in 

Combined Arms 

Battle Since 1939 

Roger J. Spitter 

General Editor 

U.S. Army Command and General Staff College Prees 

Fort Leavenworth, Kansas 

1992 

- 
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data 

Combined arms in battle since 1939 / Roger J. Spiller, general editor. 

p. cm. 

Includes bibliographical references. 

1. Unified operatians (Military science)-History-20 century. 

2. United States-History, Military--2Qth century. 3. Military 

history, Modern-20th century. I. Spiller, Roger J. 

UZ6O.C66 1992 

355.4’0973’0904-dc20 

92-l 1472 

CIP 
Contents 

Illustrations 

Introduction 

vii 

ix 

Airborne Operations 

1. Seizing and Holding the German Bridges at Arnhem, 

September 1944 

Lieutenant Colonel Robert D. Ramsey III 

Airmobile Operations 

2. The 1st Cavalry Division’s Exploitation of Helicopters 

in the Ia Drang Valley 

Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame, U,fL Army, Retired 

Amphibious Operations 

3. Tarawa: The Testing of an Amphibious Doctrine 

Dr. Jerold E. Brown 

Antiarmor Operations 

4. Antiarmor Operations on the Golan Heights, October 1973 

Major George E. Knapp 

Attack Helicopter Operations 

5. Attack Helicopters in Lebanon, 1982 

Dr. George W. Gawrych 

Combat Engineering 

6. Egyptian Engineers in the Crossing Operation of 1973 

Dr. George W. Gawrych 

Communications 

7. Allied Special Operations: Jedburgh Teams, Summer 1944 

Dr. Samuel J. Lewis 

Deception 

8. Deceiving the Enemy in Operation Desert Storm 

Dr. Thomas M. Huber 

1 

11 

27 

35 

43 

51 

59 

I.. 

111 
Decisiveness 

9, The German Thrust to the English Channel, May 1940 

Dr. Gary J. Bjorge 

Defensive Operations 

10. The Defense of the No Name Line in the Korean War 

Major Robert E. Connor 

Discipline 

11. The Execution of Private Eddie D. Slovik 

Dr. Jerold E. Brown 

Doctrine 

12. Active Defense 

Dr. Christopher R. Gabel 

Economy of Force 

13. Repulsing the North Koreans Along the Naktong, 1950 

Dr. William G, Robertson 

Endurance 

14. The British Triumph of Endurance in the Falkland 

Islands War 

Major Gary D. Rhay 

Environment 

15. The 84th Smoke Generator Company’s Operations 

at the Moselle River, September 1944 

Major Terry L. &ems 

Fire Support 

16. Assessing the Adversary at Dien Bien Phu 

Lieutenant Colonel James R. McLean 

Flexibility 

17. The U.S. Third Army at the Battle of the Bulge, 1944 

Dr. Michael D. Pearlman 

Initiative 

67 

75 

83 

91 

97 

105 

113 

121 

131 

18. The Chance Seizure of the Remagen Bridge Over the Rhine 

Major Bruce Alsup 139 

iv 
Innovation 

19. Close Air Support in World War II: The Roots of the 

Tragedy in Operation Cobra 

Dr. Michael D. Pearlman 

Logistics 

20. British Logistics in the Falklands 

Lieutenant Colonel Matthew S. Klimow 

Military Operations on Urbanized Terrain 

21. The 2d Battalion, 26th Infantry, at Aachen, October 1944 

Dr. Christopher R. Gabel 

Miracles 

22. A Platoon’s Heroic Stand at Lanzerath 

Lieutenant Colonel John R. Finch, U.S. Army, Retired 

Morale 

23. The Destruction of the 28th Infantry Division in the 

Huertgen Forest, November 1944 

Lieutenant Colonel Thomas E. Christianson 

Night Operations 

24. Claiming the Night: Operation Just Cause, 1989-1990 

Dr. Thomas M. Huber 

Planning 

25. Operation Just Cause, December 1989 

Dr. Lawrence A. Yates 

Political Factors 

26. The U.S.-Panama Crisis, 1987-1990 

Dr. Lawrence A. Yates 

Reconnaissance 

27. Fighting on the Upper Seine River, August 1944 

Dr. Samuel J. Lewis 

River Crossings 

28. Crossing the Rapid0 

Dr. Roger J. Spiller 

147 

155 

163 

171 

181 

191 

197 

205 

213 

221 

V 
29. 

30. 

31. 

32. 

33. 

34. 

35. 

36. 

Surprise 

The XIX Panzer Corps’ Lightning Advance into France, 

May 1940 

Lieutenant Colonel Edward P. Shanahan 

Teamwork 

Seizing the Critical Bridges at Benouville 

Major(P) Neil V. Lamont 

Tenacity 

The 43d Infantry Division’s Determined Attack 

on the Ipo Dam, 1945 

Major George J. Mordica II 

Terrain 

Operation Spark: Breaking Through the BIockade at 

Leningrad 

Dr. Robert F. Baumann 

Time 

Operation Market-Garden, September 1944 

Dr. Gary J. Bjorge 

Training 

The “Truscott Trot”: Training for Operation Husky, 1943 

Major Stephen D. Coats 

Unity of Command 

The Failure to Achieve Unity of Command in Vietnam 

Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame, U.S. Army, Retired 

Weather 

The Influence of Weather on Combined Arms 

Operations in Korea, 1950 

Dr. Jack J. Gifford 

Authors 

231 

241 

249 

259 

269 

277 

283 

291 

301 

vi 
1. 

2. 

3. 

4. 

5. 

6. 

7. 

8. 

9. 

10. 

11. 

12. 

13. 

14. 

15. 

16. 

17. 

18. 

19. 

20. 

21. 

22. 

23. 

24. 

25. 

Illustrations 

Maps 

Arnhem, 17-20 September 1944 

The area around LZ X-ray 

Betio Islet 

Start positions on the Golan front, 6 October 1973 

Einan’s axis of advance into Lebanon 

The Sinai front (initial dispositions), 6 October 1973 

Operation Desert Storm, 24-25 February 1991 

Germany’s offensive against France, May 1940 

Korea, May 1951 

The sector occupied by the 24th Infantry Division, 

4 

14 

22 

28 

38 

44 

63 

70 

76 

5 August 1950 99 

Initial British movements, 26-30 May 1982 107 

Smoke generator operations at Arnaville, 

lo-15 September 1944 115 

Dien Bien Phu, 13 March-8 May 1954 128 

Battle of the Ardennes, 16-26 December 1944 132 

The Battle of the Rhineland and crossing of the Rhine River 141 

The area of US. VII Corps’ advance in Operation Cobra 151 

The advance of the 2d Battalion, 26th Infantry, 

into central Aachen, 12-21 October 1944 165 

The southern flank of the US. 99th Infantry Division, 

16 December 1944 175 

The 28th Infantry Division’s attack on Schmidt, 

2-9 November 1944 184 

The U.S. Third Army drive to the Seine River 217 

The Rapid0 River crossings, 20-22 January 1944 223 

The XIX Panzer Corps’ advance, lo-15 May 1940 235 

The area of the British 6th Airborne Division’s assault 

on D-day 242 

The attack on Ipo Dam 251 

Breaking the blockade at Leningrad 261 

vii 
26. Troop dispositions in Operation Market-Garden 274 

27. Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, 27-29 November 1950 295 

Figures 

1. Communications channels for SFHQ 52 
Introduction 

In 1927, Lieutenant Colonel George C. Marshall left his faculty 

position at the Army War College for a tour of duty as the assistant 

commander of the U.S. Army Infantry School at Fort Benning, Georgia. 

Marshall was already well known in the U.S. Army. He had been a 

student and then an instructor at Fort Leavenworth’s Army service 

schools-later the U.S. Army Command and General Staff Collegewhile only a Iieutenant. He had also served two tours of duty in the 

Philippines, and after America’s entry into World War I, he rose steadily 

through the staff of the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) in France 

to become the G3 (Operations) officer of the General Headquarters, AEF. 

Immediately after the war, Marshall served as aide-de-camp to General 

John J. Pershing, the former commander of the AEF and now chief of 

staff of the Army. Although Marshall finished the war as a colonel, 

this rank was only temporary; not until 1920 was he to win a regular 

promotion to the rank of major. 

But when he arrived at Fort Benning, Marshall’s thoughts were 

on his army’s performance in World War I, and what he remembered, 

he did not remember fondly. He had been part of an AEF staff that 

seemed to specialize in highly elaborate, tightly knit operational plans 

that had little or nothing to do with the realities on the front lines, 

nothing to do with the actualities of troop handling in ordinary tactical 

situations. Marshall thought that the U.S. Army had benefited from 

coming into the Great War so late, when the enemy was worn out. 

Any professional officer who took pride in how the U.S. Army had 

handled itself, Marshall thought, even under such favorable conditions, 

was merely deluding himself. 

The schoo1 that Marshall found at Fort Benning in 1927 was as 

self-satisfied as the U.S. Army of which it was a part. The instruction 

was stilted; lectures were read to the students. Even then, the students 

were provided with highly precise maps of the local terrain, and these, 

combined with the near-perfect intelligence on aggressor forces they 

were allowed, made tactical problems highly stylized and easily predictable. Nine years after the conclusion of World War I, the U.S. Armylong since largely demobilized and sliding toward record low budgets 

and total strength-was slipping into the time-honored mental and 

physical routines of garrison life. There was no threat on the horizon, 

none at least the American people wanted to notice, and so there was 

no pressing or overt reason for those inside the Army to worry much 

about maintaining its warlike proficiency. 

ix 
Introduction 

But Marshall’s knowledge of military history and his soldier’s faith 

that sometime in the future he would again be called to war drove 

him to resist the inertia that was then settling over his army. In his 

view, an army’s most perishable skills were the ones learned in the 

hard school of combat itself, where a soldier’s imagination, inventiveness, practicality, and common sense were of more value than any 

amount of school technique learned by rote, 

Twelve years after he assumed his duties at the Infantry School, 

Marshall would become chief of staff of the United States Army, taking 

office on the day German forces invaded Poland, effectively beginning 

World War II. Then, the whole Army was his to transform. But in 

1927, Marshall’s world was confined to Fort Benning. Here, he resolved 

he would make a difference. After he arrived, he made his educational 

philosophy abundantly clear: 

I insist we must get down to the essentials, make clear the real difficulties, and expunge the bunk, complications, and ponderosities; we 

must concentrate on registering in men’s minds certain vita1 considerations instead of a mass of less important details. We must develop 

a technique and methods so simple and brief that the citizen officer of 

good common sense can readily grasp the idea. 

The qualities Marshall demanded of both his faculty and students 

at Fort Benning could be developed in a number of ways, most of 

them comparatively unorthodox for his time. He decreed that school 

lectures would no longer be read to the students; indeed, he refused to 

allow instructors to bring their notes to class. For tactical problems, 

accurate maps were replaced with out-of-date and incomplete ones. On 

occasion, no maps were allowed at all. Throughout, Marshall insisted 

his men be schooled to make a decision at the proper time with incomplete information. He was not interested in producing an officer whose 

only accomplishment was technique or, worse yet, one who was competent in tactical theory but would fail when he tried to execute it. He 

wanted Fort Benning to give back to the Army quick-thinking, inventive, 

and practical soldiers. 

Marshall’s conception of the successful professional soldier had been 

shaped during his time as a student at Fort Leavenworth under the 

tutelage of Major (later Major General) John F. Morrison. It had been 

Morrison’s standard of “tactical simplicity” that Marshall had taken 

with him into World War I, and it had been that standard that the 

U.S. Army had failed to meet. Both Morrison and, after he joined the 

faculty at Leavenworth, Marshall assumed that a thorough knowledge 

of military history was essential to the formation of a professional 

soldier and was a field of knowledge that was critical to the officer 

who meant to meet his obligations to his soldiers, his army, and his 

nation. Both men would have agreed that without a knowledge of miliX 
Introduction 

tary history, an officer could not properly understand his profession. 

Taking a page from his old teacher’s approach, Marshall’s use of military history at Fort Benning was as practical as it was intense. 

Marshall thought that the use of case studies from military history 

could be as instructive as any theoretical or fictitious tactical problem. 

He was particularly interested in using history to set a problem in 

which a student would be forced to analyze a decision taken in the 

heat and confusion of battle, and Marshall was fortunate to have 

instructors in the Fourth Section (History and Publications) of the 

Infantry School who placed before the students just this sort of problem. 

Major (later Major General) Edwin F. Harding was the chief of 

the school’s Fourth Section. Harding conceived of the idea of commissioning officers who had served in World War I to write a book full of 

brief essays on the tactical problems they had encountered, problems 

that particularly conveyed some lesson for the officer who had only 

imagined what combat must be like. Harding was able to call upon 

the considerable talents of a young lieutenant (later major general) in 

his section, Charles T. (“Buck”} Lanham. According to Marshall, it 

was Lanham who did the lion’s share of the work, both on the original 

and subsequent edition. The eventual result was what is now regarded 

as a minor classic of literature, Infantry in Battle, first published in 

1934 and then substantially revised in 1933. 

Not long after he finished his tour at the Infantry School, Marshall 

wrote to an old friend about some of the conclusions on military education he had made as assistant commandant: “Many regard the military history phase of our schooling as entirely theoretical and our 

problems in pure tactics as the practical. My experience has almost 

led me to an exactly contrary view.” Marshall was not reluctant to 

put his views in print when he wrote the introduction to Infantry in 

Battie. During peacetime, he wrote, “the thinking of an army becomes 

increasingly theoretical,” and to Marshall’s way of thinking, this was 

certainly no compliment. The cases in Infantry in Battle were published 

as an antidote to this tendency so that reality could replace fantasy 

in modern tactical thinking. In this way, military history could be 

pIaced at the service of an army as a professional soldier’s laboratory, 

a place, unconstrained by peacetime economics, where the soldier could 

prepare his imagination for the challenges of combat. It was a place 

where experience could be given a voice, where the veteran could speak 

to the beginner. 

When Infantry in Battle was finally published by the Infantry 

Journal Press in 1938, the world was vibrating with military action, 

moving toward what in retrospect seems an inevitable global war, Hitler’s Germany had annexed Austria and would dismember Czechoxi 
Introduction 

Slovakia. The Sino-Japanese War was in full flood. Even while the 

Soviet Army’s high command was suffering a purge, the army itself 

was beginning to build a huge armored and motorized force. Even in 

Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s England, the government was 

beginning to stockpile food in the event of war. One year to the day 

after Infantry in Battle was published, World War II finally erupted. 

During the course of the war, the profession of arms was revolutionized. No conflict in military history, before or since, has so engulfed 

the world’s peoples. The geographic scope and the extent to which the 

world’s governments mobilized for the war overwhelmed military wisdom, The distance and speed of strategic and operational movements 

were without precedent and exceeded the imagination of even the most 

inventive interwar military commentators. Armies employed their new 

weapons in greater harmony and to a deadlier effect than ever before. 

Military leaders at all echelons of command struggled to exercise control 

over the power their governments had placed in their hands. The consummating act of the war, the detonation of atomic bombs over Hiroshima 

and Nagasaki in 1945, even called into question the worth of military 

knowledge itself. 

For years after the war, the U.S. Army conducted its affairs as 

though military history had been completely overtaken by modern 

events. Marshall’s vision of military history as a laboratory for the 

professional soldier was laid aside. Inside the Army and even beyond, 

the prevailing attitude was that military history began anew when the 

bombs were dropped on Japan. Military history, it was believed, could 

hardly enlighten professional soldiers confronting the demands of mass 

warfare and modern weapons. For more than a generation, American 

professional soldiers went to war with only the military history they 

could learn on their own. Their higher schooling focused on weapons 

and techniques, the form rather than the substance of war. 

In the meantime, the discipline of military history itself changed. 

Once regarded as the special preserve of soldiers, after World War II, 

the study of military history took its place in some universities as a 

subject worthy of intense and systematic investigation George Marshall 

refused to write his memoirs after the war, but he did not hesitate to 

lend himself and his name to the establishment of a foundation that 

was intended to encourage and disseminate knowledge of military history. The military history that grew out of World War II expanded its 

scope of inquiry: the context in which armies grew and operated attracted the attention of scholars, in uniform and out, to subjects that 

before the war only rarely found a readership. The result was not the 

forsaking of the kind of military history that Marshall was brought 

up on; instead, even more and better “tactical” history made its way 

xii 
Introduction 

to the professional officer’s bookshelf. By the 197Os, U.S. Army officers 

were not only reading more military history than ever before, they 

were writing more as well. Eventually, military history returned to the 

professional officer’s curriculum in the Army”s institutions of higher 

military education and has taken its rightful place as an essential 

consideration in the Army’s work in training, doctrine, and professional 

education. 

The U.S. Army Command and General Staff College (CGSC) at 

Fort Leavenworth experienced all these changes. By the 19808, the 

Combat Studies Institute (CSI)-a department of military history whose 

work would have reminded Marshall of his old Fourth Section at the 

Infantry School-had been established as one of CGSC’s five academic 

departments. From its inception, CSI was intended to be not only a 

teaching department but a research institute whose mission was to 

engage in original investigations on subjects that had a bearing on 

the contemporary concerns of the U.S. Army, Under the aegis of CSI, 

a series of Leavenworth Papers and other studies in military history 

have been published since 1980. The Army’s renewed interest in military 

history is manifested in CSI’s publishing record: since its establishment, 

CSI has researched, written, and published numerous studies in modern 

military history, distributing more than 900,000 copies. Its faculty, a 

group of uniformed and civilian military historians, has along the way 

won an international reputation as one of the most expert collections 

of scholars in this field. 

In the spring of 1991, the faculty of CSI began a collaborative 

project to publish a modern version of Marshall’s Infantry in Battle. 

The worlds of both the professional soldier and the military historian 

had changed enormously since Marshall’s book was published. And 

yet, it seemed to us, the benefits that awaited the professional soldier 

who studied military history were more important than ever. What 

Marshall sought from the study of military history was a professional 

soldier who was not so entangled in routine and technique that he 

forgot the essential nature of military leadership itself: a creative capaeity for invention and innovation under the most trying and unpredictable conditions. It was no accident at all that Marshall’s original 

book began with a chapter titled “Rules.” The chapter’s opening lines 

deserve to be quoted in full: 

The Art of War has no traffic with rules, for the infinitely varied 

circumstances and conditions of combat never produce exactly the same 

situation twice. Mission, terrain, weather, dispositions, armament, 

morale, supply, and comparative strength are variables whose mutations 

always combine to form a new tactical pattern. Thus, in battle, each 

situation is unique and must be solved on its own merits. 

It follows, then, that the leader who would become a competent 

tactician must first close his mind to the alluring formulae that well- 

. . . 

x111 
Introduction 

meaning people offer in the name of victary. To master his difficult 

art he must learn to cut to the heart of a situation, recognize its decisive 

elements and base his course of action on these. The ability to do this 

is not God-given, nor can it be acquired overnight; it is a process of 

years. He must realize that training in solving problems of all types, 

long practice in making clear, unequivocal decisions, the habit of concentrating on the question at hand, and an elasticity of mind, are 

indispensable requisites for the successful practice of the art of war. 

The leader who frantically strives to remember what someone else 

did in some slightly similar situation has already set his feet on a 

well-traveled road to ruin. 

Although Infantry in Battle was the inspiration for this book, we 

have not felt obliged to follow strictly the organization of the original. 

Marshall’s book had twenty-seven chapters. Each of his chapters contained several ‘“examples,” followed by a conclusion meant to articulate 

their lessons. Many of the examples were contributed by officers who 

were writing about their own experiences in World War I, and this 

approach necessarily limited the book to American examples. Similarly, 

Marshall’s writers focused on infantry tactics because the U.S. Army’s 

doctrine at the time held that the mission of a11 the other combat arms 

was to advance the work of the infantry. Still less was it possible at 

the time to take notice of operations in concert with naval and air 

forces. The combined arms revolution still lay ahead, and at a time 

when there was no Joint Chiefs of Staff, to have offered chapters on 

“joint” operations probably would have struck Marshall, in his damning 

phrase, as “entirely theoretical.” And although many of those who 

contributed to Infantry in Battle fought in a war that allied the forces 

of several nations, the book did not address issues that modern soldiers 

know as combined operations. 

The reader will find other, more subtle changes from the original 

in this book. Marshall and his men believed that the requirements of 

military leadership changed little over the centuries. Infantry in Battle 

could as easily have been written about Greek Hoplites as American 

soldiers in World War I. Modern students of military history have come 

to understand that the context in which military leadership must operate 

has a distinct bearing on how effective that leadership finally is. Else 

where in his writings, George Marshall showed that he understood this 

principle very well. He was adamant throughout his professional life 

that American soldiers needed a different kind of military leadership, 

one attuned to the special attributes of a democratic citizenry in a 

country whose fundamental reason for existence was the sustenance of 

human liberty and dignity. Those attributes have been shaped, in the 

first instance, by the nation’s own set of experiences, and even as this 

is being written, those experiences are in a constant state of motion 

xiv 
Introduction 

and change. Any book that means to take up such questions where 

Marshall left off could not avoid incorporating their teachings. 

Consequently, Combinkd Arms in Battle Since 1939 has been written 

to reflect its own times, not Marshall’s. The thirty-six chapters that 

follow have been chosen to reflect changes in the military art since 

Marshall”s times. Each chapter deals with one case drawn from recent 

military history that illustrates and illuminates a problem with which 

a modern professional soldier may someday have to contend. Each case 

is set in its strategic and operational context, explained in detail, and 

briefly analyzed. 

The book is intentionally designed to be read piecemeal, a chapter 

at a time, in order to make it as broadly useful to professional soldiers 

no matter where or in what capacity they are serving-in the field, on 

the staff, or in the Army’s institutions of higher military education. 

Recognizing that some readers may want to know more about a particular case, we have included a bibliography following each. 

The authors of Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 are all presently faculty members of the Combat Studies Institute. All the research 

and writing for this book have been in addition to their regular teaching, administrative work, and other research projects. Some of their 

chapters are derived from secondary works; others are the result of 

considerable original research. The final shape of each chapter was 

determined over a period of several months, during which the writers 

read and commented on their colleagues’ work in a series of editorial 

meetings. In the end, however, each chapter is the author’s own, and 

for that reason, his name precedes his work. A general list of the contributors is at the end of this book. The administrative staff of the 

Combat Studies Institute and CSI editors, Marilyn Edwards, Don 

Gilmore, and Carolyn Conway, have been of critical importance in the 

planning, editing, and publishing of this book. It is a privilege to be 

associated with them all. 

Roger J. Spiller 

George C. Marshall 

Professor of Military 

History and General Editor, 

U.S. Army Command and General 

Staff College Press 

Fort Leavenworth, Kansas 

xv 
1 

Airborne Operations 

Seizing and Holding the German Bridges at Arnhem, 

September 1944 

Lieutenant Colonel Robert D. Ramsey III 

On 8 August 1944, the Allies created the First Allied Airborne 

Army (FAAA), with Lieutenant General Lewis H. Brereton as its commander. 

The FAAA was an unprecedented combined organization consisting of 

airmen and soldiers from Britain, Poland, and the United States. 

Brereton commanded over 50,000 soldiers in the British I Airborne 

Corps (the 1st Airborne, 6th Airborne, and 52d [Lowland] Divisions 

and 1st Polish Independent Airborne Brigade [commanded by his 

deputy, Lieutenant General F. A. M. Browning]) and in Lieutenant 

General Matthew B. Ridgway’s U.S. XVIII Airborne Corps (the 17th 

Airborne, 82d Airborne, and 1Olst Airborne Divisions). In addition, 

Brereton had the U.S. IX Troop Carrier Command with over 1,300 

C-47 transport aircraft under Major General Paul L. Williams (along 

with the RAF’s 38th and 46th Groups-old bombers used as tugs for 

gliders-under Air Vice Marshal Leslie Hollinghurst). With a portion 

of these forces, Brereton conducted the largest airborne operation of 

World War II, Operation Market-Garden. 

As the Allies raced across France, the FAAA found itself under 

tremendous pressure to participate in the destruction of German forces, 

which appeared imminent. Since the FAAA was a pet project of both 

General George C. Marshall and Lieutenant General Henry H. (“Hap”) 

Arnold, General Dwight D. Eisenhower encouraged his subordinates, 

as well as Brereton, to develop an imaginative and daring concept for 

the use of the FAAA. Accordingly, in its first forty days, the FAAA 

considered eighteen separate airborne operations: five were developed 

into detailed plans, and three reached the point of execution. The last, 

Operation Comet, a reinforced division drop to secure the bridges at 

Arnhem, was canceled on 10 September. In fact, Browning threatened 

to resign over this risky operation. As the Allies approached the German 

border, the opportunities to use the FAAA from its bases in Britain 

were steadily diminished. 

On 10 September, Brereton received instructions to support Field 

Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery’s 21st Army Group in its attempt to 

1 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

flank German defenses by moving north into Holland to cross the 

Rhine River. Montgomery proposed that Brereton secure key bridges 

along his axis of advance by dropping three and one-half airborne 

divisions while Montgomery attacked along that axis with the British 

XXX Corps. Market was the airborne operation, Garden the XXX Corps’ 

advance, That evening, Brereton stated to his commanders and key 

staff officers his intention to seize the bridges with “thunderclap 

surprise” by using the U.S. 1Olst Airborne Division in the south from 

Eindhoven to Veghel; the U.S. 82d Airborne Division in the center from 

Grave to Nijmegen; and the British 1st Airborne Division, with the 

Polish Brigade, for the bridges over the Rhine at Arnhem. The plan 

called for the XXX Corps to advance the sixty-four miles to Arnhem 

in forty-eight hours. Although an operation of this magnitude was unprecedented in its boldness and complexity, the new, enthusiastic FAAA 

staff worked diligently and quickly to execute Market in less than a 

week. 

With little available time, Brereton made some fundamental decisions. First, he decided that this operation, unlike all others in the war, 

would occur during daylight since moonlight would be nonexistent 

during the operation and Brereton’s aircrews were not, well trained for 

night navigation. In addition, weak German air and ground forces in 

the area could be better attacked during daylight. Second, Brereton 

decided to make only one airlift on D-day, carrying 16,500 of the 35,000 

soldiers behind German lines To facilitate XXX Corps’ advance, priority 

went to the U.S. 1Olst Airborne Division, then the U.S. 82d Airborne 

Division, and finally the British 1st Airborne Division. After receiving 

contradictory advice from his air commanders, Brereton agreed with 

Williams that the expected loss rate, estimated at 30 percent, and a 

shortage of ground crews to perform maintenance made the use of the 

initial lift force for a second lift impossible. In addition, Williams, the 

airlift commander, argued that it was important to start each lift with 

fresh, fit crews, Williams was naturally concerned with airlift problems, 

not the ground commanders’ plight. These decisions, along with optimistic intelligence reports, affected operations at Arnhem. 

Major General Roy E. Urquhart, a combat veteran of Sicily and 

Italy, was new to the British 1st Airborne Division. His Market-Garden 

mission was the most difficult and the most important: to seize and 

hold the bridges at Arnhem for forty-eight hours. Allied headquarters 

expected German resistance to be disorganized and no larger than 

brigade size, with a few armored vehicles. Urquhart’s initial concept 

was to land his four brigades-two parachute, one airlanding, and the 

Polish parachute-close to both ends of the bridges simultaneously, 

achieving Brereton’s “thunderclap surprise.“’ Unfortunately, intelligence 

indicated that enemy flak, as well as terrain unsuitable for drop zones 

2 
Airborne Operations 

(DZs) and landing zones (LZs), made that impossible. After a long discussion with his RAF advisers, Urquhart was forced to choose DZs 

and LZs north of the Rhine and eight miles west of Arnhem. 

