After this is
done, then he must find the means to overcome these possible chemical
defenses.

On any stretch of shore the practicable landing places are generally
few, owing to the irregularities of the shore line, the depth of the water,
the surf, or the prevailing winds. Thus a defending enemy will often be
able to make a fairly accurate estimate of where a landing is likely to be
made and to plan his defense ahead of time. Some of the things that
make a particular section of shore a good landing beach also make it
a good place for chemical defense. For example, quiet water is desirable,
and quiet water is usually found along the parts of shore where the wind
comes from the land more than from the sea. Such spots lend themselves
to the release of gas in cylinders from the headlands or even from beaches.

While landing troops are still aboard their transports, and even until
they come close to land, they run no great risk from chemicals. There can
be little effective chemical fire against a ship. Certainly the use of non-
persistent gases against ships need not be considered, and except for tear
gas in combination with shell or shrapnel there will be no likelihood of
chemicals fired by mobile artillery. Annor-piercing shell from shore bat-
teries may carry a proportion of irritant gases mixed with high explosive.

626

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

battalion^ in addition to its gas officer and noncommissioned oflScer, must
have a squad of selected men carefully trained in chemical reconnaissance
methods and equipped to conduct degassing operations on a small scale.
Each regiment should have a similar squad under the direction of the
regimental gas officer.

Before embarkation the commander should make certain that all anti-
gas equipment is available, serviceable, and ready to go over with each
landing wave. Every man must know how to use his protective equipment
and understand how to behave if he becomes exposed to chemicals. First-
aid training for gas casualties should be included. There must be repeated
exercises aboard ship to accustom all men to wearing the mask for long
periods. Working while masked develops the ability to fight while masked.

During the landing itself protection is largely an individual problem,
for there is little chance for measures of group protection. As soon as the
first sub-wave has reached the beach its mission is to push forward and
secure the landing for the succeeding sub-waves. As soon as it is possible
to gain the beach head the first wave must push forward at once to the
principal objective. Therefore, all steps possible will have to be taken to
overcome any slowing of the attack from enemy gas.

Regimental gas officers with their assistants should accompany the shore-
party commanders or at all events land with an early sub-wave. They
reconnoiter as soon as they land to find whether the enemy is using
gas, and particularly whether or not he has laid down barriers of mus-
tard.

Chemical-defense squads under battalion gas officers accompany their
units in each sub-wave as a part of the combat team. These squads must
all be equipped with protective clothing so they can go through gassed
areas. T^ey carry cutting tools, small entrenching shovels, and material
with which to clear lanes through heavily contaminated brush and
undergrowth. They cannot eliminate entirely the danger of bodily con-
tact with mustard-type gases on grass, undergrowth, or overhanging
branches, but they can reduce it greatly.

It is an open question whether or not it will be possible for the mem-
bers of chemical-defense squads to carry some small amount of degas-
sing material. If it is found practicable each man should carry about
twenty-five pounds of chloride of lime in a knapsack. Obviously this will
be enough only for degassing on the smallest scale, but that is essential.

For example, the degassing of the small area for portable radio appara-
tus is most important since communication between the landing party
and the commander of the operation must be maintained. Degassing
material is extremely useful at the entrances and exits of contaminated
trails. Foot bums may be reduced by requiring troops to scuff their feet
in chloride of lime at these places.

As soon as the anti-gas squads land they help the gas officers recon-

TODAY’S WAR

627

noiter to find gassed areas. They determine the extent of the chemical
obstacles and find ways around them if possible. If not they make the best
way through them. Some will act as guides for the advancing troops.

Active countermeasures are, of course, taken against enemy gas as soon
as possible. When artillery becomes available it directs counterbattery
fire against guns that may be laying down persistent gas. Degassing may
be necessary at battery positions.

Medical units have special duties to carry out if gas is encountered. It
should be possible to set up field stations near the beach where men can
be bathed who have run into mustard or similar gas. There will be plenty
of salt water at hand, and a bath with issue soap or any other will reduce
casualties materially.

When the beach head is secured the anti-gas units take measures for
degassing areas that must be occupied or along which troops and supplies
must pass. They take extra precautions to protect food and water being
carried from the shore inland. Dangerous areas are posted with signs and
sentries placed where necessary to prevent passage through them. If wind
and weather conditions favor continued use of chemicals by the enemy,
all precautions must be taken against non-persistent clouds. Constant
inspection of the protective equipment is also necessary.

A definite plan of protection is essential, for without such a plan a land-
ing force is liable to find it impossible to accomplish its mission against
a well-trained enemy.

The other side of this problem, that of protecting a beach defense of
our own against enemy gas, is equally important and demands as careful
consideration as the protection of landing parties. Again it is necessary
to foresee the obstacles before attempting to set up a system of defense.

In a landing operation there is a point when advantage in the use
of chemicals passes from the attacker to the defender. Up to the time
the attack reaches the beach and the landing party leaves its boats, the
chemical advantage, such as it is, is with the attack. But as soon as the
attack does reach the beach it changes hands and rests with the defense.

There are several rather remote possibilities of chemical attack that
a beach defense might be prepared to resist. It is possible that swift-
moving destroyers may run in to within a few thousand yards of a beach
and discharge clouds of irritant gas under cover of darkness. This, of
course, presupposes that the weather will favor the drift of the cloud.
But if it is practicable it should prove an effective form of attack. Only
an alert gas sentry and alarm system and a high degree of training in mask
adjustment could cope with it. Surface or underwater craft might also
discharge high concentrations of non-persistent gases such as phosgene.
Irritant gases may be fired from naval guns in combination with high
explosive.

628 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Frequent attacks by either of these methods, if they can be accom-
plished, would do much to wear down the beach defenders and reduce
their effectiveness. Unless men have been trained to work and fight in
their masks, the efficiency of the defense will be badly cut down.

There is also a possibility that persistent gas may be used in spray or
bombs from naval aircraft. Persistent gas would not be used directly on
beaches where landing is contemplated but could be used on places out-
side the intended landing area or against reserves to prevent their reach-
ing critical points. This would make it necessary for the defense to have
protective clothing, protected shelters, and degassing materials, and also
to be prepared to move to alternate positions chosen in advance.

The defender must expect a landing to be made under cover of smoke
either from planes, destroyers, or naval gunfire, or from smoke mortars
and guns on landing craft. Aiming points close to the guns defending the
beach should be provided (a normal requirement) in order to permit some
accuracy of fire while more distant reference points are obscured by
smoke.

A protective scheme for a beach defense must take account of all
methods that are not unreasonable to expect since every enemy must be
credited with the ability to accomplish all that is reasonably possible.

In the protective scheme against a landing attack all means of in-
dividual protection are necessary.

The training requirement of wearing the gas mask for long periods so
that efficiency will not be too greatly reduced when men are compelled
to wear it in action is also most important. Training is necessary in the
operation of beach guns while wearing the mask and training in firing
while in smoke. Men must be able to make repairs and correct stoppages
in the dark or in heavy smoke. Beach groups are often isolated, hence a
high state of gas discipline and training is particularly desirable. All troops
must be trained to meet gas situations alone and to have confidence in
their ability to protect themselves without the help or advice of an officer
or a noncommissioned oflBcer. A knowledge of first aid, if gassed, is an
essential.

Since the defense of a beach is conducted by very small groups, there
is little opportunity for collective protection of the forward elements. Gas-
proofing of the beach guns may not be practicable. There should be, how-
ever, gasproof shelters near the guns and command posts, and communi-
cation centers should be gasproofed. Communications must function
effectively if the defense is to be successful.

Reserve positions require gasproof shelters. Gasproofing is entirely
practicable back in these positions under all conditions.

Somewhere within the sector, probably in the neighborhood of the
reserves, there should be stores of degassing materials with trained men
ready for any needed degassing operations. The need for an efficient gas

TODAY’S WAR

629

alarm and sentry system is obvious. This is tied in with the security
measures normally taken. Frequent weather reports will also help the
defender in forecasting the probability of enemy gas and smoke opera-
tions.

All men, especially those of anti-gas units, should be trained to watch
the weather carefully and take note of prevailing wind currents in their
own small sectors.

Whether we are concerned with the protecting of a landing party or a
beach defense, the use of chemicals as a weapon introduces three princi-
pal requirements aside from proper equipment. These are careful train-
ing, perfect gas discipline, and a complete and well-integrated organiza-
tion.

THE INVISIBLE WEAPON

By Captain (now Lieutenant Colonel)

John V. Grombach

(W4o) *

World war n and the year 1940 have wrought fundamental and un-
foreseen changes in warfare. Neutral non-belligerent and warring powers
have found themselves faced with a hundred new problems — ^air
power, motorized and mechanized units, new tactics, parachutists, and,
by no means least, the fifth column. In all this change communication
remains vital to the participant in war. And propaganda and the protec-
tion of military secrets are vital both to participants and to nations near
the brink of involvement. Thus a mighty power in the struggle for world
dominion by nations, forms of government, and ideals is radio.

International radio is just now beginning to be evaluated adequately
as the powerful though invisible weapon it is. Just as dominance in the
air by plane may be the key to victory on land and sea, so the use of the
ether waves may be the most potent means for mastery of the minds and
hearts of men, without which no nation or ideal can survive.

Let us imagine, if we can, the invisible and increasing world-wide host
of lightning messengers impressed on carrier waves. A magic which in
effect has banished time and space throughout the entire globe. In a
minute fraction of a second a mere whisper is audible from the Antipodes
to the Arctic and from Cathay to the Caribbean, to one hundred million
radio receivers, each capable of listening in to hundreds of messages.
There is one radio receiver for every twenty inhabitants, almost sixty
million, in the Western Hemisphere alone. The air around our world
seethes with long and short waves radiating to those hundred million

630 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

receivers from more than fifty thousand transmitters of commercial, gov-
ernment, military, and naval stations, and from those of over one hun-
dred thousand efficient and indefatigable amateurs. From any point in
the world hundreds of powerful short-wave transmitters are easily con-
tacted, relaying messages from the most remote points of all continents
and from seventy-eight different countries. Such, briefly, is the most
potentially powerful agency for many purposes that the world has ever
known.

While the present airplane, tank, and automatic weapon have changed
conditions of combat, radio and broadcasting have completely revolu-
tionized the problems of the intelligence sections of the services. For
example, before and during the present war Englishmen and Frenchmen
have cleverly sold over the air, in impeccable English and French, Nazi
and Fascist ideals and beliefs. The strongest effort has been made to dis-
courage the English and French civilian public on war. In France radio
propaganda was used to create suspicion and break down confidence in
the English alliance. Moreover, before the war and since, a steady stream
of information has been sent secretly, quickly, and effectively by the
German espionage system by way of the radio. The perfect co-ordination
of troops with aviation, fifth columnists, and parachutists, particularly
in Poland, Norway, and Holland, was accomplished largely through radio
broadcasting. Also, the German submarine that threaded its way through
the safeguards, mines, patrols, nets, and booms of Scapa Flow on October
14, 1939, and sank the British battleship Royal Oak was undoubtedly
guided by some seemingly innocent radio broadcast in England or Hol-
land, perhaps even a band concert or a dramatic presentation.

Just as the ancient counterpart of the tank, the elephant, was employed
by the Persians centuries ago, codes and ciphers have been used as long
as there has been war. In fact, recorded history tells us that a crypto-
gram to Lysander of Sparta saved a general, an army, and the empire
later to be enlarged by Alexander the Great. At the same time all authori-
ties from Julius Caesar, one of the first cryptographers, to the Black
Chamber of the last World War agree that there is really no secret writing
code or cipher created by man that cannot be broken by man. But as
Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, himself one of the world’s greatest cryp-
tologists, said in his Advancement of Learning: “The only truly secret
system of writing conceals the existence of a secret.” Little did Bacon ^
Imow of the day when the secret would be even better concealed by not
even being written. Seconds may now send a crucial cryptogram hurtling
thousands of miles through space, whose secret meaning and presence is
known only to sender and receiver. And an instant after it is delivered
there is not one shred of evidence, nor even a record of any kind by which
the message can be deciphered into the “clear.” Such is the blitzkrieg
in the cryptographic battle of radio in World War II.

TODAY’S WAR

631

A practical illustration will be far more effective, perhaps, than dis-
sertations in history and literature. Not long ago a former world’s heavy-
weight boxing champion, in an interview on a major network of thirty-
nine United States stations, capable of being picked up over thousands
of miles, broadcast a message in the most simple jargon code, so simple
that any amateur cryptographer or alert listener should have made it out.
The broadcast had a potential audience of twenty-eight million radio
homes in the United States alone. Evidently not a single listener was ex-
pecting it. The message was: "5 in^SS. Queen Elizabeth sails tonight
with hundreds of airplanes for Halifax, N.B.” Neither the sponsor, the net-
work, the world’s champion, nor the sports commentator interviewing the
champion knew anything about the message. This particular message, of
course, was sent out only as an experiment to see whether anyone would
pick it up from the air waves. But if such a message can be sent with
millions listening in, is it safe to assume that there have not been far
more important uses made of this agency here in America?

