The Nieuport 28C-1 and the U.S. Air Service

Lt. Eddie Rickenbacker at the Controls of His
Nieuport 28C-1

At the time of the arrival of the AEF Air Service in France there was insufficient production of the top-of-the line SPAD to allocate this aircraft to the Americans. It was therefore decided to provide the Nieuport 28C-1 to the Americans until such time as the SPAD XIII became available. The AEF eventually took possession of 297 Nieuport 28 aircraft. The pilots of the Lafayette Escadrille had flown earlier models of the Nieuport, the N-11 and N-17 versions.

USAF Air Museum Example Marked to Represent
U.S. 95th Aero Squadron

Initial assignment of the machines was to the First Pursuit Group (the 27th, 94th, 95th, and 147th Aero Squadrons). Either the 150-hp Gnôme Monosoupape 4-N engine or the 160/170-hp Gnôme 9-N engine powered production machines. The aircraft was armed with two Vickers .303 machine guns—one mounted outboard of the left center-section strut and one on top of the fuselage to the left of the center-line. Some American squadrons used the American Marlin machine gun in lieu of the Vickers gun. For balloon attacks the Vickers guns would be replaced by a single 11 mm Vickers gun, armed with incendiary ammunition, and mounted in the inboard location.

The aircraft was not well received by the Americans because of its inability to effectively engage the Fokker D.VII. It also was both prone to shedding the fabric on the leading edge of the top wing in a steep dive and the engine had a tendency to catch fire. The aircraft served with the A.E.F. for about four months before being replaced by the SPAD XIII.

San Diego Air Museum Example Marked to Represent
the U.S. 94th Aero Squadron ("Hat in the Ring")

The French-built Nieuport 28 became the first fighter airplane flown in combat by pilots of the American Expeditionary Force (AEF) in World War I. On 14 April 1918, resulted in two victories when Lts. Alan Winslow and Douglas Campbell of the 94th Aero Squadron each downed an enemy aircraft — the first victories by an AEF unit. [ARTICLE]

Despite its unpopularity, American pilots maintained a favorable ratio of victories to  losses with it. Many American aces of WWI flew the aircraft, including Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, perhaps the most famous of America’s airmen, who scored 12 of his 26 victories in his Nieuport 28C-1. The less  maneuverable, but faster and sturdier, SPAD XIII began replacing the Nieuport 28 in March 1918.

Video of Pilots of the 94th Aero Squadron flying the Nieuport 28C-1:

Close-up view of the Machine Guns

TECHNICAL NOTES: 

Armament: Two Vickers .303-cal. machine guns 

Engine: Gnome 9-N rotary of 160 hp 

Maximum speed: 122 mph 

Range: 180 miles 

Ceiling: 17,000 ft. 

Span: 26 ft. 3 in. 

Length: 24 ft. 4 in. 

Height: 8 ft. 

Weight: 1,625 lbs. loaded 

Sources: The USAF Museum; The Doughboy Center; San Diego Air Museum

A Baker's Dozen of My Favorite World War I Posters

 

"The Great Battle in France"

"The Liberation Loan"

"Ship Out of Here"

Supplemental Section—Added at Recommendation of a Reader (More Welcome, Enter in Comments.)

Battles East: A History of the Eastern Front of the First World War

Confident-Looking German Troops, Eastern Front 1915

Battles East: A History of the Eastern Front of the First World War

By G. Irving  Root

Publishamerica, 2007

This is a survey history of the vast Eastern Front, which extended for nearly 1,200 miles from the Baltic to the Black Sea across the Polish plains through the Pripet Marshes, the oil fields of Silesia, the Carpathian Mountains and the Iron Gates of the Danube and the Romanian Dobrudja. Nearly all the combatants on both sides were represented here: Russia, Germany, Austria-Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey. Even the British and French had limited land and naval forces engaged by the end of the war.

Huge armies grappled in the east. The Germans alone had as many as two million men engaged at the height of the fighting, suffering over a million casualties over four years.  Austria-Hungary had over 44 divisions, half her army, deployed against Russia, which, in turn, deployed nearly half of her 294 divisions against the Germans and Austro-Hungarians. Casualty figures for Russia are unreliable but go as high as ten million military and civilian dead. Civilian losses, particularly among the hundreds of thousands of refugees (many of them Poles, Lithuanians, or Ukrainians) displaced in the deep Russian retreat of 1915, are impossible to determine. 

The author starts his survey with a review of the strategic position of the protagonists in 1914, moving through the overwhelming German 1914 victories at Tannenberg and the Masurian Lakes, the 1915 battles in Galicia and the Carpathians, the Brusilov Offensive and the defeat of Romania in 1916, the disintegration of the Czarist army and government in 1917, to the post-1918 battles between the Red Army and the newly independent Polish state, the Romanian invasion of Hungary and the actions of German Frei Korps, in the Silesian Plebiscite War of 1921. Also covered in useful detail are command rivalries within the Imperial German and Russian Armies and between the German and Austro-Hungarian commands, as well as the various treaties (Brest-Litovsk and Bucharest) ending the conflict. 

