Scouts Find the Way at St. Mihiel, Part I

Helmet of the 26th Yankee Division

By Ben B. Fischer,

Originally Presented 12 June 2006 on HistoryNet

Part I

While scouting for the 26th "Yankee" Division during World War I, Sergeant James F. Carty and Private Harold F. Proctor eliminated a German position that had been holding up their comrades for five hours.

The Doughboy, not materiel, was the United States main contribution to Allied victory in World War I. General John J. Pershing believed that with equal training the American soldier would prove superior to his European counterpart.His hyperbole was not without some foundation. High literacy and mathematical abilities, combined with high morale, made the doughboys quick to train, though not always easy to command. The Americans fought well, and some, like Sergeant Alvin C. York, whom Pershing called the war’s greatest civilian soldier, became national heroes.

Among the citizen soldiers who formed the backbone of the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) was Sergeant James Francis Carty. Shortly before he died, Carty wrote an account of what he had done "over ther" during World War I. Titled "Hände Hoch!" ("Hands Up!"), his narrative vividly described how he and a comrade, Private Harold F. Proctor, captured a German machine gun nest and 41 prisoners in Bois de St. Rémy in September 1918.

Thousands of young men like Carty rushed to join the National Guard when America declared war on Germany on 6 April 1917. They knew the Guard would be rapidly mobilized, federalized and dispatched to Europe. The Regular Army was too small to do the job, and the new conscript army was just getting organized. Carty, like a good many of his countrymen, objected to the new draft law and told his mother that "it would be better to enlist than be drafted."

When Carty enlisted, he was a state militiaman in a tradition-rich Connecticut infantry company. By the time he embarked for France, he was part of a new national army, a soldier in the 102nd Infantry Regiment of the 26th Division, better known as the "Yankee" Division because most of its troops came from New England states. The shotgun marriage of the National Guard and the Regular Army was never an easy one. The 26th Division’s most demoralizing moment came amid the agonizing Argonne campaign in October 1918, when Pershing sacked its beloved commander, Maj. Gen. Clarence R. Edwards, even though he was a fellow West Pointer. The Yankees never forgave and never forgot.

Rivalry continued to reverberate after the war, when the New Englanders—blessed perhaps with more than their fair share of intellectuals—produced three official histories and countless memoirs that defended their record, while casting aspersions on Pershing and his senior command. If the division did not win all its battles, it could at least note with pride that it was the first division to reach France intact, the first to go into the line as a division and the first to engage in a strictly German-American fight. The 26th also was in combat longer than any other division in the AEF.

Carty led the division’s observation group. Forward observation—critical at a time when communications technology was still primitive and tactical control often problematic—was dangerous work. Only nine of the 16 original members of Carty’s group survived the first month of combat.

Carty was better than most at his job. He had learned to hunt, trap and reconnoiter in the Canadian wilderness and had spent several years in the merchant marine. One of many commendations he received from the division’s G-2 (Intelligence section) began: "Your work as a member of the Division Observation Group and later as Group Commander was, I believe, unequaled by any man in the other divisions of our army." Even Pershing and his headquarters staff, whose praise for the controversial Yankees was sparse, considered the 26th’s observation group the best in the AEF.

Orange Shading Shows Advance of 26th Division Towards Hattonchatel; Wedge Shape Shows Location of Bois de St. Rémy

The St. Mihiel offensive’s objective was to reduce the large German salient protruding from St. Mihiel, and the 26th played a major part in the secondary attack on the northern flank of the salient. The division was to drive from Mouilly toward the towns of Hattonchâtel and Vigneulles, then link up with the 1st Division, coming from the south.

Carty was one of the first observers to recognize and report that German Army Group C was already making an orderly withdrawal, contrary to intelligence assessments. He also reported that the Germans in his sector, close to their base and determined to protect a vital supply route, were well positioned to wage a rear-guard action. In the following excerpt from "Hände Hoch!" Carty recounts his experiences on the first day of the St. Mihiel offensive:

"It was on the 3rd of September, 1918 that the General Staff of the Yankee Division decided to give me an opportunity to demonstrate some new ideas in regard to the functioning of the Intelligence Service during attack. For this purpose, I was called from my duties with the Battalion Intelligence Section and given a picked body of men and unlimited power to carry out the theories which previous experience on other fronts, and especially at Château-Thierry [in July 1918], had convinced me were right. In previous engagements, unexpected changes in both our own positions and those of the enemy had been noticed and foreseen, which, if taken advantage of at the right time, could have hastened our progress, killed more of the enemy, and saved the lives of many of our own men. For instance — after the enemy’s front line had been broken, it was to his advantage to resist at the points which gave him the greatest natural protection, and those points could be determined beforehand by a study of the terrain.

"A better system of applying tactics on the field was needed — a much better system. The tactical brains of the Division were in division headquarters, at least four kilometers from the front. The plans for attack were made there. The information from the lines was received there through long channels, and there were longer intervals between the times absolutely dependable information was received as to positions of units in our own front and a correct diagnosis of the enemy’s movement. The General Staff must become more intimately acquainted with events as they occurred on both sides of the line, and they also would have to shoulder the responsibility for a greater part of the minor tactics, as well as making the plans for the general attack. I firmly believed that the only way for them to gain this more intimate knowledge of conditions was through a group of men who would accompany attacks, at various points in the line, and do nothing but keep the Staff supplied with the information which they needed.

"By September 7 we were on our way, by short night marches from one patch of woods to another, to take our position for the St. Mihiel Drive, which was about due. Our Headquarters was already established on the extreme left of the American forces, not far from Mouilly. We were to capture the sharp ridges which extended fourteen kilometers southeast from Mouilly to Hatton-Châtel. Under the direction of the assistant chief of staff [Lt. Col. Hamilton R. Horsey], I made very careful plans covering the entire division front, and for conveying back the information we secured by telephone, being given additional signal corps men for that sole object. Every available map of the terrain was studied, and from the Mayor of Pierrefitte, we secured a large scale map of Hatton-Châtel, the town we were to capture at the end of our objective. Every elevation and the ground formation which could be seen from it, was plotted on our maps, together with the time at which our barrage was scheduled to rise from those points.