If radio could be used with such devastating effect in Europe, it can be
used here with even more telling effect. In America, because of our com-
mercial radio system, our programs are the best in the world. Single radio
performances of many of our network programs would be events of out-
standing importance in other countries. As a result we have by far the
greatest radio-listening audience in the world, and in no country can more
people be reached by radio than here. Also, in no country is there any
greater freedom and tolerance. All these facts, it seems most evident,
constitute a new and serious military problem.

There are some 813 commercial (long-wave) broadcasting stations in
the United States, over six hundred more than in all Europe combined,
and, in addition, all of ours are privately owned. Then there are thirteen
short-wave stations, twenty-one television stations, and sixteen facsimile
stations. There are over fifty-three million radio receiving sets, including
eight million automobile sets, in the United States, and a potential audi-
ence of over one hundred million. The problem of planning the control
of radio by the War Department to cover both prewar and wartime
necessities is staggering. All stations should be carefully guarded or
controlled :

( 1 ) Against cryptic broadcasting, which either relays military informa-
tion by enemy espionage agents or co-ordinates fifth-column activities,
this in addition to providing ordinary censorship of news that might be
of value to the enemy.

(2) For the broadcasting of propaganda and information to combat
the enemy’s short-wave propaganda which would be intensified in case
of war (diere are many foreign short-wave broadcasting stations easily
picked up here) ; also, propaganda to serve as a deterrent against fifth-
column activity.

632 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

(3) For the proper kind of recreation and morale-building entertain-
ment, which would require minimum attention from the War Depart-
ment, since this is a radio station’s ordinary service in peacetime.

(4) In order to minimize or neutralize the effects of possible physical
seizure by enemy armed forces or the fifth column.

According to reports from excellent authority, though so far uncon-
firmed, the break-through at Sedan on May 14, 1940, which caused the
separation of the Belgian and English forces and the French Army of the
North from the main French Army and resulted in the encirclement and
destruction of the northern units and the final crushing of France, was
a German victory in the radio war of cryptography. Over one of the
government-owned and -operated stations spies or traitors concealed mes-
sages in code appraising the Germans of the thinly held line at the elbow
between the Maginot and Little Maginot lines, and of the temporary
gap between the armies moving rapidly into Belgium and the few divi-
sions under General Corap holding the northern end of the Maginot Line.
If this report is true it shows that government-owned stations are as
liable to subversive use as stations privately owned. It also proves that the
Battle of France was lost in large part by radio.

This is doubly strange when one considers the fatalistic parallel this
war has with World War 1 . In World War I the turning point was the
Battle of the Marne. It was won by radio. In 1914, however, there was
little radiotelephony but much radio telegraphy. The air was filled by
radio traffic with many jammed wave lengths. French, British, Belgian,
and German communications transformed the German offensive into a
mess of faulty co-operation. On September 2, 1914, Von Kluck was
ordered to close up on Von Bulow to his left and push the French away
from Paris. He never received this message, but the French did. He
radioed that he was following his original orders to swing southwest to
Paris. This message was also intercepted by the French but never received
by the German G.H.Q. The French cryptographers laid the deciphered
messages side by side before Joffre, and from them developed the Battle
of the Marne, won by radio and cryptography.

However, ordinary military radio telephonic or telegraphic messages,
their interception and the cryptography relating to them, do not consti-
tute, strictly speaking, a new problem. Although perhaps more complex
now than it was before, and more exacting, particularly with respect to
time, this is a fairly established military problem handled by the Signal
Corps. According to the latest booklet on our armed forces. The Army
of the United States , the Signal Corps is charged with intercepting enemy
radio messages and locating enemy (military) radio stations by radio
goniometry.

The new military problem which is the subject of this article is more
in the province of the Military Intelligence Division (G-2) which has

TODAY’S WAR "

633

duties “that relate to collecting, studying, analyzing, and furnishing all
kinds of military information,” which “supervises any army activities
dealing with military surveys, maps and photographs, codes and ciphers,
and translations,” and which “also directs a press-relations branch which
prepares and issues War Department press releases and handles other
matters concerning relations with the press and with the public at large.”
To these extensive duties must be added the new military problem of
radio propaganda and counterpropaganda, fifth-column and counter-
fifth-column radio activities, and the audio aspects as against the trans-
mitter aspects of radio from the creation and production of radio enter-
tainment to preventing fifth-column or espionage secret communications
by way of radio.

The problem does not always stop at any given line, nor is it any too
well defined. Here, for instance, is an actual case: One of the most
powerful short-wave stations in Europe, heard all over the world, often
emitted either before or after a scheduled evening broadcast a buzzing
signal resembling static, so fast in vibration it would not be recognized
as consisting of separate noises. However, that was not the answer. The
noise was actually a message concealed not only in code or cipher, but by
speed of transmission, and intended for their nationals in a country six
thousand miles away. First the message had been recorded, and then the
record was broadcast as played at perhaps ten times the normal velocity.
The key to its reception and solution lay, of course, in reversing the
operation.

Returning again to the four points of control which together represent
the new military problem of radio, we can label them:

( 1 ) Espionage and fifth-column cryptography and censorship;

(2) Propaganda and counterpropaganda;

(3) Recreation, entertainment, and morale building;

(4) Neutralization of physical seizure of stations by enemy or fifth
column.

These form a staggering new assignment for the Intelligence Division
of our service. And on the basis of European experience, they offer as
vital and as difficult a problem as any encountered in the warfare of 1940..

With regard to espionage and fifth-column cryptography and censor-
ship, it will be well to explain and describe in detail how a message can
be inserted in a commercial radio-program broadcast. It should be clear
that if by the adaptation of a well-known system a cryptogram can easily
and secretly be transmitted through audio means and doubly concealed
in the music, sound effects, and dramatic dialogue of the program,
superior cryptographers would have no trouble doing a far better and
more original job for espionage purposes or for the organization and
control of a fifth column.

While many different methods can be used to conceal a cipher or code

634

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

message in a radio program, including simple jargon, the most obvious
cipher is the radio equivalent of the grille or “cardan” method, in which
the sender writes his “clear^* through the holes of the grille, the letters
following the order of the numbered grilles, and then fills up the vacant
spaces with innocent letters to make a message. In radio actual words
in most cases could be used as letters and the grille replaced by key num-
bers, all based on the order of words in the program from its begin-
ning or from some key word. Here the difficulty of even suspecting, much
less deciphering without both a recording and stenographic transcript of
the broadcast, is to be noted. This is what makes sending and receiving
cryptographic messages by radio easier than their discovery or prevention.

A reverse of the Gronsfeld cipher especially adapted for radio can also
be effectively used. In the Gronsfeld there is a set of key numbers in a
series that can be easily memorized. These numbers are written down over
the “clear’* and repeated as often as necessary. Each letter of the “clear”
is then represented in the written message by a letter which is the number
of letters farther in the alphabet called for by the key number over it. In
the radio adaptation a key word would be written down over the “clear”
and repeated as often as necessary. Each letter of the “clear** can then
be represented by a number equivalent to the number of letters in the
alphabet separating the letter of the “clear** from the corresponding
letter of the key word. In the radio program words with the number
of letters equivalent to those numbers could be designated at indicated
spots or key breaks.

However, the most effective and practical cipher which would lend
itself to radio is what might be called a radio adaptation of the Nihilist
Bacon biliteral.

In this system the key is a square, as follows:

In writing the cipher the numbers describing the position of a letter
(its co-ordinates) are substituted for it. In the original the numbers start
with I, but due to the fact that here also numbers of the message will
be given by the number of letters in a word in the radio program, there
are too few one-letter words to make the original key practicable. In writ-

TODAY^S WAR

635

ing text for the radio enciphered by the double-transposition system as
explained above, it is necessary to assign them some definite words or
order of words, the number of letters of which will indicate the message.
For instance, if the second and fifth words after every musical theme,
bridge, curtain, or sound effect (all of which are called “business,” ab-
breviated BIZ— in radio work) has been agreed on, a sample written
transcript of part of a program (involving an oriental servant and a
man as characters) follows:

Pino: If patiently waiting, all things coming, thank you.

Biz: Knocks on door.

5 «

Man : Well, fancy that. Who is that?

Ping: No doubt knock on door meaning honorable self soon in bathtub, thank
you.

Man : I can’t believe it. Open the door.

Biz: Door opens,

2 6

Pino: Prediction is correct. Like humbly to present servant with humble liquid
for bath.

Man: Humble liquid for bath, eh? What is this humble liquid?

Ping: Humble liquid very fine product of most noble cow.

Biz: Buckets deposited on floor.

2 5

Man : Cow? Is that stuff there milk? I’m supposed to take a bath in milk?
Ping: Water very scarce. Milk very plentiful.

Both: Thank you.

Music: Fanfare.

Announcer: The Foods Reel reels on!

The message would therefore be: 52 — 26 — 25, or by reference to the
table, the “clear” would be: QED.

The most important fact in radio cryptography is the fact that while
the sender and receiver need only worry about the key words, a recording
and actual stenographic transcript of the program as it was actually
broadcast must be obtained before a cryptogram can possibly be discov-
ered or deciphered.

As for censorship, unfortunately, radio can sometimes do just as much
harm in war for lack of efficient censorship as through enemy cryptog-
raphy, in giving away military secrets or aiding fifth-column organiza-
tion. In Europe, especially in Belgium and France, where listeners were
so used to accepting news and announcements on government-controlled
stations, lack of confidence and suggestion of catastrophe made thousands
leave their homes and block the roads, thus to nullify military defense
measures. Many broadcasts, no doubt by fifth columnists, urged the popu-
lations of whole cities to surrender or run. If anyone doubts American

636

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

mass reaction to radio, one has but to remember the famous fVar of t^e
Worlds broadcast which completely disrupted a quiet and peaceful New
Jersey countryside. Perhaps H. G. Wells did not discover a secret weapon,
but Orson Welles discovered that radio was certainly a weapon through
which man’s mind and imagination could be successfully attacked.

With regard to propaganda, it is a fact that there are definite propa-
ganda short-wave programs already reaching America. In addition, there
are definite programs and a considerable number of domestic broadcasts
in foreign languages aimed at the large colonies of foreign-bom.

In Europe before and during the war German propaganda by radio
was as far ahead of the French and English as German superiority in
military equipment of ground and air. Many times a week, at regularly
scheduled times, outstanding symphonic concerts featuring French music
or radio adaptations of French musical comedies and L’Op6ra Comique
were broadcast all over France by German stations. These programs built
up a tremendous audience because of the superiority of their entertain-
ment and production. They could be compared with certain commercial
advertisers’ programs in the United States which, through superior enter-
tainment such as Charlie McCarthy and Jack Benny, attain such tre-
mendous audiences that the networks have hard work selling any time
competing directly against them. In other words, in radio propaganda,
as in radio advertising, “the show’s the thing.” The size of the audience
is directly in ratio to the entertainment and showmanship of the program.

After obtaining a laig^e audience by superior entertainment an adver-
tiser in America takes care to see that his commercials sell his product
and are as sugar-coated and innocuous as possible. In the more serious
game of selling ideals and ideas, races, countries, and men, radio propa-
ganda and counterpropaganda have become correspondingly adept.

In the German broadcast featuring French music and drama occasion-
ally a French speaker spoke to the French people, explaining that Ger-
many definitely did not want to go to war with France. That the social
advantages in France were only a beginning, but that France was still
in the grip of capitalists, and that the French people were forced to fight
for England and her economic control of the world. This was all done
in excellent taste, with superior production and accurate statistics, and
featured native Frenchmen or Germans sp)eaking perfect French. In
England the propaganda took a different tack, and from September to
May millions of English and French soldiers listened to Lord Haw Haw
and Paul Ferdonnet prove that they were fighting for nothing.

How efficient this invisible weapon can be is evidenced by “The Link,”
an English fifth column of English Fascists meeting regularly in London.
It can be positively stated that this organization owes more to radio than
to any other single factor. When Fascist Sir Oswald Mosley visited Paris
as a member of the British fencing team at the world’s championship a

TODAY^S WAR

637

number of years ago he was wined and dined by the radio executives of
the government radio agencies of France, Italy, Belgium, Holland, Ger-
many, and, strangely enough, Denmark, and also by the owners of several
of the few commercial stations on the Continent.

The importance of the radio weapon is still paramount in the most
militarily efficient country in the world. On June 27, the German advance
guard arrived at the Spanish-French border. The first German unit to
reach the border consisted of twenty specialists of the radio-propaganda
section traveling in radio-equipped trucks. They stated to correspondents
that they broadcast many times a day both from their trucks and from
radio stations taken over in their advance.

Yes, mastery of the sea may be vital to England; mastery of the air
may win the present war for Germany, but mastery of the minds and
hearts of men must be gained today to wage war successfully, and that
mastery can be attained in full only by radio.

The actual recreation, entertainment, and morale-building qualities of
radio are almost as important as the propaganda and counterpropa-
ganda which are in most cases carried within the talks and shows broad-
cast. If radio is a “weapon,” then we can carry the comparison farther
and call the entertainment the “propellant” by which it reaches the ears
of millions, and propaganda the “disruptive” that either explodes theories
and ideals and leaves a horrible debris of apprehension and confusion, or
crystallizes the understanding and gives men the urge to fight on.