Click HERE If You Wish to Order This Book

In all, this is a valuable and readable addition to the slim library of WWI Eastern Front histories and well worth reading. Weaknesses include the maps (which though plentiful and detailed are monochromatic and hard to decipher) and exclusive reliance on secondary sources. 

Source: Relevance, November 2008

Weapons of War: The Italian Quick-Firer

Cannone Da 75/27 Modelo 11 in Transit

By James Patton

During the decades prior to 1914, perhaps the most significant advancement in land warfare technology was quick-firing field guns (“QFs”). Although the French invented them, by 1914 just about everyone had some version in service including many retro-fits. The Italian Army was no exception, with their Cannone Da 75/27 Modelo 11, which henceforth we’ll call the “75/27.”

It might be useful at this point to explain what a QF is. In the mid-19th century cased cartridges were invented for the new family of breech-loading small arms. By the 1880s the chemical and metallurgical glitches had been worked through and there was no obstacle to manufacturing cased artillery shells, even pre-assembled ones.  These would be a huge break through — they would eliminate most of the time spent in charging and loading the field gun. However, there remained the problem of recoil. When the gun is fired Newton’s Third Law of Motion specifies that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Thus, while the projectile is hurled forward the gun breech of the barrel is pushed with equal force, causing the gun (which is much heavier than the projectile), to “jump” backwards. This means that the gun has to be returned to the firing position and “relaid” (aimed again), both time-consuming steps. Led by the French Lt. Col. Joseph-Albert Deport (1846–1926) the first workable recoil absorption devices (also known as "recuperators") used pistons pushing against highly viscous oil, compressed air in sealed chambers and very stiff springs, sometimes used in combination. The design is exactly the same as in today’s automotive shock absorber. 

The “gold standard” QF was the French Canon de 75 Modèle 1897, (“French 75”) which used a hydro-pneumatic recoil mechanism with two pistons. While very effective (the recoil cycle was about two seconds) this design required precise machining and the use of O-ring type seals made from silver to keep the piston chambers from leaking. When the U.S. began to produce these guns under license, very close tolerances were achieved and a good gun became even better. Although rates of fire in excess of fifteen rounds per minute were possible, the barrel would soon overheat and the hydraulic oil would lose viscosity, so in actual use three to four rounds per minute was the limit. 

The Italian army was a little late in entering the game in 1911 when they turned to the French steelworks Compagnie anonyme de Châtillon et Commentry, located in Neuves-Maisons, whose in-house weapons designer was none other than ex-Lt. Col. Deport, who had been passed over for promotion in 1894. He set out to make a QF with a 75 mm (2.95 in.) bore, identical to the French QF, but using a shorter and lighter 6.35 kg (14 lb.) HE shell. The effective range was 10,240 meters, comparable to the French 75’s 11,000 meters. It was lighter than the French 75, 1,015 kg vs. 1,544 kg, an important difference in mountain warfare.

Knowing the limitations of machining at Fabbrica Armi Esercito di Terni, he selected a hydro-spring dual-recoil system, which featured a sort of lever welded to the bottom of the mouth of the barrel with a paddle on the other end which pushed against a spring inside of a rectangular oil reservoir located about six inches below the barrel and running the entire length of the barrel. This design, although more complicated, avoided the problems of leaking cylinder seals and of barrel heat thinning the oil (which raised the effective rate of fire to fifteen rounds per minute), but it was never used again. 

On Display at Mte. San Michele, Carso Sector

Since Deport had patented a split-trail design in 1908, on his own initiative he incorporated this feature into his Italian 75/27. This enabled it to be elevated to 65 degrees and made plunging fire a viable and deadly option. No other QF in the era could elevate more than 18 degrees and every field gun designed since the 75/27 has employed the split-trail.

The little Italian 75/27 was both obsolescent and futuristic. Total production was 1,341 guns and a few examples remained in service through 1945. The one in the photograph above was on static display at Monte San Michele in Italy in 2006. There is also a specimen in a museum in Finland.

The Frustrating Struggle for Hill 204 Above Château-Thierry

Hill 204 with the Huge American Monument Looming Over Château-Thierry

What is referred to in some sources as the “Battle of Château-Thierry” actually entailed four major operations by the forces General Pershing sent to fight under French command and in cooperation with French units:

1. The Defense Along the Marne River at ChâteauThierry (3rd U.S. Division)

2. The Ongoing Struggle for Hill 204 (two French divisions; elements 3rd and 28th U.S. Divisions)

3. The Battle for Belleau Wood (4th Marine Brigade and 2nd Engineers, 2nd U.S. Division; elements 3rd U.S. Division)

4. The Capture of Vaux (3rd Brigade, 2nd U.S. Division)

This article will focus on action #2, The Struggle for Hill 204

While the world's attention focused on the main defensive action of the Allies along the Marne River in late May and early June (action #2), German forces captured and strengthened a site that would allow them to physically dominate the entire Château-Thierry sector for the next seven weeks, holding it against fierce French and American onslaughts. Shown on battle maps as Hill 204 (meters), today it is the site of a magnificent U.S. monument to the fighting in the area. Hovering just to the west over Château-Thierry, the hill is the highest point in the region, allowing commanding views of the Marne valley, the Paris-Metz highway which runs across its base, and Bouresches village and Bois de Belleau to the north.