These Former French Trenches Were the Jump-Off Line
for the Yanks

"At midnight on the 11th of September, the best barrage which we ever had roared out its opening chorus and at seven o’clock the following morning, with the barrage still pounding unmercifully, we got ready to start. The twisted pair, or ordinary telephone line which we had been using up to that time, was disconnected, as from then on, we were to rely on a single wire and the use of the ground. In this way a connection can be made at any point by jabbing a trench knife into the ground and connecting one pole of the field telephone to that. At eight o’clock the barrage lifted, and we went over the top with the Infantry. The enemy’s trenches were about four hundred yards away near the top of the next ridge. The ground between was terribly mangled by artillery fire, masses of tangled barb wire, and blasted trees laying in all directions, but nevertheless the Infantry went down our side of the valley and up the other side with good formation and with few losses. My men followed me in single file, the signal corps men unreeling their light wire as they went. The Boche [a derogatory French slang term for Germans, adopted by the Americans] first line, although composed of stone and concrete trenches, was completely wrecked by our artillery. We followed our barrage so closely that we caught most of them in their dugouts, and those who did come out to fight were quickly bayoneted or made prisoners. Their first line was captured in less time than we had expected, and within twenty minutes the General Staff was aware of the fact. When we reached their second line of resistance, there was a dense undergrowth which afforded them better cover, and, as the trenches were not so badly injured as was their first line, it took us a bit longer to mop up and get them all out. Our men were in an ugly humor that morning and worked with grim satisfaction.

"The possession of the second trench gave us high ground from which we could see to the next ridge about one and one-half kilometers further east, so we halted for a short rest while I plotted our position and sketched a rough map of the next ridge where we expected to meet with heavy resistance. We then filled our pipes and started forward again, for the Engineers were putting up a smoke screen to assist in the capture of the next ridge, and we could no longer see what was going on up forward. Upon catching up with the attacking wave, we found that they were meeting with heavy resistance. We got one call through and then our telephone went dead, for by this time it had become thoroughly watersoaked by the rain and short-circuited. With the help of the smoke screen and some nasty bayonet work, we captured the third line of resistance.

"The enemy had occupied another strong point in the woods bordering the Vaux-St. Rémy Road and kept a withering machine-gun fire on the road itself, which completely held up our advance and made re-organization extremely difficult and hazardous. I sent one man back to the point where we had left our double telephone wire with a message giving the approximate location of the enemy’s stronghold and stating the condition of our own unit. By this time, from the general trend of developments — the stubborn machine-gun fire, the absence of much enemy artillery fire, and the fact that enemy machine gunners had been hiding and opening up on our rear — all these facts made it plain that a general retreat was being covered.

"It was time to act and to act quickly. The unforeseen crisis for which my group was formed had arrived. The General Staff must know the extent of the enemy’s retreat. It was vital information. It was up to us to find out, and I had only one man left — Proctor. Could it be done? Unless it could, we would fail miserably in our duty. I hated to order Proctor to go with me and I did not want to ask him for it seemed like certain death for us both. Still I knew he wanted to go so I said: ‘Proc, old man, are you with me?’ ‘You’re damned right!’ was the answer, although he looked a little more serious than usual, and added as an afterthought: ‘I think you’re foolish though.’ And then good old Proc looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said: ‘Jim, you’re the biggest damn fool ever turned loose in this AEF — when do we start?’

"We threw away all our equipment except our pistols, gas masks, and a small pair of glasses and started to wriggle through the brush away from the road and toward the enemy. Taking advantage of every possible bit of cover that the ground or woods afforded and keeping a sharp lookout for Boche, we moved rapidly on. Soon we could see small groups of Germans and looked about for a chance to penetrate their lines. Luck was with us.

"Apparently their rear area was deserted, and we hiked forward with comparative safety, avoiding a few of the enemy whom we saw first. A half kilometer more and we were so certain of our safety that we filled our pipes and thoroughly inspected barracks and dugouts to a depth of two kilometers, all of which we found deserted except for an occasional straggler whom we avoided, as we could not accomplish our purpose by fighting. We had obtained our information. One of us must get back with it. We had obtained it without fighting, but the chances of getting back without fighting were not so good, for it is less difficult to approach an enemy without being seen than it is to leave one behind.

French Artist Lucien Jonas' Depiction of the
American Attack at St. Mihiel

"We crossed the Grande Tranchée and decided to explore the woods to the southwest on our way back. Everywhere we went there were signs of abandonment. When about halfway back, we came upon a newly laid telephone cable which we decided to follow. It led us through some terribly rough country, and by following it half a kilometer we reached the crest of hill 380. From this point, much to our surprise, we could see quite clearly one of the enemy machine-gun nests which was holding up our advance. It was on the second ridge from us but the ridge in between was a bit lower in that line of direction and we were able to see about twenty of the enemy, working their machine guns, carrying ammunition, and the like. We were pretty sure that the telephone cable led to that nest, so we decided to cut it. However, it was about half an inch thick, and we had no tools so were stuck for a moment.

'Bite it in two,’ suggested Proc with a pleasant smile. Now Proc had a way of smiling that would make anyone mad, so I got mad and three shots from my forty-five quickly parted it.

'Now you take a bite,’ I said, ‘it’s your turn,’ and we moved over into the bushes and sat down to talk things over.

'Well!’ said Proc, a bit sarcastically, ‘how are you going to get by those Dutchmen?’

'I’m not going to bite my way through,’ I told him.

'No,’ he said, ‘I suppose you will light your pipe and put up a smoke screen.’ Evidently, Proc was a bit nervous and I was a bit peeved at his last few remarks.

'That was a bright idea of yours,’ I said, ‘that one about the smoke screen,’ and I fished out the old briar stove for another smoke.

'Why don’t you advertise in the paper that we’re here?’ was his next little pleasantry, as he watched the cloud of smoke that went up from my pipe.

'Now listen Proc. I believe we can get back to our own line and take those fifteen or twenty Boche with us,’ I said, trying to get his mind back to business, but Proc was hopeless.

'I won’t go near that bunch without a proper introduction,’ said he. ‘There are too damned many of them. Our report would go to Berlin instead of to the old Y.D.’