Unlike the two U.S. divisions-which put maximum infantry 

strength, nine battalions, on the ground with the first lift-Urquhart 

believed that it was more important to get artillery and division troops 

on the ground early. Consequently, his D-day lift of 145 C-47s and 358 

gliders put the 1st Parachute Brigade and most of the 1st Airlanding 

Brigade on the ground-less than six battalions, with division troops 

and two 75-mm artillery batteries. When the RAF refused to support a 

predawn glider coup de main on the bridges, Urquhart decided to use 

the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron, his reconnaissance unit, 

for that purpose. 

Given limited lift assets, Urquhart was forced to plan both for the 

immediate seizure of the bridges and for the buildup of his four 

brigades. On D-day, the 1st Airlanding Brigade-minus part of a battalion and other divisional units-would land to secure the DZ and LZ 

for the D+l arrivals. The 1st Parachute Brigade would jump and then 

advance with three battalions to Arnhem to seize the bridges. On Dtl, 

the 4th Parachute Brigade, with the remainder of the divisional units, 

would arrive. Then, both the 4th Parachute Brigade and 1st Airlanding 

Brigade would advance into Arnhem. On Dt2, the 1st Polish Airborne 

Brigade would jump south of the Rhine, completing the arrival of the 

four brigades deemed necessary to take and to hold Arnhem. However, 

on Dt2, the XXX Corps was scheduled to arrive, The piecemeal arrival 

of units over several days at distant DZs and LZs shaped Urquhart’s 

plan. 

Sunday, 17 September, was D-day. From 22 airfields throughout 

Britain, 1,534 aircraft with 491 gliders carried the 16,500 men of the 

FAAA’s first lift (see map 1). An intensive flak suppression bombardment was conducted the night before, as well as prior to, the arrival 

of the C-47s. The placement of the troops was almost flawless. More 

over, aircraft losses were less than 3 percent-well below the projected 

30 percent. Urquhart was particularly fortunate. The Germans failed 

to hit a single 1st Airborne Division plane or glider. Furthermore, only 

twenty-three gliders had aborted. The air force had done an excellent 

job getting the men to the proper LZs and DZs west of Arnhem. 

Brereton’s decision to make the unprecedented daylight airborne assault 

made this the most successful airborne drop of the war. 

At 1300, exactly as the XXX Corps advanced, the gliders of the 

1st Airlanding Brigade landed with divisional troops. An hour later, 

the 1st Parachute Brigade jumped without difficulty. By 1530, the 1st 

Airlanding Brigade had secured the DZ for the D+l drop. The 1st Para3 
- __.._. . ^‘, _“_ ._.- -._. -“..u,. _I ,, 

_ 

__ . __ “_ a”Ll_ 

” ._-....~ ” ,... -__ 

~~_ .---,_ _ 

~_ ;. 

_^ .‘ ” _ .,” - 

P-., 

To DZY’ -7 

* (3,000 meters) c 

, 

-. 

wlap I. twnnem, I I--LV aepremaer 1344 
Airborne Operations 

chute Brigade, with the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron leading, 

began moving toward Arnhem. As the 1st Parachute Brigade advanced 

with three battalions abreast-the 1st Parachute Battalion in the north, 

3d Parachute Battalion in the center, and 2d Parachute Battalion along 

the river road-the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron, with its gun 

jeeps, raced ahead on the direct route toward Arnhem. 

Unknown to Urquhart, German forces in the Arnhem area were 

more numerous and better equipped than expected. The hasty preparations for the operations, together with the general chaos of the German 

retreat, made it almost impossible for the Allies to determine the German strength at Arnhem. Aerial photographs, reports from the Dutch 

Resistance, and signals intelligence from Ultra provided contradictory 

clues. Not only did ad hoc German combat groups exist, but the remnants of the II SS Panzer Corps were refitting east of Arnhem. The 

German reaction to the Allies was swift. By 1700, German armored 

reconnaissance vehicles moved toward the DZs. Elements of the 9th 

SS Panzer Division-brigade size and with armor-focused on Arnhem, 

while elements of the 10th SS Panzer Division moved on Nijmegen to 

the south. 

A meeting engagement occurred west of Arnhem. The 1st Parachute 

Brigade began its fight, not at the bridges as hoped, but en route to 

them. With limited mobility and few antiarmor weapons, the 1st and 

3d Parachute Battalions, along with the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance 

Squadron, were halted before dark. Communications problems led Urquhart to move forward with the 1st Parachute Brigade during its 

advance. When his vehicle was destroyed by indirect fire, he was unable 

to return to his headquarters. Attempts by the 1st Parachute Brigade 

to fight through the German forces in the dark increased British losses, 

some from friendly fire. The chaotic nonlinear fighting, combined with 

the aggressive enthusiasm of 1st Parachute Brigade troopers-attacking 

without adequate fire support-created heavy casualties, particularly 

among leaders. Fortunately, the 2d Parachute Battalion, commanded 

by Lieutenant Colonel J. D. Frost, met no resistance. By 2030, the 2d 

Parachute Battalion occupied the north end of the main highway bridge 

in Arnhem with about 500 men. Two attempts to take the bridge during 

the night failed. By dawn of D+l, Frost occupied a strong defensive 

position. His only source of help, the remnants of the 1st and 3d Parachute Battalions, each down to about 100 men, was halted by German 

hasty defenses west of Arnhem. In less than twenty-four hours, the 

1st Parachute Brigade lost its offensive capability. To continue the 

advance required fresh troops. 

Command and control continued to be a problem on 18 September, 

Radios failed to work, both within the division and to higher head5 

(i 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

quarters. Only the artillery nets worked with any reliability. What is 

more, Urquhart remained cut off from his units on Dtl. Crucial decisions were not made because no one knew the real situation or where 

Urquhart was. In Urquhart’s absence, the commander of the 1st Airlanding Brigade acted as the 1st Airborne Division’s commander. Bad 

weather in Britain delayed the arrival of the 4th Parachute Brigade 

until 1500. By 1700, after discussing a plan to attack toward Arnhem 

and receiving the 7th King’s Own Scottish Borderers (KOSB) Battalion 

from the 1st Airlanding Brigade, the 4th Parachute Brigade’s eommander ordered an advance to the east. Attacking late in the day without surprise, fire support, and knowledge of German intentions, the 

4th Parachute Brigade bogged down in the dark, just as the 1st Parachute Brigade had the day before. Aggressiveness and dash again produced high casualties with minimal results. German indirect fire and 

close air support were devastating. By the end of D+l, Frost doggedly 

held the bridge at Arnhem against increasingly adverse odds. The 4th 

Parachute Brigade had blunted its own advance against a reinforced 

German defensive line. 

Urquhart reappeared on the morning of D+2 after his combat elements had been committed. Reinforcement by the 1st Polish Brigade 

was canceled because of bad weather. In the afternoon, Urquhart decided 

to establish a bridgehead at Oosterbeek, near a ferry site. The 1st Airlanding Brigade (-> and divisional troops occupied the perimeter, joined 

by the survivors of the 1st Parachute Brigade. The 4th Parachute Brigade now was fighting for its life. Conducting a hasty withdrawal under 

fire in the daylight, the 7th KOSB lost two-thirds of its strength in 

less than one hour. Both the 156th Parachute and 10th Parachute Battalions, now at 50 percent strength, had about 250 men each. The fighting was severe, In less than 2 days, the 1st Airborne Division had 

lost 3,500 out of 5,500 men, the majority of casualties in the infantry 

battalions, Few officers or noncommissioned officers survived unscathed. 

Urquhart was disappointed that the XXX Corps had failed to arrive 

and hoped that its arrival was imminent. 

On Wednesday, 20 September, D+3, Urquhart was able to talk directly with Frost for the first time by using the civilian telephone system. Both received a discouraging, candid appraisal of what each could 

expect from the other-basically nothing. Repeatedly attacked, Frost 

could hold only for a short time longer. The 2d Parachute Battalion’s 

gallant fight described by Brigadier General James M. Gavin, commander of the US. 82d Airborne Division, as “the outstanding independent parachute battalion action of the war,” would be for naught 

if the XXX Corps failed to arrive soon. The arrival of the 4th Parachute 

Brigade at Oosterbeek provided Urquhart another shock. It had ex6 
Airborne Operations 

hausted itself in less than thirty-six hours; only about 500 of its infantrymen remained. The 156th Parachute Battalion was down to two 

officers and forty-seven men. Fortunately for the British, the Germans 

became more cautious as they probed the perimeter. The best the 1st 

Airborne Division could do was to hold and hope that either the XXX 

Corps or 1st Polish Brigade would arrive soon. 

By dawn on D+4, resistance at the Arnhem bridge ceased. The 2d 

Parachute Battalion no longer existed. At Oosterbeek, Urquhart reorganized his defenses, consisting of fewer than 3,000 men, mostly divisional troops. To add to his problems, weather continued to hinder 

resupply, and the division ammunition dump exploded from enemy fire. 

Just as things were bleakest, two incidents raised the morale of the 

1st Airborne Division. First, communication was established with the 

64th Medium Field Artillery Regiment at Nijmegen, eleven miles away. 

For the first time during the entire fight, friendly fire support was 

provided; it kept the Germans at bay. In the afternoon, despite bad 

weather and heavy flak, the 1st Polish Brigade jumped south of the 

Rhine. Only 2 battalions with about 750 men arrived at the jump site. 

Aircraft turned back without dropping the third battalion. The Poles 

wanted to cross the river that evening, but no boats arrived. Isolated, 

Urquhart sent the following message at 2144: “Our casualties heavy. 

Resources stretched utmost. Relief within 24 hours vital.” The 1st Airborne Division was in danger of destruction. 

The worst weather of the entire operation occurred on 22 September. 

The XXX Corps’ reconnaissance units linked up with the Poles and 

provided reliable radio relay for the 1st Airborne Division. For the first 

time, both Urquhart and the XXX Corps understood each other’s situation. Efforts from 22 to 24 September by the Poles and the Dorsets 

from the British 43d Division provided reinforcements: 250 Poles and 

400 Dorsets. Finally, on 23 September, close air support became available in limited numbers. Besides bad weather and the destruction of 

the two air control parties’ radios early in the fight, the Second Tactical 

Air Force (TAF) had been forbidden by the FAAA from flying when 

lift or resupply missions were in the air. No one coordinated with the 

Second TAF to interdict German reinforcement of the Arnhem area. 

As a result, German units moved about with almost complete freedom. 

While Allied air support missions were more numerous when weather 

permitted, they were too late to help the 1st Airborne Division. 

Finally, on 25 September, D+8, Urquhart received permission to 

withdraw across the Rhine River while in contact with the enemy-a 

delicate and complex operation. As Urquhart made his plan, he drew 

on his prewar preparation for a promotion examination that required 

him to study the withdrawal from Gallipoli. At 2145, in the midst of a 

7 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

heavy rainfall and covered by the artillery fire of the XXX Corps, the 

1st Airborne Division commenced its withdrawal. By 0230 on Dt9, the 

last remnants of the 1st Airborne Division-military policemen who 

had volunteered to remain behind to ensure that German prisoners of 

war did not expose the withdrawal-reached the southern bank of the 

Rhine. Market was over for the 1st Airborne Division. 

What were the results? Losses were high. Of 10,003 Allied soldiers 

and airmen north of the Rhine, only 2,398 were evacuated: 1,741 from 

the 1st Airborne Division, 422 glider pilots, 160 Poles, and 75 Dorsets. 

The remainder-l,200 killed in action and 6,642 prisoners of war or 

missing in action-were lost during the fighting. The 1st Airborne 

Division ceased to exist as a fighting unit. Despite Montgomery’s claim 

that the operation was 90 percent successful for the 1st Airborne Division, it was a failure. The 1st had not captured the bridges, and the 

XXX Corps did not link up in time. Brereton considered the operation 

a “brilliant success.” Perhaps his focus was on the two U.S. divisions 

and the daylight landings rather than the reason all the units were 

delivered. The bold, imaginative plan had failed. Without the bridges 

over the Rhine, a fifty-mile salient leading nowhere of importance to 

the Allies had been created. 

Why did the 1st Airborne Division fail? First, Montgomery’s plan 

for Market-Garden was too ambitious. To expect that the XXX Corps 

could advance sixty-four miles along one road in forty-eight hours assumed almost flawless execution of a complex plan. Friction affects 

simple plans, but it can act even more disconcertingly on complex ones. 

Second, time was in too short supply to prepare adequately for an 

operation of this complexity. Important things were left undone. Intelligence was scanty and inaccurate, especially in regard to German forces, 

flak density, and DZ and LZ terrain assessments. Liaison with the I 

Airborne Corps, XXX Corps, and Second TAF was poor. The general 

euphoria and the intense desire to use the FAAA combined to create 

this hasty operation. Badly wanted, it was badly executed. Third, while 

Brereton’s decision to conduct a daylight operation permitted an accuracy unrealized in previous airborne operations, his decision not to 

attempt a second lift on D-day was disastrous for the 1st Airborne 

Division. Urquhart was forced to fight one brigade against an objective 

expected to require four. If no follow-on lifts had been planned, an 

attack on D-day with six battalions, instead of three in the 1st Airborne 

Brigade, would have been possible. Urquhart was seriously constrained 

in his planning options for this operation. 

To improve his chances for success, Urquhart could have done some 

things differently. First, the DZs and LZs were too far from the objettives. Faulty intelligence, along with the emphasis on air considerations 

8 
Airborne Operations 

rather than ground operations, created this problem. At least the glider 

coup de main could have been attempted. Second, command and control 

could have been enhanced by greater emphasis on training before the 

operation and by Urquhart’s remaining in a position to control this 

complex operation, particularly through D+l. Regardless of what else 

Urquhart could have done, the simple fact remains that the best airborne forces, when left alone and unassisted for extended periods of 

time, do poorly against even remnants of heavy forces. 

As Bernard Fall said, “A parachute is merely a means of delivery, 

but not a way of fighting.” 

Bibliography 

Blair, Clay. RidgLoay”s Paratroopers: The American Airborne in World 

War II. Garden City, NY: Doubleday and Company, 1985. 

MacDonald, Charles Brown. The Siegfried Line Campaign. United 

States Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief 

of Military History, Department of the Army, 1963. 

Powell, Geoffrey. The Devil’s Birthday: The Bridges to Arnhem, 1944. 

New York: Franklin Watts, 1985. 

-* Men at Arnhem, London: Buchan & Enright, 1986. 

Ryan, Cornelius. A Bridge Too Far. New York: Simon and Schuster, 

1974. 

Urquhart, Robert Elliott. Arnhem. New York: W. W. Norton and Co., 

1958. 

9 
2 

Airmobile Operations 

The 1st Cavalry Division’s Exploitation of Helicopters 

in the Ia Drang Valley 

Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame, U.S. Army, Retired 

In the late 1950s and early 1960s, a few thoughtful and farsighted 

U.S. Army officers began integrating Army aviation into battlefield 

maneuver. Rooted in the airborne concepts and techniques of World 

War II and driven by advances in helicopter development during and 

after the Korean War, military planners created new principles that 

combined light infantry, supporting artillery, and aviation to generate 

maximum shock power and maneuver on the modern battlefield. These 

planners, as part of two boards, reviewed Army aviation requirements 

and developed concepts pivotal to the evolution of airmobile operations. 

Lieutenant General Gordon B. Rogers chaired the first board, the 

Army Aircraft Requirements Review Board. The Rogers Board, formed 

in early 1960, reviewed the Army Aircraft Development Plan, discussed 

roles and missions of Army aviation, assessed combat surveillance 

requirements, and detailed procurement plans. In addition to making 

recommendations on observation, surveillance, and transportation aircraft, the Rogers Board recommended an in-depth study be conducted 

to explore the concept and feasibility of air-fighting units. The Rogers 

Board also provided essentia1 aviation guidance for development, procurement, and personnel planning. 

On taking office in 1961, Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara 

believed that more could and should be done in the areas of Army 

aircraft development and the adaptation of airmobile capabilities. In 

April 1962, McNamara formed an ad hoc task force to reexamine aircraft requirements and the role of Army aviation. The U.S. Army 

Tactical Mobility Requirements Board, known as the Howze Board after 

its president, Lieutenant General Hamilton H. Howze, investigated, 

tested, and evaluated the organizational and operational concepts of 

airmobility. The board concluded that the “adoption of the Army of 

the Airmobile Concept.-however imperfectly it may be described and 

justified in this report-is necessary and desirable. In some respect the 

transition is inevitable, just as was that from animal mobility to 

motor.” 

11 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

The board recommended the creation of an air assault division with 

459 aircraft as compared to about 100 in a standard division. The new 

division, the 11th Air Assault Division, tested the airmobile concept, 

and its deployment to Vietnam in September 1965 as the 1st Cavalry 

Division (Airmobile) changed the way U.S. forces conducted land warfare. The use of helicopters for reconnaissance, command and control, 

troop transport, attack gunships, aerial rocket artillery, medical evacuation, and supply was tantamount to a revolution in maneuver. 

The 1st Cavalry Division was not the first U.S. combat unit to 

fight in an airmobile role. In fact, combat helicopters were used as 

early as December 1961. In 1965, a Marine contingent and the Army’s 

173d Airborne Brigade and 2d Brigade, 1st Infantry Division, were 

deployed to Vietnam. Furthermore, while the 1st Cavalry Division was 

the first airmobile division, it was not the only division to use airmobile techniques. Airmobile operations occurred in Vietnam on a daily 

basis. That conflict is replete with examples of airmobile operations, 

from the smallest-using 2 or 3 helicopters to insert long-range reconnaissance patrols or Special Forces teams-to multidivisional operations 

like Junction City-where over 249 helicopters were used to make 8 

battalion-size airmobile assaults. But as author Shelby Stanton maintains, “No single engagement demonstrated the basic validity of air 

assault as strikingly as the 1st Cavalry Division’s Ia Drang Valley 

Campaign.” Now, whole divisions were no longer constrained by the 

tyranny of terrain. 

In the Ia Drang Valley or Pleiku campaign, the newly arrived 1st 

Cavalry Division (Airmobile) used its air assault assets to locate and 

battle North Vietnamese Army (NVA) regulars on the Pleiku plateau 

in South Vietnam’s central highlands. In this series of engagements, 

an NVA regular division met a U.S. Army airmobile division on the 

battlefield for the first time. 

To facilitate making contact with the enemy, the 1st Cavalry Division was positioned at An Khe in the central highlands. In the 37-day 

campaign, 1st Cavalry helicopters moved infantry battalions twentytwo times and displaced artillery batteries sixty-six times across 

distances of up to seventy-five miles. In addition, helicopters transported troops over difficult terrain and enemy defenses and conducted 

raids, reconnaissance, and screening. 

The NVA initiated the campaign with a major offensive in the 

western plateau of the highlands in Kontum, Pleiku, Binh Dinh, and 

Phu Bon Provinces. Three regular NVA regiments under the control of 

a division-size field front headquarters were to destroy the Plei Me, 

Dak Sut, and Due Co Special Forces camps and the South Vietnamese’ 

Le Thanh district headquarters. Finally, the offensive would seize 

12 
Ah-mobile Operations 

Pleiku, virtually cutting the south in half. The NVA 32d and 33d Regiments initiated the action on 19 October with a favorite NVA “lure 

and ambush” technique, laying siege to the camp at Plei Me and waiting to ambush an Army of the Republic of Vietnam relief column, 

With the help of 1st Cavalry’s artillery and close air support, however, 

neither the siege nor the ambush was successful, and the mauled NVA 

regiments withdrew west toward Cambodia and their base camps at 

the foot of the Chu Pong massif. In pursuit, the U.S. Army committed 

its airmobile division. 

On orders, elements of the 1st Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division, and 

supporting units fanned west toward Cambodia in search of the elusive 

enemy. Scout helicopters and gunships searched the terrain, strafing 

those small groups of fleeing NVA soldiers they were able to spot. On 

1 November, aerial scouts of the 1st Squadron, 9th Cavalry, spotted a 

band of enemy soldiers and assaulted them with aerorifle platoons. 

After a brief skirmish, the scouts uncovered a fully stocked regimental 

hospital. Later that afternoon, <aided by gunships from the 1st 

Squadron, 9th Cavalry, three rifle platoons at the hospital site held 

off an entire NVA battalion for six hours. Using intelligence gathered 

at the hospital, the 1st Squadron set several traps two days later, successfully ambushing elements of the NVA 66th Regiment. Later, during 

an NVA counterattack, U.S. units employed aerial rocket artillery for 

the first time at night in a close support role. 

For the next week, fighting was sporadic. U.S. forces identified and 

located the NVA 33d and 66th Regiments, but the 32d’s location was 

still in doubt. After searching the area for twelve days, the U.S. 1st 

Brigade, on 9 November, turned over the search to the 3d Brigade. On 

14 November, the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry, spearheaded by elements 

of the reconnaissance squadron, searched the area near the Ia Drang 

River around the Chu Pong massif, hoping for a possible airmobile 

assault against the NVA. The 1st Battalion was supported by sixteen 

lift helicopters and fire support from two 105mm howitzer batteries at 

Landing Zone (LZ) Falcon, nine kilometers east of the search area. 

However, one battery was not airlifted to LZ Falcon until the morning 

of the 14th. 

At dawn on 14 November, Lieutenant Colonel Harold G. Moore, 

commander of the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry, reconnoitered the eastern 

side of the Chu Pong massif in a scout helicopter, looking for likely 

landing zones. He chose a clearing at the base of the massif (later 

designated LZ X-ray) because it was large enough to land eight to ten 

helicopters (see map 2). Moore wanted to airland the first company, 

consolidate it, and then land the entire battalion. After returning to 

his base camp at Plei Me, Moore briefed his company commanders 

13 
Cumbined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

’ Where ARVN w>s 

ambushed on th 

road to Ptai Me 

Scale (approximatel 

:- 20 kilometers m”et 

Map 2. Ine ares around u A-ray 

and, in keeping with standard airmobile doctrine, arranged for artillery 

preparation fires on X-ray to begin twenty minutes before his troops 

would touch down. This artillery preparation was to be followed 

immediately by a thirty-second aerial rocket artillery barrage. Then, 

escort gunships would sweep the landing area with fire seconds before 

the troop-carrying Hueys were to land. 

Moore designated 1030 as the LZ touchdown time for the initial 

assault landing. The artillery fires, however, did not begin until 1017, 

delayed by the faulty positioning of LZ Falcon’s artillery. After thirteen 

minutes of artillery preparation, sixteen Hueys loaded with the lead 

elements of Moore’s battalion headed southwest toward LZ X-ray. As 

the transports approached within two kilometers of the landing zone, 

aerial rocket artillery pounded the site for thirty seconds, followed by 

fire from escort gunships. The helicopters immediately ahead of the 

low-level troop carriers flew racetrack patterns on either flank, raking 

the landing zone with machine-gun and rocket fire. As helicopters 

slowed for touchdown, their door gunners and on-board infantrymen 

fired into the grass and trees on X-ray’s perimeter. 

14 

n 
Airmcrbile Operations 

The helicopters landed the lead element of B Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry, and, by 1050, were returning to Plei Me for the 

remainder of B Company and lead elements of A Company. Unfortunately, the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry, landed right in the middle of 

the NVA staging area for a planned second attack on Plei Me. The 

NVA forces were eager to fight. Once consolidated, B Company began 

patrolling and came under heavy enemy fire that continued for the 

next three days. 

Sixteen helicopters in five succeeding lifts airlanded battalion elements at LZ X-ray. A Company followed B Company unopposed into 

the landing zone, and the perimeter expanded. C Company arrived next, 

with little opposition, but as the helicopters airlanded D Company, they 

took numerous hits. The enemy killed one infantryman before he could 

dismount and wounded two helicopter crewmen. Moore radioed the 

second flight of eight helicopters to turn back until LZ X-ray could be 

stabilized. Supported by artillery, air strikes from the Air Force, and 

division gunships, the battalion had airlanded into X-ray by 1500. 

According to airmobile doctrine, reserve forces must be able to reinforce quickIy should assaulting units be unknowingly inserted too close 

to’larger enemy formations. At LZ X-ray, the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry, 

faced elements of the NVA 33d and 66th Regiments. But because the 

3d Brigade was involved in ongoing search operations and its units 

were too widely scattered, only B Company, 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, 

was available to reinforce the 1st Battalion. By 1990 that evening, B 

Company had been inserted into LZ X-ray, while the remainder of the 

2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, and the 2d Battalion, 5th Cavalry, gathered 

at two different landing zones and prepared to reinforce the morning 

of the 15th. These units had been held back on 14 November to protect 

them from intense enemy fire. Throughout the 14th, 1st Battalion’s S3, 

in a command and control helicopter, circled over X-ray monitoring 

the tactical situation and relaying information to the brigade. At the 

same time, the 1st Battalion’s artillery and tactical air control liaison 

officers directed artillery fire and air strikes on the NVA. Meanwhile, 

departing helicopters evacuated casualties from LZ X-ray to LZ Falcon 

for treatment and further evacuation, Just before dark, helicopters 

resupplied troops with ammunition, rations, medical supplies, and water. 

The NVA harassed and probed LZ X-ray’s perimeter all night, but 

4,000 rounds of artillery fired from LZ Falcon kept the enemy at bay. 

After first light on 15 November, the NVA made a desperate bid to 

annihilate the Americans. At 0800, the U.S. 2d Battalion, 5th Cavalry, 

marched overland from LZ Victor to reinforce the 1st Battalion, 7th 

Cava)ry, at LZ X-ray. At 0900, A Company, 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, 

15 

.:3,,,y 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

airlanded at LZ X-ray and became embroiled in the fight. By 1000, 

concentrated U.S. artillery and air strikes blunted the NVA attack, and 

only sporadic sniper fire continued. Shortly before noon, the lead elements of the 2d Battalion, 5th Cavalry, came under heavy enemy automatic weapons fire 800 meters outside of LZ X-ray’s perimeter. After 

the 2d Battalion quelled that resistance, the fight at X-ray was over, 

despite continued sniper fire and several company-size probes during 

the night. 

By dawn on 16 November, enemy attacks had run their course. 

Still wary of the enemy situation, however, Moore ordered intense firing 

on the NVA, which not only netted several NVA snipers but also broke 

up a platoon-size enemy attack that was about to begin. By 0930, the 

remainder of the 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, arrived at LZ X-ray, and 

B Company and the 3d Platoon, A Company, 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, 

moved back to the division base camp for a much-needed rest and 

reorganization. 

The 2d Battalion, 5th Cavalry, and the remainder of the 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, held LZ X-ray for another night and then abandoned it on 17 November to allow B-52s to strike the area. The 2d 

Battalion, 5th Cavalry, moved to LZ Columbus, and the 2d Battalion, 

7th Cavalry, moved to LZ Albany, both to the east, to be aidifted out. 

The move to LZ Columbus went without a hitch, but as the 2d Battalion, 7th Cavalry, approached LZ Albany, it triggered an NVA ambush that struck the battalion in the flank and split it in half. The 

battle disintegrated into skirmishes and hand-to-hand fighting between 

splintered groups. The fighting continued until evening when reinforcements finally were able to reach the scene. The battle continued 

throughout the night, inflicting heavy casualties on the Americans. But 

as daylight approached, the NVA retreated. With the end of action at 

LZ Albany, the Ia Drang Valley campaign ended. 

In the Ia Drang campaign, the 1st Cavalry Division annihilated 

two regular ‘North Vietnamese Army regiments (which had to be completely reformed in Cambodia) and validated the U.S. Army’s concept 

of airmobile warfare. From that point on, airmobility would remain a 

major instrument of war employed by the United States and other 

countries. 