The actual physical seizure of radio stations is our least important topic
because it can come only at a stage in war at which radio will already
have done its worst. Only upon invasion or revolution will the armed
forces or the civil agencies of law and order be so helpless as to permit
the seizure of radio stations by the enemy or by the fifth column. Yet
plans should nevertheless be formulated to neutralize the effect of such
a seizure in part of a nation just as plans are made for every other
military eventuality.

In a visit to England just before the war it was my very good fortune
to discuss World War II with my friend, the late Sir Basil Thomson, who
was head of Scotland Yard for eleven years and head of the British secret
service in World War I. His last remark to me was, “Remember that in
the next war radio will be the secret as well as the invisible weapon one
always wonders about when a new war comes along.” I know now he was
right, and I hope that this article may at least serve to prevent its readers
from underrating the problems created by this new weapon.

638

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

HOW MANY DOES IT TAKE?

Editorial

iW4^)

Our peacetime plans for a big war, if it came, envisaged an army of as
many as four million men, and more if they proved to be needed. Here
in this War for the World we*re passing that figure now, and it may be
doubled or even trebled in the years of bloody fighting that probably
lie ahead.

Once in a while some misled voice still speaks in terms of “small
mechanical armies” and forces exclusively made up of air power as
adequate to defeat our millions upon millions of foes, regain the millions
of square miles already lost, and gain the other vast areas the United
Nations may have to seize before the job of their armies is done. But
most men have no longer a question in their minds on the numbers it is
going to take to win. It can’t, in fact, be stated now, even in round figures.
The best way to say it is simply, “We shall have to have enough to finish
the biggest, most desperate, meaningful task the world has known.”

This is the only way, right now, we can think in terms of the total.
And this means, in practical effect, only one thing — ^plans for the possible
use in uniform of every man and woman who is not more needed on
other work.

When it comes to breaking down the armed forces into echelons and
allotments for different kinds of troops and different grades and ranks of
men and officers — organization planning — the same general answer must
guide those who determine the strengths of particular units and categories.
There must be enough men in every unit for it to be able to do its fighting
work to best advantage, with due allowance for the wieldliness of the
fighting team as a whole. There must also be adequate means of replace-
ment — ^replacement not merely in numbers but in specific trained classes
of men. For in overseas campaigning, as the first World War so plainly
showed, losses from accident, illness, detachment, wounds, death, and
captiure may even require a one-for-one replacement in a combat unit in
six months’ time. Indeed, in all our wars of the past, replacement is the
one great problem of war we have never adequately solved.

One special problem of allotment that always comes up is the strength
needed for the groups of command, the headquarters groups all the way
up to and including the highest headquarters in the field and at home. Here
again the guiding word can be only “enough.” And no one can determine
how many is enough but the high commanders themselves.

TODAY’S WAR

639

For units in the field the needs of headquarters can be generally arrived
at through careful advance planning of tables of organization. The tend-
ency in all such planning is to give the commander^ as far as it can be
determined in advance, the staff he will need but no more. A commander
may find when he reaches a theater that one section of his staff is under-
manned whereas another has more personnel than it needs, and he can
adjust this as the situation demands. But if he finds, as sometimes hap-
pens, that his staff as a whole can’t keep up with its tasks, he must bring
up the men he needs from the lower units of his total force, thus weaken-
ing these all the way down, until his needs for additional staff, if perma-
nent, can be adjusted from above. Our own experience and that of our
Allies, however, helps avoid this by determining well in advance what the
needs will be.

But in the end, whether it’s a company headquarters or the highest
command, the one basis of judgment is “enough” — enough personnel
to keep the plans for fighting, moving, reconnoitering, communicating,
feeding, and supplying abreast of the homr, even in battle — and enough
officers and men to see that all these plans and orders of the commander
are promptly and efficiently put into effect, this without demanding that
they work so continuously and hard that minds cannot stay quickened
and fresh for each new task.

The numbers as such have nothing to do with it. It is simply a matter
of what it takes to keep things moving, to keep things from getting be-
hind, to obviate all possible delays, to win battles and campaigns — ^and in
the end the War for the World.

This applies equally to the highest headquarters, the agencies that gov-
ern the different theaters in the field, and the whole war effort at home*
Such matters as whether there are “too many officers” in a given locality
cannot be determined merely by counting noses or by noting the apparent
numbers of uniforms that meet the eye. They can be determined only by
finding the answer to one question: “Are there more than enough?” Are
there more than enough for every activity, every agency, every office to
do today what it should accomplish today to win this war? Or is vital
work, needing careful study and decision, piling so high that it takes days
and weeks to get things done? Things that should get done today? Is it
piling so high that key personnel must keep on going for seventy and
eighty hours a week in a desperate endeavor to keep things moving on-
ward to victory — a state of affairs that inevitably slows things down from
sheer cumulative exhaustion of nerves and power to think?

In actual campaign it is to be expected that commanders and their
assistants may sometimes have to keep going in battle for several days on
end with snatches of rest. But this can continue only for a matter of days
till rest or relief must come. A fresh division or wing goes in to bear the
brunt while another takes rest and reorganizes. This is common to war,

640

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

and weVe seen it become necessary again and again in this present war
we are fighting. WeVe seen battles and campaigns lost because it couldn*t
be done.

At a higher headquarters there is usually less physical strain and more
comfort of existence than for lower ones. There may even be little chance
of imdergoing attack^ and conditions of life may be well-nigh normal.
But there is a continuous mental pressure, particularly in the face of ac-
cumulating tasks on the completion of which a final success depends,
which at bottom puts much the same type of strain on the mind as the
pressure found in headquarters in the field. The better, more regular
conditions make it possible for men to keep going long hours, with too
little rest, for weeks and months on end. But nervous exhaustion eventu-
ally slows down the toughest, most enduring mental powers if heavy over-
work continues.

This is the only basis for judgment of personnel needs in war. Are there
enough to do the work as it should be done? Does work back up so
that accomplishment seems often at a standstill? And if so could a greater
ntunber of assistants get more done? For in building an enormous army
from what we had in peace there are some things that cannot be sped,
things like construction and production for which there is needed an
irreducible minimum of time. If there are more than enough for the daily
tasks or the soon-expected tasks, then there’s room for reducing. But if
there’s a single agency of war where the work is jammed up and more
workers can speed it along, then there’s room only for an increase of
workers. This cannot be viewed as a whole in arbitrary fashion. It has
to be determined separately for each agency and each subagency. Inspec-
tion may show that shifting is possible without increasing the total num-
bers. But the total itself means nothing if shifting brings no rapid solution.
The work this war must see done is what measures the number of work-
ers, whether they are fighting soldiers in the field or fighting soldiers and
their clerical assistants at desks.

Every man and woman in uniform and every non-uniformed helper of
the armed forces is directly engaged in the work of this war. Numbers, of
themselves, mean nothing anywhere until we are certain the numbers are
enough. But insufficient numbers both of men and machines mean a loss
of time and a prolongation of the war until there are enough. The whole
risk lies in underestimation, not in making certain there are enough for
the job to be done.

VIII

The Soldier Looks Ahead — 2

There is nothing in this final section about a third World War and
how its battles might be fought, though professional Army men will be-
lieve there will be none only if this war is completely won and the world
so controlled that new wars cannot come. They will also believe that those
who will form the instrument of armed strength that might ensxure a
world without great wars must assume that fighting may be needed to
keep such wars from arising.

But now the soldier giving his utmost to the cause of immediate suc-
cess can think but briefly of the future. He can, however, find time to
think of the extensive problems of military government that will follow
the capture of enemy soil. And time to hope that his nation will see how
improbable it is that its armed services will ever have the chance again to
catch up with warfare if a new conqueror did arise.

There are, accordingly, reminders from the past in this final section as
well as the beginnings of thought for the future. For the Army men who
remember the 1900s and the 1920s hope that their country will remember
them, too, when this war is over.

THREE HUNDRED YEARS OF WAR

From an article by Professor (later Major)
Robert M, Johnston

Whatever the immediate results of the present war may be, it is clear
that in western Europe it is bound to stimulate the opposition to conscript

641

642 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

armies. Partial disarmament, if it should come, would, therefore, mean a
return to professional armies. Navies swallow up fewer men than armies,
and that of England is a professional force. The sentiment against them
is now, and presumably will be in the future, less marked. But, on the
other hand, if government in western Europe becomes more democratic
as a result of the war, as seems probable, then the vast expense of navies
is likely to prove an incentive toward naval disarmament. If England
should embark on such a course the change would be momentous and
not without its effects on this country.

But disarmament, even on land, is not so certain to follow as many
believe. It is clear that east of the Bohemian mountains the present war
is far more likely to accentuate than to settle the complicated conflicts of
nationality and of creed from the borders of Poland to those of Greece.
If Germany should suffer a democratic reaction it is doubtful whether
she could even partially disarm before a still-warlike Russia. And if Ger-
many, under any conditions, remains armed the outlook is gloomy. Bel-
gium has already found out what it costs to practice pacifism with such a
neighbor. What blood, and treasure, and agony she would have saved
had she had the common prudence to maintain an efficient army of two
to three hundred thousand men!

The question of the size of the European states is bound to emerge
from the war in some shape or other. If a congress is the conclusion, as is
likely, then this country is at once confronted by the problem. For it is
one of the interesting features of Japan’s participation in the conflict that,
if it is concluded by a congress, she will be entitled to meet the other
powers there on equal terms. Perhaps the United States alone of world
powers would not participate. This might be a good thing or it might
not, but it is at all events worth while inquiring whether the stock argu-
ment against our wishing to participate in such an international delibera-
tion has any validity at the present day, and that brings us at once to the
question of the size of the world of international politics.

The stock argument is nearly one hundred years old. It carries us back
to the epoch of President Monroe, when it took as many weeks to com-
municate between America and Europe as it now takes seconds. The
policy then enunciated, and it was wise at the time, was that we had no
more concern in the affairs of Europe because of its remoteness than
Eiurope had in American affairs. Since then we have consistently main-
tained this attitude, save in matters relating to international law and
arbitration. Can we maintain that attitude any longer? Is Europe still
remote? Have not the digging of Panama and the participation of Japan
in the war really placed us in the very center of world politics instead of
on the remote edge? Our interest in the humanizing of international
politics, the fact tl^t we are acting diplomatically for most of the bellig-
erents — that we have participated in congresses for the regulation of

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643

international intercourse — ^all these are reasons why we should enter such
a congress and^ by entering it^ why we should broaden its scope and its
general utility.

Turning back to the nations of Europe, and still following out the ques-
tion of size, it seems probable that among the readjustments following the
war will be extensions of customs, if not of political boundaries. The pool-
ing of military interests almost inevitably follows the pooling of economic
interests, and a customs federation of any two or three European states
would probably establish peace firmly as between such states and enable
them to take higher rank in the economic world. Such changes as these
involve great hopes of the pacification of large areas but entail at the
same time grave dangers of military shocks on an even larger scale than
that which the year 1914 is witnessing. Europe is already battling to form
two or three new groups capable of holding their own with the really
great powers of the world: Russia, China, the United States. In that
sense we are directly interested in the conflict. Let us, therefore, prepare
to play a part not in the conflict but in the pacification.

IT WILL TAKE SOMETHING MORE
Editorial
(1943)

The armed services and the nation behind them are centering their
energies on winning the war. There is so much of battle yet ahead, so
much planning, sweating, and fighting to be done, that the men who are
doing most of it, the men already in battle and those on the way, haven’t
time to think very far beyond the vast immediate job.

But there are many others who do have time to. Books, articles,
speeches, round-table discussions, a big part of every means of wide-
spread discussion, are now given to the future of the country and the
world. From serious students of world affairs, from men with no other
equipment for such discussion than loud voices and the chance to make
them heard, from practical men, from dreamers, from unselfish men seek-
ing a way for the future, from selfish or fearful men afraid of all new
conceptions — ^from all these flow the words about the future world. From
all these come the ideas, the final resultant of which may determine the
kind of existence that Americans, soldiers and civilians, will lead for a
lifetime to come, to say nothing of how they may affect the rest of the
world.

644

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Hardness and Integrity of Mind

It is not at all sure, however, that the thoughts for the future now com-
monly under discussion will, in the end, be applicable to the world as it
develops. An obvious historical lesson — the rise of the conqueror — was
generally ignored, not only before this war but before the first World War.
Yet the growth of the spirit of conquest and the development of means
for conquest are things no nation can hide. And they are therefore plain
to the observant citizen and soldier of any land who doesn’t let his wish
for world peace and prosperity keep him from seeing with open eyes.
Peace and prosperity in the world can be planned with hope of attain-
ment only by men who have the hardness and integrity of mind to weigh
all things that might prevent it.

Such planning is of deepest interest to the millions of Americans in the
armed services. The men in uniform may hstve less time to think of the
future, but the future will belong to the millions who return from the war
as to all other citizens.