"I was very serious, however, and, as I told Proc, the nature of the ground and the fact that we were in their rear would allow us to get right among them before we were discovered. If we worked quick, and they acted as they usually did when surprised, we would have them disarmed before they really knew what had happened, or, if they showed fight, I had two automatic pistols and Proc one. Even if they killed us both, we could make it awfully costly for them for at close range the forty-five is the most deadly weapon made."

Part II will be presented tomorrow on Roads to the Great War

The Greatest Designer of Corporate Logos Was a World War I Veteran

 

Designer Raymond Loewy was a an engineering officer in the French Army who served at Verdun.  He came to America and found his new career as an industrial designer.  One of the off-shoots of that was providing corporate logos for many of his clients.  Above is what might be considered his masterpiece.  

In 1936 the company hired him to redesign the letter series of their tractors. The result was so good that the management asked Loewy to also rethink the main logo...and this is how the famous “Man on Tractor” logo appeared: Loewy sketched it on a menu while being on the train from Chicago to New York. However, it took some time for the company to change the official visual identity of the International Harvester, and the logo was introduced only in 1946. The main part of the new logo consisted of two letters—the uppercase “H” in a massive bold sans-serif, drawn in black, and the lowercase “i” with square shapes, executed in red and placed over the “H.” The original dot above the “i” was replaced by the square, which made the whole logo look masculine and strong.

The iconic “Man On Tractor” emblem was kept even after the acquisition of the brand by Navistar in 1986. Below are some of the better known creations of Raymond Loewy.

Hat Tip to Iowahawk. Text from 1000 Logos

Interesting New Research on PTSD, #2

 

Closer Threats Inspire a More Primitive 

Kind of Fear

British WWI Dressing Station with Some Soldiers
Showing Symptoms of PTSD

Source: Duke University

Reported in Science News, 29 June 2020

Your brain handles a perceived threat differently depending on how close it is to you. If it's far away, you engage more problem-solving areas of the brain. But up close, your animal instincts jump into action and there isn't as much reasoning, like when the guy at the haunted house jumps up right next to you.

And that, according to a new study using virtual reality to make threats appear near or far, is probably what makes it harder to extinguish the fear of a close-up threat and more likely that you'll have some long-term stress from the experience.

It has been shown that traumatic events that touch the body, like rape and other physical assaults, are more strongly associated with post-traumatic stress disorder than are traumas viewed at some distance.

Now, thanks to a clever adaption that put research subjects into a 3-D virtual reality environment while their brains were being scanned by an MRI machine, researchers have seen just how the circuitry of those brain responses differ.

"Clinically, people who develop PTSD are more likely to have experienced threats that invaded their personal space, assaults or rapes or witnessing a crime at a close distance. They're the people that tend to develop this long-lasting threat memory," said Kevin LaBar, a professor of psychology and neuroscience at Duke University who is the senior author on a paper appearing this week in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

"We've never been able to study that in the lab because you have a fixed distance to the computer screen," LaBar said.

But Duke graduate student Leonard Faul and postdoc Daniel Stjepanovic figured out a way to do it, using a 3-D television, a mirror and some MRI-safe 3-D glasses.

"It's like an IMAX experience," LaBar said. "The threatening characters popped out of the screen and would either invade your personal space as you're navigating this virtual world, or they were farther away."

The VR simulation put 49 study subjects into a first-person view that had them moving down either a dark alley or a brighter, tree-lined street as they lay in the MRI tube having their brains scanned. Ambient sound and visual backgrounds were altered to provide some context for the threat versus safe memories.

On the first day of testing, subjects received a mild shock when the "threat avatar" appeared, either two feet away or ten feet away, but not when they saw the safe avatar at the same distances.

The data from the first day showed that near threats were more frightening and that they engaged limbic and mid-brain "survival circuitry," in a way that the farther threats did not.

The following day, subjects encountered the same scenarios again but only a few shocks were given initially to remind them of the threatening context. Once again, the subjects showed a greater behavioral response to near threats than to distant threats.

"On the second day, we got fear reinstatement, both near and far threats, but it was stronger for the near threat," LaBar said.

Tellingly, the nearby threats that engaged the survival circuits also proved harder to extinguish after they no longer produced shocks. The farther threats that engaged more higher-order thinking in the cortex were easier to extinguish. The near threats engaged the cerebellum, and the persistence of this signal predicted how much fear was reinstated the next day, LaBar said. "It's the evolutionarily older cortex."

The more distant threats showed greater connectivity between the amygdala, hippocampus and ventral medial prefrontal cortex and the areas of the cortex related to complex planning and visual processing, areas the researchers said are more related to thinking one's way out of a situation and coping.

Understanding the brain's response to trauma at this level might point to new therapies for PTSD, LaBar said.

"We think that the cerebellum might be an interesting place to intervene," he said. "Clinically, it's a new interventional target. If you can somehow get rid of that persistent threat representation in the cerebellum, you might be less likely to reinstate (the fear) later on."

This research was funded by the National Science Foundation (BCS 1460909).

Dominic Lieven Says, "World War I turned on the fate of Ukraine"

Kiev During the War

Professor Dominic Lieven, Cambridge University

As much as anything, World War I turned on the fate of Ukraine. To an English-speaking audience, this statement will seem final confirmation that most professors are crazy. No Allied soldier believed he was risking his life over Ukraine. Few of them had heard of the place. The same was true of German soldiers in 1914. In connection with the war’s centenary, a flood of books will be published in English. Very few will mention Ukraine. Most of these books will be about the experiences of British, Dominion, and American soldiers and civilians during the war. Many others will debate the impact of the war on the society and culture of the English-speaking world. Ukraine’s fate had nothing to do with any of this.