Bibliography 

Albright, John, John A. Cash, and Allan W. Sandstrum. “Fight at Ia 

Drang.” Seven Firefights in Vietnam. Washington, DC: Office of 

the Chief of Military History, U.S. Army, 1970. 

c 

, 

16 
Airmo bile Operations 

Coleman, J. D. Pleiku: The Dawn of Helicopter Warfare in Vietnam. 

New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1988. 

Herring, George C. “The 1st Cavalry and the Ia Drang Valley, 18 October-24 November 1965.” America’s First Battles, 1775-1965. 

Edited by Charles E. Heller and William A. Stofft. Lawrence: The 

University of Kansas Press, 1986. 

Pimlott, John. Vietnam, the Decisive Battles. New York: Macmillan, 

1990. 

Stanton, Shelby L. Anatomy of a Division: The 1st Cau in Vietnam. 

Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1987. 

17 
Amphibious Operations 

Tarawa: The Testing of an Amphibious Doctrine 

Dr, Jerold E. Brown 

The most difficult of all military operations is an opposed amphibious landing. The very nature of such a landing assures high risk. 

Moving men and equipment across open water and unprotected beaches 

in the face of carefully calculated fire is an extremely dangerous proposition. Furthermore, the defender has the advantage of time and space. 

He is more knowledgeable of the terrain on which he is fighting, and 

he often has the time to prepare his defenses in considerable depth, 

erecting a wide variety of obstacles designed to canalize landing craft 

into undesirable Ianding sites or lethal fire zones. He can also use 

elaborate systems of tunnels and trenches to move reserves, redeploy 

forces, or respond to other crises in engaging the landing force. 

The invasion force, on the other hand, is totally self-contained. It 

must carry every conceivable item it will need. It will serve as fire 

support base, commissary, evacuation hospital, communications center, 

recovery and maintenance depot, and command post until an adequate 

beachhead is secured to move those activities ashore. Moreover, the 

invasion commander will always have an imperfect knowledge of events 

and conditions ashore until the objective is taken. However skillfully 

he employs deception or surprise, he will eventually have to tip his 

hand to the defender as to when and where the attack will occur. 

Historically, therefore, amphibious operations have been attempted only 

rarely, and seldom have they been successful. Perhaps the only operation more difficult than landing on a hostile beach is withdrawing 

from one. 

After the abysmal failure by the British to maintain and exploit 

their beachhead at Gallipoli in 1915, many military experts concluded 

that modern firepower had made the already difficult task of amphibious operations impossible. Therefore, European armies, as well as the 

U.S. Army, devoted little attention to the problem of amphibious operations after World War I. The U.S. Marine Corps, however, found itself 

in a serious predicament in the years following the war. During the 

war, the Marines had served in France with considerable distinction 

as regular infantry. Many Army leaders believed that this should be 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

the continuing role for the Marines. Faced with a parsimonious Congress and the reduction of capital ships necessitated by the Washington 

Naval Treaty, the Navy questioned whether it could continue to maintain the Marines. What limited manpower and resources the Marines 

could muster were used to sustain colonial infantry in Latin American 

interventions. Within this milieu, the Marine Corps began to cast about 

for a more significant mission. 

In 1921, Major Earl H. Ellis wrote a paper that offered a solution 

to the Marine Corps’ dilemma. Ellis’ paper dealt with the problem of 

wresting control of bases in the central Pacific in the event of war 

with Japan. He suggested that it might be possible, after all, to land 

successfully on and seize defended islands. Based on Ellis’ proposals, 

the Marine Corps began the difficult process of developing a doctrine 

to accomplish this objective. Thirteen years later, after numerous exercises, both in the schoolhouse and with the fleet, the Marine Corps 

published the “Tentative Manual of Landing Operations,” its protodoctrine for amphibious operations. 

Doctrine, however, is merely theory. No matter how soundly it is 

based on past experience and solid staff work, there are no guarantees 

that it will achieve success. Only under the rigors of combat, with all 

its infinite possibilities for mischance and confusion, can doctrine be 

thoroughly and definitively tested. Thus, nine years after the appearance of the “Tentative Manual of Landing Operations,“’ the Marine 

Corps was yet to demonstrate the efficacy of its nascent amphibious 

doctrine. 

Although Allied forces in World War II conducted several seaborne 

invasions in 1942, none were staged against heavily defended, open 

beaches. The first real opportunity to test the Marine doctrine came in 

November 1943 at Tarawa atoll in the Gilbert Islands. Composed of 

more than a dozen coral atolls 2,000 nautical miles southwest of 

Honolulu, the Gilberts stretch 500 nautical miles in an area of the 

Pacific 3 degrees north and south of the equator, between 172 and 176 

degrees west longitude. The British declared the Gilberts a protectorate 

in 1892 and established an administrative headquarters at Tarawa. 

Tarawa is a typical Pacific atoll ninety miles north of the equator, a 

hookYshaped chain of small islands surrounding a lagoon approximately 

eighteen by thirteen miles in size. The westward opening to the lagoon 

is protected by a coral reef that lies just beneath the surface of the 

Pacific. The highest elevation on Tarawa is fifteen feet above sea level. 

The barb in the Tarawa hook is formed by Betio Islet, less than 

300 acres of hard-packed coral sand liberally sprinkled with coconut 

palms, The island has no distinguishing natural features and would 

be of little importance except that an opening through the reef into 

20 
Amphibious Operations 

Tarawa lagoon lies at its north end. It was probably because of this 

access into the relative protection of the lagoon that a British trading 

company established a copra station on Betio at the beginning of this 

century. To facilitate loading copra onto ocean-going vessels, the British 

built a long pier on the lagoon side of the island that reached to the 

deep water outside the reef. The long pier was the only significant 

structure on Betio when a Japanese task force landed in December 

1941, evicted the British manager and his staff, and constructed an 

airfield. 

By November 1943, the Japanese had turned Betio into a substantial fortress. About 5,000 naval infantry manned an extensive system 

of reinforced concrete blockhouses, coconut-log bunkers (covered by 3 

or 4 feet of coral sand}, steel pillboxes, and carefully placed gun pitsall connected by an elaborate network of tunnels and slit trenches, A 

score of heavy guns in hardened revetments, including four &inch guns 

removed from the British naval base at Singapore, commanded virtually 

every approach to the island. Rear Admiral Keiji Shibasaki, sent to 

Tarawa because of his reputation as a superb tactical commander, was 

so confident in his defenses that he remarked that Betio could not be 

taken by a million men in a hundred years. He could not have been 

more mistaken. 

The Tarawa landing was part of Operation Galvanic, conducted 

by the V Amphibious Corps under the command of Holland M. 

(“Howling Mad”) Smith. Galvanic called for the 2d Marine Division, 

under the command of Major General Julian C. Smith, to land at 

Tarawa, while the Army’s 27th Infantry Division landed at Makin atoll 

to the north and a smaller Marine unit landed at Abemama atoll to 

the south. Clearly, however, Tarawa was the most important landing 

of the three. 

Of the many details to be worked out by the V Corps staff over 

the next two months, the most important were on which beach to land 

and when to land. Betio is like a lazy triangle lying on its side, three 

miles long from west to east and about three-quarters of a mile wide 

at the base. The south side of the triangle presented the best landing 

beaches. These beaches were closest to the airfield, one of the primary 

objectives, and were on the seaward side of the island, closer to where 

the invasion fleet would anchor (see map 3). The staff designated these 

landing areas Black Beach 1 and Black Beach 2. The narrow base of 

the triangle, designated Green Beach, lay close to the opening through 

the reef into the lagoon, and landing craft would not have to climb 

over a reef to reach this shore. Along the Black and Green Beaches, 

the Japanese had constructed extensive obstacles, both above and below 

the water line. 

21 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 
Amphibious Operations 

That portion of Betio that faced the lagoon was designated Red 

Beaches 1, 2, and 3. Not only did the Red Beaches offer some protection from the open sea, Smith’s staff concluded that they were the 

least heavily defended. Furthermore, a long pier was on this side of 

the island, and it could play a significant role in getting men ashore. 

Also, a seawall of coconut logs just above the high-tide line would 

provide some protection from small-arms fire to the men who reached 

it. The great disadvantage in using the Red Beaches was the precise 

navigation required by the small craft in carrying men and equipment 

ashore. Each wave of the invasion force would have to pass through 

the opening into the lagoon, turn to the starboard (at a predetermined 

point) in open water, maintain its position in formation as it approached 

the beach, and then mount the reef before proceeding ashore to discharge troops and cargoes at designated points Despite these obstacles, 

the staff selected the Red Beaches for the landing. 

The question of timing was even more problematical than that of 

choosing a landing beach. Doctrine called for landings at high tide. 

This was necessary so that the landing craft could clear as many 

defensive obstacles and land as far up the beach as possible. On a 

coral atoll, the landing craft would also have to get over the reef. The 

tides at Tarawa atoll are among the most capricious on earth. Without 

reliable charts and with little agreement among the intelligence experts, 

the staff struggled with the problem. Other factors, however, ultimately 

determined the time schedule. Washington was pressing for a quick 

offensive victory, and the Tarawa landing would have to coincide with 

the other Galvanic landings. Finally, Smith confirmed D-day as 20 

November 1943. The tides would not be favorable. 

The invasion force, composed of the 2d Marine Division (which 

had been training in New Zealand) and most of the support forces 

coming from Hawaii, rendezvoused on D-2. In accordance with doctrine, 

Navy and Marine aircraft had already flown a hundred sorties against 

Betio, saturating the island with bombs and strafing anything that 

moved. As the fleet approached Betio, its big guns worked over the 

island’s defenses one last time, especially the area immediately behind 

the landing beaches. All reports indicated that nothing was left alive 

on Betio. Later analysis showed that about one-third of the defenders 

were indeed killed in the preinvasion bombardment, but that still left 

all too many Japanese to greet the Marines when they came ashore. 

A little after 0800 on Saturday morning, 20 November, three reinforced amphibious battalions of the 2d Marine Regiment (commanded 

by Colonel David Shoup on board the first wave of landing craft and 

amphibious tractors [amtracs]) began moving toward Red Beaches 1, 

2, and 3, abandoning the holding pattern they had maintained for more 

23 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

than four hours. Almost immediately, things went wrong. Many of the 

heavy guns on Betio had not been put out of action. They began to 

unleash a deadly hail of shrapnel and antiboat rounds into the tightly 

packed landing craft as they neared the reef, inflicting the first casualties on the attackers. The amtracs paused briefly as they reached the 

reef, then climbed over it and proceeded toward the beach. The Higgins 

boats, however, with a draft of about 4 feet, could not get over the 

reef, and they began discharging their cargoes into the water about 

600 yards out. Blistering machine-gun and small-arms fire reached out 

to meet the Marines, who were unable to return fire as they waded 

toward shore laden with arms, ammo, and equipment. The majority of 

Marines who died on Tarawa did so as they struggled to reach shore. 

Once ashore, confusion persisted. Many of the companies did not 

land at their designated points or found themselves inextricably mingled 

with other units. One of the three battalion commanders was killed 

within a few minutes of hitting the beach, and another panicked under 

the severe fire and told his amtrac driver to withdraw toward open 

water. The seawall, behind which many Marines initially found some 

cover from enemy small-arms fire and where the Navy corpsmen had 

set up aid stations, turned out to be a mixed blessing. The amtracs 

and tanks that had come ashore were now penned between the beach 

and the water, and Japanese fire destroyed or disabled a large number 

of them. Thus, the second wave that was to come ashore was delayed, 

leaving the men who first reached the beach to struggle on their own. 

By late afternoon, the battle had deteriorated into a series of small 

unit fights all along the beach. Penetration by the invasion force was 

limited to no more than a few hundred yards in most places, and 

numerous Japanese strongpoints continued to inflict heavy losses on 

the Marines. Colonel Shoup, wounded himself, directed the fight from 

a makeshift command post and aid station. 

The first night was the hardest time for the men on the beach. 

Constantly threatened with counterattacks, snipers, and infiltrators, they 

got little or no sleep. Furthermore, many Marines had long since drained 

their canteens and emptied their cartridge belts. No more supplies would 

come ashore until morning. The wounded suffered greatly. Those that 

lay in the aid stations on the beach could only wait for morning and 

evacuation; the uncolIected wounded could only hope that their buddies 

got to them before the enemy did. 

Sunday morning, D+l, saw little improvement in the Marines’ situation. The 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, landing on Red Beach 2 a little 

after 0630, drew withering fire from almost as many enemy guns as 

the troops experienced the previous morning, and once again, the 

landing troops suffered heavy casualties in the water. Stiff resistance 

24 
Amphibious Operations 

continued throughout the day, and the Marines had to destroy each 

Japanese strongpoint at a heavy price. Basic infantry weapons, grenades, flamethrowers, and explosive charges were the tools necessary 

for this task. Meanwhile, Navy destroyers cruised back and forth outside 

the reef providing fire support with their 5-inch guns. But with less 

than fifty yards in some cases between their positions and the Japanese, 

the Marines were reluctant to call for fire except when they had no 

alternative. Sunday ended with more of Betio in Marine hands, but 

the island was not yet secure, and the Marines prepared for another 

tense, sleepless night. 

As the third morning dawned, the Marines found their position 

considerably improved. In the first place, the incoming tide now lifted 

the Higgins boats over the reef for the first time and allowed them to 

reach the beach before dropping their bow ramps. At midmorning, the 

Marines began their final assault on the big reinforced concrete structure housing Admiral Shibasaki’s command post. Finally reaching the 

top of the building, they poured gasoline down one of the air vents 

and threw a match in after it. Thus ended Shibasaki’s command and, 

seemingly, the will of many Tarawa defenders to continue resisting. 

Large numbers of Japanese began to take their own lives, and the 

Marines cleared much of the western portion of the island, pushing 

the remaining enemy into the narrow tail of land to the east by late 

evening. The battle for Betio was won, but it was not over. 

The final act on Tarawa atoll was a series of nerve-racking banzai 

attacks that began just after dark on the third night. In each case, a 

mob of enemy charged the Marines’ position with swords and bayonets. 

They came in a frenzy, seeking the final approval of their emperor by 

their glorious death. They were met by artillery, machine-gun fire, and 

tired Marines with bayonets who, in many cases, were also out of 

ammunition. The last attack came about 0400 on Tuesday morningjust seventy-two hours after the first Marines had begun loading into 

their landing craft. 

Military experts and historians have long debated the strategic 

importance of Tarawa. Some have argued that wresting Tarawa from 

the Japanese was both unnecessary and too costly-l,027 Marine and 

Navy dead, 88 missing, and 2,292 wounded. Although the Japanese 

had a land-based air capability in the Gilberts, so the argument goes, 

they could not reach any major U.S. bases nor could they appreciably 

interdict shipping in the central or South Pacific. Furthermore, the 

critics maintain, the loss of life on Betio was not at all justified since 

the airfield was never used to support subsequent operations in the 

advance across the Pacific. 

25 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

These arguments overlook two essential points. Although the airfield 

on Betio did not play a further role in America’s, war effort, one should 

not underestimate the importance land-based aviation held in the early 

years of World War II. As late as 1943, most military stategists believed 

that only land-based air forces could adequately support offensive 

operations. The fighting in the Solomons and New Guinea a year earlier 

had seemed to confirm that view. The fast carrier task force, with the 

ability to provide offensive support as well as fleet security, was then 

only in an early stage of development. Its future was still uncertain, 

although its proponents were already proselytizing among the skeptical. 

All this considered, the airfield on Betio was a legitimate military 

objective in November 1943. 

Finally, one must consider the role of Marine Corps amphibious 

doctrine in Operation Galvanic. Until the Marines landed on Betio, 

amphibious doctrine was just theory. The Marines believed that they 

could land on a hostile beach and take their objective, but, they had 

not yet proved that it could be done. The only way the Marines could 

prove the validity of their doctrine was to conduct an actual amphibious 

landing under fire and succeed. They did that at Tarawa. 

Bibliography 

Gregg, Charles T. Tarawa. New York: Stein and Day, 1984. 

Isely, Jeter Allen, and Philip Axtell Crowl. The U.S. Marines and 

Amphibious War: Its Theory and Rs Practice in the Pacific. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1951. 

Kane, Robert J. A Brief History of the 2d Marines. Washington, DC: 

Historical Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, 1970. 

O”Shee1, Patrick. Semper F&delis: The U.S. Marines in the Pacific, 

1942-1945. New York: William Sloane Associates, 1947. 

Russ, Martin. Line of Departure: Tarawa. Garden City, NY: Doubleday 

& co., 1975. 

26 
4 

Antiarmor Operations 

Antiarmor Operations on the Golan Heights, October 1973 

Major George E. Knapp 

The results of the 1973 Arab-Israeli War stimulated much postwar 

doctrinal discussion and examination among military analysts about 

the future of armor and antiarmor operations. The central issue was 

whether the tank could survive on a modern battlefield now dominated 

by antitank weapons of the kind used so extensively by the Arabs in 

the 1973 war. The postwar debate affected the development of doctrinal 

concepts by the United States military in several ways. One result was 

that the Army sought to procure a new tank, a new infantry fighting 

vehicle, and an antiarmor weapon system that might give common 

infantrymen the ability to defeat enemy armor at close, medium, and 

long ranges. At the operational level of war, the Army developed and 

adopted a doctrine of Active Defense based largely on the perceived 

“lessons” of the battle for the Golan Heights, fought in the earliest 

days of the 1973 war. 

In many ways, the battle for the Golan Heights mirrored the U.S. 

Army’s image of how it would have to fight a war in Central Europe. 

American doctrinaires viewed the all-out assault model of Syria, a Soviet 

client, as a reflection of Soviet doctrine. For that reason, the Americans 

drew lessons more readily from the battle for the Golan than from the 

action on the Suez front, where the Egyptians conducted a deliberate 

attack, with limited objectives-a mode of attack considered by some as 

uncharacteristic of Soviet doctrine. So, as General Donn A. Starry 

admitted in an interview in 1987, the 1973 battle for the Golan Heights 

became the model for the U.S. Army’s doctrine of Active Defense. This 

doctrine integrated concepts of maneuver, firepower, and command and 

control, with special emphasis on combined arms tactics. But at its 

heart lay the notion that the tank was still the best antitank weapon. 

Why was this so ? The answer to that question is contained in the 

Israel Defense Forces’ legendary defense of the Golan Heights in the 

war (see map 4). 

The topography of the Golan Heights made it critical terrain to 

both the Syrians and the Israelis. The Golan dominates the eastern 

bank of the Jordan River from the Israeli-Lebanese border in the north 

27 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 

Scale 

10 15 20 mile 

I 

I I I I 1 

lb lb .fa 

[Wap 4. Start positions on the Golan front, 6 October 1973 

28 
Antiarmor Operations 

to Lake Tiberias sixty-five kilometers to the south. A force on the Golan 

can observe and bring fires onto the entire northern part of Israel. At 

its widest point, the Golan is about thirty kilometers from east to west, 

so the battle area represents a rough rectangle enclosing about 2,000 

square kilometers-the size of Rhode Island. The ancient trade route 

from the Mediterranean Sea to Damascus crosses the northern third of 

the Golan and is one of the main avenues of approach along which 

the Israelis expected a Syrian attack. Farther to the south, another 

route crosses the Golan nearly diagonally from the Syrian town of 

Nawa in the southeast, through Rabid at the edge of the Israeli occupation zone, to Banais and Dan in the northwest corner of the Golan 

near the Lebanon border. Along the way, several roads lead toward 

the west through Kuzabia, Snobar, and Gonen to the Jordan River 

bridges, In the far south, a route turns southwest from Rafid and goes 

through Juhadar and El Al, to the south of Lake Tiberias. The Israelis 

improved the Golan’s existing north-south network of trails so that 

they could shift their forces more rapidly to meet the potential Syrian 

threat. Therefore, the entire Golan was passable for armor, although 

trails in the northern third of the area were rough. 

Along the 1967 cease-fire line, called the Purple Line, the Israelis 

constructed a defensive belt that included an antitank ditch, minefields, 

concrete observation posts, and tank-firing positions. Although formidable in itself, this line was not sufficient to stop a determined Syrian 

assault. Three Israeli formations totaling fewer than 3,000 troops 

manned the Golan’s defenses on 6 October 1973. The Barak Armored 

Brigade manned the southern portion of the Purple Line from Rafid to 

Kuneitra, while the 7th Armored Brigade occupied that part of the line 

north of Kuneitra to the slopes of Mount Hermon. Parts of an infantry 

brigade, in squad- and platoon-size groups, occupied the scattered strongpoints along the Purple Line. Together, these formations fielded fewer 

than 200 tanks, including Centurions and some World War II-era Shermans. The brigade also wielded forty-four pieces of artillery, all selfpropelled. The Israelis expected sufficient advanced warning of any 

Syrian attack, and the Golan forces’ mission was to act as a tripwire 

and to delay the Syrian advance until Israeli reserves could mobilize 

and deploy. 

The Syrians, on their part, had constructed three defensive belts, 

following the Soviet model. These lay in successive arcs perpendicular 

to the road that ran between the Purple Line and Damascus about 

forty-five kilometers to the northeast. The first defensive belt was less 

than two kilometers from the Purple Line. The second was along the 

Sassa ridge, and the third lay roughly between Katana and Kiswe. 

The Syrians placed many obsolete tanks and artillery pieces along these 

defensive lines, but they also integrated their modern and fully inte29 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

grated antiaircraft system into the defenses. This almost proved decisive 

during the course of the war. Into these lines, the Syrians and their 

allies put five divisions and several separate brigade-size formations. 

The Arabs arrayed their offensive forces along the Syrian defensive 

belts. In the north, among the Mount Hermon foothills, was a Morrocean 

brigade. To its south, the Syrian 7th Infantry Division, reinforced with 

an additional armored brigade, stretched to the Kuneitra-Damascus road. 

The Syrian 9th Infantry Divison, also reinforced with an additional 

armored brigade, covered the center from opposite Kuneitra in the north 

almost to R&id in the south. The Syrian 5th Infantry Division, similarly 

reinforced with tanks, lay along the approach to Nawa-Rafid. Behind 

these infantry divisions were two Syrian armored divisions in reserve. 

The 3d Armored Division lay between Sassa and Katana, in position 

to reinforce the northern axis of attack, while the 1st Armored Division, 

near Kiswe, prepared to add its strength to the southernmost axis. Most 

important, these divisions represented the Syrian aperational reserve 

and were responsible for the defense of Damascus. Additionally, the 

Syrians had three independent armored brigades-two infantry brigades 

and one mechanized brigade-available for action. During the course 

of the war, Syria also was reinforced by an armored division from 

Iraq, armored brigades from Saudi Arabia and Jordan, and commando 

brigades from the Palestine Liberation Army. The total Syrian-led force 

included about 60,000 soldiers, 1,200 tanks, 600 pieces of artillery, and 

more than 900 antiaircraft guns and missile launchers. 

At 1400 on Saturday, 6 October 1973, the three Syrian infantry 

divisions attacked across the Purple Line and into the Golan Heights, 

The Syrian operational objective was to retake the Golan, which was 

part of the territory it lost to the Israelis in 1967. This meant driving 

to the Jordan River and then moving along its extent from the Lebanese 

border in the north to Lake Tiberias in the south. Beyond that immediate objective, the Syrians may have planned to continue their 

attack into Galilee, but they expected the United Nations to impose a 

cease-fire before that eventuality unfolded. To reach the Jordan River, 

the Syrians planned to have their infantry divisions breach the Israeli 

antitank ditch, bypass the isolated observation posts, and drive hard 

to the west with an overwhelming mass of tanks and armored personnel carriers. Surprise was a key element in their plan, and they 

expected to reach their operational objectives before the Israeli reserves 

effectively intervened. It was a remarkable achievement that the Syrians 

managed to get their force in its attacking position and start their 

offensive before the Israelis could begin their mobilizations. By doing 

so, the Syrians created the battle conditions that dominated the first 

thirty-six hours of the war and led directly to the armor battle on the 

Golan. 

30 
Antiarmor Operations 

The Syrian attack was typically Soviet in its execution. It began 

with a brief but intense barrage along a broad front by all available 

artillery, aircraft, tanks, and mortars and capitalized on Syrian numerical superiority along the two main routes into the Golan. The Syrian 

7th Infantry Division tried to break through north of Kuneitra in order 

to seize the upper Jordan River in the vicinity of Gonen. The 5th Infantry Division followed a similar plan south of Rafid, with the Arik 

bridge area as its objective. In the center, the 9th Infantry Division 

advanced on a broad front to tie down Israeli forces and cut the northsouth road from Kuneitra to Rabid. Unlike the other infantry divisions, 

the 9th had a limited objective that was really designed to help the 

flank divisions get past the main Israeli defenses. The Syrians kept 

their armored divisions in reserve ready to exploit success on either 

flank, but significantly, not on both flanks. The Syrian plan was for 

one of the armored divisions to protect Damascus regardless of any 

perceived success on the Golan Heights. 

The Syrian attack was characterized by success and failure. In the 

way of success, the Syrians achieved surprise and pressed their attacks 

against increasingly frantic Israeli defenses. Morever, they massed their 

combat power at critical points on the battlefield and pressed their 

attacks home. In addition, they thwarted the Israeli Air Force’s attempts 

to break up their attacking columns. What is more, they identified tactical opportunities in the Rafid area and committed one of their reserve 

armored divisions at the right moment. On the other hand, the Syrians 

failed to recognize the magnitude of the operational and tactical surprise 

they had achieved, and this central failure led to their ultimate defeat. 

They also failed to breach the Israeli defenses north of Kuneitra. Because they tried to push too many vehicles across the tank defenses 

without adequate infantry and artillery support, they lost many tanks 

and personnel carriers at the antitank ditches and in the killing zones 

near the Purple Line. Furthermore, they failed to employ their artillery 

rapidly and effectively to suppress Israeli tank fires and to eliminate 

Israeli artillery. The Syrians also failed to properly “mop up” bypassed 

Israeli positions, which continued to prevent Syrian supply columns 

from keeping up with the armored advance. The Syrians also failed to 

push sufficient air-defense assets far enough forward to protect their 

leading armored columns from Israeli air power. On balance, the Syrians 

wasted their operational and tactical advantage, and though they 

fought impressively, they squandered the opportunity to win the battle 

for the Golan Heights. 

If the Syrians failed to capitalize on their initial advantage, it was 

in large measure due to the epic defensive battle that the Israelis waged 

in those first thirty-six hours, But the ferocity of that defense was 

exactly what the Syrian high command had expected. They saw a 

31 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

determined, well-prepared defense supported by artillery and air power 

and sustained by the rapid mobilization of Israeli reserves. Consequently, the Syrians stayed with their original operational plan and 

reinforced their success in the southern Golan while holding their remaining armored division in reserve before Damascus. This decision 

seems sound based on the evidence available to the Syrians at the 

time. However, had the Syrians committed both their reserve divisions, 

they might have broken through on both axes of advance and reached 

the Jordan River in strength before the Israelis reinforced. What might 

have happened at that point is conjectural, but it seems likely that 

the United Nations would have attempted to impose some sort of ceasefire, ending the war within seventy-two hours and leaving Egypt on 

the east side of the Suez and Syria again in possession of the Golan 

Heights. 

The battle in the Golan sharply contrasted with the Suez action. 

At the Golan, the Syrians forced the outnumbered Israelis into thirtyfive hours of tank gunnery and armored maneuver, but because the 

Israeli positions so effectively dominated the Syrian approach routes, 

Syrian armored losses were severe. Much of the action by the Israelis 

and Syrians seemed modeled after U.S. and Soviet doctrine respectively. 