The men in the armed services, however, are those who are experienc-
ing the most direct consequences of this new war, of the rise of conquest
which a few fully observant men and women did see and warn against.
Thus in one way the troops in uniform have the deepest interest of all
men in the kind of world that comes out of this war. And it is they, and
especially those among them who are fighting in their second World War,
who can give the clearest warning to those who have more time than
they do to think and talk about the future.

War Is a Habit of Man

The one warning of utmost importance they can give is this — ^that war
is a habit of mankind and that fighting one more war to a finish will not,
of itself, change that habit. It will take something more to achieve this
change than a full defeat of our enemies.

The threat of other wars will stay in the world until men and nations
can be helped to form a new habit in place of the old one — the habit of
not fighting wars to settle things. For the habit of fighting wars is mil-
lenniums old. This doesn’t mean it would necessarily take thousands of
years to change it, but it does most certainly mean that the habit of going
to war cannot merely be talked away by men who now speak freely of
“the postwar world.” It is the post-second- World- War world they are
actually concerning themselves with and that is all. It is not the “postwar-
fare” world. To think of it this soon as a postwarfare world is to begin
again the nineteen-twenty and -thirty kind of talking that made this
present war such a surprise to those who listened to that talk and believed

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2 645

it. The postwarfare world can come only when men everywhere have put
a new habit in place of the old one.

How long it may take for this time to come can hardly be guessed. It
will depend upon the efficiency with which the strong nations at the end
of this war can help their own people and those of all other nations to
replace the habit of war. Fifty years, a century, two centuries — even less
or even more? We can only say it would take time, and probably much
time.

“Postwar” and “Postwarfare” Worlds

It is the period during which the habit of war will continue in the
minds of men that many now speaking of the future shrink from facing.
They appear to confuse the “postwar” and “postwarfare” worlds. They
are inclined to skip the first to reach the second. Similar men were so
inclined in the nineteen-twenties and -thirties.

The soldier is facing the hardest of war’s realities. When he has time
to think of anything else and consider the future himself and what men
are saying about it, he can find no sense except in ideas that face the
things he faces. He knows that if there is ever to be a world in which his
sons and grandsons will not be following him into battle, the spirit of the
ruthless conqueror of humans must first be gone from the hearts of men.
He knows — from the hatred his Jap and Nazi enemies show him — that
the thought of changing this hatred to permanent good will seems far off
indeed, seems a dream of the distant future. It’s a good dream to him, as
it is to most men of the democracies. But it can never be anything but a
dream unless the dream is remembered, considered, and worked toward
by wide-awake men who never forget the continuing possibility of war in
the postwar period.

He’s too busy with this present war to think much about the postwar
period. But he has arms in his hands now. He is busy preparing to use
them or actually using them daily to kill enemies bent on conquest. When
he does think of a postwar time he thinks first of all in terms of practical
armed means to keep down wars of the future. He can see no other insur-
ance, no other firm guarantee of peace, no other safeguard for the free-
doms Americans and similar peoples treasure than efficient armed
strength.

The Thought of “No More Wars”

For the sake of the world and the nation there is every reason to hope
that there will be no more wars. But this can never be achieved without
continuous expert thought upon new wars that might arise. Thought of
“no more wars” with the iron of armed enforcement as its basis may give
the world a chance to learn in the end some other habit than fighting

646 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

wars. Thought of “no more wars” which excludes practical thought of
possible war is the kind of thought most likely to bring our country to the
end of its course. Twenty years of it almost brought us there this time.
Twenty years more of it in the postwar period, and it will not be Pearl
Harbor but New York Harbor or San Francisco Bay.

OUR GREATEST NEED

From an editorial by Captain (now Colonel) H. C. Clark

(1907)

We need an army — ^not artillery or cavalry or staff; not even infantry,
helpless as we are in that arm, overworked as what we have of it is, bitter
as will be the lesson that may come without it. None of these is sufHcient
of itself for an army, so none is sufEcient of itself for our need. We need
an army — ^not large, let us repeat, lest we frighten the peaceful citizen
with the bogey of militarism — ^but large enough for the first time. It is a
need that may at any time become suddenly pressing. Such needs always
press suddenly. If this presses suddenly now, we shall see our old history
rewritten, with perhaps a darker page at the close— our old history of
confusion and unnecessary sickness and unnecessary death. These have
been with us always in war — God forgive us! — ^but always success of some
sort has rested with us at the end and we have fain been content. Rather,
we have been proud. We have forgotten the confusion, pensioned the
unnecessary sick, decorated the unnecessary graves, and boasted brazenly
to the world of oiu: civilization.

AFTER THE WAR

Editorial by Major (later Colonel) John R. M. Taylor

^9^8)

It may be that after the war there will be no more armies. If Germany
should win decisively there would be no more — outside of Germany.
Fortunately that will not happen, but after it is all over will there be no
more armies; will the big guns go into the melting pot, and will all the
airplanes be set to work on rural mail routes? Perhaps, but the decision
tvill not be left to the men who now form the governments of the

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2 647

belligerent states. It will be in the hands of the men who are now in
uniform. It is they who will dictate the future policies of the world.

It well may be that all, or at least most, of them will be utterly sick of
war. They will not want to think of war. They will want to go home and
sleep in a bed, eat three meals a day from china plates, have a bath when
they want it, and take up their work where they laid it down to take up
a ride.

THE AMERICAN “MILLION ARMY’’

By Dr. Leo Brenner

(wry)

Under the conditions one will understand why the resolution of Con-
gress struck me as being funny. Resolutions can be made for all things,
but it is a question whether or not they can be carried out. From where
are the one million to come, when it is not even possible to drum up
enough to maintain the miserable strength of eighty thousand? If it is be-
lieved the militia and volunteers will furnish the million, it is very ques-
tionable whether there are as many willing to play soldier, in spite of the
American’s fondness for dressing himself in grotesque uniforms. But even
if the million really comes, there are neither officers (who cannot simply
be appointed) nor arms, and least of all artillery or other war materials.
Therefore, I maintain, throwing a scare amounts to nothing.

COMMUNAL DISPERSION
By Robert SxRAusz-Hupf;

So SPECTACULAR have been the exploits of air power, so eloquent the
voices of its exponents from Douhet to Seversky, that supremacy in the
air is now being widely accepted as axiomatic in planning for victory.
The writer is not an aviation expert, hence unqualified to discuss the
tactics of air battle, the virtue of individual plane types, and the rate of
their production. He perceives, however, albeit dimly, the shape of human
society and economy in the age of aviation, and feels sufficiently con-
cerned as regards the emerging pattern to ask the question: Air supremacy
precisely over what?

648

THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

What planes can do to ships in straight duels has been amply demon-
strated from the coasts of Norway to the shores of the Pacific; a host of
eyewitnesses testified to what they did to the tightly packed roads of
northern France and to the narrow streets of London; and aerial pho-
tography renders accurately the effects of intense bombing upon compact
industrial targets. The impress of air warfare upon areas thinly settled or
spacious enough to allow for a wide geographic distribution of industry is
less clearly marked. The role of the air arm over the plains of Russia and
the Libyan desert appears circumscribed not only by the relative strength
of the contending air forces but also by the topography of the respective
theaters of war favoring the rapid movement and the prompt dispersal of
the ground forces. Similarly, the Chinese, once they had been pushed by
their Japanese foes from the densely settled and highly industrialized
coastal sectors into their roomier hinterland, showed themselves perversely
indifferent to the doctrines of General Douhet.

If, in the search for facts by which to judge the role of air power in
modern war, one fact towers above all others, it is the fact that the
effectiveness of air power depends largely on the nature of the ground
over which it operates. The doctrine of the most extreme and most
popular exponents of air-power-and-nothing-but-air-power can be fairly
and simply stated as follows : an air fleet powerful enough to seek out the
enemy’s air fleet, to defeat it in battle or destroy it on the ground, then to
pound the enemy’s territory into submission by massive bombing. Thus
victory will be won.

It may be beside the point in a discussion of theory to insist upon the
fact that thus far no victory of this kind has been won and that the
Chinese and Russians, for example, refused to comply in just that way
with the claims of the air-power enthusiasts. But it is not beside the point
to emphasize those by no means so recent trends in industrial and com-
munal planning which are modifying the geography of the world’s avia-
tion targets — ^if they have not profoundly modified that geography al-
ready. Air power will, in this war and in wars to come, remain the sharp
edge of a nation’s total fighting power. Preponderance in the air has been
tactically decisive on many a battlefield and will be so on many more.
But the case history of Warsaw, Rotterdam, London, and Cologne can no
more be taken as the final and conclusive evidence as to what planes can
do to civilian targets than the triumph of the Stuka over massed Polish
cavalry can be accepted as the final verdict in the case of plane versus
mobile ground forces.

Early fliers gave big cities a wide berth, and city councils enacted
ordinances to keep early fliers at a safe distance. To this day peculiar air
currents and impediments to emergency landings require — over large
urban centers — special precautions in the operation of more weakly
powered craft. Experiments have shown that it is possible, but by no

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 2

649

means yet safe and practical, to operate special types like gyroplanes and
helicopters from city roofs and city streets. The comparative remoteness
of airports from municipal centers leaves the average big-city dweller
with itie inescapable impression that the layout of his metropolis is awk-
ward for air traffic. This not-so-remarkable discovery antedates the second
World War and the rise of air power by a good many years. Shortly after
the first World War, town planning, its literature and applied designs,
reflected a growing interest in the problems posed by developments in
aviation.

M. le Corbusier, the Swiss architect, published in 1922 a scheme for a
city of three million which — ^besides providing for decentralized com-
munal services, spacious parks and fresh air for all inhabitants — ^included
airports as integral parts of the town plan. The American school of city
planners, represented by Frank Lloyd Wright and Henry Wright, practic-
ing architects, and Lewis Mumford, theoretician and publicist, early rec-
ognized the increasing importance of aviation in the life of modem com-
munities. German town planning — ^before the advent of Hitler — sought
to harmonize the requirements of a rapidly expanding commercial avia-
tion with communal demands for easily accessible and safe airdromes.

The partnership of town planner, whether architect, social worker, or
sanitary engineer, and air-traffic expert, whether builder or operator of
airdromes, is a logical one. Their common enemy is congestion — ^the awful
congestion of the big cities and industrial centers which planlessly spill
across and devour their rustic environs.

The demand of decent communal living and safe flying mutually is for
spaciousness. Before the outbreak of the second World War it had become
apparent that the adjustment of the modem community to the require-
ments of air communication would bring about as far-reaching changes
of the maps of towns and cities as the motorcar had imposed during the
preceding two decades. Henceforth, in town plans the characteristics of
flight would have to be given consideration similar to that heretofore
bestowed on vehicular traffic. The location of airdromes — ^true public
utilities — ^would have to be purposefully planned instead of being made
dependent on the fluctuations of the real-estate market and the vagaries
of sectional interest.

The menace of the bombing plane imparted to the business of planning
more spacious communities a slant wholly different from that contem-
plated by the Le Corbusiers, Wrights, Mumfords, and their pre-Nazi
German colleagues. On first glance, to plan for a more spacious way of
human living and to plan for safety from explosive and incendiary bombs
appear not at all as related activities. Yet to the communal planner the
fundamental problems inherent in both tasks bear a close resemblance.
The threat from the air forcibly imposes on countless communities the
very same structural reforms for whidi the advocates of better communal

650 THE INFANTllY JOURNAL READER

living have vainly sought the public*s approval in peacetime. Such ideas
as, for example, the decentralization of communal services and industries,
the garden city and the conversion of slum districts into parks are kindred
to the military conception of dispersion. While ultimate purposes appear
to differ, the task at hand is the same: to break down congestion.

In Germany economic recovery and social changes after the first World
War had imparted a powerful impetus to communal building and
rehousing activities. It would have been only by a strange oversight that
the Nazis and their generals could have overlooked the accumulated
capital in German and international thought on communal and regional
planning. True, in the Nazi cannon-instead-of-butter economy the
schemes for improving the dwellings of German workers were only
scantily provided for. Such notable successes as the conversion of Vienna’s
worst slum districts into handsome and airy workers’ quarters and the
magnificent garden suburbs created by the municipality of Frankfurt
were accomplished under democratic government. The Nazis can boast of
no similar achievements. But the progressive ideas of the municipal and
regional planners on decentralization and functional architecture met
halfway with the purely military cerebrations of the Nazis. The latter,
indeed, seized upon the obvious analogy between decentralization for
spacious living and dispersion as passive defense in air warfare. They
applied the technical experience which German architects had gained in
mc^em housing projects to the design of air-raid shelters, underground
factories, and camouflage.