Nevertheless, my statement is not as far-fetched as it seems. Without Ukraine’s population, industry, and agriculture, early 20th-century Russia would have ceased to be a great power. If Russia ceased to be a great power, then there was every probability that Germany would dominate Europe. The Russian Revolution of 1917 temporarily shattered the Russian state, economy, and empire. Russia did for a time cease to be a great power. A key element in this was the emergence of an independent Ukraine. In March 1918, the Germans and the Russians signed a peace treaty at Brest-Litovsk that ended World War I on the eastern front. In this treaty, Russia was forced to recognize Ukraine as an independent country in principle and a German satellite in practice. Had the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk survived, Germany would have won World War I. To win the war, Germany did not need outright victory on the western front. A draw in the west combined with the eclipse of the Russian Empire and German domination of east-central Europe would have sufficed to ensure Berlin’s hegemony over the Continent. Instead, Allied victory on the western front resulted in the collapse of German hopes for empire in the east. As part of the armistice that ended World War I, Germany had to renounce the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk and abandon its conquests in eastern Europe. Soviet Russia moved back into the vacuum, reconquering Ukraine and re-creating the basis for a Russian Empire, albeit in Communist form.

Advancing Russian Troops at Lviv

This underlines a basic point about World War I: contrary to the near-universal assumption in the English-speaking world, the war was first and foremost an eastern European conflict. Its immediate origins lay in the murder of the Austrian heir at Sarajevo in southeastern Europe. The assassination of Franz Ferdinand on 28 June 1914, led to a confrontation between Austria and Russia, eastern Europe’s two great empires. France and Britain were drawn into what started as a conflict in eastern Europe above all because of fears for their own security: the victory of the Austro-German alliance over Russia would tilt the European balance of power decisively toward Berlin and Vienna. It is true that victory in World War I was achieved on the western front by the efforts of the French, British, and American armies. But the peace of 1918 was mostly lost in eastern Europe. The great irony of World War I was that a conflict which began more than anything else as a struggle between the Germanic powers and Russia to dominate east-central Europe ended in the defeat of both sides. The dissolution of the Austrian Empire into a number of small states incapable of defending themselves left a geopolitical hole in east-central Europe. Worse still, the Versailles order was constructed on the basis of both Germany’s and Russia’s defeat and without concern for their interests or viewpoints. Because Germany and Russia were potentially the most powerful states in Europe, the Versailles settlement was inevitably therefore very fragile. It was no coincidence that World War II also began in eastern Europe, with the invasion of Poland, one of the key creations of Versailles, by its German and Russian neighbors in September 1939. After a generation’s truce, World War I in many ways truly ended when the Soviet army took Berlin in May 1945.

This book places Russia where it belongs, at the very center of the history of World War I. Above all, it studies Russia’s part in the war’s origins but also in the way that the conflict developed and in its long-term consequences. But if this book might be called a Russian history of World War I, it is also an international history of the Russian Revolution, concentrating mostly in this case too on the revolution’s origins. Russia was crucial to international relations in Europe, but the same was true in reverse. Russia’s struggle to be a European and then a world power has had an enormous influence on modern Russian history. Probably no other factor has had a greater impact on the fate of the Russian people. Never was this truer than in the years between 1904 and 1920 that this book covers. Without World War I, the Bolsheviks might conceivably have seized power in Russia, but for many reasons explained in this book, they would most likely have been unable to retain it. Yet if the war played a huge part in the history of Russia’s revolution, the opposite was also true. The Russian Revolution offered Germany its best chance of winning World War I. More important, the October Revolution in 1917 ensured that Russia did not participate in the remaking of Europe at Versailles and remained a revisionist power in the interwar period. Deep suspicion and antipathy between the Russians and their former British and French allies undermined efforts to check Adolf Hitler and avoid a second world war. . .

In the communist era, the Russian angle on World War I was a Marxist-Leninist one. The war—so it was argued—occurred as a result of imperialist competition between the great powers for colonial markets, raw materials, and sites for investment. Neither I nor many other serious historians of World War I today subscribe to this view. On the other hand, I do believe that the war had a great deal to do with empire and imperialism as I understand these terms. In my view, empire is first and foremost about power. Unless a state is (or at least has been) a great power, it cannot be a true empire. But empires are great powers with specific characteristics. These include rule over huge territories and many peoples without the latter’s explicit consent. For me, imperialism means simply the ideologies, values, and policies that sustain the creation, expansion, and maintenance of empire. . .

German Occupation Forces in Kiev, 1918

Imperialism, nationalism, and the dilemma of modern empire were at the core of World War I’s origins. To anglophone ears in particular this sounds strange. The words “empire” and “imperialism” suggest that the war’s causes lay above all in Asia or Africa. The point here is that in British and American understanding, modern empire is mostly something that happens outside Europe. This partly reflects the fact that the British Empire did indeed exist almost entirely outside the Continent. For Lenin, and after him for most Marxist historians, modern imperialism was by definition the last phase in capitalism and was linked to the struggle between the developed countries of western Europe for colonial markets and raw materials in Asia, Africa, and the Americas. In contemporary British and American history departments, the study of empire is closely entwined with questions of race, gender, and so-called postcolonial studies, because these are seen as central to contemporary British and American society, not to mention relations between the First and the Third Worlds. Once again this tends to exclude empires within Europe from the picture. . .

One reason why the crisis of the Ottoman Empire caused so many headaches to the European powers was that the ultimate prize—namely, possession of Constantinople and the Straits—appeared to be coming rapidly into view. Russia in particular had great economic, strategic, and historical interests at stake as regards this prize, which it came very close to acquiring during World War I. A number of historians have recently stressed both Russia’s ambitions at the Straits and how these contributed to the tensions that led Europe to war in 1914.  They are correct. To understand the origins of World War I, one must study the sources of Russia’s ambitions in the region and examine the debate within Russia’s elites and government over how far its ambitions should stretch. . . But Russian ambitions at Constantinople and the Straits have to be seen within the context of an imperialist age, in which the British took over Egypt to secure their hold on the Suez Canal and the Americans seized the Isthmus of Panama in order to control the key strategic and commercial highway between the Atlantic and the Pacific. The Straits on balance mattered more to Russia than even Suez or Panama did to the British or the Americans.