Syrian artillery pounded suspected Israeli positions, forcing Israeli tankers either to close their hatches and fight with restricted vision or to 

expose themselves to shell fragments in order to retain visibility. This 

suppression by the Syrians forced the Israeli armor to shift constantly 

between positions, but as a rule, the Israeli tankers accepted these risks 

and scored many antiarmor hits, suffering greatly as a consequence. 

Initially, Israeli tanks scored hits at very long ranges as the Syrians 

fought their way across the antiarmor obstacles. Later, as the Syrians 

penetrated deeper into the Golan, especially during the first night of 

the war, tank engagement ranges were very short-often less than 100 

meters. 

As the Syrian offensive waned and the Israelis counterattacked into 

Syria, the antiarmor balance shifted in favor of the S’yrians. Significantly, this action resembled the earlier engagements on the Suez front, 

in which Israeli armor found well-prepared and confident Arab infantry 

armed with antitank guided missiles (ATGMs) and rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs). These troops were covered by surface-to-air missiles 

(SAMs), held reasonably secure flanks, and had good terrain to defend. 

In response to these defenses, the Israelis determined not to press their 

attacks deeper toward Damascus. Possibly, the antiarmor lessons that 

the Israelis had already learned on the Suez front played some part in 

this decision. 

If the Syrian infantry had been successful earlier in securing the 

Purple Line crossing sites and flushing out the Israeli armor beyond, 

32 
then the outcome of the armor and antiarmor battle for the Golan 

might have been different. The Syrians decided to lead their assault 

with infantry divisions, reinforced with armored brigades and supported 

with massive artillery fire, but the Syrian infantry did not achieve its 

objectives. The Syrians should have dismounted and crossed the antitank ditch in swarms so dense that the few Israeli observation posts 

would have been overwhelmed and the Israeli armor forced to abandon 

its long-prepared firing positions. Instead, the Israeli armor was allowed 

to whittle steadily away at the Syrian tanks and personnel carriers. 

This was one of the key failures by the Syrians in the first hours of 

the war. 

The Syrians also failed to commit both of their reserve armored 

divisions at the critical moment. While it is difficult to fault this 

Syrian command decision in light of the ultimate result in this theater 

of war, still the Syrians might have achieved a breakthrough in the 

north similar to the one they made in the south if they had committed . 

their reserve divisions within the first thirty-six hours of battle. 

In terms of the debate over whose equipment was the best, U.S. 

and Soviet equipment received mixed reviews. U.S.-produced tanks 

proved vulnerable because of their relatively high profile, exposed commanders’ positions, and inadequate machine guns. At the same time, 

the high profile allowed U.S.-built tanks to depress their gun tubes 

and work from defilade positions better than the low-profile Soviet-built 

tanks. Morever, U.S. tanks were easier to drive and less fatiguing to 

ride in (but they were more prone to maintenance failures). In addition, 

U.S. tanks proved superior in long-range sighting capabilities and accommodated more communications equipment, which improved fire control. 

Soviet-produced tanks proved more difficult to operate and inferior in 

both fire control and sighting. 

Israeli combat operations proved superior to those of the Syrians 

in the areas of gunnery, recovery, sustainment, communications, and 

tank-to-tank cooperation. The majority of Syrian hits did not permanently destroy Israeli tanks, even if the hits penetrated their armor. 

Gunnery ranges, especially on the Golan, varied widely from point blank 

to several kilometers. Hits were widely distributed over different areas 

of the tanks, and this suggested a reevaluation of the relative value of 

frontal armor. Few tank hits produced immediate, catastrophic crew 

kills. Thus, forward recovery and repair were keys to preserving Israeli 

tank strength. The Israelis claimed that every one of their tanks on 

the Golan was hit at least once by enemy fire. Syrian sustainment 

operations suffered from attrition by Israeli artillery, tank fires, air 

power, and bypassed infantry positions along the Purple Line. Israeli 

crew training proved superior to that of the Syrians in the areas of 

33 
Combined Arms in Battle Since I939 

cooperation among tanks, suppressive fires, moving by bounds, and 

use of range cards and prepared positions. 

Military experts around the world drew several conclusions about 

the nature of antiarmor warfare from the 1973 Arab-Israeli War. Military authorities believed that the ATGM and its supporting cast of 

RPGs and recoilless rifles dominated the armor battles on the Suez 

front, although Israeli tanks and aircraft played a large role in defeating 

the Egyptian armored reserve. In the Golan Heights area, however, tanks 

dominated the armor battle until its latter stages, when Israeli armor 

came up against the Syrian defenses before Damascus. Therefore, from 

the analyst’s point of view, neither the ATGMs nor the tanks themselves 

proved to be the decisive antitank weapons. In the United States, this 

conclusion fueled the debate that resulted in AirLand Battle doctrine. 

That doctrine’s emphasis on a balanced force for the modern battlefield 

took into consideration the fact that tanks operating alone are, as 

Trevor Depuy suggested, ‘“more vulnerable and consequently less valuable, than when employed as part of a combined arms team.” 

Bibliography 

Cordesman, Anthony H., and Abraham R. Wagner. The Lessons of 

Modern War, Vol. I. The Arab-Israeli ConfZicts, 1973-1989. Boulder, 

CO: Westview Press, 1990. 

Depuy, T. N., Elusive Victory: The Arab-Israeli Wars, 1947-1974. Fairfax, 

VA: Hero Books, 1984. 

Herbert, Paul H. Deciding What Has to Be Done: General William E. 

DePuy and the 1976 Edition of FM 100-5, Operations. Leavenworth 

Papers no. 16. Fort Leavenworth, KS Combat Studies Institute, 

U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, 1988. 

Insight Team (Sunday Times, London). The Yom Kippur War. Garden 

City, NY: Doubleday, 1974. 

O’Ballance, Edgar. No Victor, No Vanquished: The Yom Kippur War. 

San Rafael, CA: Presidio Press, 1978. 

34 
5 

Attack Helicopter Operations 

Attack Helicopters in Lebanon, 1982 

Dr. George W. Gawrych 

While the Vietnam War saw the evolution of the helicopter from a 

troop transport and medical evacuation vehicle to a close air support 

weapon, Israel’s 1982 invasion of Lebanon witnessed the emergence of 

attack helicopters as tank killers. In the 1973 Middle East War, the 

Israelis employed helicopters primarily to transport ground troops, evacuate casuahies, and resupply combat units. By 1982, however, both the 

Israelis and the Syrians had purchased attack helicopters and were 

developing their own particular doctrines for their employment. 

The Israel .Defense Forces (IDF) became interested in attack helicopters in the mid-1970s. In 1975, Israel purchased six American-made 

AH-1G Cobra helicopters. These Cobras were equipped for close air 

support with 7.62mm machine guns, M-19 grenade launchers, and rocket 

pods, In addition, the IDF upgraded the AH-1Gs to ‘“Q” versions with 

TOW antitank missiles. Then, in 1978, Israel bought its “first real” 

attack helicopters, AH-1S Cobras and Hughes 500 MD Defenders. By 

1982, Israel’s attack helicopter inventory had expanded to forty-two: 

twelve Cobras and thirty Hughes 500 MDs. The attack helicopters 

belonged to the Israeli Air Force (IAF). 

In 1982, the IDF invaded Lebanon, applying a doctrine that emphasized attack helicopters in a close air support role. These rotary-winged 

craft were to support troop movements through mountainous areas. 

Thus, when Israeli tanks or artillery failed to place targets under sufficient fire, ground forces were to appeal to the IAF for attack helicopters to help in the close fight. In some cases, attack helicopters 

were to be attached to army units for specific operations. Initial Israeli 

practice in 1982 seemed to follow this prewar concept. 

To some degree, the Syrian Armed Forces (SAF) were prepared to 

meet the Israeli helicopter threat. In the 1973 war, both the Egyptians 

and the Syrians had based their air defense, in part, on movable antiaircraft weapons and used portable antiaircraft missiles (previously 

designed for use against fixed-wing aircraft) to attack helicopters. In 

one early engagement, for example, a Strella SA-7 downed an Israeli 

Cobra that had responded to an appeal for close air support. 

35 
Cornbilzed Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Between the 1973 and 1982 wars, Syria also invested in attack 

helicopters. In 1982, the SAF possessed some sixteen French-made 

Gazelles (with HOT missiles) and twelve Soviet-manufactured Mi-24 

Hinds (with tubes for the Sagger AT-3 missile). But unlike the Israelis, 

the Syrians gained some valuable combat experience using their attack 

helicopters in Lebanon before 1982. 

In 1976, the SAF moved into Lebanon to quell the Lebanese Civil 

War. Over the next seven years, the Syrians maintained a military 

presence in the country that often involved armed clashes with Lebanese 

warring factions. In some instances, the SAF relied on helicopters for 

close air support. But the Syrian high command also expanded their 

role. Syrian pilots flew attack helicopters, in pairs or larger formations, 

in some interdiction missions. Thus, by the 1982 conflict with Israel, 

the Syrians had experimented with a wider concept for the employment 

of attack helicopters. 

The 1982 war began at 1100 on 6 June as an Israeli-Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) struggle. To clear the PLO’s military presence from the border area with Israel, the Israeli cabinet initially 

approved the IDF’s advance into Lebanon to a depth of forty kilometers. 

This occupation would ensure that northern Israel was outside the 

maximum range of Arab artillery, resulting in a much-needed respite 

for its inhabitants. 

The Israeli cabinet, in its directive, instructed the IDF to avoid a 

war with Syria if at all possible. The Israelis hoped that the Syrians 

would stand idly by while the IDF destroyed the PLO’s military organization in southern Lebanon, where the Palestinians had established a 

ministate outside the control of the Lebanese central government. 

In Lebanon since the outbreak of the Lebanese Civil War in 1976, 

Syrian troops were mainly deployed in the Beirut area and the Bekaa 

Valley in eastern Lebanon. Any major Israeli thrust north toward Beirut 

posed a serious military threat to the Syrian forces deployed forward 

in the Bekaa Valley. From the Syrian perspective, the farther north 

the Israelis moved up the coastal and central axis in Lebanon, the 

more the Syrians would feel their flank exposed and might eventually 

regard themselves as threatened with encirclement. 

In 1982, the Israeli drive up the central axis west of the Lebanon 

Mountains set off a short war with Syria. Here, the main Israeli forcethe 162d Armored Division minus a tank brigade-was commanded by 

Brigadier General Menachem Einan. One week before the outbreak of 

the war, the 162d Armored Division was conducting maneuvers in 

southern Israel when Einan received orders to move north. The Israeli 

high command decided to await developments on the battlefield before 

issuing further orders to Einan. 

36 
Attack Helicopter Operations 

On 6 June at 1530, or four and one-half hours into the war, Einan 

finally learned his mission: to take the central axis and capture the 

Besri bridge near the town of Jezzin (see map 5). This action would 

protect the flank of the Israeli forces moving along their coastal axis 

in the direction of Beirut. A follow-on mission would take Einan farther 

north to the Damascus-Beirut highway, 

The first engagement between Einan and the Syrians took place 

near Jezzin on the night of 7-8 June. Jezzin lies at a critical road 

juncture in south-central Lebanon. One road passes through the town 

to the southern Bekaa Valley; the other heads north. Israeli control of 

Jezzin would pose a direct threat to the Syrians, for the Israelis would 

gain access to the Bekaa Valley from the west. Concerned about this 

possibility, the Syrian command dispatched the 424th Infantry Battalion 

to the town and later reinforced it with a reduced tank battalion and 

a commando unit. 

As Einan’s task force moved past Jezzin at 0100 on 8 June en 

route to the Besri bridge, elements of his reduced division came dangerously close to the Syrian positions. Indeed, an exchange of fire between 

the Israelis and the Syrian defenders ensued at the town’s outskirts. 

Rather than be diverted by a major battle, Einan left a bIocking force 

and pushed north. The Israeli cabinet, however, now approved a major 

assault on Jezzin with other forces for the next morning. Israel and 

Syria were entering into a major confrontation. 

Early that same morning of 8 June, Einan seized the Besri bridge. 

The Israeli high command now ordered a rapid advance to Ain Zhalta, 

a town some ten kilometers south of the Damascus-Beirut highway. 

While moving to his next destination, Einan suddenly encountered an 

unfamiliar weapon, the attack helicopter. 

At 1530 on 8 June, his soldiers heard a beating noise overhead, 

followed by the swish of two HOT missiles. The third Israeli tank in 

the column suffered a hit. Then, the French Gazelle made a second 

run, this time setting the same tank ablaze with another hit. The disabled tank prevented any further advance, since the road it traveled 

on was narrow, with a sheer drop on one side and a cliff on the other. 

This engagement represented the first strike by an Arab attack 

helicopter in an Arab-Israeli conflict. The effect was much like that in 

World War I when the Germans first encountered the tank. Israeli 

sources have discussed the general panic and shock that struck Israeli 

tank crews. The 1973 war had prepared the IDF for the antitank missiles of Arab infantry but not for those of Arab attack helicopters. 

Because they had proved unable to defend themselves, Israeli tankers felt vulnerable after this attack. The Gazelle’s HOT missile had a 

37 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Armstlce he, 1949 

- Province boundary 

National capttal 

Province capital 

Road 

t++-F- .s , RaIlroad 

Swan positions 

0 SAM batterres 

Scale 

0 5 10 15 kilometers I 

lwap 3. man s axrs ot aavance mto Lebanon 

38 
A ttaek Helicopter Operations 

range of more than four kilometers, well beyond that of the turretmounted machine guns on Israeli tanks. Not expecting such an attack, 

Einan’s force apparently lacked any portable antiaircraft missiles that 

might have equalized the range. Unavoidable confusion and tension 

consequently spread among the Israeli tankers. The Israeli Armor Corps 

confronted a new nemesis for its first-line tanks. 

The effectiveness of the Syrian attack helicopters, however, declined 

appreciably after 9 June. On that day, the IAF effectively destroyed 

seventeen of the nineteen SAM (surface-to-air missile) batteries in the 

Bekaa Valley, thus removing any effective Syrian air umbrella over 

eastern Lebanon. This brilliantly executed operation gave the IAF air 

supremacy over Lebanon, thereby dramatically increasing the vulnerability of Syrian Gazelles and Mi-24 Hinds. 

Despite Israeli mastery of the air, however, Syrian attack helicopters 

continued to conduct operations until 25 June, when the final ceasefire officially ended hostilities between Israel and Syria. Until then, 

the Syrians recorded kills employing various tactics that took advantage 

of the mountainous terrain of Lebanon. Using terrain masking and 

pop-up tactics, the Syrians managed to slow down or stop Israeli advances along narrow roads or tracks, in some instances inflicting 

devastating damage to Israeli vehicles. The Israelis admitted to losing 

seven tanks to the Gazelle’s HOT missiles, whereas Israeli forces 

claimed they downed only twelve Gazelles. (No figures were found for 

the Mi-24 Hinds.) 

The Israelis retaliated with their own attack helicopters. Taking a 

page out of a Syrian manual, the IAF began to fly the AH-1S Cobras 

and Hughes 500 MDs on independent search-and-kill missions behind 

enemy lines in a specific interdiction role. This step represented a 

marked departure from what had been exclusively the domain of IAF 

fixed-wing aircraft. 

Now, Israeli helicopter pilots, for surprise and shock, used the 

mountainous terrain to hide their movements. The Hughes 500 MD, a 

relatively light helicopter with four TOW antitank guided missiles, was 

especially suited for such employment because of its high agility and 

low sound levels. Emulating the Syrians, Israeli pilots masked their 

movements, taking advantage of deep gorges, wadis, and mountains 

to strike at unsuspecting Syrian targets. 

Einan eventually had sweet revenge on the Syrians with Israeli 

attack helicopters. At Ain Dara, a village north of Ain Zhalta and 

some three kilometers south of the Damascus-Beirut highway, the 

Syrians put up stiff resistance. Unable to dislodge the Syrian defenders, 

Einan called in several air strikes and tank-killing sorties, the latter 

to strike targets not easily accessible to his own tanks and artillery. 

39 

J 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Here, Israeli helicopters managed to destroy a number of Syrian tanks. 

Eventually, Einan abandoned his frontal attack and bypassed Ain Dara 

for a position that also provided a commanding view of the vital highway linking Beirut with Damascus. 

The conclusion of the war between Israel and Syria brought much 

discussion in both countries on the future role of the attack helicopter. 

In Israel, Major General Israel Tal, known as Mister Armor, came to 

regard the helicopter as a key to outflanking and enveloping the enemy 

on the armor-saturated battlefield of the Middle East. 

Though impressed with the attack helicopter’s overall performance, 

both the Israelis and the Syrians experienced problems in its employment. Perhaps the greatest problem was that of friendly fire. The 

Israelis suffered relatively high casualties to their ground troops from 

attacks by their own helicopters; the Syrians, although silent an this 

matter, no doubt experienced the same problem. Israeh pilots had some 

difficulty identifying vehicles. A better command, control, and communications system, as well as more sophisticated identification methods, would have avoided some mistakes, but not all. 

There were other limitations to helicopter use as well. Attack helicopters were vulnerable to the enemy’s air force and air defense. The 

IDF admitted to the cancellation of a number of missions owing to 

heavy concentrations of SA-7s and other antiaircraft guns, including 

the ZSU-23-4. For their part, the SAF faced a difficult challenge employing attack helicopters once the IAF gained air supremacy over Lebanon 

on 9 June. Weather conditions were also an important variable in assessing the feasibility of an operation. Another limiting factor was the 

night: Israel’s attack helicopters lacked night-fighting capabilities, which 

the IAF only developed after the war. Finally, neither side had enough 

attack helicopters to mass for maximum effect. 

The war in Lebanon emerged as the formative period for the attack 

helicopter in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Both Israel and Syria appreciated 

the mobility, flexibility, and lethality provided by attack helicopters. 

Each side made high kill claims for their helicopters, perhaps in part 

to win support for future development of this new weapon. Thus, current 

statistics on helicopter kills in the war are impossible to verify. 

Regardless of the dilemma of quantifying kills, the attack helicopter 

clearly had a significant impact on the battlefield in the 1982 war. 

After the war, Israel and Syria expanded their inventories, the Syrians 

on a much larger scale than the Israelis. Figures for 1989 listed Israel 

with forty AH-lS/Q Cobras and forty Hughes 500 MDs versus their 

total in 1982 of forty-two helicopters. On the other hand, Syria went 

from sixteen to fifty Gazelles and from twelve to fifty Mi-24s during 

the same period. The Israelis and Syrians had introduced the attack 

r 

40 
Attack Helicopter Operations I 

helicopter into the 1982 Arab-Israeli War. Nine years later, coalition 

forces in Operation Desert Storm integrated attack helicopters into their 

scheme of maneuver. By then, some military leaders regarded attack I 

1 helicopters as a separate maneuver element that had ushered in the 

rotary-wing revolution to warfare. 

Bibliography 

Cordesman, Anthony H., and Abraham R. Wagner. The Lessons of 1 1 

Modern War. Vol. I. The Arab-Israeli Conflicts, 1973-1989. Boulder, 

CO: Westview Press, 1990. 

Dupuy, Trevor Nevitt, and Paul Martell. Flawed Victory: The ArabIsraeli Conflict and the 1982 Wur in Lebanon. Fairfax, VA: Hero 

Books, 1986. 

Gabriel, Richard A. Operation Peace for Galilee: The Israeli-PLO War 

in Lebanon. New York: Hill and Wang, 1984. 

j 

! 

Katz, Samuel M. Israel’s Army. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1990. 

Schiff, Ze’ev, and Ehud Ya’ari. Israel’s Lebanon War. New York: Simon 

and Schuster, 1984. 
6 

Combat Engineering 

Egyptian Engineers in the Crossing Operation of 1973 

Dr. George IV. &wry& 

For Egypt to gain any military or political success against Israel 

in the 1973 Middle East War depended on the Egyptian Armed Forces 

first crossing the Suez Canal, then assaulting the Bar Lev Line, and 

finally establishing secure bridgeheads on the eastern bank. These 

challenges were essentially an engineering problem, and therefore, the 

achievement of the operation is, in many respects, a saga of the perseverance and ingenuity of the Egyptian Corps of Engineers. 

The 1967 Arab-Israeli War had suddenly changed the strategic 

situation in the Middle East. Israel occupied the entire Sinai Peninsula, 

gaining for the first time a defensible frontier with Egypt along the 

Suez Canal. Despite the decisive defeat of its army, however, the 

Egyptian regime refused to adopt the posture of a defeated nation. 

Consequently, less than a month after the war, hostilities between the 

two countries broke out with an artillery duel ushering in a long war 

of attrition (1967-70). The Suez Canal now emerged as the new battleground of the Arab-Israeli conflict, and Israel eventually found itself 

suffering an unacceptable level of casualties defending the canal. 

Toward the end of 1968, the Israeli General Staff decided to take 

advantage of the natural barrier presented by the Suez Canal and 

created fortified positions all along its 168kilometer length. These eonCrete fortifications would help Israel avoid the high casualties caused 

by the massive Egyptian artillery fire directed against Israeli troops 

on the east bank. In 1969, Israel completed what became known as 

the Bar Lev Line, named after then chief of the General Staff, Lieutenant General Haim Bar Lev. 

Designed as early-warning observation posts along the Suez Canal, 

the Bar Lev Line also served as an elaborate system of fortifications 

to deter the Egyptians from launching a major amphibious operation. 

After the conclusion of the war of attrition in 1970, a new Israeli military leadership closed some fortifications, cutting their total from around 

thirty to approximately twenty. Despite this reduction, the Bar Lev 

Line still presented a formidable barrier (see map 6). Consequently, 

the Egyptian General Staff devoted a great deal of time, effort, and 

43 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

( 1 I 0 

23 

LEGEND 

,*raei, forces 

Eg~puan forces 

Map 6. The Sinai front (initial dispositions), 6 October 1973 

44 
Combat Engineering 

resources in developing a plan for overcoming the line, and the Egyptian Corps of Engineers played a key role. 

The first major obstacle in the Israeli defenses was the Suez Canal. 

Constructed in the desert, the canal is an artificial waterway 180 to 

220 meters wide and 16 to 18 meters deep. To prevent sand erosion, 

the canal’s banks are lined with concrete that rises above the water 

line. At high tide, the water flows a meter below the top of the concrete 

wall; at low tide, the water runs three meters below the top (four meters 

below in the southern part of the canal). 

The Israeli General Staff incorporated the Suez Canal into its 

defensive plan for the Sinai (called Dovecoat). At the water’s edge of 

the canal, the Israelis constructed vertical sand ramparts that rose at 

an angle of 45 to 65 degrees and to a height of twenty to twenty-five 

meters to prevent the Egyptians from landing tanks and heavy equipment without prior engineering preparations on the east bank. Israeli 

military planners expected that the Egyptians would need from twentyfour to forty-eight hours to establish viable bridgeheads. 

Behind the forward line of fortifications, Israeli military planners 

stationed a single armored brigade responsible for three tactical areas. 

Each tactical area contained a tank battalion of forty tanks, whose 

primary mission was to move forward and occupy the vacant spaces 

between the fortifications in case of an Egyptian attack. Behind these 

defensive tactical areas, the Israel Defense Forces positioned two 

armored brigades. One was to reinforce the forward armored brigade 

while the second prepared to counterattack the Egyptian main effort. 

Should the regular armored brigades prove inadequate for defeating 

the attacking Egyptian troops, then the Israeli government would 

mobilize its reserves. This step involved the implementation of another 

plan. 

To help overcome the Israeli defenders in the Sinai, the Egyptian 

General Command in Cairo assigned 6 major tasks to the Corps of 

Engineers: to open some 70 passages through the sand barrier; build 

10 heavy bridges for tanks and other heavy equipment; construct 5 

light bridges, each with a capacity of 4 tons; erect 10 pontoon bridges 

for the infantry; operate 50 or so ferries; and pilot close to 1,000 rubber 

boats for the initial assaults. Of the six tasks, the first was by far the 

most critical. 

In fact, the success of the crossing operation hinged on the Egyptians’ ability to breach the earthen embankments before the Israeli 

Army could react with sufficient force to repel them. The Egyptians 

needed to clear passages seven meters in width. This project alone 

would involve 1,500 cubic meters of sand. Even with the attainment of 

strategic surprise at the outset of the war, the Egyptian’s worst-case 

45 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

scenario expected Israeli tank companies and battalions to counterattack 

within fifteen to thirty minutes-with an armored brigade on the scene 

in two hours. The Egyptians could ill afford to expend twenty-four hours 

creating breaches in the sand barrier for the passage of armor and 

heavy equipment while Israeli reserves raced to the canal. 

Breaching methods involving explosives, artillery, and bulldozers 

were too costly in time or required near-ideal conditions. For example, 

60 men, 600 pounds of explosives, and 1 bulldozer required 5 to 6 hours, 

uninterrupted by enemy fire, to clear 1,500 cubic meters of sand. But 

getting a bulldozer on the east bank while protecting the congested 

landing site from Israeli artillery would be nearly impossible during 

the initial hours of the assault phase. Construction of the much-needed 

bridges would consequently begin much too late. 

The solution to the engineering dilemma proved simple but ingenious: a water pump. The Corps of Engineers under Major General 

Carnal Ali would use high-pressure pumps as water guns to blast open 

passages in the sand. While previous pumps for such a project had 

been too heavy and depended on electric power, by the end of 1971, 

an Egyptian officer suggested a small, light, gasoline-fueled pump as 

the answer to the crossing problem. In response, the Egyptian mihtary 

purchased 300 British-made pumps and found that 5 pumps could blast 

1,500 cubic meters of sand in 3 hours. In 1972, the Corps of Engineers 

acquired 150 more-powerful German pumps. Now a combination of two 

German and three British pumps cut the time down to only two hours. 

The Israelis apparently failed to appreciate the significance of the water 

cannon and expected a much longer completion time for any such effort. 

The Egyptian Corps of Engineers also participated in the deception 

plan to surprise the Israel Defense Forces. The corps, for example, failed 

to complete certain projects to give the appearance of unpreparedness 

for offensive operations. Meanwhile, the engineers worked to ensure 

secrecy in approach areas to the canal and hid troop dispositions. A 

sand rampart was constructed on the western side of the canal to 

conceal final Egyptian troop movements. To prevent the compromise 

of the date and time of the offensive, the Egyptian General Command 

told the troops the night before the attack that they were to conduct 

an exercise the next day to help the Corps of Engineers strengthen 

defensive positions near the Suez Canal. 

When the war broke out at 1405 on 6 October 1973, the Egyptian 

engineers were poised to perform their numerous assignments. The first 

infantry wave began at 1420 and involved approximately 1,000 rubber 

boats and 8,000 men. Special boat battalions provided two engineers 

for each rubber boat. Once across, the two engineers piloted their boats 

46 

___111_-- ________-- ---. 
Cambat Engineering 

back to the west bank, while the infantry scaled the ramparts. At 1430, 

an Egyptian soldier raised his national flag on the east bank. 

After scaling the ramparts, the Egyptian infantry bypassed strongpoints to establish ambush positions for the anticipated Israeli counterattacks. Meanwhile, combat engineers followed the infantry screen and 

began clearing the minefields that the Israelis had placed around and 

between the strongpoints. The immediate goal was to establish bridgeheads to a depth of three to five kilometers. 

The second assault wave focused on tackling the sand barrier. The 

Corps of Engineers had formed some seventy engineer groups specially 

tailored for this task. Each group had to breach a single passage. 

Working from wooden boats, these engineers attached their hoses to 

the water pumps and began attacking the sand obstacle. Many breaches 

occurred within two to three hours-according to schedule. 