Perhaps one of the most important official organizations in Germany
concerned with the strategy of passive air protection is the Institute for
Space Research and Space Organization [Reichsstelle fur Raumforschung
und Raumordnung) . Ostensibly organized for the study of internal
migration and resettlement problems, the publications of the institute
reflect an intense preoccupation with the planned transfer of industries
from Germany’s borderlands to centrally located shelter areas. The scope
of this article does not permit me to review the literature of this institute.
Many of its publications are available in this coimtry. They represent a
systematic approach to the problem of dispersion on a national scale —
‘‘space strategy,” as the institute calls it. It is reported that the institute
planned the removal of certain key industries with their respective labor
complements from the Rhineland and southwestern Germany to the east-
central provinces and, later, to Czechoslovakia and western Poland. It
stands to reason that Germany does not care to advertise her accom-
plishments in industrial dispersion. But the official German statistics for
persons employed in industry, published May 17, 1939, reflect the trend
toward a wider diffusion of war industries over the Reich. Aircraft and
allied industries whose spectacular growth dates from the inception of

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2 651

the Nazi regime appear well distributed over the central regions of the
Reich.

No amount of ingenuity on the part of the Institute for Space Research
and Space Organization — ^which, incidentally, is closely afiBliated with
Dr. Haushofer’s Institute for Geopolitics — could have solved the prob-
lems of removing all of Germany’s war industries beyond hostile bombing*
range. That task would have required more years than the Nazi time-
table conceded to the planners. Moreover, the geography of central
Europe allows for a wide dispersion of war industries but never for that
immunity from air attack which mere distance bestows on Soviet fac-
tories located beyond the Urals. It is, however, precisely the geographic
limitations of the German planners which make their methods of vital
interest to us. Their handling of the problem of dispersing strategic
industries within an area densely populated and highly industrialized
as a whole should furnish food for thought not only to the advocates
of victory through bombing at the exclusion of all else, but also to the
planners of our own passive defenses.

It is known that German architects, on the personal behest of Hitler,
have thoroughly explored the technical aspects of underground living.
Hitler’s own chancellery in Berlin has been equipped with spacious
duplicate installations underground, complete with hospital, operating
room, air-conditioning apparatus, and sundry comforts. It is a fair guess
that the average German citizen must sit out air raids in far less luxurious
quarters. But it is reliably reported that important factories, especially
those catering to the Luftwaffe, possess underground facilities, both for
work and recreation, fortified by heavy concrete construction. As regards
reports concerning the extent and accessories of these subterranean plants,
it is difficult to determine where fact becomes fiction. Yet we need not
doubt that such plants were built and are being built far beyond the
experimental stage.

No plausible arguments can be advanced why underground factories,
equipped with modern devices of air conditioning and lighting should not
operate as efficiently as surface plants. Under optimum conditions the
maintenance of constant temperatures and illumination present less of
a problem in workshops underground than in those on surface level.
There remains the psychological element: protracted confinement under-
ground, it is argued, will lower the workers’ spirits. It should be remem-
bered, however, that such confinement is accepted as a matter of course
in several peacetime trades. Moreover, ingenuity in the choice of decora-
tive effects, such as painted walls and partitions, sensibly furnished rooms
for rest and recreation, and a solid feeling of security from being blown
to bits, may compensate the worker for the psychological strains imposed
by subterranean living.

652 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Underground working and living is only one answer, and by no means
the uniformly best one, to the question of passive defense against air
attack. Neither is the air-raid shelter of various shapes, more or less
hastily built beneath or near existing building types. The best long-range
answer is the planned decentralization of communal services, industries,
and residential quarters propounded by the modern town and regional
planners. This does not mean that we can now or in the future, by
foolhardy neglect, discontinue the construction of bombproof shelters
and the enforcement of other safety measures for our overcrowded cities.
But it is precisely the crowded community which is the most inviting
target of the bomber. What happened to the tenement districts of Lon-
don under the blitz can logically happen to the tenement districts of any
metropolis. Even under peacetime conditions the danger of conflagration
is mainly curbed by the efficiency of fire departments rather than by
the intrinsic merit of structural design or the wisdom of zoning laws.
It takes little imagination to foresee what an air raid — even a light one
by London standards — could do to our own little publicized but large
slums.

If some of our cities seem to have been built for congestion rather than
for circulation, and hence present their inhabitants with exorbitant
hazards in air warfare, some of our most important industrial plants
likewise testify to a blissful unawareness of hostile air potentials. Two
important aircraft factories are cases in point. Their prominent locations,
the one in pistol range of the eastern seaboard’s main highway and the
other within slingshot distance from the East’s most traveled railroad
track, appear as proof against effective camouflage. Yet it should be
emphasized that blame — if anyone is to be blamed at all — cannot be
placed at the door of individuals. No one, the German least of all, was
able to predict accurately the nature of today’s air warfare, and our
builders of aircraft plants can no more be stigmatized for a lack of fore-
sight than our best international experts for their low score in global
prophecy.

But the tardy recognition accorded by the authorities and the public
in this country as well as in Great Britain to the evils of overcrowding
and its remedies can be blamed on these authorities and that public. For
the evils were sorely evident to anyone with eyes to see, and the remedies
could have been easily applied, ttad these remedies been imdertaken
in the days of peace and plenty the benefits from a healthier communal
life would have largely, justified the outlay; the task of providing ade-
quate passive defense for the big city and the overgrown coke town
would be a great deal simpler than it is now.

There has sprung up in Great Britain a new school of architects. These
British builders propose to build for today’s blitz and a better future.
They maintain that there need not be a conflict between building for

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2 653

protection against the more common bombing hazards and building for
use and comfort. The British engineer Ove N. Arup designed multi-
family buildings subdivided into two-story houses accomm^ating one
to two families. Floors and interior walls are of reinforced concrete,
while exterior walls are of brick with horizontal slit windows. These
small windows are to minimize the effects from bomb fragmentation and
provide an outlet for possible bomb explosions within the building. The
brick construction permits the windows to be enlarged easily for peace-
time use. Reinforced cross walls tend to localize the effects of direct
hits and near misses. The living room is set back from a roofed balcony
from which the family may enjoy fresh air. The building’s overall appear-
ance is pleasing to the eye; simplicity of design and execution make for
low cost and cheap rentals. Notwithstanding its emphasis on principles
applied to the design of splinterproof shelters, this project appears as an
ingenious approach to the problem of rehousing tenement dwellers.

Reviewing the current literature of the British building trades, we find
considerable space devoted to manifold uses of reinforced concrete in
the construction of private and public buildings. Le Corbusier, as early
as 1922, advocated the flat roof garden, its thick concrete flags laid on
sand, with grass-sown joints, insulating the house beneath. This idea
happily meets the requirements of hygiene and comfort, splinterproof
shelter and camouflage. The principle laid down by the great Swiss archi-
tect is flexible enough to lend itself to various adaptions. A rich field lies
before forward-looking architects and engineers.

In this country we have at our disposal the unrivaled know-how of
American engineers and building trades. On the scale of town planning
there are Henry Wright’s execution of the town plan of Radburn, New
Jersey, and the United States Resettlement Administration’s layout for
Greenbelt, Maryland. Both must be ranked as classical examples of the
new order of design. For both projects stressed not only openness, and
hence a high degree of dispersion, but also took advantage in harmony
with natural contours, of wooded areas and existing trees, and hence an
effective kind of camouflage.

Evidence is accumulating fast, from published material in this country
and abroad, that the logical partnership of city planner and air-protection
designer is being increasingly recognized. This fact demands the close
attention of the air strategist. It is doubtful that the conditions which
so singularly favored the bomber up to the third year of the second
World War will prevail in the future. More likely the effectiveness of
the same weight of explosives delivered at the target will never be as great
as in the heyday of Herr Goring’s blitz. The ratio of bomb weight to
destruction of that period can be restored by improvements in aviation
design and chemistry only if creative imagination in architecture is lag-
ging behind. At present all indications point in the opposite direction.

654 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

The study of the complex problems of air-protective design vitally
concerns the soldier and the citizen. It is sound military policy and good
statesmanship to plan for all emergencies yet wrest from the exigency of
total war the opportunities for more spacious and healthy living.

A SOLDIER LOOKS AT MILITARY GOVERNMENT
By Colonel Elbridge Colby
(m3)

Of all introductions to this subject there is none better for a military
audience than that used by Colonel H. A. Smith at Fort Leavenworth
in 1920, where he denied that military government was anything mys-
terious and said that it reminded him of the way certain artillerists in
former years had attempted to make mysterious their own profession,
hoping thereby to exalt it. Although lawyers, and military lawyers too,
have been deeply concerned in military government, it is primarily a
military and administrative subject rather than a legal one. In the “Old
Army*’ there was many an officer who had acted as alcalde of a Filipino
town during the Insurrection and what we call the days of the Empire,
or as town major in Germany in 1919. Our army is experienced in this
matter. Without being lawyers our officers have handled it “in addition
to their other duties,” and well.

It is true that military government has gotten into the courts of law,
even into the Supreme Court of the United States, which has handed
down decisions regarding the British occupation of Castine, Maine, in
1814, the American occupation of Tampico, Mexico, and the Insurgent
occupation of the island of Cebu in 1899. But this article will not be
filled with legal citations and legal phrases. These decisions were handed
down after the conflicts were over. They were made to settle certain
rights and to answer questions about payments of money. They were
legal. They were remote from events on which they were based. What-
ever their implications, they could have no effect upon events on the
spot.

On this subject there is already a great deal of what the scholars call
literature. Most of it has been written by lawyers and for lawyers, even
most of that actually written by military men. This is unfortunate. What
the soldier wants to know is what he should do, not what some judge will
say about it afterward. In fact, about the latter he should not concern
himself. His situation is like that of which Viscount Wolseley wrote to
his wife: “If every general feels that his proceedings may form the sub-
ject of an official inquiry, no general will risk anything.’’ His problem

635

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 2

is immediate. He must do the intelligent thing. He xnay take comfort
from the story of Andrew Jackson in New Orleans, who defied a court
which interfered with his military necessity, who afterward was fined
by that court for his defiance, and who later was reimbursed by a grateful
government.

Military government is a part of war, indeed even an act of war. It
has received its greatest notoriety in the last century from the control
exercised by Germany in a disturbed and revolutionary France in 1870-71
and in a prostrate and bitter Belgium in 1914-18. Too much of the
viciousness of Prussianism has been attached to its reputation as a whole.
Yet it is not necessarily un-American. It can be conducted in a thoroughly
American fashion as it was by our forces in Mexico in 1846-48 and again
in 1914, in Puerto Rico and the Philippines in 1898, and by the Third
Army on the Rhine in 1919. Its principal characteristic is that it is
military — ^both in purpose and in personnel. It is, as the Duke of Welling-
ton once said, nothing more or less than the will of the military com-
mander. His will in this respect must be based upon a good judgment
of circumstances, just as much as his will in combat must be based upon
a sound estimate of tactical facts and not upon mere theory, regulation,
or whim.

What is military government? A clear understanding of the general
term is necessary, lest applications in detail go awry from its general
concept and purpose. We need not approach the matter by insisting that
each paper must open with a formal definition of its topic. But in matters
that depend so much upon policy it is necessary to be understood. “When
I use a word,” said Humpty Dumpty to Alice, “it means just what I
want it to mean.” We must understand meanings, or we may be talking
about different things. The British have another term for military gov-
ernment; they call it “martial law.” Publicists and professors have spoken
of it as “belligerent occupation” and as “hostile occupation.” William H.
Taft — and he was there himself as governor — said that our military gov-
ernment in Cuba was military in name only. The differences in name
and in meaning have caused confusions. So we had better be clear. The
classic statement as to what military government is was made, as an aside,
in the famous Milligan case by Chief Justice Chase, who distinguished
it from martial law and from military law and said that it is a form
of military jurisdiction exercised by the military commander and super-
seding the local law as far as may be deemed expedient.

Let us see, then, what happens when an army enters a foreign coimtxy
and has to set up more or less a military government. The army is gen-
erally acknowledged to be subject only to the military law of its own
country, which accompanies it wherever it goes. The reason is that mili-
tary law is personal and not territorial. Most law is territorial. The
difference between divorce laws in the various states of the Union aie

656 THE INFANTHY JOURNAL READER

ample evidence of this. Even if an army enters a friendly country with
permission, its members are not subject to the laws of that coimtry. When
it enters an allied country the exception still holds, as we have recently
seen acknowledged in an act of Parliament exempting American soldiers
from British law and relying upon courts-martial of the United States
for trial for offenses, even for such serious crimes as murder and rape.
How much more necessary, therefore, the established rule that members
of an army in an enemy country are not subject to local, territorial law.
The learned professors will talk of sovereignty and of agents or repre-
sentatives of a sovereign power who cannot be disturbed in their duties
at the behest of the courts of another country. But — practically speak-
ing — ^it is of course natural that soldiers of an invading force cannot be
hampered individually by the requirements of local laws, except for such
restrictions as their commander himself applies to them.

But there must be law in this territory which has been occupied. Gov-
ernment of an occupied area, therefore, must be something quite apart
from “military law” as such, which goes on just the same in the military
establishment wherever the army may be. Although in some circum-
stances at home, and especially in time of peace, an army at home must
recognize the supremacy of civil government over army personnel, this
necessity does not hold in time of war in a foreign country, especially
not in an enemy country.

There are thus two laws in effect, the military law of the army and
the law of the military government over the area.