The Austro-Russian clash in the Balkans that led to war in 1914 was in one sense a traditional battle between empires to secure clients, power, and prestige. But by 1900 what I call the dilemma of modern empire was becoming crucial to the growing confrontation between Petersburg and Vienna. To a degree seldom recognized in English-language works, this conflict had much to do with the future of the Ukrainian people, roughly three-quarters of whom were Russian subjects in 1914, the remainder living in the Habsburg monarchy. For some of Russia’s most perceptive and influential observers in 1914, this source of Austro-Russian conflict was much more important than anything that happened in the Balkans. This takes us back to the crucial significance of Ukraine for European geopolitics at that time, a theme that I underlined in the first sentence of this introduction and one that runs throughout my book, The End of Tsarist Russia. [Penguin Books, 2016]

Sources: "Introduction," The End of Tsarist Russia, Dominic Lieven, 2016R

After Gallipoli: The Balkans Heat Up

Soldiers of Four Allied Nations, Salonika Front, Early War

The war in the Balkans was anything but simplistic, either then or now. The “front,” which encompassed Serbia, Albania, Bulgaria, Greece, and Macedonia, evolved as a result of Allied attempts to assist Serbia against an attack of Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Bulgaria, the latter of which was strategically placed on the flanks of Serbia itself. Serbia has tried to regroup from an Austro-Hungarian offensive following the declaration of war, but its overall strength and logistical situation was, at best, tenuous.  

Serbia and Bulgaria has fought two wars; in 1885 the Serbo-Bulgarian War; in 1912 the First Balkan War; and 1913 the Second Balkan War. The Bulgarian felt that as a result of this latter engagement, the Serbs had unfairly stolen ethnically Bulgarian lands from them. Bulgarian King Ferdinand played both sides of the escalating European War, and shortly after the Turkish defeat of Anglo-French forces at Gallipoli and the German defeat of the Russians at Gorlice-Tarnow, Bulgaria signed a treaty with Germany. The Central Powers’ offers of land reclamation were much more enticing. The Bulgarians began a general mobilization.

In response to the Bulgarian mobilization, the Serbs asked for Allied assistance. Britain and France sent two divisions to the Greek town of Salonika. Allies landed at Salonika, October, 1915. They came at the invitation of M. Venizelos, Greek Premier. Salonica, though neutral territory, was available as a base because Greece was united to Serbia by a treaty of alliance. Venizelos mobilised the Greek Army to co-operate, but King Constantine unconstitutionally drove him from power when the Allies had already begun to land.

 These troops arrived too large to be effective, due in part to the Greek government’s reluctance to support a multi-national force within its borders (Prime Minister Venizelos supported the Allies, but King Constantine was pro-Central Powers. On 5 October, German and Austro-Hungarian troops attacked across the Sava and Danube Rivers and four days later Belgrade fell. On 11 October, Bulgarian troops attacked towards Niš from the north (which fell on 5 November) and Skopje from the south, threatening the rail transit line to Salonika. The Serbs were forced into a retreat, through the mountains south through Montenegro and into Albania. Weather, roads and civilian refugees impacted their retreat, but some 140,000 reached Albania and transports, which carried them, ultimately, to join the Allies at Salonika. 

Operations from Salonika commenced in late November (French and British troops commanded by French General Maurice Sarrail), but the British refused to cross the Greek border. The French went alone up the Vardar River, but Bulgarian assaults convinced Sarrail to retreat and Serbia fell. The Serbs went into the winter with determination to refit and reorganize.

Bulgarian Assault Troops

CAMPAIGNS 1916–18

(1916): A front in Macedonia evolved against the backdrop of the Austro-Hungarian Army moving south through Montenegro and Italian-controlled Albania and an, at very best, confusing political situation in Greece. Greece had demobilized on the order of General Sarrail, but this action pushed the  government into the sphere of the Central Powers. Germans, having taken care not to cross the Greek border, relied on Greek intelligence operations to assess the gathering Salonika force under General Sarrail, and used that information to initiate a German-led Bulgarian offensive on 17 August. The Serbs held against two weeks of offensive action, and on 12 September they counterattacked, capturing Kaymakchalan, the highest peak in the Nidže Mountains. Hereafter, Greece had two functional governments; a royalist, ostensibly neutral, government in Athens, and a revolutionary one at Salonika, which entered the war on the side of the Entente Powers. Italy sent troops to Albania, pushing Austro-Hungarian forces further north. 

(1917): Through the winter of 1916-17, Sarrail’s forces were reinforced enough to commence an April offensive, but it was halted in May because of significant losses. Diplomatic maneuvers led to a reunified Greek government that sided with the Allies; French prime minister Clemenceau replaced Sarrail with General Adolphe Guillaumat, who remained in control of the newly-formed Greed Army until his recall the next spring.

British Work Detail, Late War

(1918): When the Ludendorff Offensive commenced in March, Guillaumat was recalled to help on the Western Front, and was replaced by General Franchet d’Esperey, who lobbied for an all-out offensive. With the help of Guillaumat at headquarters, who was arguing for the same approach, the offensive commenced in September. Battles at Dorbo Pole (14–15 September); Dorian (18 September); and Vardar (26 September) led to armistices at Solun (30 September) and Mundros (26 October). D’Espèrey’s army crossed the Danube on 10 November.

For details on the final campaign in the Balkans see our earlier articles Here and Here.

Sources: Brittanica.com; Encyclopedia 1914-18 Online

With Winston Churchill at the Front: Winston in the Trenches

By Andrew Dewar Gibb

Frontline Books (2016); Pen & Sword, (2021)

Anne Steele, Reviewer

Churchill with Allied Officers on the Western Front, December 1915

This book, originally published in 1932 by Nigel Dewar Gibb, under the pseudonym “Captain X,” is now out in a new version with insertions from modern archivists. His son adds an introduction to his father and is an officer in the Royal Scots Fusiliers, the unit commanded by Churchill on the Western Front.

Churchill presents an American with interest in the Great War with a character unlike any from our history. Here was Churchill, due to the military importance of the Royal Navy, the equivalent to our modern Secretary of Defense, putting on the uniform of a serving officer, volunteering to go into combat. We’ve had famous personalities such as Ted Williams and Jimmy Stewart who joined up in wartime, but seldom, if ever, have we had a serving politician leave their position to serve in anything like similar circumstances.

Churchill, 41 years old, was already one of the most public men in England. He had been a member of Parliament for more than a decade; more than a back bencher, he was in the leadership as First Lord of the Admiralty. He was a major figure in the conduct of the war.

However, this was Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill, an individual confident that he was a Great Man, no matter what the circumstances might present. He knew the Dardanelles plan would have saved countless lives; have shortened the war; and emphasized his greatness to one and all.