In some areas, however, the engineers experienced unexpected 

problems, The Egyptian Third Army, in particular, had difficulty in 

its sector in the south. Here, the clay proved resistant to high-water 

pressure, and the engineers experienced delays in their breaching 

operation. According to one Egyptian source, engineers in the Second 

Army erected their bridges and ferries within nine hours, whereas the 

Third Army’s engineers needed sixteen. 

Breaching the sand barrier created mud one meter deep in some 

areas. Thus, the engineers had to fix floors for the passage of heavy 

vehicles. Among the materials used were wood, rails, stone, sandbags, 

steel plates, and metal nets. 

Two hours after the initial landings on the east bank, ten bridging 

battalions on the west bank descended to the water’s edge to place 

bridge sections into the water. The Egyptians used the BMP heavy 

folding pontoon bridge. This Soviet-made bridge allowed the Egyptians 

to shorten the erection time of bridges by a few hours and to repair 

damaged bridges more rapidly by simple unit replacement. The use of 

the BMP bridge caught the Israelis and many Western armies by 

surprise. 

Within an hour of their descent, bridging engineers began- their 

work, while a dummy bridge battalion constructed light bridges to serve 

as decoys. The dummies effectively diverted Israeli pilots from the real 

bridges, Meanwhile, the other engineers worked frantically to build the 

landing sites for fifty or so ferries 

By 0800 on the second day of the war, the Egyptian Corps of 

Engineers had made a successful crossing operation. Ten heavy bridges, 

two for each of the five infantry divisions involved in the crossing, 

were operational, and some 80,000 troops, 500 tanks, and 11,000 vehicles 

47 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

had crossed the canal-all at a loss of only 170 men. It took some 

15,000 engineers organized into 35 battalions to make the crossing 

possible. 

Each engineer battalion had a specialized mission, such as manning 

the boats or building bridges. Initially, the majority of the engineers 

focused on the actual crossing, working to erect or repair bridges, for 

example. Other engineers, however, supported the assaulting commandos 

and infantrymen who penetrated to a depth of five kilometers east of 

the canal to establish ambushes for counterattacking Israeli armor. 

Combat engineers were essential for the establishment and consolidation of the bridgeheads. Each Egyptian division possessed an engineer battalion, and they cleared antitank and antipersonnel mines, 

relying mainly on either Soviet-made mine probers or mine rollers. 

The success of the crossing operation also depended on the detailed 

planning and timely transportation of five infantry divisions, each 

reinforced with an armored brigade. To get across the canal as fast as 

possible, each piece of equipment, bridge, unit, and headquarters moved 

according to a fixed timetable and specified destination. To facilitate 

efficient movement of these units, the Corps of Engineers constructed 

an elaborate road system-some 2,000 kilometers of roads and tracksto move troops rapidly to the canal with the maximum of protection 

and minimum of congestion. Extensive field exercises and rehearsals 

removed glitches and limited friction. Military police, in cooperation 

with engineers, worked to keep timetables on schedule. 

The Egyptian General Staff needed competent leaders in order to 

follow such timetables. Egypt had suffered defeat in the 1967 war in 

large measure because of poor military leadership. An undisclosed 

number of officers had abandoned their troops in battles. A noted 

Egyptian writer referred to these officers as “chocolate soldiers,” that 

is, ones who melt away in the midst of battle. To solve the leadership 

problem, the Egyptian General Staff devoted much time and effort in 

developing leaders who, by example, gained the confidence and trust 

of their men. Officers were expected to command at the front, similar 

to their Israeli counterparts. 

The Egyptian Corps of Engineers, like the rest of the armed forces, 

needed exemplary commanders at the senior level to lead them in battle. 

When the Third Army experienced delays in breaching the earthen 

embankments, Major General Gamal Ali, the director of the corps, 

personally visited the sector. Brigadier General Ahmad Hamdi, commander of engineers in the Third Army, lost his life on 7 October 

while actually directing bridge construction. He represented the type of 

military leaders Egypt needed, not just in the engineer corps but in 

the entire armed forces. 

48 
Combat Engineering 

With their successful crossing operation and establishment of 

bridgeheads to a depth of twelve to fifteen kilometers in the Sinai, the 

Egyptian Armed Forces rightfully etched a place in the annals of 

modern military history. Analysts of this feat have tended to focus on 

how Egypt achieved strategic deception and surprise, or they have 

concentrated on the Egyptian employment of the SAM (surface-to-air 

missile) systems and antitank weapons to neutralize the Israeli Air 

Force and Armor Corps respectively. 

Despite the significance of the above accomplishments, the Egyptian 

Armed Forces still faced the obstacles of the Suez Canal and the Bar 

Lev Line, and surmounting this challenge was essentially an engineering problem. The Egyptian Corps of Engineers accomplished its mission 

in part because of meticulous planning, elaborate preparations, vigorous 

training, and commendable execution according to a set-piece battle 

plan. The use of water cannons and the BMP bridges meant that the 

Egyptians could establish their bridgeheads before the Israelis could 

organize a large-scale counterattack. 

Egyptian ingenuity and Soviet weapons thus combined to undermine 

Israeli military strategy. The accomplishments by the Egyptian Corps 

of Engineers in particular stand as a lesson of what a Third World 

army can achieve if its political and military leaders devise a war 

strategy that cleverly balances their military’s capabilities with those 

of their adversary. 

Bibliography 

Badri, Hasan, et al. The Ramadan War, 1973. New York: Hippocrene 

Books, 1978. 

Herzog, Chaim. The War of Atonement, October 1973. Boston: Little, 

Brown and Co., 1975. 

Insight Team (Sunday Times, London). &sight on the Middle East War. 

London: A. Deutsch, 1974. 

O’Ballance, Edgar. No Victor, No Vanquished: The Yom Kippur War. 

San Rafael, CA: Presidio Press, 1978. 

Shazly, Saad el. The Crossing of the Suez. San Francisco: American 

Mideast Research, 1980. 

49 
7 

Communications 

Allied Special Operations: Jedburgh Teams, Summer 1944 

Dr. Samuel J. Lewis 

General Dwight D. Eisenhower, commander of the Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF), possessed a unique 

weapon to assist his invasion of the Continent in June 1944-some 

100 three-man special operations teams, code-named Jedburgh. Great 

Britain’s Special Operations Executive (SOE) and the American Office 

of Strategic Services (OSS) formed a combined office in London that 

evolved into the Special Forces Headquarters (SFHQ). It was subordinate to SHAEF’s G3 branch. Brigadier (Sir) Colin McV. Gubbins originated the concept of Jedburgh teams “to raise and arm the civilian 

population [in occupied territory] to carry out guerrilla activities against 

the enemy’s lines of communication,” Jedburghs were uniformed volunteers from France, the United Kingdom, United States, Belgium, and 

Holland who were rigorously screened and trained. SFHQ created the 

Jedburgh teams in early 1944 at SOE’s Milton Hall facility near 

Peterborough, some seventy miles north of London. SHAEF and SFHQ 

also created special forces detachments (each with about twelve officers 

and twenty men) for each army and army group headquarters to coordinate special operations with the field army. 

Communications was vital for coordinating Allied operations behind 

German lines. The SOE constructed networks of agents in occupied 

France whose main link to London was by radio. The Jedburgh teams 

constituted a “strategic reserve” to be sent as needed to known resistance groups to provide training, weapons, and communications. An 

SOE agent would arrange the reception committee for a Jedburgh team. 

The SOE agents, Jedburghs, and the special forces detachments all 

communicated through SFHQ’s two radio stations on the outskirts of 

London (see figure 1). The senior British officers who sanctioned the 

Jedburgh concept insisted that the special forces detachments would 

command and control resistance activity in their army or army group 

sector. Yet those same special forces detachments could not contact 

the Jedburgh teams or resistance groups directly; they could only do 

so indirectly, through SFHQ. 

Some, but not all, Jedburgh teams experienced trouble with their 

51 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

I STATION 

VICTOR 

I 

SPECIAL FORCES JEDBURGH 

DETACHMENT TEAM 

Figure 1. Communications channels for SFHQ 

radio sets-troubles that began during the first training exercises in 

England. Frequently, the radios or their crystals were lost during parachute drops. Also, sometimes faulty packaging caused the radios to 

shatter on impact. Other Jedburgh teams, whose radios did function, 

frequently observed that no one in London seemed to listen to their 

messages. 

Major William Colby, who later served as director of the Central 

Intelligence Agency, summarized these difficulties in describing his 

experiences as leader of Team Bruce. Colby’s team departed Harrington 

Air Base in England on the night of 14 August 1944 in a black B-24 

Liberator named “Slick Chick.” Several hours later, the three parachutists and their numerous packages and containers rained on the 

peaceful town of Montargis, France. Since this location was some 

twenty miles from the planned drop zone and far too close to German 

combat units, the team departed rapidly without its radio and much of 

its equipment. Consequently, Team Bruce was unable to contact London 

until 17 August, when it used another SOE agent”s radio. The team 

remained tied to this agent’s radio until 2& August when SFHQ finally 

provided a replacement set. Colby subsequently observed that SFHQ 

provided so little information to his team on Allied operations and 

plans that he was forced to seek out the U.S. Third Army headquarters 

for guidance. SFHQ’s later botched attempts to dispatch C-47 aircraft 

to Auxerre led Colby to observe, “The handling of this operation by 

52 
Communications 

the London Headquarters was such as to destroy what faith we had 

in it.” 

Jedburgh Team Basil expressed similar discontent with its radio 

messages from London. On 25 August, its radio was destroyed in the 

parachute drop, but SFHQ provided a replacement the following day. 

The team operated in the Doubs area, assisting agent “Ligne” to 

organize and train resistance groups. When its mission concluded, the 

team observed that London invariably had verified receiving its messages “but never [gave] any indication of whether the requests would 

be answered. In actual fact they never were. London instead expressed 

verbose sympathy for casualties which only wasted our time 

deciphering.” 

Team Ephadrine parachuted into the Savoie Department on the 

night of 12 August to coordinate the operations of the French and 

Italian resistance forces. The team leader, Lieutenant Lawrence E. 

Swank, died as a result of a shooting accident. The second in command, 

Lieutenant Louis Donnart, did not criticize the radio set or procedures 

but did observe: “We were never kept in the picture of the intentions 

of the High Command after D-Day. In consequence, we could not always 

direct our activities in the right direction at the proper times.” He also 

suggested that the Jedburgh teams would have been more effective if 

they could have communicated with each other. 

Perhaps the most frustrating Jedburgh operation was that of Team 

Graham, led by Major (later General) M. G. M. (“Bing”) Crosby. It did 

not parachute but, rather, landed in the Basses-Alpes in a C-47 early 

on 13 August. The team was promised a radio operator. One never 

arrived, however, which meant that the team had no communications 

whatsoever with SFHQ. Team Graham had only several days to train 

its resistance group, which soon expanded to about 250 armed men. 

As fate would have it, Team Graham was in the direct path of Task 

Force Butler, a mechanized force designed to advance north from the 

beaches of southern France. Crosby sought out the lead American unit 

and met General Butler on 19 August at Sisteron. Butler’s mobile force 

was particularly weak in infantry, so one would expect the Americans 

to appreciate the assistance of local volunteers familiar with the terrain. 

The Americans, however, basically ignored the French Resistance and 

its reports on the terrain and location of the enemy. Team Graham 

returned from its mission on 25 September 1944. 

The experiences of the eleven teams parachuted into northern 

France reflect both the strengths and weaknesses of SFHQ’s communications. Team Jacob used a neighboring Special Air Service (SAS) 

party’s radio from 15 August to 18 September, before the team was 

wiped out in the Vosges Mountains. Apparently, the team’s radio broke 

53 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

on landing, as did the replacement radio sent by SFHQ. On the other 

hand, Team Aubrey experienced no communications problems during 

the nineteen days it operated north of Paris (even though its radio 

operator, Sergeant Ivor Hooker, came down with the mumps), The team 

provided SFHQ with valuable reports on German airfields and troop 

movements in the area. Team Augustus also experienced no communications difficulties during its operations from 15 to 30 August in the 

Aisne Department. On 30 August, the team received a message from 

SFHQ to move north and capture several bridges over the Somme River. 

Until 30 August, when the German Army caught and killed the three 

Jedburghs, the team provided London with valuable reports on German 

troop movements. 

Team Andrew worked with the CITRONELLE inter-Allied mission 

in the Ardennes Forest from 15 August to 8 September, when they 

linked up with advancing American ground forces. In the drop, it lost 

its radio crystals along with other equipment and hence depended on 

the CITRONELLE radio throughout the operation. Following a firefight 

with the Germans, the group remained in hiding, low on ammunition, 

until the Allied ground forces approached. In similar fashion, Teams 

Benjamin and Bernard remained together because one of their radios 

was destroyed during the drop. Although able to contact SFHQ, effective 

German security drove them into hiding in the Argonne Forest until 

the U.S. Third Army arrived. 

Team Alfred parachuted into the Oise sector on 24 August 1944, a 

mere eight days before American ground forces overran the area. Its 

radio worked perfectly, but the team received none of the arms deliveries 

it requested. In addition, like Team Augustus, on 30 August, it received 

instructions from SFHQ to seize and hold several bridges over the 

Somme. This request was as unrealistic for Team Augustus as it was 

for Team Alfred. Team Arnold’s radio also worked quite well, but to 

little avail. Team Arnold landed near Epernay at about 0300 on 25 

August, but the U.S. 7th Armored Division arrived on the morning of 

28 August. 

Team Archibald parachuted into the Nancy area at 0110 on 26 

August. The team’s radio also broke on landing, but its SOE agent 

reported its arrival and requested another. The team had few complaints 

regarding communications. Team Stanley, which entered the HauteMarne Department on 31 August, was pleased with its radio but observed that SFHQ ignored its messages. The team suggested that, in 

the future, teams should have the ability to call for air support. Team 

Philip parachuted into the Meurthe-et-Moselle Department early on 1 

September. It managed to communicate with London, although its radio 

operator became separated from the team. The team was never able to 

54 
Communications 

contact the resistance organizer sent to meet it and ended its mission 

in Verdun attempting to obtain weapons from SFHQ to arm French 

volunteers. SFHQ provided them no weapons. 

The final Jedburghs dispatched in 1944 were the six Dutch-speaking 

teams supporting Operation Market-Garden. Team Dudley parachuted 

near Overijssel, a mere ten miles from the German border, at 0045 on 

12 September. Its radio worked properly, but zealous German security 

forces impelled the team to move fifteen times between then and 24 

November. On that date, SFHQ directed all personnel in Holland to 

break off contact with the resistance and cease broadcasting. The 

American Jedburgh managed to exfiltrate, while the two Dutch members 

of the team remained behind. Team Edward landed in a glider at 1410 

on 17 September near Groesbeek with the British Airborne Corps headquarters to which it was attached. Team Edward had one of the few 

corps radios that worked, and the corps commander used the Jedburgh’s 

radio to ask SFHQ about the situation in Arnhem. Team Edward later 

used the Dutch Resistance’s telephone lines to contact the British 1st 

Parachute Division in Arnhem. Its mission completed, the team returned 

to England on 28 September to be debriefed. Team Daniel II worked 

with the U.S. 1Olst Airborne Division, with whom it dropped on 17 

September near Zon, Holland. Both the team’s radios were lost during 

the drop, so it was unable to contact SFHQ throughout its mission. 

After helping the division a good deal, the team returned to England 

on 27 September. Team Claude accompanied the ill-fated British 1st 

Parachute Division into the Arnhem airhead on 17 September. The team 

lost its radio set during the drop and hence had no communications 

with SFHQ. It fought as infantry at the Arnhem bridge. One Jedburgh 

managed to exfiltrate back to the Allied lines. Team Clarence accompanied the U.S. 82d Airborne Division to Groesbeek, Holland. The team 

lost its radio in the drop but managed to pass information to Team 

Edward via Dutch telephones. The team performed liaison work with 

the Dutch Resistance until late September when it returned to London. 

From 3 October to the end of the year, Team Stanley II trained and 

organized Dutch volunteers into conventional infantry companies in 

the Nijmegen area. It did not operate behind enemy lines and had no 

communications problems. 

These last six Jedburgh operations in Holland differed from those 

in France. The Allies could not trust the Dutch Resistance, which had 

been infiltrated by the Germans earlier in the war. For the most part, 

these Jedburgh teams functioned as miniature special forces detaehments, deploying with their respective divisions and the one corps 

headquarters. But here, too, the teams were hostages to unreliable radio 

insertions. The teams that attempted to parachute in with their radios 

usually lost them during the drop. 

55 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

While the Jedburgh teams discussed thus far were largely unsuccessful, several other Jedburgh teams achieved remarkable results, One 

of the most successful operations was that of the first Jedburgh team 

deployed, Team Hugh, led by Captain (Sir) William Crawshay. It 

dropped at 0140 on 6 June south of the Loire River in the Indre 

Department, where it worked with the French Resistance for the next 

three and one-half months. They assisted SAS Team Bullbasket until 

the Germans grew weary of the latter and hunted it down. Throughout 

Team Hugh’s stay, it arranged for parachute drops of weapons and 

equipment while it trained and organized resistance groups. As the 

team’s ambushes became more effective, the Germans ceased traveling 

in small groups and sought security in large columns. Team Bruce 

responded by reporting the location of such columns to SFHQ far air 

strikes. In early August, SFHQ instructed Crawshay (through a series 

of British Broadcasting Corporation blind transmissions) to escalate 

sabotage missions. At the same time, the local French Resistance 

became worried that the Germans would destroy the valuable Eguzon 

power station before retreating. As a result, Team Bruce requested a 

large special operations force from SFHQ to save the facility. London 

responded by dispatching OSS Operational Group “Patrick.‘” Although 

the Germans withdrew without destroying the plant, this was one of 

the few instances that SFHQ complied with such a request from a 

Jedburgh team. Crawshay desired to bring maximum force to bear on 

the German LXIV Corps, which was attempting to march from the 

Bay of Biscay back to Germany. Consequently, SFHQ arranged to fly 

Crawshay to London in a C-47 (known as a “Dakota operation”), where 

he requested larger and more responsive air strikes and the advance 

of US. Army ground units across the Loire. 

While SHAEF provided neither to Crawshay, apparently, SFHQ 

treated Team Bruce differently from many other Jedburgh teams. Why 

did Team Bruce prove so effective vis-a-vis several of the more troubled 

teams? Obviously, the team used its radios more effectively and 

efficiently than many other teams. Also, since Team Bruce was the 

first team deployed and had the longest unbroken link with SFHQ, it 

perhaps received more attention and care from SFHQ. A problem with 

the radio nets in general, however, was that they were overworked. In 

his study on the six Jedburgh teams deployed to the Finis&e Department, Elliot Rosner demonstrates that while SFHQ received 1,300 

messages from the field in June, that number increased to 2,180 in 

July and 7,912 in August. SFHQ was simply overwhelmed by the proliferation of resistance groups and special operations teams across 

France. Timing, then, undoubtedly influenced SFHQ’s ability to communicate effectively with Jedburgh teams and resistance groups in the 

field. 

56 
Communications 

Communications remains inseparably linked to organization and 

command and control. Jedburgh communications difficulties were obviously part of a much larger problem. The generals who approved the 

Jedburgh concept did so with the understanding that the special forces 

detachments at army and army group headquarters would command 

and control the Jedburgh teams. The special forces detachments may 

have been successful in performing a number of functions, but they 

failed to command and control the special operations forces behind 

enemy lines. Special forces detachments, in fact, could only communicate with Jedburgh teams through SFHQ. The command and control 

that did exist, therefore, devolved to SFHQ. Not surprisingly, most of 

the communications problems appeared in August, when SFHQ deployed 

Colby’s team and so many others to the field without a properly organized scheme for command and control. The later Jedburgh operations 

in support of Market-Garden clearly demonstrate, however, that even 

the correct organization for command, control, and communications is 

of limited value when radios are lost or broken during insertion. 

The effectiveness of special operations teams obviously depends on 

a myriad of factors too numerous and complex to be addressed here. 

The operations of these selected Jedburgh teams in France and Holland 

do, however, demonstrate the critical importance of effective communications in such missions. The first step in acquiring such communications remains obtaining effective and reliable radios, the lack of which 

bedeviled so many of the Jedburgh teams. Communications itself, 

however, remains inseparably tied to organization, command and control, and the purpose of those missions. Special operations teams with 

effective radios cannot reach maximum efficiency if the message centers 

cannot receive and evaluate their message traffic. And, finally, the 

headquarters that commands and controls special operations teams must 

have the ability to communicate with those teams rapidly. 

Bibliography 

Bank, Aaron. From OSS to Green Berets: The Birth of Special Forces. 

Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1986. 

Dreux, William B. No Bridges Blown. Notre Dame, IN: University of 

Notre Dame Press, 1971. 

Foot, M. R. D. SOE in France: An Account of the Work of the British 

Special Operations Executive in France, 1940-1944. History of the 

Second World War. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1966. 

57 
8 

Deception 

Deceiving the Enemy in Operation Desert Storm 

Dr. Thomas &I. Nuber 

From 24 to 28 February 1991, coalition forces in Operation Desert 

Storm drove the Iraqi Army out of Kuwait, making this operation one 

of the most successful campaigns waged in modern times. One of the 

reasons for this triumph was General H. Norman Schwarzkopf’s skillful 

use of deception. 

The Chinese classical writer Sun Tzu maintains that all warfare 

is based on deception. Schwarzkopf’s Central Command (CENTCOM) 

headquarters was mindful of this premise in waging the U.S.-Iraqi 

struggle. First of all, Schwarzkopf’s planners made use of several things 

they knew about the enemy. One of these was that Saddam Hussein, 

the Iraqi president and commander in chief, had few reconnaissance 

resources besides his air force, and even his air reconnaissance assets 

were weak. U.S. CENTCOM planners also knew that Saddam’s army 

was accustomed to fighting set-piece battles employing massed headon assaults against Iranian forces and so might be disposed to expect 

and prepare for such fighting in the future. Thus, CENTCOM strategists 

encouraged Saddam to expect a frontal attack by the coalition forces 

where he was strongest, along the Kuwaiti-Saudi Arabian border. The 

coalition accomplished this by arraying all its forces in a heavy double 

line along that front during Operation Desert Shield. Massed assaults, 

breaching methods, and the like were also emphasized in CENTCOM 

briefings to the press (for Iraqi consumption). 

The surprise element in the U.S. attack derived in part from the 

Iraqis’ failure to recognize the maneuver capabilities of the coalition 

forces across the open desert. To attack from the west meant attacking 

across the desert, and few Iraqi staff officers believed U.S. forces could 

operate freely across that featureless terrain. Schwarzkopf s planners 

also took advantage of the limited observation capabilities of the Iraqis 

by applying the coalition’s superior air power, beginning on 17 January 

1991. Coalition air forces systematically destroyed the capabilities of 

the Iraqi Air Force, thus making it almost impossible for the Iraqis to 

observe the disposition of U.S. and coalition forces. Only after the Iraqi 

Air Force was neutralized did the repositioning of coalition assets begin. 

59 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

On 17 January, several hours after the air campaign had commenced, Schwarzkopf inaugurated a colossal movement of forces northwestward, away from the Kuwaiti border and along the Iraqi border. 

In short, the whole second line of massed troops along the Kuwaiti 

border, including the U.S. XVIII Airborne Corps and VII Corps, moved 

200 miles to the northwest. This movement began with the redeployment 

of the XVIII Airborne Corps in late January. Schwarzkopf shifted the 

XVIII Airborne Corps from the far right to the far left of the coalition 

line, an average distance of 360 miles, A force of light and heavy 

elements, the corps moved by air and on the ground to fill the new 

west end of the coalition line. To elude Iraqi intelligence, the corps 

was held south of Tapline Road. This limited the XVIII Airborne Corps’ 

tactical intelligence capability, which extended out only about thirty 

kilometers, until cross-border operations were authorized in midFebruary. Planners also feared that Bedouins in the area might report 

troop movements. To minimize this possibility, Saudi Arabian light units 

had been sent in beforehand to clear the area of as many Bedouins as 

possible. 

The VII Corps moved deftly from the left of its old position to its 

new one, an average distance of 140 miles. It began moving at about 

the same time as the XVIII Airborne Corps, placing its 1st Cavalry 

Division (transferred from XVIII Corps to VII Corps), the 1st Infantry 

Division, and the British 1st Armored Division conspicuously on line. 

The VII Corps deliberately left a gap on its left between itself and the 

XVIII Airborne Corps to encourage the Iraqis to believe that the coalition line ended with the VII Corps’ position. The VII Corps” other 

armored elements, the 1st and 3d Armored Divisions and the 2d 

Armored Cavalry Regiment, were moved into line only later in the 

deployment, reaching the line on 17 February, where their presence 

intentionally surprised the Iraqis. 

The VII Corps also achieved surprise through leaving behind an 

entire decoy military base south of the Wadi al-Batin, with mock missiles, fuel dumps, radio traffic, trucks, and tanks, while at the same 

time making abundant use of multispectral close combat decoys, This 

deception made it harder for the Iraqis to realize that all of VII Corps’ 

forces were being evacuated to the west. U.S. planners also fielded 

special teams along the Kuwaiti border to set up mock headquarters 

in the rear of would-be assault axes. These headquarters aired a high 

volume of encrypted radio messages so that Iraqi listeners would have 

the impression that major forces were operating in the area. In fact, 

the headquarters consisted of only a few troops using portable equipment at otherwise deserted sites. 

60 
Deception 

Between 17 January and 17 February, CENTCOM had secretly 

moved most of two full combat corps, totaling 100,000 men and 1,200 

tanks, an average distance of 200 miles to the west of the original 

line. The logistical aspect of all this was especially significant and 

difficult, since Schwarzkopf prudently insisted on positioning enough 

food, water, fuel, parts, and ammunition to meet the needs of this force 

for sixty days. Three enormous depots were created along the new 

northwestern part of the line for this purpose, which required a torrent 

of traffic along two-lane Tapline Road, a truck passing along it every 

fifteen seconds. Hundreds of thousands of tons were moved along the 

road in a flow that moved 24 hours a day for 2 weeks and employed 

some 65,000 armored and support vehicles. Traffic of this density would 

have been extremely vulnerable to enemy air power-had there been 

any. 

Meanwhile, coalition air bombardments continued to be directed at 

targets in Kuwait-not targets to the west-to suggest that Kuwait 

would be the object of the main ground attack. Air targets were shifted 

west only just prior to the 24 February assaults. Skirmishing along 

the Kuwaiti border was also maintained to draw the Iraqi planners’ 

attention. Similarly, just west of the Kuwaiti border in the VII Corps’ 

sector, the 1st Cavalry Division and the 1st Infantry Division conducted 

counterreconnaissance raids after 9 February. 

Further deception was achieved during the last few days before 

the coalition attacked. The U.S. 1st Marine Division, previously deployed 

opposite the al-Wafra oil fields near the coast of the Persian Gulf, 

rapidly moved westward to the bend in the Kuwaiti border. The 2d 

Marine Division, which had been stationed east of the lst, also broke 

camp and established new positions farther west. The purpose of these 

moves was to allow the Marines to assault into a sector of the Iraqi 

fortifications where they were not expected. 

An additional dimension of deception activity, besides masking the 

stealthy relocation of the XVIII Airborne Corps and parts of the VII 

Corps and the westward movement of the 1st and 2d Marine Divisions, 

was the coalition’s demonstration of amphibious assault capabilities. 