Hill 204 was taken on 31 May–1 June by advancing German forces, and its defense was assigned to the 401st Infantry Regiment. Much of the crest of the hill is filled by dense Courteau Wood, which was quickly turned into a machine gun-filled redoubt like Belleau Wood, except for providing better views of the approaching enemy forces. Its strategic position was also enhanced by the odd array of the Allied forces initially deployed almost randomly around its base. 

The two American divisions sent as reinforcements were both in the area but were not contiguous in the line. Just southeast of the hill along the river was the U.S. 3rd Division, while a mile to the west was the southernmost position of the U.S. 2nd Division. Immediately on the slopes of Hill 204, filling the gap between the two Americans formations, was initially the under-strength French 10th Colonial Division and later the 39th Division (after 26 June). This meant that the Allied forces facing the most important position on the evolving battlefield suffered from divided command and the smaller French divisions in the center would require reinforcements to assault the hill.

German Shelters Atop Hill 204
by Official War Artist J. Andre Smith

Nevertheless, numerous efforts were made throughout June to capture the hill, usually with elements of the U.S. 3rd Division supplementing a main French effort. On 6 June Courteau Wood was almost captured, but the Germans managed to regain it and drive the Allies back down the slopes. Doughboys of the 30th Infantry, 3rd Division, did manage to capture the village of Monneaux on the hill's westerly base during the operation. On 13 June two battalions of the 3rd Division provided the main manpower for another attack, one of which suffered 50 casualties in a failed effort. 

The most promising effort to drive the German defenders from Hill 204 came in early July in conjunction with the U.S. 2nd Division's effort to capture Vaux village on the northwestern side of the hill [Action #4]. At this time the U.S. 3rd Division's sector had been concentrated to the east of Château-Thierry and the French 39th Division had been placed directly in front of Hill 204, replacing the 10th Colonial Division. To augment the French portion of the attack—on Hill 204 proper—detachments of the 56th Brigade of the U.S. 28th Division were provided. The 153rd Infantry of the French 39th Division, supplemented by two companies of Americans, met stubborn resistance and was effectively smashed. 

A Yank deployed at Hill 204 describe the fighting in his diary:

Thursday, July 4th Sounded call to arms at 1:00 A.M. Rolled packs. Hiked 9 kilos to the Grand Forest near La Chapell. Selected to go on a raiding party at 204 Hill. Jocko, E. Watt, Auchuto, Tate and myself selected from Co I. Our barrage started at 10:20 A.M. Ceased at 12:20 P.M. Went over the top at 12:21. Absolutely no resistance until we entered a woods. Ran into several Machine Gun Nests in the wood. Frank Achuto had arm blown off. Earnest Watt killed by German sniper from a treetop. Got my first shot at a Hun who proved to be chained to his gun and to the tree. Advanced 1300 yards and took and held against big odds 204 Hill. Relieved by a French Regiment at 4:35 P.M. Just realized what I had been through. Saw legs, arms and men torn to bits by huge shells. The ground smelled of the dead bodies who had be [been] laying around for quite a while. Artillery doing good work.

Diary, Bugler Wayne W. DeSilvey, 112th Infantry Regiment, 28th Infantry Division 

From the American Monument, the Commanding View Held by the German Army Throughout the Fighting at Château-Thierry Can Be Appreciated

By 6 July a mixed force composed of French units, the trench mortar platoons of the Pennsylvania 111th and 112th Infantry Regiments, and two rifle sections of the 112th Infantry succeeded in capturing much of Bois de Courteau. It was the most successful operation against Hill 204 to date. During the night of 8–9 July, however, the Germans recaptured the woods from the French units occupying the positions. 

Nothing the Allies did locally managed to push the enemy off the hill. Larger events were required to bring this about. On 15 July, the Germans launched their fifth major offensive of the year between Château-Thierry and Reims. For the first time in 1918, the Allies were ready. They not only halted the attack in a single day but also mounted a counteroffensive three days later. Suddenly, all the German Army's forces deployed in the enormous salient between the Aisne and Marne Rivers were in jeopardy. On 21 July, a full withdrawal from the salient was under way, and Hill 204 was finally abandoned by its defenders that day, out of strategic necessity, not compelled by force of arms. 

Source: Over the Top, June 2018

Wake Up, England! — An Early Pro-War Poem

By Robert Seymour Bridges (1844–1930), Poet Laureate of England, 1913-1930. Bridges was educated at Eton College and Corpus Christi College, Oxford. He went on to study medicine in London at St Bartholomew's Hospital, intending to practice until the age of 40 and then retire to write poetry. Despite being made poet laureate in 1913, Bridges was never a very well-known poet and only achieved his great popularity shortly before his death with "The Testament of Beauty."  "Wake Up, England" was the first of 13 war poems he would publish during the Great War and its aftermath. His best known war contribution, however, was his anthology in prose and verse, The Spirit Of Man, that appeared in 1916.

Bridges was also a member of  Britain's war propaganda group at Wellington House. Nevertheless,  he was criticized for lack of production during the war.  At one point he said, "The war is awful. I can scarcely hold together. [...] Just at present I am far too disturbed to write, the communication with my subconscious mind is broken off."  His son Edward was posted to the western front in the autumn of 1915 and, shortly after the Bridges' home was gutted by fire, was repatriated wounded in February 1917 after receiving the Military Cross.