This visit to the Western Front was not his first time actively participating in the war. Upset by the early developments in Belgium at the start of the war, as First Lord he traveled there to see what could be done. The Germans were charging toward Antwerp, and the British had to stop them. Winston, being Winston, took charge. He dominated the scene, the King of the Belgians, ministers, soldiers, and sailors. So great was his influence that with 20,000 British troops he believed he could have held Antwerp against any onslaught. This was the essence of Churchill, not the desk-bound authority over the Royal Navy. There he was, under a rain of shrapnel tranquilly smoking a cigar and looking at the progress of the battle. He futilely asked Kitchener to be put in charge of the Naval Brigade.

When he was forced out of his office after the disaster of the Dardanelles, he couldn’t just remain a back bencher. He felt he had to do more to support the war effort. During his remarkable lifetime, Churchill was a correspondent, a politician, a diplomat, a painter, a bricklayer, a noble, a gourmand, a lover of champagne, an innovator, an orator, but fundamentally, a soldier. So, at the end of 1915, what else could he do but serve.

Tribute to Churchill Near Ploegsteert Wood Where
He Served in 1916

Let there be no misunderstanding: Captain Gibb became a fan: “I am firmly convinced that no more popular officer ever commanded troops. As a soldier he was hard-working, persevering, and thorough. And he loved soldiering: it lay near his heart, and I think he could have been a very great soldier.”

The foreword by Churchill’s son, Randolph, presents a summary. From a scapegoat for the Gallipoli debacle to the request for the command of a brigade (which would have required the rank of general), Churchill launched his wartime military service with the verve for which he is remembered.

As a friend of Field Marshal Sir John French, Churchill expected to immediately stand among the leading British military officers. He was encouraged by the proposal for command of a brigade, but when French was replaced by Haig, he was assigned to a battalion, which only required a rank of lieutenant colonel. Churchill engaged in this assignment with his usual vitality. He unashamedly liked the excitement of battle. While his wife was concerned, his attitude expressed his lack of fear of dying.

What was remarkable to those in his unit was his concern for the details of a soldier’s life. In fact, his confident attitude was one facet of his leadership style. He earnestly wanted to communicate with and understand the average soldier. Churchill’s attention to the details was remarkable: he declared war on lice; he created baths out of brewery vats; and he used his influence to secure new equipment and clothing. Being who he was, he did what he could to improve rations. He even saw to the creation of a football field and arranged matches. It probably didn’t hurt his evaluation by the other officers that he shared his bathtub with them.

Given his political position as a member of Parliament and a close associate of those in power, occasionally he left the trenches, returned to London, talked to the very people making major decisions about the war including the prime minister, and gave speeches on current issues of the day. His service ended when he decided that he could make more of a difference as a politician than as a soldier. He believed that the war should be fought on the defensive, not sending men to die in the offense.

This is a view of Churchill different from every episode in his memorable life. He faced danger and could have died had he made some “inconsequential decision.” If there was a question as to whether he was a professional soldier, with this adventure that status was resolved.

Anne Steele

The Stokes Gunners by Ivor Gurney

Study for A Trench Mortar Firing at Evening by John Nash

The Stokes Gunners

When Fritz and we were nearly on friendly terms—

Of mornings, furtively, (O moral insects, O worms!)

A group of khaki people would saunter into

Our sector and plant a stove-pipe directed on to

Fritz trenches, insert black things, shaped like Ticklers jams—

The stove pipe hissed a hundred times and one might count to

A hundred damned unexpected explosions,

Which was all very well, but the group having finished performance

And hissed and whistled, would take their contrivance down to

Headquarters to report damage, and hand in forms

While the Gloucesters who desired peace or desired battle

Were left to pay the piper—Cursing Stokes to Hell, Montreal and Seattle.

Recommended: Mark Steyn on George M. Cohan's "Over There"

 

George M. Cohan

If you're a fan of Mark Steyn's commentary on current events like I am, you probably know that he also has a musical side both as a critic and  occasional performer.  Here is his 2017 article on America's best-known contribution to World War I's musical catalog, "Over There."

Steyn's Song of the Week #302

16 July 2017

President Trump was a guest of President Macron this past week to mark not only Bastille Day but also the one hundredth anniversary of America's entry into the Great War. So, with that in mind, altogether now:

Par là-bas!

Par là-bas!

Qu' on le dise, sans méprise, par là-bas!

Nous emboîtons le pas!

Emboîtons le pas!

Le ram plan plan du tambour bat...

Doesn't ring a bell? Let's try it en anglais:

Over There!

Over There!

Send the word, send the word Over There!

That the Yanks are coming!

The Yanks are coming!

The drums rum-tumming ev'rywhere...

In fact, President Wilson sent the word that the Yanks are coming on April 6th 1917, and this song was written that same day. But if President Trump can mark the centenary of America's declaration of war three months later, then we can do the same for the centenary of the biggest American hit song of that war. In pop-music terms, the Great War was the war to end all wars: It was a bonanza for Tin Pan Alley on a scale never seen before or since. The Second World War would produce ballads of love and separation—"I'll Be Seeing You," "I'll Never Smile Again," "We'll Meet Again"—but the first generated war songs about war, about soldiering in foreign climes: "Pack Up Your Troubles In Your Old Kit-Bag," "Good-Bye Broadway, Hello France," "I Don't Know Where I'm Going But I'm On My Way," "Hello Central, Give Me No Man's Land," "I'm Crazy Over Every Girl In France," " Mademoiselle From Armentières (Parlay-Voo)," "My Belgian Rose," "If He Can Fight Like He Can Love, Goodnight Germany," "Sister Susie's Sewing Shirts For Soldiers" (and my old pal Irving Caesar's extension thereof, "Brother Benny's Baking Buns For Belgians")... Most of them vanished with the Armistice, but this one was on an entirely different scale and echoes down the decades:

We'll be over!

We're coming over!

And we won't come back till it's over

Over There!