Let us suppose an offense which both soldiers and civilians may com-
mit — and it is hardly necessary to suppose, for the thing frequently
happens. It may be breach of the peace or public misbehavior. If it is
committed by the soldier on the same street and in the same town and
at the same time as by a civilian resident his act is an offense against the
Articles of War — say it is a “disorder ... to the prejudice of good
order” or simply “conduct of a nature to bring discredit upon the mili-
tary service.” He is tried by court-martial. If it is committed by a civilian
he is tried by the local law, as maintained and enforced by the military
government, and probably tried in the local courts for disorderly con-
duct, breach of the peace, or something of the sort. But if the trouble
is one which involves both a soldier and a civilian inhabitant of the
occupied territory that civilian will be tried by a special “provost court**
of the military government — ^not under military law, not under local law,
but under the law set up by the military government to protect its armies
against civilians and to prevent them from interfering with its work. The
power of the military commander is supreme, but he may exercise it in
three different ways, according to the circumstances of the case.

As we go, then, with an army into enemy country we must recognize
three basic factors: (i) the army must control that country; ( 2 ) the

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2

657

army must be free for the purpose which brings it there; ( 3 ) the country
has ordinary civilian activities which must continue and must therefore
be regulated. This third and final factor is the principal reason for having
a military government at all. The occupying army could isolate itself;
it could protect itself against local attacks^ but it could not live in the
midst of the confusions and disturbances which would result from sud-
den abolition of all regulation among the people around it. It has
seized control of the country by force of arms, and that seizure imposes
upon it an obligation to make that control effective in all the life of
the country.

The tone and temper with which it does this will be the character of
the military government established under that branch of international
law called the “laws of war.”

There are two conflicting theories in international law regarding the
legal effect of a state of war. One is old and Anglo-Saxon and logical
today. It holds that every citizen or subject of an enemy state is an
enemy of our state and of each of our citizens. It says that even neutrals
and neutrally owned property in an enemy country are tainted with
the “enemy” brush. It is what the courts still apply in cases at law, in
spite of national declarations that “we do not make war upon the Ger-
man people.” The other theory arose in the eighteenth century under the
influence of French humanitarians like Rousseau and is perhaps best
expressed in the words of the classic Vattel, who has had such a tre-
mendous influence on international law: “War is made by regular troops;
the people, peasants, and middle-class folk are not concerned in it and,
ordinarily, have nothing to fear from the enemy.”

This theory, created in a day when dynastic kings were fighting with
professional armies almost solely, entered all the books for a century and
a half. It influenced the increasing efforts for the amelioration of the
effects of war at Geneva and at The Hague. It must, however, be ad-
mitted to have broken down very largely today, in the face of such wars
of man power and resources as we are waging.

These may be theories to plain soldiers like ourselves. But even as
theories they are facts and have an impact upon action. They determine
policy. It makes a world of difference, when you have occupied a hostile
country, which theory you follow. Are all of those inhabitants enemies
or potential enemies? Or are they just spectators? Can you just go on
about your own military business and feel sure that they will not inter-
rupt or irritate you at all, or needle you or fifth-column you?

Any army entering an enemy coimtry does not come there as a tourist
or temporary vacationist. It comes there for a purpose. One purpose
might be to break the will of the people and to force an end to the war.
Another purpose might be to use the people who live there. In fact,
the exploitation of conquered countries by modem Germany is evidence

658 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

of a complete reversion to Ae old Anglo-Saxon theory. Action rests more
upon the old doctrine of universal enmity than upon modem senti-
mentality. These are harsh words. But they do not mean that any mili-
tary occupation must include oppression of civilian populations. They do^
nevertheless, mean that any action deemed necessary for the secmity
of that army, or reasonably aimed to accomplish the military purpose
of that army, is perfectly justifiable, so long as it is humane and just
and not unduly harsh and cruel.

If all inhabitants withdrew under a scorched-earth policy or all took
up arms and became fighters the problems of military government
would be simplified. Perhaps they would be entirely eliminated. But
these things do not happen. Conquest is not achieved by the onrush
of a long line of metal; it results from penetrations and infiltrations
which cut off parts of the enemy army, and in the same regions with them
large parts of the enemy population, wedded to their soil or perhaps
simply unable to flee. These people, so long as they are not guilty of
what is technically called “war treason” and do not commit acts against
the occupying army, are — ^in spite of basic law and the old theory —
treated so far as possible as separate from the war and as peaceable
noncombatants, so that they shall in the words of Vattel “have nothing
to fear from the enemy.”

With that established, follow me now in this line of reasoning. All
areas of the earth are xmder some sovereignty or political control. Occu-
pation of an area by an enemy severs the bonds which tie the people
to their former national government. Even if military government is
temporary only, until confirmed in a treaty of peace, it is apparent that
temporary sovereignty must be assumed by an occupying army. It is not
merely a privilege but a duty. The situation was exactly described in
Admiral Fletcher^s announcement to the people of Vera Cruz on April
26, 1914, in which he said: “In accordance with the law of nations, I
am vest^ with the power and responsibility of government in all its
branches throughout the territory.”

There must be some control, even over people engaged only in the
ordinary processes of living. These people are parts of a human society,
which is, after all, a very complicated thing. Men die and there is prop-
erty to be inherited and cared for. Men want to sell, and deeds must
be recorded. Marriages must be legalized and births registered. Food and
clothing must be produced and sold in stores. Repairs to buildings must
be made. Contracts must be enforced and bills of sale acknowledged as
final. Indebtednesses must be met or adjusted. Burglars must be appre-
hended and punished. Wrongs of man against man must be righted in
courts of equity. Streets must be cleaned, garbage collected; electrical,
water, and sewage utilities must be operated; schools and hospitals must
contkme to function. All of these things must be done or the communities

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 2 659

will sink to barbarism. Responsibility for control of these activities rests in
the hands of the commander of the occupying army. His exercise of this
control is military government. The question of military law and jurisdic-
tion over members of his own forces is a separate question. The problem
of special regulations to prevent espionage and fraternization, to secure
necessary facilities for his army, and to settle frictions between enemy
civilians and individuals of his own force is allied to this government but
not the sole root of it. Beyond these new matters the old must have atten-
tion.

When an occupying general takes over a region he inherits control
over both public and private business. To exercise this control he does
not have to sit up all night writing out new codes of law. There were
laws governing the businesses and the homes of men before he arrived.
These probably differ in many respects from those in his own home
country. They are unfamiliar to him. Yet they are as well known to the
local inhabitants as his own laws are unfamiliar to them. Why try to
administer unfamiliar laws? Why try to upset laws already valid and
permanent in effect? It has generally been understood, therefore, as
proper in law as well as practicable in execution to permit local munici-
pal and provincial laws to remain in force — excepting, of course, those
that might be of present benefit to the enemy state. Let us say, then, that
if the commander is going to inherit the normal human business of the
country he might as well inherit the laws of the country which govern
that business.

Yet — ^note it well — ^he inherits them and makes them his own. He does
not merely let them run. He adopts them. He can change them if he
wishes. The change will be temporary only, unless confirmed in a treaty
of peace. Yet such changes are customarily held to a minimum, because
changes too many or too deep are likely to be confusing. This fact was
acknowledged when in California in 1847 much of the Spanish, or
Mexican, law was allowed to remain unaltered and still remains un-
altered after nearly a century. The change is not so unusual; sometimes
it appears desirable, and in such instances it is made. When the govern-
ing general thinks it necessary to express his will on local affairs he
does it unhesitatingly, and his action is legal and final. In California,
General Kearny even promoted the holding of free elections of local
officials. On the Rhine in 1919 the Third Army permitted voting for
representation in the Reichstag, although forbidding elections for local
officials. Whether the commander makes changes or not, what he does is
recorded as done and a legal basis for the future. Those whom he ap-
points, or permits to be elected, or retains in office are legal officials with
full powers of their offices.

If the commander sets aside the customs laws and collects customs
dues of his own, the goods which come in and pay duty under his

660 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

government cannot later be charged duties by the government whose
control he has abrogated. His law is the law of the land. He generally
strives, however, for reasons of simplicity and policy, to retain the old
laws and to supersede them with new ones, as Chief Justice Chase has
said, only “so far as may be deemed expedient.”

Most of the new laws and regulations which he makes will have to
do with relations between his military men and local inhabitants. The
old courts will judge civilian matters, but new ones will be created —
provost courts we now call them — ^to try civilians for violation of his regu-
lations and for crimes or torts against his soldiers. He may abolish the use
of the old national currency and substitute currency of his own for it, and
should in any event take strict control over all fiscal operations, public
and private. He may create new customs taxes. He may require payment
of taxes for work on the roads, for necessary sanitation, and for police.

Who, then, is going to administer these laws, especially the laws
governing the ordinary business of the country?

Municipal administration is very complicated. Equally as bad as
changing it unnecessarily would be changing the persons who know
how to handle it, except in so far as military necessity dictates. It is
customary to use to the utmost local officials. The American Army
on the Rhine did this with signal success. The Germans did it in France
in 1870-71, although they ran into the difficulty that some resident offi-
cials held office from the national government and would not serve under
an enemy power, although many municipal officials were willing to and
did serve. General Scott was able to utilize local Mexican officials in 1847,
although in 1914 most withdrew and would not serve under General
Funston. During the American Civil War, Sherman wrote to Grant:
“We have a right to use any sort of machinery to produce military results,
and it is the commonest thing for military commanders to use civil
governments in actual existence as means to an end.”

Even if the commanding general leaves the mayors or the alcaldes in
place, the military commander still sits above them and controls them.
In peace the local officials receive their authority from the local people
and government; in a war-occupied area they receive it from the occupy-
ing commander. That commander of course does not spend his time
running about the country sitting at the elbow of each mayor or superin-
tendent of sanitation. He has other things to do. Who, then, shall do it
for him?

In 1914, during the joint Army-Navy occupation of Vera Cruz, the
staff which headed up the various departments of the government was
composed of specially selected American civilians. In 1919, during the
occupation of the Rhineland, the staff was military in character, although
composed of specialists with expert knowledge of the various functions
of civil government. The latter procedure is deemed to be the better.

661

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 2

Japanese tried to use civilians in China in 1894 and found that the
plan did not work. French mixed in both military men and civilians in
Belgium in 1793 and got into an awful mess. The commanding general
has better control over military personnel than over separately appointed
civilians; also — ^and more importantly — ^he has greater confidence that
the military will act always in the interest of the military occupation and
its military purposes and not be swayed by sentimental theories of govern-
ment and social order. The main purpose of the occupation of enemy
territory, he knows, is not to remake the world but to keep control over an
area from or through which he must operate for the purposes of war.
For such a purpose he prefers soldiers imder him doing his work.

His every act must be bent toward those purposes of the war. If the
country is rich in produce he must use some of it to feed his army and
thus reduce the logistic burden of distant supply. If it has fuel deposits
which he can use to run his railways, to warm his troops in winter
quarters, or to cook their food, he must use some of these too. Whatever
aid he may secure for the support of his operation is his to take, to make
“war support war” in the Napoleonic phrase, provided always that he
does not absolutely impoverish the local population, or starve them, or
freeze them, to such an extent as to result in inhumanity and in such
world-wide abhorrence and condemnation as the Germans of the twen-
tieth century have called down upon themselves. It has always been the
American practice to buy and pay for materials needed, and this prac-
tice will probably be continued, unless we occupy an enemy area where
inhabitants refuse to sell. His needs may be great, but his demands should
not be greater than the people he rules can actually bear. Our best
reminder on this point is the classic American statement in the famous
General Order No. 100 of Civil War days that “men who take up arms
against one another in public war do not cease on this account to be
moral beings responsible to one another and to God.” If this still be true
as against an armed enemy, except one who forfeits consideration by
his atrocious behavior, it must be at least equally true as to a noncom-
batant even in days when entire populations are pressed into the war
effort.

Before we leave off we must consider another situation which may
arise. What, it may well be asked, will a commander do if he finds no
well-established government in the region which he occupies? Suppose
the oflBcials have all fled the country, or suppose the country is so unde-
veloped that there are no officials in the modem sense of the word. It is
composed merely of native tribes, perhaps. These have been under
foreign control, either as imperial colonies or as mandated lands. With
the advent of battle, whatever control had existed has been dropped.
Or perhaps the area is one which has been completely fought over, con-
quered, stripped of its people of responsible power, if not also of most

662 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

of its inhabitants, and is reconquered with that turn of the tide which
brings it into our hands.

In any case, so long as there is any civil population, the responsibility
for government rests with the commander into whose military control
the land has come. If there is an existing government he controls it, as we
have already seen. If there is no existing government or none that can
be trusted the commander must create one. If there are laws he may
adopt them or change them; if there are none he must make them, even
if only simple ones to keep the peace. He creates a new government
in more or less of a complex form in accordance with the complex or
the simple nature of the society which he finds on the ground. Perhaps
there are no inhabitants capable of assuming minor administrative posts
under his direction. If so, he must furnish them from his Civil Affairs
staff and get more men for that staff if those he has are not enough.