Edward, incidentally, would later serve with distinction as a civil servant and as Cabinet secretary during the Second World War. Postwar, Robert Bridges regained his productivity. Towards the end of his life he was awarded the Order of Merit capping of a distinguished career.

His father had died at his home, Chilswell, on 21 April 1930 and was buried at Yattendon. 

The Presidential Election of 1916, Part IV, Why Was the 1916 Election So Close?

A Premature Announcement

Most Republicans realized their 1912 split had elected Wilson and were determined not to fragment the party again, and Hughes had enough Progressive credentials to bring back most of those who had followed T.R. off  the reservation. He won all four states east of the Rockies that the Progressives had carried in 1912.

Hughes ran very strong in the northeast and the industrial tier of the Midwest. This was an area that had the most populous states and Hughes flipped all the states won by Wilson in these areas in 1912, except New Hampshire and the aforementioned Ohio. This included a large block of 112 electoral votes from  only three states: New York, Pennsylvania, and Illinois.

In the 1914 Congressional and State elections Republicans nation-wide experienced the traditional midterm election bounce-back by the losing side which helped strengthen state level committees. Consequently, Hughes also did well in the closely contested states, winning nine of 15 states where the margin of victory was less than five percent.

Final Results, Wilson in Blue, Hughes in Red (270 to Win)

The impact of all these effects made Hughes formidable in the Electoral College, even though President Wilson – who received 2.8 million more votes than in 1912 – won the popular vote. Absent the Republican disarray in Ohio, and that state's diversified demographics, he might have been president after all.

Sources: We adapted this series from several sources we should credit here—the Miller Center of the University of Virginia,  the American Presidency Project of the University of California at Santa Barbara, 270 To Win,  OurCampaigns.com,  and Gallup.com.

The Great War's Weather, Part II: How Nature's Fury Defined the War

WWI Weather Map Covering Western Front, Dec. 1917

By Meteorologist Thomas Meiners, Spectrum News

The First World War, occurring from 1914 to 1918, remains a testament to the endurance and ultimate sacrifice made by millions. Occurring over a century ago, the weather was far less predictable than it is now but was just as brutal as it can be today and made life for soldiers incredibly difficult, whether that was from extreme heat, freezing cold or flooding rainfall.

The weather had a significant impact on the war and was an enemy for soldiers in the trenches.  It was a major consideration for generals and their planners, as well. The British Met (Meteorological Office) responded to this challenge by issuing the first operational military forecast on 24 October 1916.

Extreme heat

Memberrs of the Royal Naval Division Suffering
the Heat at Cape Helles, Gallipoli

As the summer of 1914 unfolded, invasions were occurring and soldiers were traveling in the dog days of summer. Temperatures soared to unprecedented highs in northern Europe. At one point, a heat wave broke out, bringing temperatures above 86 degrees for several days straight early in the month.

Soldiers wearing wool uniforms and burdened with heavy equipment confronted the scorching heat as they navigated challenging terrains to reach the front lines. The extreme heat was then followed by unexpectedly early extreme cold, which made managing resources difficult.

Freezing cold

French Soldiers Bracing Against the Cold the
First Winter of the War

The bitter cold that gripped the Western Front during the winter months was a sharp contrast to the preceding summer of 1914. Temperatures in November of that year became much colder than average, leaving soldiers without winter coats in the harsh conditions.Help would come in December when gloves and winter coats would be handed out, but fur-lined boots wouldn’t arrive until January.

In 1917, a severe winter struck between Jan. 20 and Feb. 9, with temperatures never rising above freezing. In the middle of that arctic blast, one February night saw the overnight low plummet to a bone-chilling nine degrees below zero, rendering limbs and fingers numb.The soldiers would try their best to keep warm by building fires in the trenches, but that quickly proved fruitless because the smoke would become trapped and suffocate the men.

Flooding rainfall

British Sergeant in a Flooded Trench Near
Plug Street, Flanders

It wasn’t only smoke that became trapped in the trenches, but these long, zig-zag rows, often 12 feet deep, would become small rivers during heavy rain.

One of the most pervasive effects of weather on World War I was the relentless onslaught of rain. For 648 days - almost half of the war’s duration - rain and snow battered the Western Front, transforming trenches into mud and misery.

For over two weeks in Jan. 1915, over four and a half inches of rain fell in northeastern France, which was double what they would normally get during that time of the year. Torrential rainfall in 1915, 1916 and 1918 had a decisive role in major battles such as Verdun and the Somme, contributing to the death of over a million soldiers. 

Many times, large ridges of high pressure over Russia would produce extreme cold in the eastern part of Europe and result in a repetitive pattern of low pressure systems for western Europe, bringing little to no sunshine or heavy rainfall for the area. It’s worth mentioning that the war and the influenza pandemic teamed up with the hazardous weather to make for especially deadly conditions for those fighting.

Experts have uncovered data showing that the mallard ducks migration, influenced by adverse weather, likely played a role in the flu's transmission to humans, especially during the fall of 1917 and 1918.