The Great War began in August 1914—for almost everyone else, that is. Any visiting space alien alighting on North America in those first three years would have concluded that Canada was the bellicose, militaristic power of the western hemisphere—recruiting posters everywhere, soldiers shipping east on every railroad platform. South of that border, President Wilson campaigned for election in 1916 under the slogan "He Kept Us Out of the War," and that was how a distant republic liked it. Isolationism was widespread, including in Tin Pan Alley, where the biggest American war song to date had been  "I Didn't Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier".

But a canny songwriter can turn on a dime, or a crotchet, and no one turned more nimbly than George M Cohan, the soi-disant "man who owns Broadway." If you're in Times Square on New Year's Eve, that's his statue the revelers are thronging round. He deserves his place. At the dawn of American show business, he could do it all—actor, singer, dancer, producer, director, author, play doctor, and composer and lyricist of such lasting hits as "Give My Regards To Broadway," "I'm A Yankee Doodle Dandy," and our Song of the Week #12, "You're A Grand Old Flag."

Read the entire article:

HERE

 

First Medal of Honor Recipient of WWI: Lieutenant Willis W. Bradley, USN, USS Pittsburgh

WWI

The first Medal of Honor recipient during World War I was a naval officer from North Dakota. On 23 July 1917, Lt. Willis W. Bradley undoubtedly saved his ship, the armored cruiser USS Pittsburgh, when ammunition cases exploded as they were being loaded into the ship's artillery enclosure.

Bradley was blown back and temporarily knocked unconscious, but he crawled back into the burning enclosure after regaining consciousness. He saved a sailor and extinguished the burning materials located next to "a considerable amount of powder," preventing further explosions and likely saving the ship and crew.

Read Lt. Bradley's Medal of Honor Citation

Afterward: A Distinguished Naval Career

Bradley was born on 28 June 1884, in Ransomville, New York, to Dr. Willis and Sarah Anne (Johnson) Bradley. When Willis, Jr., was only a few days old, the family took a train to Milnor in Dakota Territory. The family eventually settled in Forman, where the doctor established his medical practice. Because there was no high school in Forman, Willis, Jr., was sent to Hamline University preparatory school. He also took courses at the Archibald Business College and the Curtis Commerce College in Minneapolis. During the summers, he was deputy registrant of deeds for Sargent County.

His life changed, however, when in 1903, Bradley was appointed to the U.S. Naval Academy, which would lead to a long and interesting naval career. After graduating first in his class at Annapolis, Bradley was assigned to the battleship USS Virginia for sea duty and participated in the world tour of the Great White Fleet.

The USS Pittsburgh Between the Wars

After the World War, he served and commanded a number of ships and land installations, such as the Pearl Harbor docks, and took assignments with the Bureau of Ordnance. Bradley even served two years as governor of Guam. During World War II, he was commander of the Naval Inspection and Survey Board, with headquarters in Long Beach, California.

In August 1946, he retired from the Navy after 40 years of service. During 1947–1949, Bradley was elected as a representative of the Eighteenth District of California as a member of the Eightieth Congress of the United States. Willis W. Bradley died on 27 August 1954 and is buried at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery, San Diego, California. The USS Bradley (FF-1041), which was in service 1965–1988, was named in honor of Captain Willis W. Bradley.

Source: INFORUM, of Fargo, North Dakota

Franchet d'Espèrey: Hero of the Marne and Victor of the Balkans

Early Career

General Louis Felix Marie Francois Franchet d'Espèrey (1856–1942) had the most misleading nickname ("Desperate Frankie") of any leading figure of the First World War. "Driven," "Intense," or "Domineering" Frankie would have been a more apt description of the man who would lead the Allies to a decisive victory in the Balkan theater. He graduated from Saint-Cyr (1874–1876), where he was one of the best officers in his class. He was first appointed to the 1st Tirailleurs Algériens and 1st Étranger in Algeria until 1885 (with a brief internship at the École Supérieure de Guerre). From April 1885 to May 1887, he served in the Tonkin region for two years, fighting against the Black Flag Army and taking part in the campaign along the Black River and the Red River. He also took part in the occupation of the Tonkin and the Annam. After brief service in Fontenay le Comte and Paris (1887–1890) as well as Tunisia (1890–1893), he became the ordnance officer of Freycinet (Président du Conseil, War Minister) and served in the garrisons of Toul, Stenay, and Nancy. He participated in another campaign in Asia in 1900–1901, this time against the Boxer Rebellion.

Back in France, he was successively appointed colonel, commanding the 60th Infantry Regiment in 1903, commander ad interim of the 77th Brigade, and chief of corps of the 29th, 143rd and 163rd Infantry Regiment. In March 1908, he finally became a general, commander of the 77th Brigade. Driven by his interest in the “Eastern Question”, he traveled to the Balkans many times during his annual holiday and even met Austrian Chief of Staff Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf (1852–1925) in Trieste after a trip to Dalmatia. He was named commander of the occupation forces in Morocco in 1912, taking part in the pacification of the newly created French protectorate.

With His Escort of Colonial Cavalry, August 1916

On the Western Front

In August 1914, Franchet was at the head of the 1st Army Corps (Fifth Army), which he had been commanding since 1913. His war career saw greatly mixed fortune, and was similar in some ways to that of British general Sir Edmund Allenby. His war began in command of I Corps which formed part of General Lanrezac's Fifth Army at Charleroi.  Having played his part in successfully defending Fifth Army's right (thereby disrupting the German Schlieffen Plan) d'Espèrey was handed command of Fifth Army itself with Lanrezac's removal as commander (for displaying a want of "offensive spirit").

Thus d'Espèrey was in place to lead Fifth Army in time for the critical First Battle of the Marne in September 1914.  Victory there led to promotion in command of Eastern Army Group, again on the Western Front. With Joseph Joffre's delicately managed removal as commander-in-chief in December 1916 (where the famed and popular commander was given a "promotion" to marshal) d'Espèrey's name was considered as his replacement. However, d'Espèrey's staunch Roman Catholicism acted against him among French army anti-clerical circles and the post went instead (disastrously) to Robert Nivelle.

Appointed commander of the Army Group in Champagne throughout 1917 d'Espèrey was as ardent a supporter of offensive warfare as Joffre before him.  This led him to defy orders to adopt so-called elastic "defense in depth" during the great German spring push of 1918.  Consequently the Germans succeeded in securing significant gains during the May 1918 Ludendorff Offensive launched from the Aisne, for which much of the blame can be (and was) assigned to d'Espèrey. He had worn out his welcome on the Western Front. He was recognized, however, as a commander who who recognized French interests in the Balkans and knew the terrain, politics, and local personalities better than anyone else in the army.