As part of this ruse, an impressive amphibious assault task force was 

stationed conspicuously off the coast of Kuwait. This fleet was comprised of forty amphibious landing craft, the largest such force to be 

assembled since Inchon. The force contained the most up-to-date, 

equipment-laden amphibious ships, as well as aircraft carriers to provide 

preparatory air bombardments, close combat support, and helicopter 

airlift. Battleships provided offshore artillery support. For movement 

61 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

to the beach, these forces were equipped with new LVTP-7s (landing 

vehicle, track, personnel), LCAC (landing craft air cushion) hovercraft, 

and CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters, among other things. In short, 

this was a powerful and credible force stationed threateningly close to 

the Iraqi defenses along the coast. 

U.S. CENTCOM regularly made references to the press concerning 

the training, capabilities, and presence of the amphibious force in the 

Persian Gulf and, later, off the coast of Kuwait. On 1 February, 

Newsweek magazine carried a feature article on the planned amphibious 

invasion. To keep the idea of a beach assault in the news, large-scale 

amphibious rehearsals were conducted, including, notably, the one held 

during the last 10 days of January in which 8,000 U.S. Marines landed 

on the coast of Oman. 

Moreover, in this period before the main campaign began, Navy 

SEALS (sea-air-land teams) carried out numerous missions along the 

Kuwaiti coast to gather information on the beach gradients and firmness of the sand, the nature and location of minefields, and the disposition of enemy forces. Carrier air and naval artillery missions were 

also executed throughout the period to support suspicions of a major 

coalition amphibious assault. 

Coalition forces also conducted other deception measures once the 

main ground operations began on 24 February (see map 7). As part of 

this deception, the 1st and 2d Marine Divisions, at 0400, attacked the 

Iraqis at the east end of the eastern sectors where coalition planners 

wanted the Iraqis to think all the assaults would take place. The Marine 

divisions moved forward violently before the northwestern parts of the 

line became active. The Marines attacked through the first defense line 

of minefields, barbed wire, and fire-trench barriers, then struck on into 

the second line of defenses, successfully breaching these also. Both divisions then streamed through the opening into the Iraqi rear in Kuwait. 

The object of these assaults was not only to break through and destroy 

the Iraqi positions, which they did, but also to fix Iraqi forces and to 

confirm, for a time, the Iraqis’ assumption that all of the coalition 

attacks would occur on the Kuwaiti front. These assaults were apparently successful in all these objectives. 

All the coalition forces vigorously demonstrated against the Iraqi 

positions in this sector. Notably, the U.S. 1st CavaIry Division launched 

a mock attack against the Iraqi line just west of Wadi al-Batin, the 

broad valley that marks the western boundary of Kuwait. The intention, 

62 
Salm 

French 

Lt Arm 

Armd 

LEGEND 

Qiv 

eza Iracfi forces 

Tiger g 

Scale 

Coalltlon forces 

Bde. 

^. . 

0 25 50 75 

^_ ^__. _--. 

Map 7. Operation Desert Storm, 24-25 I-etwuary 1~91 
3 Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

again, was to confirm for the Iraqis that the main axis of attack would 

be at the west end of the Kuwaiti border, not farther west in the desert. 

This attack also sealed Iraqi forces in the Kuwaiti elbow so they could 

not attack the XVIII Airborne Corps and VII Corps’ three logistics 

depots after the assault began. At the easternmost extremity of the 

line, the 5th Marine Expeditionary Brigade came ashore at Saudi ports 

to serve as a reserve behind the Saudi forces attacking the Iraqi lines 

adjacent to the coast. 

To the northwest, airmobile forces of the XVIII Airborne Corps air 

assaulted deep into Iraq, establishing forward staging areas. The French 

6th Light Armored Division secured the Salmon airstrip. On the following day, the 1Olst Airborne Division blocked Highway 8. According 

to the original plan, the VII Corps was supposed to delay its advance 

for a day while the Iraqi forces were drawn into battle in the vicinity 

of Kuwait. Coalition forces, however, were so successful that the delay 

was unnecessary and Schwarzkopf ordered the VII Corps to advance 

earlier than planned, on the afternoon of 24 February. When Iraqi 

strategists finally realized that the major assault sector was in the 

northwest, they could do little in defense. 

So that Iraqi commanders would continue to anticipate an amphibious attack, U.S. amphibious support vessels along the coast remained 

positioned as if threatening to attack, and the battleships Missouri and 

Wisconsin and carrier-based aircraft continued bombardments. The 

object was to fix the six Iraqi infantry divisions deployed along the 

shoreline, and this was achieved. Iraqi strategists made no early effort 

to withdraw their forces from the coastal defense works, with the consequence that those forces were rapidly pinned against the coast by 

the 1st and 2d Marine Divisions, which had broken through the lines 

in the south. 

All in all, the deception measures implemented by the U.S. forces 

were extremely successful. Iraqi forces initially developed fortifications 

along the 150-mile southern border of Kuwait and along the IO@milelong coastline. Between August 1990 and February 1991, the Iraqis only 

extended their lines another fifty miles farther westward along the 

Iraqi-Saudi border. Many Iraqi heavy guns in Kuwait City were later 

found to be mounted pointing out to sea and incapable of being easily 

moved to face an inland enemy, like the guns at Singapore during 

World War II, 

After the ground campaign began at 0400 on 24 February, Iraqi 

forces remained in their positions, crammed into a 200-mile-long wedge 

I 

64 

/ 
Deception 

along the southern border and eastward shoreline of Kuwait. The 

thousands of men and guns arrayed along the Kuwaiti coast were 

wasted once the campaign began. At the same time, the XVIII Airborne 

Corps and VII Corps, attacking across a 200-mile front on the IraqiSaudi border, were almost unopposed. In short, hundreds of thousands 

of Iraqi troops were enveloped in the trap sprung by the VII Corps. 

All of this was possible because of the efficiency of CENTCOM’s deception plan. Today’s AirLand Battle doctrine mandates relianee on 

force multipliers such as technology, mobility, and deception. The experiences of Desert Storm exemplify that deception is crucially effective 

as a force multiplier. 

Large-scale deception was especially difficult in Desert Storm 

because of the omnipresence of the electronic media and its reporting 

capability. On the other hand, the media often emphasized U.S. capabilities and provided their estimate of U.S. intentions. Since troop 

movements can be reported instantaneously, the achievement of deception poses unprecedented challenges for modern commanders. Schwarzkopf overcame this challenge by feeding information to the news-hungry 

journalists about activity along the east end of the Kuwaiti border, 

not the west end, and about a possible amphibious assault. The early 

engagement of Iraqi forces and US. Marines at the eastern village of 

Kafji also may have accidentally served Schwarzkopfs purpose of focusing media attention on the east. Schwarzkopf did not give false 

information; he mereIy gave a misleading emphasis to true information. 

Deception during Desert Storm also was achieved at the presidential 

level by President George Bush, who consistently gave the impression 

to the Iraqis that political realities obliged him to send U.S. forces 

into Kuwait rather than across Iraq”s borders-despite the obvious 

military advantages of avoiding a direct attack into Kuwait. Using 

deception, Bush shrewdly exploited the political environment to make 

the militarily implausible appear plausible. 

Although the coalition forces used deception in innovative ways, 

some forms of deception were not utilized. The coalition found it difficult 

to deceive the Iraqis as to the order of battle or the time of the attack. 

This was because the order of battle was accessible to the Iraqis 

through the press, and the timing of the attack was known almost 

exactly because it followed so closely on the United Nations-mandated 

deadline for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait. The Iraqis were misled 

mainly about the location of the attacks. But in most cases, it is 

advantageous for an enemy to be mistaken also about the composition 

of fighting forces and the time and place of their attack. 

65 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Also, security for the deception plan was not perfect. A lap-top 

computer containing details of the plan was stolen from the car trunk 

of an assistant to the British joint commander for the Persian Gulf. 

The computer disappeared while the car was parked at Acton in west 

London and was returned anonymously to the Ministry of Defense three 

weeks later. There is no evidence that the pIan reached the Iraqis, but 

it is clear that the security surrounding the plan was imperfect. 

Despite these shortcomings, however, Operation Desert Storm was 

uniquely successful, in large part because its skillful deception plan 

allowed the CENTCOM commander to strike the enemy where he 

was unprepared and bring overwheIming force to bear on the decisive 

point of the battlefield. 

Bibliography 

“Deceptions Gave Allies Fast Victory.” Washington Post (28 February 

1991). 

“The lOO-Hour War,” Army Times (I1 March 1991). 

“To the Shores of Kuwait.” Newsweek (11 February 1991). 

“Schwarzkopf: Strategy Behind Desert Storm.” Washington Post (28 

February 1991). 

“Stolen Computer Contained Gulf Deception Plan,” The Times (13 

March 1991). 

66 
9 

Decisiveness 

The German Thrust to the English Channel, May 1940 

Dr. Gary J. Bjorge 

Decisiveness is the quality of character that keeps a commander 

focused on achieving his mission. A decisive commander has the determination and strength of will to push his forces to make a greater 

effort. On the offense, he seeks to maintain forward momentum built 

by earlier successes; when on the defense, he strives to regain the initiative. Essentially, the decisive commander exploits opportunities to 

inflict the greatest possible damage on the enemy and gain the greatest 

possible advantage for his side. 

Many examples can be cited to illustrate the importance of decisiveness in planning and in fighting on the battlefield. Few campaigns do 

this better than the German invasion of France and the Low Countries 

in May 1940. In this campaign, decisive commanders shaped the planning process and, by pressing the fight, made a great contribution to 

victory, Interestingly, this campaign also shows how vacillation and 

indecision can hamper operations and diminish the fruits of victory. 

In late September 1939, following the joint German-Soviet conquest 

of Poland, Hitler turned his attention westward toward France and 

Great Britain, the two nations that had declared war on Germany following its invasion of Poland. On 27 September, in a move that surprised his military commanders, Hitler announced his desire to launch 

an autumn offensive against France through the Low Countries. On 9 

October, he issued a directive ordering the German Army’s General 

Staff to develop a campaign plan. 

The General Staff responded on 19 October with Fall GeZb (Plan 

Yellow), which envisioned a large offensive through the Netherlands 

and central Belgium to the sea. The main effort was to be launched 

on the northern wing by Army Group B, a massive 43-division force 

that included most of the armored and mechanized divisions in the 

army. In the center, opposite Luxembourg, the twenty-two ,divisions of 

Army Group A were to move forward and cover the southern flank of 

Army Group B as it advanced. On the southern wing, opposite the 

Maginot Line, Army Group C’s eighteen infantry divisions were to 

defend the Siegfried Line. The objective of the campaign was to provide 

67 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

a broad protective zone for the Ruhr industrial area while establishing 

favorable conditions for air and sea operations against Great Britain 

and land operations against France. 

Pall Gelb bore similarities to the famous Schlieffen Plan of 1914, 

but it was much less ambitious. The Schlieffen Plan had envisioned 

the German Army moving in a great arc through Belgium and northern 

France to take Paris and finally crush the entire French Army against 

the Swiss frontier. FaZZ Gelb sought only a partial victory. Senior 

German Army commanders had no hope of achieving strategic surprise 

and assumed that the strong defenses and natural obstacles in the 

area to be crossed and the relatively even force ratios between the two 

sides made it impossible to defeat the Allies decisively in a single campaign After this initial campaign, another would have to follow. 

When Army Group A’s chief of staff, General Erich von Manstein, 

first read FatZ Gelb, he was appalled. He feared that such an offensive 

would inevitably lead to a stalemate. He doubted that Army Group B 

could maintain a rapid pace of advance because it would be attacking 

large forces manning strong defensive positions. Furthermore, he felt 

that Army Group A lacked the strength to prevent the Allies from 

establishing a defensive front from the end of the Maginot Line to the 

lower Somme River. Also, Manstein was not convinced that the 23 

August 1939 Nazi-Soviet Pact had completely eliminated the Soviet 

threat to Germany. He was against a plan that risked the German 

Army’s offensive capability for hope of only a limited victory. 

Manstein thought it better to shift the main effort from Army Group 

B to Army Group A and send a massive armored force westward 

through the Ardennes region to cut off and destroy all Allied forces 

expected to be in Belgium. Manstein believed that such a siehelsehnitt 

(cut of the sickle} maneuver could achieve strategic surprise, favorably 

shift the balance of forces in the west, and make it impossible for the 

French to organize a strong defense for the rest of their country. This 

potentially decisive operation justified the risks involved. 

Army Group A’s commander, General Gerd von Rundstedt, agreed 

with Manstein and, on 31 October, forwarded a proposal of Manstein’s 

concept to the General Staff. Despite Manstein and Rundstedt’s continued agitation for the proposal, the General Staff remained unresponsive. In late January 1940, the Army High Command (to free itself of 

Manstein’s challenges of the General Staff plan} appointed him commander of a newly forming infantry corps. It looked unlikely that 

Manstein’s plan would be accepted. But on 17 February, Manstein and 

other new corps commanders were called to Berlin to meet with Hitler. 

After lunch, Hitler invited Manstein into his study and asked him what 

he thought about the upcoming offensive on the Western Front. 

68 
Decisiveness 

Manstein forcefully expressed his ideas, and Hitler agreed with his 

analysis. Three days later, an operation order embodying Manstein’s 

ideas was issued. His persistence had at last been rewarded. 

Manstein gave the German Army a plan that might Iead to a decisive victory in the west; General Heinz Guderian turned that possibility into a battlefield reality. After Hitler decided to shift the main effort 

of the offensive to Army Group A, its size was increased to some 

forty-five divisions assigned to three armies. On the right wing was 

the Fourth Army under General Gunther von Kluge, in the center was 

the Twelfth Army under General Wilhelm List, and on the left wing 

was the Sixteenth Army under General Ernst Busch. The bulk of 

German armor was attached to the Twelfth Army under the control of 

a newly created panzer group commanded by General Ewald von Kleist. 

Of the three panzer corps in Kleist’s panzer group, one was Guderian’s 

XIX Panzer Corps, with three armored divisions, the 1st 2d, and 10th. 

Guderian’s mission in the offensive was to lead the advance through 

the Ardennes to Sedan and force a crossing of the Meuse River. Because 

of Guderian’s decisive leadership, his corps accomplished this and much 

more. 

In the 192Os, Guderian had become interested in tanks and, by the 

end of the decade, was one of the German Army’s foremost tank 

experts. He believed that massed armor, properly supported by the other 

arms, would play the decisive role on future battlefields. By 1935, he 

was convinced that this role should include deep penetrations into the 

enemy rear to disrupt lines of communication and command and control 

networks. Guderian, however, had difficulty creating the armored force 

necessary to execute this vision of warfare because there were many 

high-ranking skeptics within the army, resources were scarce, and the 

Versailles Treaty had placed limitations on German rearmament. Hitler, 

however, changed the situation. He was fascinated by tanks and 

supported the growth of German armored forces. During the war against 

Poland, armored forces were not concentrated for mass, deep attacks. 

Nonetheless, they fought effectively and proved their value. Now, in 

May 1940, these forces were massed in the greatest concentration of 

tanks yet seen. The attack through the Ardennes to the sea was to 

give Guderian the opportunity to put his theories of mobile warfare 

into practice. 

The German offensive began early on the morning of 10 May (see 

map 8). At 0530, Guderian crossed the Luxembourg frontier with elements of the 1st Panzer Division. He was extremely confident in the 

ability of his officers and men and had no doubt that his corps could 

push all the way to the English Channel. He had complete faith in 

his three division commanders, all of whom shared his belief that once 

69 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Map 8. Germany’s offensive against France, May 1940 

armored formations had broken into the clear in the enemy’s rear, they 

should continue to advance as far as possible. He hoped that his 

superiors would give him the freedom to do just that. 

Guderian’s first challenge from his superiors came on the first night 

of the offensive, when the panzer group headquarters, in response to a 

report that French cavalry was moving up from the south, ordered the 

10th Panzer Division to change its direction to meet the threat. Since 

Guderian wished to maximize the forces available to him at Sedan, he 

immediately asked that the orders be canceled. The panzer group 

headquarters finally did so, and the 10th Panzer Division resumed its 

westward movement. No French cavalry appeared. 

By the evening of 12 May, elements of the 1st and 10th Panzer 

Divisions had captured Sedan, and preparations were under way to 

attack across the Meuse River. This attack was successfully carried 

70 
Decisiveness 

out on 13 May, and by the next afternoon, German forces were fighting 

some ten miles west of Sedan. On 15 May, Guderian kept his forces 

fighting in an effort to break completely through the French defenses, 

but that night, he received orders to halt. Guderian was furious. Halting 

the advance might give the enemy time to regroup and would diminish 

the advantage his forces had gained through surprise. To cancel this 

order, Guderian contacted the panzer group’s chief of staff and then 

talked to Kleist himself. During their heated discussion, Guderian told 

Kleist that his action could result in a repeat of the 1914 “Miracle of 

the Marne,” where the French had hastily organized a defense and 

ended Germany’s chances for a quick victory. Finally, Kleist relented 

and granted Guderian permission to resume his advance for another 

twenty-four hours in order to clear space for the advancing infantry 

corps that would be holding the bridgehead. 

The fighting to cross the Meuse and expand the bridgehead had 

been heavy and had taken its toll on German forces. When Guderian 

visited his forward units on the morning of 16 May, fatigue showed 

on the faces of his officers and men. This concerned Guderian, because 

he had learned on the previous day from a captured French document 

that the French were becoming desperate in their effort to stop his 

advance. Now was the time to keep the pressure on. To encourage his 

men, Guderian assembled his companies and told them what was on 

his mind. He read them the captured message; explained its significance; 

expressed his appreciation for what they had accomplished to date; 

and told them that if they continued to push forward, they would soon 

be in the clear. This action had the desired effect, for his men advanced 

with renewed vigor. With French resistance slackening, the lead units 

advanced over forty miles before nightfall. 

Guderian thought such rapid advances should be armor’s role in 

war, but his actions were too daring for some of his superiors, especially 

Hitler. Guderian felt he should exploit emerging French battlefield 

weaknesses. Hitler, however, was becoming increasingly fearful of a 

French attack from the south and wanted Kleist to wait for the infantry 

to catch up with his panzer units. Kleist had tried to rein in Guderian 

with his order on the night of 15 May, only to see him advance forty 

miles on 16 May. In the early morning hours of 17 May, Kleist ordered 

Guderian to stop his advance immediately and to meet him at 

Guderian’s airstrip at 0700. When the two generals met, Kleist berated 

Guderian for disobeying orders; Guderian responded by asking to be 

relieved of command. Kleist agreed and ordered Guderian to transfer 

his command to the most senior general in his corps. After Guderian 

returned to his corps headquarters, he sent a message to Rundstedt 

saying that he would be handing his command over to General Rudolph 

Veiel and would then fly to the army group headquarters to make a 

71 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

full report. Almost immediately, he received a reply asking him to wait 

there until List arrived. List arrived early in the afternoon and 

explained that the order to stop the advance had come from the Army 

High Command and had to be obeyed. He did, however, authorize a 

“reconnaissance in force,” under the condition that the corps headquarters not move. List also told Guderian that he could not give up 

his command. 

After List left, Guderian immediately set his reconnaissance in force 

in motion. To keep the Army High Command from monitoring his 

movements, he left his corps headquarters in place and had wire laid 

between it and his advanced headquarters. Around 0900 on 18 May, 

the 2d Panzer Division reached St. Quentin on the Somme River. To 

its left, the 1st Panzer Division was moving toward Peronne. By the 

evening of 19 May, the XIX Corps was on the Cambrai-Peronne line. 

During the night of 19-20 May, Guderian regained his freedom of 

movement and was authorized to attack Amiens. He assigned this 

mission to the 1st Panzer Division and ordered the 2d Panzer Division 

to push on to Abbeville and the sea. On the morning of 20 May, 

Guderian observed the attack on Amiens. The city fell quickly, and 

after a brief tour of the area, Guderian went north to join the 2d Panzer 

Division at Albert. There, the division commander reported that he was 

nearly out of fuel and proposed stopping for the day. Guderian disagreed, ordered a redistribution of fuel, and continued the advance. As 

a result, elements of the 2d Panzer Division reached Abbeville (sixty 

miles away) by 1900, and during the night, a battalion reached the 

coast. This marked the end of the drive across France. In only ten 

days, Guderian’s corps had moved from Germany to the English Channel and had cut all lines of communication between France and the 

Allied armies in Belgium. His decisive leadership had contributed to a 

rapid, decisive victory. 

Having overcome French resistance and the nervousness of superiors, Guderian now sought to destroy the Allied armies. His plan after 

reaching the coast was to turn north and rapidly capture the Channel 

ports. The 2d Panzer Division was to capture Boulogne, the 1st Division 

Calais, and the 10th Division Dunkirk. These events, however, did not 

materialize. First, Guderian wasted a day (21 May) waiting for orders 

from above. Next, the 10th Panzer Division was temporarily detached 

from his command and placed in panzer group reserve. Still, by 24 

May, Guderian’s corps had taken Boulogne, surrounded CaIais, and 

was approaching Dunkirk. Then, suddenly, Hitler issued his famous 

order that stopped the advance of German ground forces outside 

Dunkirk and left the destruction of Allied forces cornered there to the 

Luftwaffe. Guderian was stunned, but he obeyed. 

72 
Decisiveness 

The Luftwaffe, however, failed to destroy the Allied armies, and 

by the time German ground attacks resumed three days later, the Allies 

had organized a strong defense. From 28 May to 4 June, when Dunkirk 

fell, 226,000 British and 112,000 French and Belgian soldiers were 

evacuated to England, despite German efforts to stop them. The result 

could still be considered a German victory. As Churchill put it, ‘“Wars 

are not won by evacuations.” However, to Guderian, the successful 

evacuation of Allied troops was a great German failure brought on by 

indecision and confusion. He always regretted that this opportunity 

for a decisive victory had been lost. 

Bibliography 

Guderian, Heinz. Panzer Leader. Washington, DC: Zenger Publishing 

co., 1979. 

Horne, Alistair. To Lose a Battle: France, 6940. Boston: Little, Brown 

and Co., 1969. 

Macksey, Kenneth, Guderian: Creator of the Blitzkrieg. New York: Stein 

and Day, 1976. 

Manstein, Erich von. Lost Victories. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1982. 

Perrett, Bryan. A History of the Blit&rieg. New York: Stein and Day, 

1983. 

Rothbrust, Florian K. Guderian’s XIXth Panzer Corps and the Battle 

of France: Breakthrough in the Ardennes, May 1940. New York: 

Praeger, 1990. 

73 
Defensive Operations 

The Defense of the No Name Line in the Korean War 

Major Robert E. Connor 

The defense of the No Name Line (see map 9) during the second 

phase of the Communist Chinese Forces (CCF) Spring Offensive in 

the Korean War vividly demonstrates how the purposes of the defense 

can be successfully achieved when resourceful and resolute senior commanders insist on high standards of preparation from subordinate 

leaders, commanders, and staffs at every level. The conduct of the 

defense by the U.S. X Corps and the 2d Infantry Division in Korea 

from 16 through 22 May 1951 is a study in the imaginative use of 

reserves and the combat power of combined arms. In this operation, 

UN forces reversed a nearly disastrous situation by employing a strong 

defense. 

By May 1951, the Korean War was in its eleventh month. Much 

had happened. MacArthur’s masterful turning movement at Inchon 

(15-25 September 1950) had broken the ring forged around Pusan by 

the North Korean People’s Army (NKPA) after its invasion of South 

Korea in June 1950. Advancing north, UN forces subsequently closed 

on the Yalu River. But on 25 November 1950, the CCF intervened. 

In the face of this devastating reversal, UN forces evacuated North 

Korea entirely and withdrew to a line (named “Line B”) running from 

the Imjin River across the 38th Parallel to the east coast and went 

over to the defense. The third CCF offensive in January retook Seoul, 

but a UN counteroffensive (Operation Ripper) succeeded in nearly restoring the line along the 38th Parallel once more. 

On 22 April, the CCF initiated the first phase of its Spring Offensive, with the main effort exerted on the U.S. Eighth Army above Seoul. 

After desperate fighting, the enemy thrust was blunted, and the UN 

defensive line restored. The CCF’s attempt on General James A. Van 

Fleet’s left convinced the new Eighth Army commander that this would 

continue to be his area of highest risk. He therefore weighted the defensive line on his Ieft by placing the U.S. I and IX Corps there. 

CCF intentions during the first two weeks in May 1951 remained 

vague. Reconnaissance aircraft caught glimpses of massive troop move75 
hmbined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Map 9. Korea, May 1951 

76 
Defensive Operations 

ments, but the purpose of these concentrations remained inconclusive 

and obscure to the Eighth Army G2. Nevertheless, activity by the 

Communist forces fit a pattern that preceded other CCF offensives. By 

10 May, the G2, Lieutenant Colonel James Tarkenton, reported that 

an all-out CCF offensive aimed at Seoul was imminent. The continuing 

shift of CCF forces to the east had convinced Tarkenton and Van Fleet 

that the enemy’s main effort would seek to rupture the seam between 

the U.S. I and IX Corps in the 24th Infantry Division area. Based on 

this analysis, Van Fleet canceled his planned “Detonate” offensive and 

prepared to defend against an estimated Chinese force of perhaps twelve 

or thirteen divisions in the CCF-NKPA’s main effort and an additional 

six to ten divisions in a secondary effort in the east. All considerations 

of what is today called METT-T (mission, enemy, terrain, troops, and 

time available) seemed to favor this assessment. The terrain was especially favorable for a Chinese attack. The probable invasion area had 

good road networks and offered a close approach to Seoul. 

The problem with this assessment was that the CCF was a force 

completely unlike the UN forces facing it. The CCF was essentially an 

all-light infantry formation with few supporting branches and negligible 

logistical support. This was made apparent by the inability of the 

Chinese to sustain its previous offensives. The CCF moved by stealth 

and attacked at night on foot-always on foot. Thus, the treacherous 

terrain in eastern Korea posed no insurmountable obstacle to the CCF. 

In fact, the terrain provided the Chinese a profitable avenue for exploitation. Moreover, it was defended by only four Republic of Korea (ROK) 

divisions. 

The CCF’s plan was both audacious and grandiose. The CCF’s 

intent was to annihilate the U.S. X Corps by overrunning two ROK 

corps in the east, thus coming in behind the U.S. 2d Infantry Division 

and rolling up the U.S. X Corps. This accomplished, the CCF would 

make a dash to Wonju, cut west below the Man River, and then advance 

either to Suwon, completely enveloping Seoul, or strike south to Pusan. 

This wishful Chinese scenario, however, was not seriously considered 

by the Eighth Army planners. 

Anchoring the U.S. X Corps line in the east was the U.S. 2d Infantry Division. It was oriented northwest on the No Name Line and disposed west to east as follows: the 9th Infantry (tied in with the 1st 

Marine Division); the 38th Infantry (plus the Dutch Battalion); and 

Task Force Zebra (armor and infantry)-farthest east adjoining the ROK 

5th Division. The 23d Infantry was in corps reserve. 

When intelligence in the days immediately before the Chinese attack 

suggested a massive easterly movement by the CCF, the 2d Infantry 

Division made frenzied preparations. The division distributed operation 

77 

. -~-~--- --_______.-. 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

plans to units dealing with an exhaustive list of contingencies. In addition, soldiers stretched mile after mile of barrier wire in front of division 

defensive positions. Engineers also placed numerous and carefully sited 

minefields. The division gave the greatest emphasis to powerful artillery 

support. Included in this formidable array of firepower were the division’s four organic battalions, further buttressed by the self-propelled 

howitzers of X Corps’ artillery. Artillery planners considered al1 possible 

exigencies, had vast amounts of ordnance stockpiled, and employed all 

guns with great care. 