Nearly 10 million soldiers were killed during World War I, with over 116,000 from the United states. The relationship between extreme weather and the severity of both the war and the influenza pandemic emphasizes the vulnerability of humanity to the forces of nature.

See our earlier articles on Winter Avalanches HERE, Alpine Warfare HERE, and Desert Warfare HERE

The Great War's Weather, Part I: Last Summer—1914

British Beach Scene, Summer 1914

By Dr. Esther MacCallum-Stewart

As another hot summer hits Britain, my local area announces its umpteenth hosepipe ban and all the lawns start to go a parched yellow colour, I'm once again reminded of the 'last' Edwardian summer, that of 1914. The mythology that surrounds this summer is astronomical, and any self respecting novel about the war seems to contain obligatory references to tea parties, sweltering heat and sunny days. In the vocabulary of the war, this summer has become a sign of impending doom and an oppressive and dangerous moment of pathetic fallacy. Whilst the worlds politicians steel themselves for war, everyone else pays tennis whilst occasionally glancing at the newspapers with a flippant comment about how the situation in Europe has nothing to do with Britain. The odd shaking of heads before heading out on country walks or for another round of suppressed sexual desire on the garden lawn seems rather to be the norm. Innocence and coming of age are combined, all of which are expected to pale into the background when war breaks out, everyone rushes to the recruitment office, and the progression towards disillusion and shattered lives can begin.

These ideals feed into a perfect depiction of England and its population. The rather dotty British obsession with the weather; the lounging about outdoors, the beauty of the countryside, the emphasis on a 'green and pleasant land', and finally, the traditional British reserve; ignoring the big events and unable to articulate the small. The summer of 1914 works as a perfect counterpoise to the war itself. At the same time it's become an inevitable part of the war story.

What has however struck me is the assumption that the summer of 1914 seems to addle people's brains in some way. For a start, nobody does anything except sit about outside. No domestic jobs are done, nobody works for a living (they go off and do that during the war, obviously!), and it gets dark suspiciously late. Secondly, the heat seems to somehow prevent political debate. Surely not everyone's reaction to the situation in Europe was either 'Oh, don't worry about some silly country no-one has ever heard of!' or 'There'll be a war; you mark my words!'. It seems to me that authors are very keen to induce a type of collective heatstroke that avoids anyone discussing war in complex ways. This of course means that when it does take its casualties, they will be all the more surprising to the participants.

Marienbad Spa, June 1914

The summer of 1914 was indeed, the hottest on record, and since British newspapers reported the weather on a regular basis since 1860, this is a fair claim to make. However, despite this, it all sounds rather good fun, in a jolly sort of way. Even the torrid affairs doomed to failure because of the inevitable shadow of war seem rather interesting. The reader is meant to see these acts as the last of an era, and after 1914 it always rains in the summertime of these novels. Yet somehow, I can't really see why loafing about outside until it gets dark and eyeing up carefree young men is such a bad thing at all. . .

Esther MacCallum-Stewart wrote this entry in the garden with a glass of Pimms, of course, but who cares about some silly war!

Dr. Esther MacCallum-Stewart once ran one of our favorite First World War blogs, Break of Day in the Trenches. She is now Chair of the British Digital Gaming Research Associaton and is heavily involved with the science fiction and fantasy fan communities.

Originally published in the St. Mihiel Trip-Wire, August 2006

A Midnight Massacre: The Night Operation on the Passchendaele Ridge, 2 December 1917: The Forgotten Last Act of the Third Battle of Ypres

By Michael LoCicero

Helion & Company, 2014

By William F. Stewart

Canadian Machine Gunners Near Passchendaele

This review appeared in Canadian Military History Vol. 28 No. 1 (2019)

It may come as a surprise to many readers that the Canadian attack at Passchendaele on 10 November 1917 was not the culmination of the long lamentable Third Ypres campaign. Nor did the 1st Division gain “complete observation over the German positions to the north-east” on the ridge.  Instead, as Michael LoCicero’s Midnight Massacre describes, there was one further attempt by the British to seize the remaining high points on the ridge on the night of 1/2 December 1917. Overshadowed by the far more momentous Battle of Cambrai, this engagement did not merit a battle honour and fell outside the official dates of Third Ypres. Carried out by one brigade each of the 8th and 32nd Divisions for a total of seven battalions, the attack featured a night assault without a rolling barrage for its first eight minutes to surprise the defenders. Despite the undoubted courage of the troops, the attack was, as one battalion commander called it, a “bad show” (p. xxvii). 

LoCicero has the ambitious aim of providing an “in-depth account with a considered attempt to mesh the detailed narrative with rigorous academic inquiry” (p. xxix). By limiting the bounds of time and space of his study, he delves into a level of detail that campaign accounts or unit narratives cannot investigate. As a result, he covers the battle procedure and execution from the highest command levels to the actions of individual platoons. A Midnight Massacre is the result of a ten-year research project into the battle and is based on his PhD dissertation from the University of Birmingham. The work is solidly situated in the revisionist school that has moved beyond the ‘bloody fools’ view, and assesses the situation based on the evidence instead of emotion. The result is a unique study which is exhaustively researched, lavishly illustrated, and extensively footnoted. It is a dense work that will appeal to academics and those interested in the mechanics of how the British planned and carried out operations.