Honoring a Greek Unit After the September 1918 Victory

Salonika

In June 1918, Franchet was appointed commander of the allied Army of the Orient, deployed on the Salonika front. He reaped the benefits of the reforms and preparatory phase of tactics, logistics, instruction, and equipment organized by General Adolphe Guillaumat (1863–1940) for an offensive in September. Moreover, Guillaumat left him an Allied army with inter-allied cooperation on much firmer footing than in December 1917, when General Maurice Sarrail (1856–1929) was removed. While Guillaumat worked closely with the British element of the coalition and enjoyed the confidence of  its commander General George Milne (1866–1948), Franchet established stronger ties with the Serbians. Unlike his predecessor, he decided to launch the main attack from the ridges held by the Bulgarians and not in the valleys or on the enemy’s flanks.

After the Franco-Serbian attack at Dobro Pole broke the enemy lines (15–18 September) and the Greco-British operations near Dojran Lake (18–19 September), the Bulgarian front collapsed. Franchet’s troops exploited the breakthrough and took 90,000 prisoners and tons of war material. Within a few days, Bulgaria asked for an armistice, which was signed in Salonica on 29 September 1918, ending Bulgaria's participation in the First World War.

On 5 October, Franchet sent his plans to Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau (1841–1929). He suggested pursuing an offensive towards the Danube and then Austria-Hungary through Serbia, covering the left flank from the Austrians and the right flank from the German troops who could come from Ukraine. He even planned to constitute an army group to march on the Straits.

These plans were short-lived. Logistical constraints (communication and supply lines) made the operation difficult and both British and French governments wanted to withdraw troops from the Macedonian front to the benefits of the Western Front (in the French case) and Mesopotamia (in the British case). At the Superior War Council’s session from 6-9 October, Franchet’s attitude was highly reviled by Prime Minister David Lloyd George (1863–1945) and the Italians, who criticized French control of the operations. Clemenceau had to accept giving a free hand to his allies (the Italians in Albania, the British against the Ottoman Empire), while the French would operate in the Danube, foreshadowing future spheres of influence. This decision also initiated the decrease of importance of the allied Army Command of the Orient and thus Franchet’s decline in power.

Following this decision, on 13 October, General Henri Berthelot (1861–1931), former head of the French military mission in Romania, transmitted to Franchet new instructions, ordering him firmly to focus on the liberation of Serbia, the occupation of Bulgaria, and the constitution of a defensive line on the Danube. Meanwhile Berthelot entered Romania to reorganize the Romanian army and reestablish communications with General Mikhail Alekseyev’s (1857–1918) army in southern Russia, a step that made French forces co-belligerents in the Russian Civil War.

The Serbian and French forces under Franchet’s orders pursued a quick advance, Belgrade was freed on 1 November and on 3 November, Serbian troops occupied the Banat in Hungarian territory. At this point, Franchet again suggested launching an offensive toward Bohemia in cooperation with Italian troops to Clemenceau. In the meantime, the Hungarians, who did not recognize the armistice of Villa Giusti between Italy and Austria-Hungary, asked Franchet for their own armistice on 7 November. Mihaly Karolyi (1875–1955), leader of the Hungarian delegation, wanted to secure ambitious political clauses (coal delivering from Germany, Hungarian borders preserved and secured from Czechoslovak, German, Romanian, and Serbian offensives), which were all refused by Franchet, who imposed a path to round up August von Mackensen’s (1849–1945) army in Romania. Due to the slowness of Romanian remobilization and troop movements, this maneuver could not be achieved.

On a French Warship Off of Sevastopol

Postwar

In line with the instructions of 13 October, Franchet was put in charge of southern Russia by Clemenceau and was ordered to intervene against the Bolsheviks in Crimea, an operation he disapproved of and judged too risky. On 17 December, his field commander General Henri Berthelot landed in Odessa, but the intervention failed and Franchet had to recall Berthelot on 1 April 1919. In the meantime, Paris named Franchet Allied High Commissioner for the occupation of Constantinople, but the British had no intention of giving up the upper hand on the imperial city. Franchet finally left the command of the allied Army of the Orient in March 1920.

Franchet was made marshal of France and voivode of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes in 1921. He became inspector general of the troops in northern Africa in 1923 but had to retire after a car accident in 1933. He dedicated his time to social activities for the Army of Africa through the Comité des Amitiés Africaines, which he founded in 1935. He was elected at the Académie Française to the seat of the Marshal Hubert Lyautey (1854–1934) in 1934. Franchet died in Saint-Amancet on 8 July 1942 and was buried in the Invalides.

Sources:  1914-1918 Online Encyclopedia; Firstworldwar.com

Çanakkale Martyrs' Hospital Museum at Alçıtepe (Krithia)

 

Alçıtepe, known during the Gallipoli campaign by its former name, Krithia, is a small village on a commanding high plateau in the Eceabat District of Çanakkale Province, Turkey, about four miles from Cape Helles, the tip of the Gallipoli Peninsula. It was to be captured the first day of the land assault, but never fell to the attacking Allied forces. During the recent Centennial of the Great War, since it had been the site of extensive medical facilities for the Turkish and German defenders, it became the location of a hospital museum honoring both the staff and the men who were wounded or died in the nearby fighting. It was dedicated on 18 March 2018, the 103rd anniversary of the defeat of the Allied naval  assault on the Dardanelles, which the Turks consider the decisive event of the Gallipoli Campaign.

The museum is of the old style with artifacts, dioramas, and mannequins and is devoid of high-tech gimmickry. Everything about it, though, radiates a strong feeling of authenticity. The building, located on the northern edge of Alçıtepe  served [I believe but have been unable to confirm] as a hospital during the 1915 fighting. From the photos it seems to be an impressive effort to show the medical aspect of the fighting on the peninsula and well worth visiting if you can make the trip to Gallipoli. Displayed here are ten photos of the museum. They are displayed at 580px width and when clicked on, can be viewed and downloaded at 800px.