The defensive preparation insisted on by Lieutenant Colonel Wallace 

Hanes of the 3d Battalion, 38th Infantry-located on Hill 800 near the 

center of the line-was exemplary. Hanes demanded that his commanders and troops attend assiduously to all aspects of defensive preparation, especially to individual fighting positions. Troops dug deep, 

erecting sufficient overhead cover to offer protection from artillery bursts. 

If the enemy overran Hanes’ positions, he intended to call in artillery 

(armed with proximity fuses) on his own lines, thus catching the enemy 

in the open while his men lay safe in their holes. This intention sparked 

a new wave of enthusiasm in the 3d Battalion’s digging efforts. 

A special combat outpost line (named “Roger Line’“) was established 

4,000 yards forward of the No Name Line and manned by elements of 

the 38th Infantry. This regiment sent out seemingly endless patrols 

that experienced little enemy contact. When contact was made, the 

CCF-NKPA soldiers invariably turned and fled. The commander of the 

2d Infantry Division, Major General Clark R. Ruffner, desperate to fix 

the enemy’s position, ordered the 9th Infantry minus its third battalion 

(in division reserve} to move forward of the Roger Line. Task Force 

Zebra, holding the division’s right flank, also sent armor patrols forward 

to make enemy contact. Neither attempts were successful. As the middle 

of May neared, however, Communist force density and resistance increased. The 2d Infantry Division sent out company-size and larger 

“power patrols” to deal with these concentrations. 

The expected CCF attack began early on the evening of 16 May 

against the U.S. X Corps and ROK I and III Corps. The point of 

attack shocked the UN forces. Expecting an all-out attack against Seoul, 

Van Fleet was amazed when reports came to him of a massive attack 

(some fifteen CCF and five NKPA divisions} developing far to the east 

in rugged, untraveled terrain. 

Within a few hours, most of the ROK regiments deployed to the 

right of the U.S. 2d Infantry Division disintegrated. As the hours 

passed, the situation in the ROK sector became disastrous. American 

advisers to the ROK units were left stranded to fend for themselves; 

78 
Defensive Operatians 

most were killed or captured. In all, some 40,000 ROK soldiers were 

involved in this largest rout of the Korean War. 

The vacancy left by the routed South Koreans exposed the U.S. 2d 

Infantry Division’s entire right flank. Since the 2d Division was attacking to the northeast, an enormous enemy force now confronted its rear. 

(At the same time, the 2d became the right wing of the UN line.} 

Six CCF divisions struck the 2d Infantry Division on 16 May, Task 

Force Zebra (the 1st and 2d Battalions of the 38th Infantry) initially 

being the hardest hit. The 1st and 2d Battalions called for fire support 

and immediately received an awesome response. As the hours wore on, 

these artillery barrages ultimately broke the back of the CCF attacks 

in this sector. 

After the initial attacks on the night of 16 May, Ruffner realized 

that his right flank was vulnerable. Calling up his reserves, he reinforced Task Force Zebra with the French Battalion and the 72d Tank 

Battalion. The next morning, he got the 2d and 3d Battalions of the 

23d Infantry from corps reserve as well. 

The night of the 17th was very hard for the men of Task Force 

Zebra, especially those in the 38th Infantry. But despite repeated CCF 

attacks, the task force stubbornly held its positions, inflicting heavy 

casualties on the Chinese infantry. On Zebra’s left, where the 38th 

Infantry was posted, the 2d Battalion of the 38th was mauled on the 

outpost line. This unit caught the brunt of the massed CCF attacks. 

The Chinese swarmed over the U.S. companies and isolated and overran 

Company E of the 2d Battalion, The battalion’s commander asked to 

be pulled back from the outpost line to save his unit from annihilation. 

Permission was granted, and the Dutch Battalion was called up from 

the reserve to bolster the now-reinforced No Name Line. 

At dawn on 17 May, fanatical CCF attacks continued in the 1st 

Battalion, 38th Infantry’s sector. To relieve the beleaguered battalion 

on Hill 1051, the Dutch Battalion mounted a counterattack and was 

badly mangled by the Chinese. 

That same morning, at X Corps headquarters, Van Fleet conferred 

with Lieutenant General Edward M. Almond, and they assessed the 

situation. Although the 2d Infantry Division was fighting valiantly and 

the artillery was responding magnificently, the situation was critical. 

The 2d’s right was completely exposed, and units on the front were so 

engaged as to make any shift to reinforce the right impossible. Almond 

expressed fears that the X Corps’ and possibly the Eighth Army’s rear 

areas were in jeopardy. He insisted that he needed all the Eighth 

Army’s reserves for the emergency on his right, where he would deploy 

them by regiment to deny the enemy that flank. Van Fleet, still uncon79 
C3xnbine& Arms in Battle Since 1939 

vinced that this was the enemy’s main effort, released only the 15th 

Infantry from army reserve, along with one artillery battalion, to aid 

Almond. Before releasing the entire 3d Infantry Division and extra 

artillery, Van Fleet wanted to wait a day or two to be absolutely sure 

Seoul was safe. 

Van Fleet was determined to reverse this dangerous situation. He 

insisted that it would do no good to fall back anywhere along the 

line; in fact, he ordered that under no circumstances should any commander make such a decision. Approval to fall back would rest with 

each unit’s next higher commander, and only if a battalion-size or larger 

unit became combat ineffective could such a decision be justified. The 

idea was to defend with such tenacity and vigor as to inflict intolerabEe 

losses on the CCF and to go over to the offense as soon as possible. 

On the morning of 18 May, however, it became painfully clear that 

the Zd Infantry Division could no longer hold the No Name Line above 

the town of Hangye. Hence, Almond authorized a fallback to a new 

line farther south, one running more directly east to west. This caused 

a reshuffling of units in order to get the battered 38th Infantry some 

relief. The 15th Infantry, when it arrived, would be positioned to support 

two ROK divisions brought up to extend the line farther to the right. 

Both the 23d and the 38th Infantries had veritable ‘gauntlets to 

run in their withdrawal routes to the new line. As the 38th moved 

back, it was surrounded by overwhelming Chinese forces on three sides. 

The indomitable fighting spirit of the US. infantrymen was bolstered 

throughout the retrograde movement by the skillful use of tactical air 

support, armor support (the 72d Tank Battalion), and artillery. These 

vital assets notwithstanding, both units suffered heavy casualties. 

This withdrawal did not include .the 3d Battalion, 38th Infantry. 

Deeply ensconced in its bunkers on Hill 800, the 3d, after suffering 

some earlier, temporary reversals, had broken up several CCF attacks 

on the night of the 18th by going underground into its carefully prepared positions and then calling in concentrations of artillery fire with 

proximity fuses. In fact, when told to withdraw in order to straighten 

up the now-modified No Name Line, the 3d’s commander complained 

bitterly. 

By 19 May, the reorganized line of the 2d Infantry Division was 

holding firm. Leading elements of the 3d Infantry Division, ready to 

fight, were arriving at their prearranged positions after traveling halfway across Korea. By now, any lingering doubts about the enemy’s 

main thrust had evaporated. The 2d Infantry Division had been cruelly 

tested, but the courage of its soldiers, coupled with outstanding air 

and artillery support and the new reserve units, ensured its ability to 

hold the modified No Name Line. 

80 
Defensiue Operations 

Now, Van Fleet believed, was the time to turn on the CCF. The 

Chinese had been on the offensive for two and one-half days. They 

had gained twenty or more miles against the ROK units on the right 

and ten against the 2d Infantry Division. If past experience held true, 

the CCF was overextended; its culminating point had been reached. If 

X Corps mounted a counterattack to the northeast, tens of thousands 

of CCF troops would be cut off and destroyed. The I and IX Corps 

would also advance to drive the enemy north. Almond agreed with the 

plan but insisted that after he let the CCF go a little deeper, he would 

need the 187th Airborne Regiment as shock troops to begin his thrust 

north. On 20 May, this new plan, “Detonate,” was initiated by a I 

and IX Corps advance. Effective air sorties and artillery concentrations 

stabilized the situation in the X Corps sector. On 23 May, X Corps 

began its counteroffensive, but because of diplomatic considerations, it 

fell short of Van Fleet’s desired objectives. Nonetheless, the tide had 

turned. UN forces were now in a more favorable position for future 

peace talks (which ultimately led to a cessation of hostilities). 

The steadfastness of X Corps and, in particular, the 2d Infantry 

Division had allowed the UN Command the time necessary to assess 

the enemy’s intentions correctly and force him to exhaust his resources 

before his objective had been realized. A lesson to be drawn from the 

American experience in May 1951 is that even in the face of disaster, 

a resolute, energetic defense-skillfully directed and supported-can turn 

the tide in favor of the defender. 

To achieve victory in battle, it is imperative to gain and retain 

the initiative. Once initiative is lost, for whatever reason, it must be 

regained quickly. The command in Korea never lost sight of that reality. 

Even when in a defensive posture, UN forces continuously and aggressively searched for an opportunity to regain the offensive. The action 

of 16-22 May 1951 demonstrates that a defense, properly conducted, 

sometimes can force an enemy to reach its culminating point short of 

its objective. This situation can serve as a springboard for offensive 

action by friendly forces. 

Bibliography 

Appleman, Roy Edgar. Ridgway Duels for Korea. College Station: Texas 

A&M University Press, 1990. 

Blair, Clay. The Forgotten War: America in Korea, 1950-1953. New 

York: Times Books, 1987. 

Fehrenbach, T. R. This Kind of War: A Study in Unpreparedness. New 

York: Macmillan, 1963. 

81 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Gugeler, Russell A. Combat Actions in Korea. Army Historical Series. 

Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 1970. 

Hermes, Walter. Truce Tent and Fighting Front. United States Army 

in the Korean War. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military 

History, United States Army, 1966. 

Munroe, Clark C., and Joseph R. May. The Second United States Infantry Division in Korea, 195G-1951. Tokyo: Toppan Printing Co., 1951. . 
11 

Discipline 

The Execution of Private Eddie D. Slovik 

Dr. Jerold E. Brown 

Discipline is essential in every military organization. An undisciplined army is merely a mob. Without discipline, the cohesion that 

welds individual soldiers into units and makes them behave in certain 

ways in the face of impending danger disintegrates. With that disintegration, officers lose control, their orders are wholesalely disregarded, 

and they become indistinguishable from their troops and are swept 

along in a relentless tide. Each soldier seeks to salvage his own life 

and possessions without regard for his comrades or the consequences 

of his actions. The collapse of discipline can be infectious, spreading 

at first from man to man, then to adjacent platoons and companies, 

and eventually to an entire army. Thus, the ability to enforce discipline 

in the face of the enemy is of vital importance to military commanders 

at all levels. 

Throughout history, armies have employed a variety of tools, 

including the threat of death, to instill discipline in their ranks. 

Officers and soldiers alike have found cowardice especially repugnant 

not only because it undermined the qualities of manliness and honor 

that have always been an integral part of the military ethic but 

because it threatened the well-being and safety of entire organizations, 

Therefore, commanders have dealt quickly and harshly with those individuals who deserted or shirked their duty under hazardous conditions. 

In the Roman legions, cohorts that broke during battle or failed to 

press the attack vigorously suffered decimation-the execution of every 

tenth man. In medieval armies, cowards and traitors were treated alike: 

judgment was summary, execution swift. Although civil jurisprudence 

in Western nations progressed substantially by the twentieth century, 

modern armies still dispensed severe and certain punishment for desertion, much as their predecessors had, with one exception-the United 

States. 

From the end of the American Civil War until World War II, no 

American soldier was executed for cowardice or desertion, even during 

wartime. This period included twenty-five years of internecine conflict 

on the frontier with the Indians, the Spanish-American War, the 

83 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Philippine-American War, World War I, and a number of interventions 

and expeditions in Latin America. Until World War II, the U.S. Army 

punished deserters with imprisonment, fines, loss of pay and benefits, 

and dishonorable discharge. 

The eighty-year hiatus, however, came to an end on 31 January 

1945 when a firing squad shot Private Eddie D. Slovik to death. Thus, 

Slovik-twice a deserter, unrepentant, and spurning an offer by the 

division judge advocate to drop all charges if he would return to his 

unit-acquired the distinction of being the only American soldier in 

this century to suffer death for cowardice. Slovik’s execution not only 

broke the unofficial ban on such executions but also opened a heated 

and continuing debate about how the U.S. military should impose discipline in the future. The Slovik case illustrates the problems and pitfalls 

of instilling discipline in a citizen army under fire. The issue is one 

that concerns every officer and noncommissioned officer (NC@ responsible for leading and motivating men in battle. 

Whatever disciplinary system an army may have, it must always 

begin with the raw material society provides it. Eddie Slovik was 

perhaps not typical of the World War II draftee, but he was not all 

that atypical either. Born and raised in Detroit, Slovik was the product 

of an unhappy childhood. He dropped out of school at age fifteen, 

repeatedly ran afoul of the law over the next seven years, and served 

time in several Michigan penal institutions. Slovik evidently learned 

the lessons of the street and prison yard well: never put into the system 

more than you have to and always push the rules as far as you dare. 

(He would later rely on this spurious wisdom during his tenure in the 

109th Regimental Stockade in France.) After being released from prison 

in April 1942, Slovik met Antoinette Wisniewski and married her in 

November 1942. In the meantime, his local Selective Service board had 

classified him 4-F-u&t for military service. Thus, the next year was 

the best of Slovik’s short life: he had an attractive young wife; he was 

steadily employed, and his wartime wages were good; and he did not 

have to worry about the draft. 

In November 1943, Slovik’s seemingly idyllic world was shattered 

when his draft board reclassified him 1-A and ordered him to report 

for military training in January 1944. William Bradford Huie, author 

of The Execution of Briuate Slovik, would raise the question as to the 

fairness of the decision to reclassify, then draft, Eddie Slovik. But the 

focus of the draft was not fairness. Rather it was a system designed 

to mobilize manpower efficiently. Only then, to the extent possible, was 

it meant to be equitable. 

That the United States had the legal power to induct Slovik into 

military service and subject him to military discipline cannot be 

84 
Discipline 

questioned. Slovik was physically fit, although he may not have been 

psychologically or emotionally fit. World War II was creating ever 

greater demands for manpower, and the big push in Europe had not 

yet begun. The Army had already lowered its physical qualification 

standards to meet the demand for ground force replacements. If Slovik 

was marginally fit, so were many thousands of other draftees in 1944. 

Thus were the demands of the war. 

Huie also questions the humanity of the replacement system. To 

be sure, an individual replacement system creates problems, for it will 

always be impersonal. Individual soldiers will not deploy with those 

buddies and NCOs they trained with, and even the training itself may 

be less than thorough. The replacement has yet to learn what soldiering is all about. In fact, most of his military survival skills will be 

acquired on the job. Nevertheless, after seventeen-later reduced to 

thirteen-weeks of training, he should understand what is expected of 

him; he should know his duty. The unit the replacement goes to may 

know little and care less about him, but he is expected to pick up his’ 

load and carry it. He will be nameless and faceless, the new guy, the 

“cherry,” or just plain “newbee.” Whether and how long he lives will 

depend, to a substantial degree, on luck. 

This was clearly the situation for Slovik when he arrived at Omaha 

Beach on 20 August 1944 and was assigned to G Company, 109th 

Infantry, 28th Infantry Division. The 28th had arrived in France just 

one month before Slovik joined it. Yet the division had already seen 

substantial fighting, had suffered heavy casualties, and had one 

commanding general relieved and a second killed in action. The 28th 

continued to fight across France, Belgium, and Germany, participating 

in some of the fiercest battles of the European war. The prospect of 

serving in such a unit was not a happy one to a young replacement, 

lonely, homesick, lacking self-confidence, and looking for a way out. 

Over the next forty-five days, Slovik served with his unit for less 

than forty-eight hours. During that time, Slovik absented himself 

twice. The first time he was “lost” (for forty days), after which he 

voluntarily returned to G Company. Within twenty-four hours, however, 

just as the division was preparing to attack the Westwall, Slovik left 

the unit a second time. On the morning of 9 October, he voluntarily 

surrendered to a detachment of the 112th Infantry and submitted a 

written confession of his desertion. He further stated that he would 

desert again if sent back to his own unit. He apparently believed that 

the worst that could befall him would be imprisonment (and physical 

safety) in the stockade. 

Following a brief investigation, Slovik was charged with desertion 

under Article 58 of the Articles of War and court-martialed on 

85 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

11 November 1944. Colonel Guy Williams, the division finance officer, 

presided over a nine-member panel that found Slovik guilty after a 

short deliberation. Although Slovik pleaded not guilty, he presented no 

evidence in his own behalf; he apparently believed that he would be 

incarcerated and that would be the end of it. Under Article 43, a 

sentence of death required “the concurrence of all the members of the 

said court-martial.” Having obtained that unanimity, Colonel Williams 

sentenced Slovik to death. 

Between 11 November and his execution, several significant events 

occurred. A number of high-ranking officers reviewed the court-martial 

record and acted on Slovik’s conviction. In addition, Major General 

Norman D. Cota, commanding general of the 28th Division, conferred 

with the division judge advocate and approved the sentence. Furthermore, Slovik petitioned General Dwight D. Eisenhower for clemency. 

At Eisenhower’s headquarters, a staff of lawyers, including Brigadier 

General E. C. McNeil, the Army’s foremost legal authority, reviewed 

the case in detail and advised Eisenhower to confirm the sentence. 

At this time, the German Army counterattacked in the Ardennes, 

breaking through the Allied lines along a sixty-mile front and penetrating as far west as Celles, more than fifty miles from its starting point. 

Allied casualties mounted into the tens of thousands, and some units 

reported large numbers of men leaving their posts and fleeing to the 

rear. Although heavy fighting and superior Allied materiel broke the 

German offensive far short of its objective, the battle convinced Allied 

leaders that the war was not yet won and that stern measures would 

be necessary to spur the troops on to final victory. Clearly with the 

gravity of the situation in mind, Eisenhower confirmed Slovik’s 

sentence on 23 December, If he had been searching for an example of 

how he intended to deal with serious breaches of discipline, Eisenhower 

could not have found a more timely case. On 23 January, Eisenhower 

signed a second document ordering the execution. A twelve-man firing 

squad carried out the sentence a few minutes after 1000 on 31 January 

1945. 

William Bradford Huie’s The Execution of Private Slovik defines 

the debate over Slovik’s fate. In addition to questions about the 

fairness of Slovik’s draft classification and the replacement system, 

Huie is highly critical of the United States’ prosecution of the war, 

which, according to Huie, was far more costly in lives than perhaps 

necessary. He further challenges the Army for singling out Slovik for 

execution when the sentences for all other convicted and condemned 

deserters were eventually commuted and they were freed. Was Slovik 

the most flagrant case of desertion ? Why was Slovik’s sentence not 

appealed to the president ? Did it serve any purpose to make an 

86 
Discipline 

example of Slovik? Finally, was the treatment Slovik received at the 

hands of the U.S. Army just? What Huie does not address is the role 

of discipline in maintaining effective combat units. 

To all the questions he raises (and a number of others), Huie 

concludes that the Army handled the entire Slovik affair rather badly. 

He repeated this position in 1963 when he angrily responded to 

remarks made by President Eisenhower (the first and only time the 

former president spoke publicly about the case) in a nationally televised 

interview. Huie is clearly sympathetic toward Slovik; Slovik was really 

a victim rather that the master of his own fate. 

In June 1977, issues raised by Slovik’s execution again surfaced 

when David M. Eichhorn, a rabbi who had served as an Army chaplain in France in 1945, stepped forward with alleged information on 

how Slovik had been selected for execution. Testifying before the Board 

for the Correction of Military Records, Rabbi Eichhorn told of six 

candidates for execution being given psychological examinations at 

Eisenhower’s insistence. Slovik was the only one given psychological 

“clearance.” Thus, Slovik was selected for execution, from Eichhorn’s 

perspective, by a rather capricious and unjustifiable method. Eichhorn’s 

account, however, was based on hearsay and speculation. Eichhorn had 

never met Slovik, Eisenhower, or any of the other principal players in 

the drama and had no documentation or corroboration. His testimony 

served only to muddle the issue further rather than to clarify it. 

More poignant than Eichhorn’s revelation-and more disturbing for 

those concerned with military crime and punishment-was a mea culpa 

article by Benedict B. Kimmelman, published in the September-October 

1987 issue of American Heritage. In November 1944, Captain Kimmelman, a dentist by profession, was detailed to serve on Slovik’s 

court-martial. Like the other division staff officers sitting on the panel, 

he had never seen combat. This was not an unusual situation; most 

court-martial panels in combat theaters are composed of staff officers. 

For obvious reasons, officers in forward combat units cannot be pulled 

back just for court-martial duty. Sinde justice and the maintenance of 

discipline demand swift action, officers behind the lines nearly always 

deal with alleged miscreants. Thus, Kimmelman found himself sitting 

in judgment of Eddie Slovik. He first had voted for Slovik’s conviction, 

then for his execution. 

Subsequent experience, however, caused Kimmelman to have a 

change of heart, and he regretted the decision that led to Slovik’s 

death. After Slovik’s court-martial, the German Army captured Kimmelman and a number of other 28th Division staff officers when the 

Germans overran the small town of Wiltz a few days after launching 

the Ardennes offensive. These few days under fire and the next six 

87 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

months in a prisoner-of-war camp in Germany convinced Kimmelman 

that, given the chance to do it over, he would not vote the death 

penalty for Slovik. When Kimmelman learned that Slovik had actually 

been executed, he railed at the injustice and became a harsh critic of 

the military justice system. “[Slovik] got a fair trial under the cir&mstances, but in retrospect, the circumstances were not fair,” he wrote. 

What would have made the circumstances fair? “I came to believe 

front-line offenses ought to be judged only by front-line personnel,” 

Kimmelman asserted. The validity of Kimmelman’s conclusion and his 

own pangs of conscience notwithstanding, it is not at all clear that 

Slovik would have been judged any differently by a panel of combat 

veterans. 

The nature of the public debate has considerabEy skewed the basic 

issue in the Slovik case. That debate has focused on the use of the 

most extreme punishment for an individual who. did nothing more than 

refuse to engage the enemy. Every published article has noted that 

Slovik was “the only American soldier shot for desertion” in World 

War II. That other men may have died because Slovik refused to 

perform his assigned duty is an issue never raised. After all, that is 

an imponderable on which one can merely speculate. Nor has Slovik’s 

responsibility been an issue for discussion. In the final analysis, 

however, Private Eddie Slovik was solely responsible for his own fate. 

He was guilty by his own admission, he violated the military justice 

system, and he paid a price for his crime. 

That brings us back to the basic dilemma confronting those 

military commanders concerned with maintaining order and motivating 

men to stand in the face of great hazard. War is a risky and 

dangerous business. Few men willingly and cheerfully place themselves 

in harm”s way. Armies have historically imposed strict and certain 

discipline to compel men to do what they are not otherwise inclined to 

do. As the Slovik case clearly demonstrates, that may not be a realistic 

or desirable course of action in the future, Whether it is possible to 

motivate men in battle effectively without resorting to the severest 

disciplinary tools will remain one of the enduring challenges of leadership in the army of a constitutional democracy. 

Bibliography 

Eisenhower, David. Eisenhower at Wur, 1943-1945. New York: Random 

House, 1986. 

Huie, William Bradford. The Execution of Priuate Slouik: The Hitherto 

Secret Story of the Only American Soldier Since 1864 to Be Shot 

for Desert&on. New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce, 1954. 

88 
Discipline 

Kimmelman, Benedict B. “The Execution of Private Slovik.” American 

Heritage (September-October 1987). 

Tillotson, Lee S. The Articles of War. Harrisburg, PA: The Military 

Service Publishing Co., 1944. 

89 
12 

Doctrine 

Active Defense 

Dr. Christopher R. Gabel 

Doctrine is the collective body of thinking and writing that describes 

how a military organization expects to fight. It identifies the mission, 

assesses the enemy’s capabilities, and suggests how the assets available 

should be orchestrated and employed to attain the desired ends. An 

effective doctrine addresses all three levels of warfare-the strategic, 

operational, and tactical-and links them together. Doctrine supports 

strategy by assuring that military operations will further national goals. 

Basic doctrinal decisions at the strategic level-such as choosing the 

offense or defense, limited or total war, lightning war or protracted 

conflict-then filter down to the operational level. At this level, doctrine 

facilitates the structuring of campaigns that will accomplish strategic 

goals. It assures that useful battles are fought and at a reasonable 

cost. At the tactical level, doctrine seeks to assure that those battles 

are victories by describing how the arms and services should be organized effectively on the battlefield. At all levels, doctrine must be realistic, asking only the possible of one’s forces and addressing real-world 

threats and objectives. It must be consistent, displaying a continuity 

of purpose at the strategic, operational, and tactical levels. Finally, it 

must be accepted by those who put it into effect. The dictionary definition of the word “doctrine,“’ after all, includes the phrase “system of 

belief.” 

Creating doctrine in wartime is empirically easy to do-the process 

of trial and error will eventually produce a workable doctrine if defeat 

can be deferred long enough for the right answers to emerge. It is 

much more desirable, however, to create the soundest possible doctrine 

in peacetime. The challenge here is that of predicting what the next 

war will be like when it finally arrives. Whether formulated in peace 

or war, doctrine should always be flexible, and the military organization 

that frames it should always be prepared to modify it when circumstances demand. Changes in national policy, shifting balances of power, 

and deployment of new technology should always trigger a reassessment 

of doctrine. 

Just such a situation confronted the U.S. Army in 1973. The 

91 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

demands of the Vietnam conflict had forced the Army to defer modernization for nearly a decade. The war also produced an antimilitary 

sentiment in American society that was reflected in declining appropriations and in the elimination of conscription, This meant that the Army 

was not just outdated but also impoverished in terms of men and resources. These and other problems contributed to a crisis in morale 

and discipline. The Army lacked a sense of mission and lacked confidence in itself. 

General William E. DePuy, who became the first commander of 

the Army’s new Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC) in 1973, 

took it upon himself to establish a new doctrine for the Army. In the 

past, the Army’s written doctrine had always lagged behind practice, 

being more a codification of “the way things are” than a description 

of “the way things should be.” (For example, to find the Army’s doctrine 

for World War II, you should look to the 1944 edition of FM 100-5, not 

the 1939 version.) DePuy undertook to reverse that process and use 

the medium of published doctrine to force change upon the Army. His 

efforts culminated in the publication of an entirely new FM 100-5 in 

1976. The Army called the new doctrine the “Active Defense.“’ 

Active Defense embraced major changes at the strategic, operational, 

and tactical levels. The national strategy that Active Defense served 

was the Nixon Doctrine, a post-Vietnam restructuring of national security that identified the Soviet threat in Europe as the most dangerous 

challenge to American interests. The Warsaw Pact had utilized the 

Vietnam decade to upgrade its forces significantly, both qualitatively 

and quantitatively. U.S. forces in Europe, by contrast, had declined in 

effectiveness in response to the demands of the Vietnam War. DePuy, 

who always insisted on facing reality squarely, insisted that the disparity of forces in Europe mandated a new defensive doctrine for American forces. 

Within this context of the strategic defensive, Active Defense had 

as its key operational element the concept of the “‘first battIe.” Traditional American operational art, as manifested in the two world wars, 

was predicated upon the numerical superiority of American manpower 

and materiel. Such superiority had been the product of a massive and 

time-consuming process of national mobilization. DePuy recognized that 

the forward positioning of US. forces and the tempo of modern warfare 

precluded the luxury of losing the early campaigns of the next war 

while national mobilization got under way. Moreover, the heavily outnumbered U.S. forces in Europe would lack the strength to mount a 

defense in operational depth, hence the need to fight forward: there 

could be no trading of space for time. Thus, DePuy insisted that the 

92 

__---- 
Doctrine 

first battle had to be a victory and that it be fought at or near the 

forward line of troops. 