The book seeks to answer two crucial research questions: why another attack was necessary and was it more than just a futile effort. The author casts a wide net in his research efforts. He consulted a broad variety of official documents, personal diaries and letters of participants at all levels, as well as the latest specialist academic research. LoCicero also usefully includes the German perspective from the Munich archives and regimental histories. This research is apparent in the text and the extensive footnotes on each page, which saves the reader from having to hunt down references at the back of the book. He makes good use of field messages to help the reader recognise both what the commanders understood the situation to be and how it actually was. This helps in comprehending the reasoning behind decisions. He also takes the time to sketch the background, character, and circumstances of the participants at all levels and how these impacted the operation.

A Midnight Massacre comprises six chapters, twenty-one appendices, and thirty-five pages of introductory material. Chapter One introduces the battle’s background, its conception, the defenders, and commanders. The next goes into depth into the formal operational orders issued by the two corps involved and by each level down to the battalions. Chapter Three describes what transpired on the night of 1/2 December and the relative success and failure of the units. Continuing discussion of the battle, the fourth chapter presents the ongoing action during the daylight hours of 2 December as the British commanders tried to understand what occurred and possibly redeem the failures. The penultimate chapter narrates and analyses the German reaction to the attack, the decision to shut down further operations, and how the participants analysed the outcome and derived lessons. The final chapter reviews the operational, strategic, and political consequences of the battle, its costs, and its memory. Appendices cover the operational orders issued by all levels of command, the order of battle, and published German accounts of the battle and other aspects of the action. Numerous illustrations of the ground, terrain, conditions, people mentioned in the text, and contemporary British and German trench maps enliven and inform the text. The extensive quotations from orders that would have been better suited to notes or an appendix result in a stylistic issue. They tend to bog down the narrative and make the text less accessible to the casual reader.

To Order This Book, Click HERE

LoCicero describes the reason for the plan as stemming from the twin motives of lessening the major risks of holding a narrow salient and improving the starting point for a renewed offensive in the spring. At its heart, A Midnight Massacre examines how the commanders tried to square the circle of attacking out of a narrow salient with an unfavourable artillery situation. A further complication was that the attack occurred at the boundary between two divisions from separate corps, both at the end of a shaky line of communications. The driving force in the attack’s concept was the commander of the 32nd Division, Major-General C.D. Shute, who had to find a solution to two critical issues. First, owing to the unfavourable field conditions, his supporting artillery had to be deployed parallel to the axis of advance rather than the usual perpendicular arrangement. This made firing an accurate barrage across the attack front exceedingly difficult. Second, the attackers had to cross no-man’s-land before the German counter barrage came crashing down. In the glutinous mud, the troops would move too slowly and so be subject to heavy German shelling.

Shute’s solution, imposed on the 8th Division, was to forgo the standard rolling barrage for the first eight minutes in a night moonlight attack. This would allow assault troops time to capture the German forward zone and escape the counter barrage. He thought moonlight was necessary to allow troops to assemble correctly and advance in the proper direction. The threat of shelling concerned him more than the risk of rifle and machine gun fire. 

As LoCicero describes, he was wrong. It would be easy to paint a picture of Shute as a British "Donkey," but the author has taken the time to explain his motivations, the constraints that shaped his plan, and how the travails of communications limited the exercise of command. The author also highlights the challenges that exist when attacks occur at formation boundaries, and how the importance of the main effort negated the common-sense objections of experienced officers. Recognising that, by 1917, British attacks were the combination of multiple arms, LoCicero covers the vital aspects of logistics, medical care, communications, artillery, and machine guns, and their effect on the battle. Given Shute’s fretting about artillery, the one major complaint about A Midnight Massacre is that LoCicero should have provided more context on the situation of both the British and German guns and how the British lost artillery superiority.

The battle turned out as some commanders expected, with the German infantry responding quickly to the attack and their rifle and machine gun fire inflicting losses and disorganisation. British attackers reached their first objectives but at the cost of serious disorder and the loss of many of their crucial leaders, such that they were ripe for a counterattack. The recapture of a key pillbox hours before the attack at the junction of the 8th and 32nd Divisions disrupted both formations’ assault and added to the confusion and misunderstandings. In the end, the British made only a minor advance and did not improve their position on the ridge.

The author achieves his goal of delivering a full appreciation of an operation, its execution and its consequences from the highest command levels down to individuals. It provides the reader with a comprehensive understanding of the British art of war on the Western Front circa December 1917. The work shows battle procedures, the execution of a plan, and the outcomes of a small operation that, while not noteworthy in the overall scale of the war, illustrates the British art of war and how it had evolved by December 1917. The small scope allows both reader and writer to understand a complex but tightly constrained situation that is illustrative of the larger picture.

Bringing Coffee to the Front—It Was Instant

American soldiers and sailors enjoy a hot cup of coffee at a Salvation Army hut in New York, circa 1918. During World War I, instant coffee would become a key
provision for soldiers on the front. They called it a
"cup of George."  FPG/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

By Jeff Koehler

On April 6, 1917, the U.S. declared war on Germany and formally entered World War I. By late June, American infantry troops began arriving in Europe. One thing they couldn't do without? Coffee.