It is always possible that on an isolated island or in a wild or devastated
country there may be nothing upon which to build, in accordance with
the general principles set down in the paragraphs above. Here, of course,
if there are only a few inhabitants, he can put them on the pay roll ill
some way or other and control them by court-martial under military law
as “retainers” of the Army imder the Articles of War. But this course is
not recommended. It is best, even for a few, to set up a civilian control
separate from the military control. In fact, there will, except on some
rare atolls, always be more than a few. Of these there may still be a
smaller few whom he can enroll, instruct, and organize to help him.
If he does this he must avoid a serious possible pitfall. He must avoid
playing into the hands of any single faction or clique, however small.
If a local leader who does not hold public office offers his “gang” — ^be it
native banditti or private army — ^as a unit for police service, the offer
should be refused.

The commanding officer should do his own building, even though
it be from the ground up — ^as it may very well be in recaptured colonies
or mandated areas from which shot and shell and bomb have only
just driven the previous overlord. This situation may require the con-
struction of an entire frame of government, from police to postage
stamps, in accordance with the blueprint laid down in the War Depart-
ment manual. We did this in Cuba for the Cubans after 1898. We can
do it again, even if again someone may call it a government “military
in name only.” If the situation requires such action the task must be
accepted and accomplished. It is the commander’s responsibility — one
which he cannot escape any more than he can escape any other re-
sponsibility.

This, then, is military government. In authority it replaces, even
though in some particulars it uses, the old government of an area. Its
purpose is military. If it is not completely admixiiistered by military men

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD--2

663

and utUizes local officials in some particulars, or its own imported civilian
experts in others, its top control is military and its key posts should be
filled by military men and operated in a military manner, although
always still in accordance with what the British manual calls **the die*
tates of religion, morality, civilization, and chivalry.”

THE DAY OF THE WALRUS

Editorial by Major (later Brigadier General)
George H. Shelton

General Shelton was the most fluent writer ever to be editor of the
Infantry Journal (1909-12). His brilliance of intellect is often recalled by
senior officers of the Army today. He wrote this editorial in 1910.

It is recorded, the careful student will recall, in Lewis Carroirs classic
history of the golden age, that the walrus, at a certain eventful period
of his career, decided that the time had come to talk of many things, after
which with profound wisdom he annoimced the topics for discussion to
remove any possibility of misapprehension on the part of those interested.
But it will also be recalled that the walrus and his companion had then
the more important matter in hand of devouring the oysters that had
accompanied them on their stroll, and this having been efficiently attended
to, there was no audience left, except the carpenter, who seems to have
been an unintelligent sort of person, to hear the opinions of the walrus
or to record them if uttered. Wherefore the world has ever since been
left in darkness. Doubtless it was in this that the walrus showed the real
profundity of his wisdom. Nevertheless, it has always appeared to us that
there was much of importance to be said on the subjects so carefully
selected and that in the failure to secure permanent record of the walrus*
views the world is a distinct loser. It seems worth while, therefore, to
attempt, in the light of modem research into the general character of the
distinguished philosopher, to reconstruct, so to speak, what was probably
on his mind in reference to these matters at a period of which record of
his movements and other observations is so clear. To our notion there is
little room to doubt that, could record now be obtained, it would be
very close in meaning to what follows.

I Of Shoes and Ships

His name is legion — the man who knows it can*t be done. He is a
constant reader of Cold Water, which at once inspires him with the

664 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

darkest of forebodings and reflects his most dismal views. He belongs
to the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Gloom of which Major Growler
is Present Grand Master. You probably know him.

He is most prominent and numerous in holding the world back^ in
sticking to tractions, however evil. But he is not the only undesirable
citizen. The cold-water thrower is perhaps worse. The cold-water thrower
not only makes his own existence miserable but dampens the ardor of
all he touches. He is worse than the thrower of vitriol because he is more
common, and the law permits you to put the vitriol thrower in jail. Yet
the vitriol fiend has never done a hundredth part of the evil of the cold-
water thrower. Frequently, but not always, the man who knows it can’t
be done and the cold-water thrower are one and the same. Combined,
they make the pessimist at his best, and the pessimist at his best is the
biggest force for evil and for reversion there is in all the world.

Optimism is a virtue, albeit negative. The optimist is a desirable citizen.
In the first place, you don’t have to build jails for him and, in the second
place, if you did he would make jails a pleasanter place of residence. The
optimist pure and simple has never done much directly for the world.
His sense of proportion, which, as Buster Brown says, is all there is to a
sense of humor, is not sufficient. But indirectly he has paid his board and
deserved his place by the cheer cheerfully given to the real humorist, the
man who is doing the work. For men of this kind, too, thank God, still
exist. Out of his wisdom, we may believe, the Creator never labored un-
necessEirily. The pessimist as well as the optimist must have his purpose.
For the man who is doing the work, perhaps one is a goad, the other an
inspiration.

But the men who are doing the work (altogether a different classifi-
cation, be it noted, from men who are simply working) are the world
builders. They have their hours of gloom — depths unknown to the pes-
simist — and their hours of enthusiasm — ^finer than the optimist wots of
— but through all they retain their sense of proportion and their faith.
They do not believe the world is hollow and they know that the moon is
not made of green cheese. But they intend before the summit is reached
that it shall be known just what is inside of the world and of what the
moon is made. They intend to do their part in this and to add their mite
to the sum total of hiunan happiness and world development. For above
all these are men of faith, of faith in themselves, in iheir fellows, and,
beyond everything, in their work.

Of these, then, are all the inhabitants of the earth. Classify yourself,
friend, before going farther, and turn, if doubtful, to pleasanter things,
for the walrus (having devoured the oysters, and the carpenter being
an unintelligent sort of person) kept his thought on these momentous
subjects for intelligent vertebrates.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2

665

II Of Sealing Wax

Recently a member of Congress made a speech on the general subject
of national defense. It was a very good speech. It contained much of
interest to the military services and of importance for their future. It has
not been the habit of Congress, except in time of national emergency,
to manifest much interest in the military service. Never before in peace,
probably, had there been a display of such intelligent interest as this.
It would seem, therefore, under the circumstances, that it might well have
been regarded as a favorable sign. “But,” observed Major Growler, “it
doesn’t mean anything. It is just for home consumption. Congress won’t
notice it.” As it happened, this speech does not appear to have been made
purely for home consumption, and Congress did notice it. On the same
subject a service newspaper, after characterizing it as one of the most
important speeches delivered during the session, said : “It is to be feared,
however, that it will not receive the attention it deserves either in or
out of the halls of the national legislature.”

While it is not likely that any reference to this subject would receive
the attention that military minds regard as desirable, it happened, never-
theless, that this particular reference received considerable attention both
in and out of the halls of Congress — to the extent, at least, of achievement
of the purpose for which it was made. Again, on the same subject another
service newspaper said: “There is a justifiable suspicion that Congress
will resist the efforts to obtain provision for adequate defense until we
have a demonstration which shall show, at much public cost and national
humiliation, the deficiency ... It is still necessary to obtain legislation
in a haphazard way with increase of partial effect and by the piecemeal
process.”

Congress, like every other human institution, is open to suspicion. But
there is also justifiable reason for belief that Congress, out of the many
difficulties that surround legislation, seeks honestly, in the main, to find
the road that will lead to the best goal attainable by this nation.

Ill Of Cabbages and Kings

The day has gone when pessimism is to control. Pure pessimism, let it
be repeated, has never done a stroke of constructive work in the whole
building of the world. Pure pessimism can do nothing to help us now.
We need not be optimists; nothing so radical is thought of. But if we
cannot be reasonably enthusiastic in our own behalf and exercise reason-
able faith in our own work we can certainly expect neither enthusiasm
nor faith on the part of others in securing development. The newspapers
that say it is still necessary to seek service legislation by the haphazard

666 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

process of the past may speak, perhaps, out of the fullness of their knowl-
edge of legislative affairs and with due reverence to tradition, but they
are in ignorance certainly of the spirit of the Army that is now in control
of its own desires and prefers to see no legislation for the services at all
rather than the piecemeal variety from which it has suffered in the past
and which has resulted in our present costly and inefficient military system.

It is not to be thought that this spirit is yet universal in the Army, even
in the Infantry. But it is growing and it is already a power, since it is
strong enough to control its own desires and curb its own selfishness. This
spirit believes that haphazard legislation can be made to give way to a
general plan — to a military policy, if you will. It believes that today we
have no army, only an aggregation of troops that costs the government
far. beyond any possible return in efficiency. The time has come when
we should face this fact, when we should put it into words and, all un-
ashamed, tell it to ourselves and our world.

Out of the improvements that have come since the war with Spain,
out of the greater study we have given to the problems of organization,
out of greater knowledge, greater interest, and greater work has come
realization of these things. The Army today is not an army except in
name. This country either needs an army or it does not need an army.
There is no middle ground. If it can get along in a military way without
an army, with a mere aggregation of troops, it may as well disband most
of the troops it has and save most of the expense to which it is now put.
If this country needs an army it is our business to help create an army,
and no army can ever be created by the haphazard system of military
legislation that has provided the present aggregation to which we apply
the name.

IV Of Why the Sea Is Boiling Hot

If we, possessing this knowledge, however carefully hidden, can be
content with this state of affairs we must be satisfied to be mere time
servers. However much we may love our profession, however honorable
that profession may be, if we do not seek in every proper way to develop
our present military establishment into an army capable of meeting the
necessities that this nation is bound, like all others, to encounter, we are
simply holding our places — ^we are simply satisfied with our jobs.

V Of Whether Pigs Have Wings

We may go on hoping, on and on, but if we are ever to expect better
things out of the system of which \ye are a part today we must do more
than hope. The responsibility is ours and we cannot rid ourselves of it.
We have blamed Congress and the people in the past for a fault that is

667

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2

almost entirely ours. Congress would go on^ doubtless, as it has always
gone on, increasing or decreasing the Army; go on with its haphazard
military legislation through years innumerable and never, until brought
to sudden realization by national disaster, create an army or create any-
thing more than an aggregation of troops. The people would go on as
they have gone on, ignorant of the Army and of its purpose; go on in
the belief that armies for this country are unnecessary and that in time
of stress heaven, as always, will be kind to the United States. If we
believe in ourselves, if we believe in our profession, if we believe in the
necessity of an army for this country, our highest and most patriotic duty
is not to rest content with a system we know to be wrong, but to strive
in every proper way to develop a system we believe to be right. With all
our knowledge we are committing a wrong against ourselves, against
our country, and against its government if we do not spread that knowl-
edge before the world.

The plain business of the Army today seems to be, while clinging faith-
fully to its traditions and principles of subordination and loyalty, to strive
to put before the people whose Army it is its own just conception of what
for their best service it should be. This done wisely and well will result
in the end in the creation of such a military establishment as is thus
devised and as the country needs. Ever to attain this end, however, ever
even to interest the people largely, the Army itself must have a just con-
ception of what such a military establishment should be, not merely in
strength but in organization. It must not only have this just conception
but must be in full agreement within itself. It must strive wholly for the
whole; it must put selfish interests aside; it must put the well-being of
any part aside for the well-being of the whole. And it can do this in the
full knowledge of reward to come — ^moral reward in the consciousness
of duty well performed and material reward in the assurance that by the
benefit of the whole every part will in the end attain far more than can
possibly be attained by its own selfish and individual pursuit of numbers
or power. United, the Army can do its greatest service to the country
by creating an army. Divided, neither is it an army nor can it create an
army worth the name.

And we all know these things; yet it is necessary, we are told, to go
on with our past piecemeal method of army building; that Congress will
never grant at one time legislation that will of itself at once create an
army. This last is no doubt true. It is neither to be expected nor desired
that Congress should attempt to create an army at one stroke. Successful
army building is a matter of time, and to attempt to absorb at one time
the numbers and changes necessary to create an army out of the present
establishment could be expected to end only in disaster. Nothing of the
kind is suggested, but when the service, even as it is today, can be brought
to the point whew e it will agree upon what should constitute the military

668 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

system of this coimtiy and will outline a system that will do reasonable
justice to all concerned and will agree within itself to avoid every effort
to secure legislation not applicable to the general plan, Congress will not
only have occasion to rejoice but will, beyond all doubt, sooner or later
accept that plan and apply thereon whatever in its wisdom it sees fit to
grant. And the knowledge of this is not only in the hearts of all of us
but spread at length upon the records of military legislation for whosoever
so desired to read. And the proof thereof lies in this : There has never yet,
certainly in time of peace, been a line of legislation for the Army that
was not ui^ed on Congress by some part of the Army. There never was
a line of piecemeal legislation that some piece of the Army was not be-
hind. When, therefore, the Army ceases to urge piecemeal legislation,
piecemeal legislation will cease. When piecemeal legislation ceases there
will be hope for a general plan.

The Araiy has before it a plain duty, and it is for the Army to say
just how it shall acquit itself of that duty. The past is gone, but the future
is ours to use as we will. Let us profit by the past and use the future wisely.

Whereupon the walrus, observing the bewilderment of the carpenter,
but sustained by a sense of humor, smiled sadly and, putting away his
pocket handkerchief, flopped back into the sea; while the carpenter, being
an unintelligent sort of person, murmured, “Interesting but incompre-
hensible. Besides, I know it can’t be done,” and, reaching for a bucket
of cold water with either hand, went back to his steady job.