"Coffee was as important as beef and bread," a high-ranking Army official concluded after the war. A postwar review of the military's coffee supply concurred, stating that it "restored courage and strength" and "kept up the morale."

In fact, U.S. troops had long looked toward coffee as a small source of salvation amid the hell of war. During the Civil War, Union soldiers received around 36 pounds of coffee a year, according to Jon Grinspan, a curator at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History.

"Some Union soldiers got rifles with a mechanical grinder with a hand crank built into the buttstock," he told NPR. "They'd fill a hollowed space within the carbine's stock with coffee beans, grind it up, dump it out and cook coffee that way."

In World War I, the U.S. War Department took things further, establishing local roasting and grinding plants in France to ensure fresh coffee for the troops. (Even if it was brewed in the worst possible of manners, with the grounds left in the pots for a number of successive meals.)

The military also began offering coffee of a different type: instant.

In 1901, a Japanese chemist working in Chicago named Satori Kato developed a successful way to make a soluble coffee powder, or dried coffee extract. At that year's Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, NY, the Kato Coffee Co. served hot samples in the Manufacturers Building, giving the brew its public debut. Two years later, Sato received a patent for "Coffee concentrate and process of making same."

It was another immigrant in America, an Anglo-Belgian inventor named George Washington, who first successfully mass-produced instant coffee. (Washington's presidential namesake was not only a coffee drinker but perhaps even an importer.) Established in 1910, the G. Washington Coffee Refining Co., with production facilities in Brooklyn, NY, initially sold as "Red E Coffee."

While the name suggested convenience, marketing soon highlighted other benefits of the "perfectly digestible coffee." "Now you can drink all the COFFEE you wish!" an early 1914 ad in the New York Times promised. "No more do you have to risk indigestion when you drink coffee," thanks to a "wonderful process that removes the disturbing acids and oils (always present in ordinary coffee)."

Competing products were hitting the market when demand for soluble coffee skyrocketed with the American entry into the Great War in 1917. The U.S. military snapped up all the instant coffee it could. By October 1918, just before the war's end, Uncle Sam was trying to get 37,000 pounds a day of the powder—far above the entire national daily output of 6,000 pounds, according to Mark Pendergrast's coffee history, Uncommon Grounds.

"After trying to put it up in sticks, tablets, capsules and other forms," noted William Ukers in his authoritative All About Coffee, "it was determined that the best method was to pack it in envelopes." Each held a quarter ounce.

Soluble coffee was notably used on the front lines. Soldiers stirred it into hot water, gulped from tin mugs, and called it "a cup of George," after the company's founder—whose name was apparently familiar to at least some of them. In a letter from the front that Pendergrast quotes, a soldier wrote: "There is one gentlemen I am going to look up first after I get through helping whip the Kaiser, and that is George Washington, of Brooklyn, the soldiers' friend."

The U.S. War Department's E.F. Holbrook, head of the coffee branch of the Subsistence Department, considered instant coffee instrumental in the face of chemical weapons. "The use of mustard gas by the Germans made it one of the most important articles of subsistence used by the army," he explained to the Tea and Coffee Trade Journal in 1919. The "extensive use of mustard gas made it impossible to brew coffee by the ordinary methods in the rolling kitchens," he said.

Equally important was coffee's effect on morale in the trenches. It was hot, familiar and offered a hint of home's comforts. And it had caffeine, which helped energize the troops.

For java addicts like Mexican-American Doughboy José de la Luz Sáenz, who served with the 360th Infantry Expeditionary Forces in France and Occupied Germany, that jolt also kept at bay "the headaches caused by the lack of coffee in the morning," he wrote in his journal on 26 Sept. 1918, after a sleepless night and gas attack on the Western Front.

Rather than using his "condiment can" to carry food, he filled one of its compartments with sugar and the other with instant coffee. Managing to get a small alcohol stove to heat water, he prepared cups in the trenches. "The hot coffee with our reliable 'hardtack' biscuits hit the spot and revived exhausted, hungry, and drowsy soldiers," noted Sáenz, a teacher (and future civil rights activist) from South Texas.

Sometimes Sáenz and his fellow soldiers had to do without heat—or even water—for their coffee. "On occasions when the morning finds us on our feet, I am glad to be able to chew on a spoonful of coffee with a bit of sugar."

After the First World Wart ended, Washington's company relaunched "prepared coffee" for the household. "Went to war! Home again," read an advertisement with a saluting coffee can. The focus this time was on convenience: "Fresh coffee whenever you want it—as strong as you want it."

Advertisement from the New York Tribune,
22 June 1919

While Washington's company continued to sell coffee, its Swiss competitor, Nestlé, managed to develop a better technique for producing instant coffee. In 1938 it launched Nescafé, which soon dominated the global instant coffee market.

In 1943, just before his death, Washington sold the company. (In 1961, the George Washington coffee brand was discontinued.) By then, World War II was raging, and American GIs were calling their coffee by a different name: Joe.

GIs enjoyed a cup of coffee during World War II. "The American soldier became so closely identified with his coffee that G.I. Joe gave his name to the brew," according to coffee historian Mark Pendergrast.

One legend behind the origins of the new moniker is that it referred to Josephus Daniels, secretary of the Navy from 1913 to 1921 under Woodrow Wilson, who banned alcohol onboard ships, making coffee the strongest drink in the mess. [Doubts have been raised about this theory, however.]

Yet "Joe" very likely does originate in the military. "The American soldier became so closely identified with his coffee that G.I. Joe gave his name to the brew," according to Pendergrast.

"Nobody can soldier without coffee," a Union cavalryman wrote in his diary at the end of the Civil War. Many servicemen and women who have fought since then would agree. Even when the coffee was instant and called George.

Presented on NPR, 6 April 2017

Remembering the Veterans: The Three Golfing Cottrell Brothers, KIA

Harry, William, and Albert Cottrell

By James Patton 

In 1911 the large Cottrell family were living in Guiseley, West Yorkshire. They were not locals by origin; indeed the ten children were born in places as far apart as Dublin and Derby, Kildare and Kilkenny, Plymouth and Leeds, which reflected the father’s profession as a regular soldier in the British Army.

Band Sergeant Henry Cottrell of the Sherwood Foresters (Notts and Derby Regiment) was awarded the Long Service and Good Conduct Medal (LS&GC) on 1 January 1898 and quickly found employment in civilian life as an attendant at the West Riding County Lunatic Asylum, Menston. The family put down roots, and the older children found work in the local mills.

Remarkably, three of the five sons in the family became golf professionals: William at Otley, Albert at Bradford, and Harry at Ulverston. William was clearly a talented player. “Against the biggest field on record, and in such conditions of weather as for their badness were almost unique,” William played in the British Open Championship in June 1913. His partner in the first round was John J. McDermott (1891–1971), an American from Atlantic City, NJ, who had won the U.S. Open in 1911 and 1912, the youngest player ever to do so. William failed to make the second round, but McDermott went on to take fifth place overall. The American was clearly impressed with the 20-year-old Guiseley man, for within six months, William was appointed the professional at the Plymouth Country Club in Massachusetts.

Meanwhile, Albert, had moved to the golf club at Le Touquet in France, but as soon as war was declared, he and Harry enlisted together in the new 9th (Service) Battalion of their father’s old outfit. In July 1915, they embarked for Gallipoli with the 35th Brigade, 11th  (Northern) Division, landed at Suvla Bay on 7 August, and in the 9 August attack on Chocolate Hill both brothers were killed. American Golfer magazine carried a special feature about them:

TWO PROFESSIONALS, brothers, have made the saddest and most glorious sacrifice in the war. Harry and Albert Cottrell were professionals respectively at Ulverston in Cumberland and Le Touquet in France, and when the war began they met and decided that they would both join the Sherwood Foresters, to which regiment their father had belonged. So they did, and in due course they went out to the war together. They went to the Dardanelles. Harry became a sergeant and Albert a corporal, and they kept together. In action Harry was wounded, and his brother went to his assistance and began dressing the wound. While he was doing so he was shot in the head and died soon afterwards, and Harry, while attending to him, was shot a second time, and this time fatally. This surely is one of the strangest, saddest tragedies that have been enacted out by those dreadful Dardanelles, and the professional golfers may well claim it for the honour of their kind. Shortly before he left England brave Harry Cottrell said to a friend, "If I have to go under, I hope I shall die game, for the sake of the profession!" And very game did this hero die.

The Cottrell Family Memorial in
Guiseley Cemetery

Neither Harry nor Albert has a marked grave, although their remains may lie in a mass grave at the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC) Green Hill Cemetery. Both are commemorated on the CWGC Helles Memorial to the Missing, Panels 150–152. The Cottrell family grave in Guiseley Cemetery records the deaths of the two brothers at Gallipoli and also lists William as “killed in France October 1918.” William’s name is also on the memorial inside the lych gate at St. Oswald’s, the Parish Church, but no record of him can be found on the lists of the CWGC or the records of Soldiers Died. The answer to this puzzle lies far away.

Green Hill Cemetery, Gallipoli
Final Resting Place of Albert and Harry

William registered for the draft in the U.S. on 5 June 1917, even though he was not a U.S. citizen. He then enlisted in the army on 28 March 1918, giving his home as his sister Christina’s address in New Jersey. His training was brief, as he was a last-minute addition to Co. M, 58th Infantry, 4th Division on 1 May 1918. Mere days after their arrival in France, they were loaned to the French and saw action at Chouy and Hill 172.  Their next stop was the St. Mihiel Salient, where they attacked the west face on 12 Sept. Quickly shifted to the Meuse Argonne, William’s company was a part of the attack on the Bois de Ogons on 27 Sept. and the subsequent attack on the Bois de Fays on 4 Oct. In spite of heavy shelling and night raids, the 8th Brigade held this position until 9 Oct., and during this period Pvt. William Cottrell was killed in action. He is buried in the ABMC Meuse-Argonne Cemetery at Romagne-sous-Montfaucon, Plot F, Row 25, Grave 37.

William's Burial Certificate

In 1919 the American Golfer magazine included a second account of “The Family of Professional Golfers who have died for the honour of the game” accompanied by the splendid photograph at the top of the page.