EQUIPMENT ON ITS LAST LEGS

Editorial by Major (now Major General)

Paul J. Mueller

(^ 9 ^ 7 )

When Congress provided for 125 new passenger automobiles for the
Army it inaugurated what is hoped will be an annual partial replacement
of motor transport. Practically every motorcycle and passenger car of the
Army is today on its “last legs,” all being veterans of the World War and
past the stage where repairs are economical. No commercial concern
would consider it a business proposition to keep on repairing the old
machines that the Army has been obliged to keep going in order to have
transportation for the most urgent needs. And despite what demagogues
may say concerning the use of Army transportation for the social benefits
of officers, there is not a post in the Army where the personnel does not

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD — 2

669

use its private cars for transacting “the people’s business.” It has to be
done if business is to be transacted with dispatch. And incidentally, this
expense on personal funds was not contemplated when the pay act was
written.

Notwithstanding all the efforts of the efficient motor-repair shops to
maintain as many cars as possible in running condition, 1,702 cars were
junked in 1926. Losses in 1927 will be greater, even though many cars
are kept numing, after a fashion, when they really should be retired.

The days of living on the leftovers from the World War are rapidly
approaching an end. Many items of issue are already depleted; others are
deteriorating. All of which makes the upkeep of the Army cost more now,
and this cost will increase in the future.

Replacement of horses and mules was begun last year, and funds are
provided for more next year. Ammimition has likewise been taken care
of in a small way. But there is one item whose passing will not be re-
gretted. That is the wartime shabby, multicolored uniform of which there
seems no end. When that is gone and provision is made for neat and
fitting uniforms — ^not out of the pockets of the soldier — ^Army morale will
get a boost that it needs.

GO TO IT

From an editorial by Lieutenant Colonel (now Colonel)
William H. Waldron

{igao)

The army is no stranger to seasons of discontent. In common with the
rest of the world, it has its ups and downs, ascending the heights on some
occasions and plumbing the depths on others. With these fluctuations in
the tide of its material fortunes, the Army suffers corresponding spiritual
variation — ^which is to admit that the Army, individually and collectively,
is inclined to be temperamental.

Nor is there anything strange in such a premise. The Army, in its being
as well as its purpose, is like no other institution on earth. Physically and
functionally it stands apart from the main current of life, dieting from
its appointed place only at long intervals to enter the flow of common
purpose and effort. Its mission is one of service. Its rewards are laigely
intangible as measured by the ordinary standards of modem success, and
it is this fact alone that gives the Army an excuse for the temperamental
eccentricities that it exhibits from time to time.

As a matter of fact, the Army as a rule has little of a material sort to

670 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

shbw for its work. Satisfaction detived from the consciousness of duty
well done is^ after all^ its chief reward. Deprived of that satisfaction, the
military man has but Etde with which to content himself. In other lines
of endeavor a man may achieve success through the employment of
bungling methods, and the material rewards will recompense him for any
chagrin he may feel over his lack of polish and technique. There is no
such compensating balm in the Army. All of which leads to the conclu-
sion that if circumstance puts it beyond the power of the Army to do good
work, there is little incentive for doing any kind of work.

The past year has been a trying one for the Army, a period of little
promise and great uncertainty. Scattered, depleted, seemingly neglected,
the Army has had little, actual or in prospect, to inspire it with con-
fidence in the future.

A year ago summer came upon us in the midst of the confusion and
disorganization incident to demobilization, when officers were witnesses
to the depressing spectacle of a magnificent military machine dissolving
before their eyes. Mattered over the country with the pitiful wreckage
of this machine, faced with the uncertainty, and harassed by the acuteness
of personal problems, it is small wonder that the Army lost heart.

Winter brought with it little promise of relief. The task of providing
for reorganization proceeded with discouraging deliberateness. The eccen-
tricities of demotion added their share to the burden of depressing cir-
cumstance. Relieving legislation hovered discouragingly in the back-
ground, toying with the Army’s hopes. Professionally there seemed to be
litde to stimulate the Army’s interest or to divert it from its personal but
disconcerting problems. What little was left of the Army occupied itself
halfheartedly in the prosaic details of daily routine. In a word the Army
appeared to be facing a blank wall. This condition, following upon the
heels of the Army’s finest achievement, served only to paint the future as
a drab and uninteresting anticlimax.

Old-timers in the service had foreseen all of this. Drawing lessons from
their past experience, they knew in advance what was sure to come.
Following the Armistice, they knew that the war army must be speedily
demobilized. They knew that the processes of demobilization would leave
disorganization and demoralization in their trail. They knew that a weari-
some period of waiting for reorganization must inevitably ensue. More
to the point, they knew to a certainty that the tide of public interest in
military affairs would ebb, leaving the remnants of the little Regular
Army stranded amid the wreckage and salvage of the war. They realized
fully that a feeling of depression must follow as a reaction from the
war period. All of this they foresaw, knd they sought about them for
means and ways with whkh to fortify themsehr^ against it.

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2

671

PREPAREDNESS IN THE UNITED STATES

From an editorial by Major (later Colonel)

John R. M. Taylor

{^ 9 ^ 8 )

Thb united states has never been a military nation^ but it has always
been a warlike nation. The number of our wars belies our constant claim
to be the most pacific of states. From these wars grew the idea that we
could form an army of a million men overnight. We are trying it at
present, not overnight, and finding difficulties in doing it. Still it does
not follow that the idea was as fallacious as it seems and that there was
1 K> foundation for it.

The time has passed when it is safe to rely upon the progressively
diminishing military efficiency of the men who will be discharged when
this war is over. We have accumulated a great armament. We are teach-
ing the Army the art of war. It would seem expedient that the soldiers
under arms today should not remain the sole depositories of the knowledge
they have acquired. Some form of military tradning, of military prepara-
tion, must be adopted which will permit them to transmit what they know
to their younger brothers, so that if we again have to confront an enemy
we shall be able to mobilize an army in place of being under the necessity
of creating one. Next time we may have to fight alone.

PREPAREDNESS

From an article by Captain (now Lieutenant General)
Walter Krueger

(w)

. . . Thb trouble is that our people still believe, in spite of the hand-
writing on the wall, that military amateurs are practically as good as
professionals. They may be argued out of this belief apparently, but way
down in their hearts they cling to it with a persistence that defies every-
thing. This is at the root of all our military problems. This belief must
be eradicated before we can hope to have anything in the way cf real
preparedness. Our people can easily see that it would be the hd|^ of

672 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

folly to make out of the most efficient officer of our Regular Army a
business manager of a department store, but they do not deem it unwise
at all to make an intelligent businessman a general. Of course the officer-
manager of a department store would so quickly make a failure of his
job that money would be lost, and this fact is so apparent even to the
unintelligent that the experiment would never be tried. But that a busi-
nessman could possibly fail, or rather is sure to fail, if he attempts to
hold down the office of general, or any military office for which he is not
trained, is not so apparent. To make that failure patent to the public eye
would require the crucial test of war, and of course war is but a remote
possibility in the mind of the people. That any man, unless he devotes
his whole time to the work, can possibly master the military profession is
out of the question.

This is the literal and unvarnished truth. We cannot hope to put up
a real fight against a real enemy unless we have made all our resources
in men and material available in times of peace and unless we have
molded them into an army, a real army, commanded by men as thor-
oughy trained and as capable in every respect as those of any army that
may be launched against us.

To accomplish this will necessitate the adoption of universal liability
to service; that is to say, not military service at odd moments in any mili-
tary body whatsoever, but real, businesslike, intensive military training
and discipline, extending over a certain period in the Army of the United
States.

THE GROWTH OF WAR

From an article by Professor (later Major)

Robert M. Johnston

(19^5)

, . . On the other hand, the present status of industrial democracy is
on a scale so_vast, so international, and so intense, that historical analogies
are of very doubtful value for guiding our judgments. On the whole,
though, it would seem that the strife for money and for external happi*
ness, which makes up the substance of human effort at the present day,
does not tend to reduce the probability of war to any great extent. With-
out discussing this large topic the fact remains that modem war demands
greater study and skill than at any previotu epoch, that it involves more

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2

673

deeply than ever before the prosperity of nations, and that unless a com-
munity has studied the organization and equipment of armies in as tech-
nical and scientific spirit as it studies the organization and equipment of
its great industrial enterprises, it can stand no chance when it comes to
the final arbitrament.

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FIGHT
Editorial
(1943)

Every new operation of the war seems to show more clearly how much
the infantry means to the whole fighting team. We think of infantry as
Queen of Battles as we have always thought of it. We take such pride in
the hard jobs the infantry has to do that we think of them as the hardest
jobs. And in a lot of battles they are.

The fighting man who comes to closest grips with the fighting men of
the enemy, who gets closest to them in the hottest part of the scrap, and
who must, with his dozen weapons, tackle and meet whatever fighting
means the enemy has, can never be criticized for believing his job is the
toughest.

He gets closer, too, to the swamp and the sand, to the ice and the hot
desert rock. He does most of his fighting right in them and on them. It’s
not only the man and his weapon but the man, his weapon, and the
ground. It takes these three to get at and capture or kill the other side’s
fighters in the end.

To think these things takes nothing away from the fighting man of the
air and the sea. Or the other men on the ground upon whose tanks and
guns an army heavily depends. It takes nothing away from those whose
services — and often whose fighting, for all may fight in war as it is today
— enable the combat units to shoot, eat, move, and keep warm. They can
all have pride. For they can all know the fighting force can’t fight without
them.

But think back through the battles of the war and pick out the hard
fights, the hard campaigns. And think of the hard parts of the easy cam-
paigns. Think of Dunkirk, the Dyle Line, the mountain passes of Greece,
the capture of Crete and Tobruk, Bataan, Burma. But think still more
of Russia which, in fury and vastness of battle, has been greater than all
the other campaigns combined.

Think of the Nazi charge to the east on a thousand-mile front with its
spearheads driving in fast at first, then ever more slowly. Think of the

674 THE INFANTRY JOURNAL READER

Don and the Volga^ the Caucasus— of Sevastopol^ Stalingrad, and Lenin-
grad.

And think of El Alamein.

Think of these all and the story of the fighting is a story of infantry
fighting always as infantry must fight. It’s a dozen epics of the doughboy
gaining his ground, holding his ground, or relinquishing his ground to
other men on the ground who have fought with a better will or better
weapons and numbers. It’s ever a battle tale of the infantry, fighting with
the utmost help of every other kind of fighter.

And look, too, at the slashing seizure of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunis —
and the slower, tougher going on Guadalcanal. The hard work in these
sectors, as in every other campaign, found the infantry there where the
work was heaviest, where other means of war could make no progress,
where the whole great combat team with the doughboy in the center,
moving by land or sea or air, was needed to do the job.

It must seem to some who knew little of war as this war began and
who saw in machines the end of the separately fighting soldier still an
inexplicable thing why the machine is not enough. This is only because
they were too ready to believe in the easier way of war. Or too lazy to
consider what machines cannot do as well as applaud their tremendous
combat power.

The machines of war were invented to do more than the fighting
soldier by himself. They can. For he has no armor and he has no wings.
With machines, therefore, he can do what he cannot do without them.
He must have machines.

But there is the other side of it to see. There are many things the com-
bat soldier cannot do with machines that he can do without them. He
cannot find large niunbers of widely deployed and fighting men and
attack them effectively with any of his machines. And such as he finds
he often cannot shoot at accurately. But without his machines he can do
both these things.

If ever man can invent a fighting machine that can clamber and crawl
as well as fly, and preserve full vision or improve it, and has armor rea-
sonably proof from penetrating or heat-creating weapons that can readily
and accurately be directed against it, then perhaps will the infantry
disappear as a separate class of fighting men. For the ground fighter
would merge with the fighting man of the tank and the plane. And then
the old doughboys would say that armies were now made up of “mechan-
ical infantry.” Old tankers would say that the tank had “absorbed” the
doughboy and the plane. And the old flier would still insist that now that
all fighters had wings we could forget all obsolete kinds of warfare.

But there is no promise of science for a war machine like that, for an
all-purpose, keen-eyed, armored, creeping-flying machine that combines
the fighting features of each known means of today’s warfare. Wings are

THE SOLDIER LOOKS AHEAD— 2

675

too broad to fold for creeping; armor is too heavy for creeping or flying
and cannot keep out heat or heavy shells^ and the speed of wings and
the closeness of armor prevent clear vision.

That is at least the way things stand here in the middle of this great
war. No new superweapon on a new scientific principle seems at hand,
though the powerful machines we have are utterly necessary tools of the
fighting team.

And so the unarmored, unwinged infantry is in the heart of the fight,
tackling what its men believe are the hardest jobs of war. It is there in
the center of battle, attempting the feats of combat no other kind of
fighter can hope to succeed in, but constantly needing and relying upon
the winged and armored fighting strength of the other men of battle
and upon the services of all other men who aid it to reach and keep in
the middle of the fight.

Appendix

Tlie Editors, the Infantry Journal

676

Lte editors.

Highes

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