The “first battle” concept obviously placed enormous demands on 

tactical execution, and it is at the tactical level that Active Defense 

had the most to say. DePuy, a tactical commander in both World War 

II and Vietnam, was concerned that the Vietnam conflict had produced 

a generation of officers whose tactical expertise was inappropriate to 

the European scenario. Vietnam had been largely an infantry war in 

which airmobility and an overreliance on firepower had dulled the 

Army’s appreciation for the use of terrain. Moreover, American tacticians had grown used to unchallenged air supremacy. The circumstances 

in any European war, DePuy felt, would make Vietnam-style tactics 

inapplicable. 

Heightening his concern was the vast increase in battlefield lethality 

that became dramatically evident in the course of the 1973 Arab-Israeli 

War. This conflict showed that tank guns had become thirteen times 

more lethal, round for round, than they had been in World War II. 

Coupled with this was the unexpected lethality of precision-guided antitank missiles. The armored forces involved suffered a staggering 50 

percent loss rate in only two weeks of combat. Equally worrisome was 

the ability of Soviet-designed antiaircraft systems to challenge Israeli 

air superiority over the battlefield. From this conflict, DePuy deduced 

that successful armies of the future would have to combine arms more 

effectively; demonstrate higher levels of tactical skill, leadership, and 

morale; and be able to concentrate forces rapidly at decisive points. 

Working from this baseline, DePuy made the tank-antitank battle 

the central element of Active Defense tactics. He believed the tank was 

the decisive element in ground warfare but recognized that the tank 

could not fight alone on the modern battlefield. Hence the need for an 

all-branches combined arms effort, with tactical air power becoming a 

full member of the team. From the German Army, DePuy borrowed 

the panzergrenadier concept-infantry transported in, and often fighting 

from, armored personnel carriers whose main function was the elimination of enemy antitank weapons and obstacles, Artillery’s key task 

was to suppress the overwatch weapons that would cover enemy attacks. 

Tanks and other antitank weapons had the central mission of destroying 

enemy armor by shooting first and shooting effectively. 

Indeed, the terms “fire superiority” and “suppression” were the keys 

by which U.S. forces were to defeat a numerically superior and technologically equal foe. Active Defense spelled out in detail the way friendly 

forces were to use the terrain to protect themselves from enemy fire 

while using their own weapons to maximum effectiveness. Ultimately, 

tactical success depended on the force ratios brought to bear. DePuy 

93 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

estimated that a successful defense required a l-to-3 ratio of friendly 

to enemy forces, whereas a successful attack on the modern battlefield 

demanded a 6-to-1 superiority. (Not surprisingly, Active Defense admonished commanders to attack only when the rewards to be won clearly 

outweighed the risks.) Given the numerical inferiority of friendly forces, 

a chief requirement for successful combat would be the concentration 

of combat elements at the critical place and time. Such timely eoncentration of forces depended on sound intelligence using high-technology sensors to locate enemy concentrations, an aggressive covering 

force to disclose enemy strength and intentions, high mobility of all 

assets, and the willingness to take risks elsewhere in order to mass at 

the decisive point. Under Active Defense doctrine, there was no reserve 

in the traditional sense; instead, any force not confronting the enemy’s 

main effort was considered to be a reserve of sorts. 

In addition to elaborating the actual tactics in considerable detail, 

Active Defense doctrine redefined the functions of the different echelons 

of command. The job of the corps and division commanders was to 

provide the appropriate force ratios at the decisive point on the battlefield. Brigade and battalion commanders formed combined arms teams 

out of the forces provided to them and conducted the fight, taking 

care to maximize firepower and utilize maneuver to the best effect 

among preselected battIe positions. Company, troop, and battery commanders were responsible for defeating the enemy without unprofitably 

expending their own scarce resources. Everybody’s mission was to “fight 

outnumbered and win.” 

When Active Defense became official Army doctrine with the publication of the 1976 version of FM 100-5, DePuy believed that he had 

established Army doctrine for years, if not decades, to come. Much to 

his surprise and disappointment, the Army as an institution rather 

quickly rejected it. Part of the Army’s discontent focused on the actual 

content of the written doctrine itself. Critics charged that Active Defense 

was a doctrine based on weapons systems, not soldiers. DePuy”s FM 

100-5 contained an entire chapter on weapons but devoted less than a 

page to leadership. Others asserted that the doctrine overstressed defense 

at the expense of offense, The U.S. Army’s tradition of offensive warfare 

could not and should not be swept aside, said the critics. They also 

pointed out that, even in a strategically defensive scenario, offensive 

operations and tactics are necessary to securing victory (as opposed to 

preventing defeat). 

Other voices questioned DePuy’s assessment of Soviet operational 

and tactical art. Specifically, they pointed out that the Soviets attacked 

with forces echeloned in depth, whereas DePuy’s Active Defense focused 

almost exclusively on the immediate “close-in’y battle. Put another way, 

94 
Doctrine 

Active Defense did not offer guidance to corps and higher commanders 

on how to wage their battle at the operational level of war. 

Finally, critics questioned the preoccupation with Europe that permeated Active Defense. Although the NATO-Warsaw Pact confrontation 

was the Army’s top priority, it was also the least likely contingency. 

The most likely next war would come outside of Europe, where Active 

Defense would be of little use, leaving the Army to fight without a 

doctrine. 

Thus, in assessing the doctrine of Active Defense with respect to 

the three levels of war, one can say that it addressed strategic requirements admirably, but it neglected the operational level. At the tactical 

level, the Army was unconvinced that Active Defense could produce 

victory. 

This last concern points to an entirely separate arena in which 

Active Defense failed as a doctrine. Doctrine should be an agreed-upon 

body of thought based on the general consensus of the army that uses 

it. Instead, Active Defense was largely the product of one man’s mind, 

was actually written by a small circle of men handpicked by DePuy, 

and was then imposed upon the Army without dialogue or debate. 

Although it is commonplace in military circles to disparage the practice 

of decision making by committee, in the field of doctrine writing, consensus is essential. DePuy’s Active Defense is a case study in the 

drawbacks of generalizing from one”s own experience. No individual, 

no matter how perceptive, can hope to encompass and understand 

every aspect of war, which is, after all, one of mankind’s most chaotic 

activities, 

Active Defense also exemplifies one of two diametrically opposed 

philosophies regarding the purpose of doctrine. In 1974, prior to DePuy’s 

taking on the task of writing the doctrine himself, Major General John 

H. Cushman, commanding general of the Combined Arms Center, produced a draft of FM 100-5 that DePuy rejected. Cushman believed that 

written doctrine should be descriptive rather than prescriptive. His version of doctrine was an exposition of what usually works in war, designed to guide the judgment of field commanders whose ingenuity and 

imagination would actually determine the actions taken on the battlefield. DePuy, by contrast, believed that doctrine should prescribe the 

“right way” to do things. Active Defense prescribed concrete techniques, 

not general principles. Ultimately, the Army found DePuy’s doctrine to 

be inflexible, restrictive, and out of keeping with the traditions of an 

officer corps to whom initiative is a highly prized attribute, 

The publication of a new version of FM 100-5 in 1982 marked the 

end of Active Defense as an official doctrine. The new doctrine, AirLand 

Battle, was very much a product of Active Defense, notwithstanding 

95 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

the dramatic differences in philosophy and content that separate the 

two. General Donn A. Starry, who succeeded DePuy as commander of 

TRADQC in 1977, had been a major contributor to the formulation of 

Active Defense, but his experience as a corps commander in Europe 

(1976-77) led him to recognize the validity of the many criticisms 

leveled against it. Under his leadership, TRADOC addressed those criticisms and, in the process, created AirLand Battle. To cope with enemy 

follow-on echelons, AirLand Battle deepened the battlefield in space 

and time and returned the offensive to its place of primacy in American 

doctrine. In answer to those who criticized Active Defense for ignoring 

the human dimension of battle, Starry made leadership, morale, and 

initiative key concepts in AirLand Battle. Finally, having come to 

recognize the limitations of rigid, prescriptive doctrine, Starry caused 

AirLand Battle to be written in the Cushman mode-as a guide to 

judgment, not a formula to be obeyed. 

Thus, the doctrine of Active Defense, although ultimately rejected, 

served the Army well. It forced the Army to face unpleasant realities 

about modern warfare and to seek realistic solutions. One result of 

this was an upsurge in realistic training and in unit readiness. Moreover, the process of creating Active Defense doctrine caused the Army 

to forge closer ties with an important ally, West Germany, and with 

the U.S. Air Force’s Tactical Air Command. (Indeed, the term “airland battle” had its origins in DePuy’s FM 100-5.) And even in its 

death throes, Active Defense educated the Army by making it read its 

own doctrine: never before had so many officers debated the fundamental issues surrounding the Army’s approach to warfare. Finally, 

although his doctrine of Active Defense proved ephemeral, DePuy established the precedent of using published doctrine to actively integrate 

and, when necessary, alter every aspect of the Army’s activity. Future 

historians may well mark this as one of the great watersheds in the 

institutional history of the U.S. Army. 

Bibliography 

Herbert, Paul H. Deciding What Has to Be Done: General William E. 

DePuy and the 1976 Edition of FM 100-5, Operations. Leavenworth 

Papers no. 16. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute, 

U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, 1988. 

Romjue, John L. From Active Defense to Air-Land Battle: The Development of Army Doctrine, 1973-1982. TRADOC Historical Monograph 

Series. Fort Monroe, VA: Historical Office, U.S. Army Training and 

Doctrine Command, 1984. 

96 
I.3 

Economy of Force 

Repulsing the North Koreans Along the Naktong, 1950: 

Dr. William G. Robertson 

In July 1950, the United States committed ground combat troops 

to South Korea in an effort to halt a North Korean invasion across 

the 38th Parallel. Initially, those American troops consisted of the 24th 

Infantry Division, which had been part of the four-division force garrisoning Japan. Understrength, undertrained, and underequipped, the 24th 

Infantry Division .was ill-suited to be thrust into heavy combat in 

mountainous terrain in midsummer. The results were predictable. In a 

series of disasters from 5 July to 22 July-Osan, Ch’onan, Chonui, 

Choch’iwon, Kum River, and Taejon-the division was routed from s,uccessive defensive positions. By the time the 1st Cavalry Division 

relieved the 24th, the latter had withdrawn more than 100 miles, and 

its strength had declined to 8,660. Thirty percent of the division had 

become casualties, including more than 2,400 missing in action, and 

copious amounts of equipment had been lost. Among the losses was 

the division’s commander, Major General William F. Dean, who was 

taken prisoner at Taejon. Major General John H. Church replaced the 

missing Dean on 23 July. 

As the North Koreans continued their drive southward down the 

Korean peninsula, the 24th Infantry Division once again entered 

combat, but with no better results than before. Finally, on 1 August, 

Lieutenant General Walton H. Walker, Eighth Army commander, 

ordered all U.S. and Republic of Korea (ROK) forces to withdraw 

behind the Naktong River. ‘This maneuver shortened Walker’s front 

while utilizing the natural barrier of the Naktong to shield the major 

port of Pusan. Previously, U.S. and ROK divisions had operated independently, with their flanks unprotected, a situation the North Koreans 

exploited regularly. Now, for the first time, the ground held by U.S. 

and ROK units had decreased to the point that a more or less continuous line could be formed. The resulting Pusan Perimeter ran northward approximately 100 miles from the Korea Strait, then eastward 50 

miles to the Sea of Japan. Three U.S. divisions held the western side 

of the perimeter, while ROK forces extended the line eastward. Forced 

to use all available troops, Walker assigned the battered 24th Division 

to the middle of the American line. 

97 

/ 

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Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

The sector of the Pusan Perimeter occupied by the 24th Division 

extended from the junction of the Nam and Naktong Rivers northward 

along the Naktong to the vicinity of the village of Hyonp’ung. The 

distance from the Nam to Hyonp’ung by air was twenty-two miles, 

but via the twisting course of the Naktong, it was thirty-four miles. 

Flowing through a valley averaging 1,000 meters in width, the Naktong 

was wide but shallow, with the water depth varying from 1 to 3 meters. 

All man-made crossings had been obliterated within the division sector, 

but the low water levels in the summer of 1950 had created numerous 

places where foot traffic, but not vehicles, could cross unimpeded. Both 

sides of the river valley were delineated by hills averaging 200 meters 

in height, with occasional peaks reaching 300 meters. Only at the far 

northern end of the sector, where a 409-meter hill stood on the east 

bank, was the terrain on one side of the valley dominated by that on 

the other. Elsewhere, the only notable difference between the valley 

walls was that more gullies led down to the river on the eastern side 

than on the western. All of the hills were bare except for occasional 

clumps of grass and scrub pine. 

With a division strength on 5 August of only 12,368 soldiers 

(including 486 men attached and 2,000 ROK troops), Church clearly 

did not have enough force to man his 34mile defensive trace strongly 

at all points. He therefore resorted ta the principle of economy of force, 

The 1949 edition of Field Manual 100-5, Field Seruice Regulations, 

Operations, describes economy of force as follows: “The principle of 

economy of force is a corollary to the principle of mass. In order to 

concentrate superior combat strength in one place, economy of force 

must be exercised in other places.” Obviously, Church would have to 

hold some segments of his long line thinly in order to concentrate 

significant combat power in more critical areas. Church believed the 

northern sector of his line would be harder to defend than the southern, 

primarily because of its inadequate road net. Assuming that the North 

Koreans would reach the same conclusion, he created a defensive 

scheme that relied on strong reserves to counterattack and repulse 

penetrations of his lightly held front lines. Within that general framework, Church concentrated much of his strength on his center and 

right. By the evening of 5 August 1950, all elements of the 24th 

Infantry Division were in their assigned positions along the Naktong 

(see map 10). 

Complying with the economy-of-force principle, Church spread his 

units most thinly on the division’s left (southern) flank. There, the 34th 

Infantry guarded twenty-three kilometers of river frontage from the 

Nam-Naktong confluence northward. Accounting for much of the 34th’s 

frontage was a prominent bulge in the center of the regimental line 

98 
Economy of Force 

Map 10. The sector occupied by the 24th Infantry Division, 5 August 1950 

where the Naktong made a wide loop to the west before resuming its 

southward course. The resulting salient, approximately five kilometers 

deep and six kilometers wide at the base, was known as the Naktong 

Bulge. Because the division still retained its peacetime organizational 

structure of two battalions per regiment, the 34th’s commander covered 

his front with one battalion and kept the other in reserve as a 

counterattack force. These dispositions ensured that the frontline battalion’s three companies would be responsible for enormous frontages; 

for example, one company would defend a line 11.5 kilometers long. 

99 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

The entire regimental position was supported by two artillery batteries 

and an engineer company. 

Church concentrated most of the division’s strength on his center 

and right. North of the 34th Infantry lay the sector of the 21st 

Infantry, Church’s best U.S. unit. Without a significant salient, this 

sector was markedly smaller-only twelve kilometers in length. It did, 

however, contain several potential crossing sites, as well as the division 

headquarters, eight miles to its rear. Like his neighbor to the south, 

the Blst’s commander placed one battalion in line and held the second 

in reserve. Attached to the 21st was the 14th Engineer (Combat) 

Battalion, while two artillery batteries provided support. On the X&t’s 

right was a thirty-kilometer sector held by the ROK 17th Regiment, 

which was temporarily attached to the division. The 17th, Church’s 

largest unit and highly regarded by its American allies, was also 

supported by two artillery batteries. The division reserve, which was 

concentrated behind the center of the division’s line, consisted of the 

two-battalion 19th Infantry, part of the 3d Engineer (Combat) Battalion, 

and fragments of the division’s reconnaissance and tank companies. 

Well before dawn on the morning of 6 August, the North Korean 

4th Division attacked across the Naktong into the 24th Infantry 

Division’s sector. Although all three frontline regiments were struck, 

North Korean activity on the division’s center and right was localized 

and relatively insignificant. In contrast, on the division’s left center, 

the North Koreans penetrated to the base of the salient in the 34th 

Infantry sector. Church had guessed wrong; the enemy had attacked 

the weakest company of the weakest regiment of Eighth Army’s 

weakest division. When the initial counterattack by the 34th Infantry’s 

reserve battalion failed, Church was forced to commit both battalions 

of his reserve regiment, the 19th. Neither battalion obtained its ultimate 

objectives, but the regiment’s final position within a mile of the river 

at least established a firm shoulder on the northern flank of the enemy 

bridgehead. Still, twelve kilometers of river frontage lay open to enemy 

exploitation under cover of darkness. Now that the North Koreans had 

committed themselves, Church clearly would have to revise his defensive plan. 

Complicating Church’s problem was Eighth Army’s decision to 

move the ROK 17th Regiment elsewhere in the Pusan Perimeter. 

Planned for 6 August, this movement was delayed twenty-four hours 

by the North Korean attack, but it could be postponed no longer. Thus, 

amid a major counterattack by his already depleted division, Church 

had to find additional units to guard nearly thirty kilometers of front. 

Again, Church employed economy-of-force means. Believing the North 

Korean main effort to be in the Naktong Bulge and hoping that the 

100 

- 
Economy of Force 

enemy had little additional strength to trouble him elsewhere, Church 

reversed his previous troop distribution scheme. Now, it was the 

division’s center and right that must be held thinly while troops 

massed for the counterattack effort on the division left. Accordingly, 

Church created Task Force Hyzer- composed of Lieutenant Colonel 

Peter C. Hyzer’s 3d Engineer (Combat) Battalion augmented by the 

24th Reconnaissance Company-to replace the ROK 17th Regiment on 

the division’s right on 7 August. 

For the next three days, the bulk of the 24th Infantry Division’s 

combat elements mounted a series of counterattacks to reduce the 

salient created by the North Korean penetration. Aiding the division”s 

own 19th and 34th Infantry regiments in these counterattacks were 

two battalions of the 9th Infantry, which had been attached to the 

24th from the 2d Infantry Division. Initially separate, the counterattacks were eventually coordinated by the assistant division commander, Brigadier General Pearson Menoher. In spite of Menoher’s best 

efforts, the counterattacks failed to erase the enemy penetration‘ 

Instead, the North Koreans retained the initiative and drove through 

a gap in the 24th Division”s line toward Church’s headquarters at 

Ch’angnyong and the division’s main supply route (MSR) to Miryang. 

In response, Church moved the division headquarters fifteen miles eastward to Kyun”gyo. He also thinned the forces on the division’s center 

and right even further, transferring one battalion from the 21st 

Infantry and the 24th Reconnaissance Company from Task Force 

Hyzer, Both units joined the counterattack force. Finally, late on 10 

August, Church created an ad hoc formation, Task Force Hill, to 

control all counterattacking units. 

Named for Colonel John G. Hill, commander of the 9th Infantry, 

’ Task Force Hill commenced operations on the morning of 11 August. 

That day, the 24th Division’s counterattacks again were unsuccessful. 

Meanwhile, North Korean elements seized the division’s MSR and cut 

all land communication forward from the division command post. In 

response, Church ordered Task Force Hill to cease offensive operations. 

Next, he further weakened his right flank by withdrawing an engineer 

company from the 21st Infantry’s sector to aid in reopening the MSR. 

The engineers joined the 24th Reconnaissance Company in a drive 

toward Kyun’gyo from the west. Finally, Church created Task Force 

Hafeman, a conglomeration of headquarters and support detachments. 

This new formation stood between the division headquarters and the 

North Koreans. Again, Church had employed the economy-of-force principle in making his dispositions. Hoping that his center and right could 

be safely screened by a mere handful of troops, he concentrated his 

division’s efforts on the threat to his MSR. 

101 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Late on the evening of If August, Church received information 

that the North Koreans were becoming more active on his right. By 

the next morning, approximately 900 enemy troops had crossed the 

Naktong just beyond the division’s right flank in the vicinity of 

Hyonp’ung. With his MSR still blocked, Church continued to use the 

bulk of his forces to clear the road. At the same time, he calculated 

that Task Force Hyzer and the remaining battalion of the 21st Infantry 

could hold their positions to the north. Every reinforcement Church 

received, including several battalions from the 2d and 25th Infantry 

Divisions, was committed to stabilizing the situation on the division’s 

left-center. By 13 August, this massive effort had reopened the division’s 

MSR and permitted the resumption of the original counterattack to 

regain the Naktong line. Unfortunately, at the same time, Eighth Army 

extended the 24th Division’s sector northward, to include the Hyonp”ung 

penetration, without providing the division additional resources. 

On 14 August, Task Force Hill resumed its counterattacks. That 

day, the 24th Division received 289 replacements, the first significant 

quantity since the beginning of the battle. In response to the North 

Karean crossing near Hyonp’ung, Church sent the replacements to the 

21st Infantry units still in place along the river. He also directed Task 

Force Hyzer to patrol aggressively in an effort to mask the division’s 

weakness on its right. Even with most of the division’s strength assigned to it, Task Force Hill was unable to drive the North Koreans 

back across the Naktong, and its counterattacks stalled on 15 August. 

To assist the 24th Division, Eighth Army now offered Church the 

temporary use of the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade. With this pramise 

of major augmentation, Church believed he could spare a few more 

troops for his right flank. Accordingly, he sent a battalion of the 23d 

Infantry north to relieve Task Force Hyzer from its position in the 

line. This battalion began to prabe North Korean positions on Hi11 409 

near Hyonp’ung on 16 August. 

Using the Marines as a spearhead, the 24th Infantry Division counterattacked again on 17 August to restore its original defensive trace along 

the east bank of the Naktong River. While the counterattack progressed 

in the left-center of the division sector, one battalion of the 21st Infantry, the 3d Engineer (Combat) Battalion, and a battahon of the 23d 

Infantry held the remainder of the division”s front. Near Hyonp’ung, 

the battalion from the 23d aggressively continued its probe of the North 

Korean pasitions on Hill 409. These probes revealed that part of the 

North Korean 10th Division remained east of the Naktong but was 

making no effort to expand its small bridgehead. The enemy’s quiescence permitted Church to remain focused on the 24th Division’s left. 

After severe fighting, Church’s forces on the evening of 19 August 

successfully ejected the North Koreans from the now-famous salient, 

102 
Economy of Force 

thus ending the First Battle of the Naktong Bulge. The 1st Provisional 

Marine Brigade left the sector the next day, and the 24th Division 

was relieved by the 2d Division on 24 August. 

Economy-of-force operations require commanders with limited forces 

to assess their situation, prioritize their tasks, and accept prudent risks 

at points other than their main effort. During the First Battle of the 

Naktong Bulge, Church made such assessments daily. When the North 

Korean attack showed his initial dispositions to be inadequate, he 

quickly redistributed his forces. For the remainder of the battle, the 

24th Infantry Division concentrated its strength on the division’s leftcenter and counterattacked to regain lost ground. At all times, Church 

manned the 24th’s right with the absolute minimum of force he believed 

he could prudently spare from the action on the left. Indeed, as the 

location of the North Korean main effort became obvious, Church shifted 

additional units from his right to the counterattack axis. Only when 

the flow of reinforcements significantly increased his overall strength 

did Church direct some of the new assets to his center and right. 

Eventually, after much hard fighting, the 24th Division’s original position along the Naktong River was restored. By doing so much with so 

little, Major General John H. Church and the 24th Infantry Division 

provide a perfect example of economy-of-force operations. 

Bibliography 

Appleman, Roy Edgar. South to the Naktong, North to the Yalu, JuneNouember 1950. United States Army in the Korean War. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, United States 

Army, 1961. 

Blair, Clay. The Forgotten War: America in Korea, 1950-1953. New 

York: Times Books, 1987. 

Gugeler, Russell A. Combat Actions in Korea. Army Historical Series. 

Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, U.S. 

Army, 1970. 

Robertson, William Glenn. Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950. Leavenworth Papers no. 13. Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute, US. Army Command and General Staff College, 1985. 

I 103 
14 

Endurance 

The British Triumph of Endurance in the Falkland 

Islands War 

Major Gary D. Rhay 

Combat is often a struggle of men against the environment as much 

as it is men against men. In military operations, the soldier’s ability 

to function adequately even when deprived of creature comforts and 

sleep often determines the efficiency and success of operations. Thus, 

maintaining a high level of physical endurance is essential in sustaining 

combat operations. The British campaign against the Argentines in 

the Falkland Islands in 1982 provides a good example of how the physical endurance of soldiers affects the outcome of battles. 

The Falkland Islands had been a point of contention between the 

British and Argentines since England occupied the islands in 1833. 

After recurrent failures in negotiations, on 2 April 1982, the Argentines 

moved to resolve the conflict by invading the Falklands and capturing 

the small garrison of British Royal Marines in control of the islands. 

Three days later, in rapid response, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher 

ordered a British naval task force to retake the Falklands, On 21 May 

1982, the British invaded. 

Located some 480 miles northeast of Cape Horn, at 52 degrees latitude, the Falkland Islands are remote and generally inhospitable, stormy 

in winter and barren in summer. Generally speaking, the temperatures 

during the British campaign were numbingly cold, and most soldiers 

wore up to seven layers of clothing. Sometimes, however, the temperature rose to just above freezing. These occasional warm periods, according to the British, increased the likelihood of the soldiers incurring 

exposure injuries. Both the British and the Argentines considered the 

weather conditions in the Falklands appalling. The rain often swept 

fiercely across the bleak, treeless landscape, cutting through waterproof 

clothing and inundating the soldiers’ trenches. 

In addition to bad weather, the rugged Falklands’ terrain-described 

as the worst possible terrain through which to stage a forced marchaffected the soldiers’ ability to function, compelling them to trudge 

through rocky valleys and hills as well as peat bogs. Stony stretches 

105 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

of jagged granite often ran for miles When encountered, rivers and 

streams had to be waded. Moving on foot was unbelievably hard. In 

one case, British soldiers took two and one-half hours to cover four 

kilometers in bringing supplies forward. The soldiers, soaked by mist 

and sweat, stumbled through boggy heather and clambered over lOOyard-wide stone runs to haul ammunition and supplies up the slopes 

before returning immediately to gather more. Because of the terrain 

and cold, misty weather, the marching pace dropped to half speed. 

From the start, both sides in the conflict attempted to limit the 

mobility of their adversary. The British sought to reduce the Argentine 

garrison’s mobility by destroying as many of their helicopters as possible. The Argentines, on their part, sank the Atlantic Conveyor, a 

British transport that carried vital supplies and helicopters. This left 

the British only eleven lift helicopters for all troop, equipment, and 

logistical movement ashore. 

To regain their offensive mobility, the British realized that they 

would have to move out of the beachhead on foot. So began the famous 

“yomp”’ or forced cross-country march by the 3 Commando Brigade. 

Since the soldiers’ packs weighed up to 120 pounds, the men strapped 

them on while still seated and then had to be helped to their feet by 

their comrades. Once underway, their route took them up and down 

hills; along rocky valleys; and through stone runs, peat bogs, and rivers. 

The blizzards and freezing temperatures along the fifty-mile trek were 

punctuated by brief firefights. 

On 27 May, the 3 Para (3d Battalion, the Parachute Regiment} left 

its beachhead perimeter at Port San Carlos and marched continuously 

for twenty-four hours. The paratroops, having spent a bitterly cold night 

in the open without sleeping bags (which caused fourteen paratroops 

to be evacuated due to exposure), wearily stumbled into Teal Inlet on 

the 28th. They had covered the twenty miles of trackless terrain in 

thirty-three hours (see map 11). 

Also on 27 May, the 45 Commando Battalion, Royal Marines, moved 

out on the first phase of its march, a thirteen-hour stint that covered 

fourteen miles. The boggy terrain- some of the most harrowing on the 

island-was covered with numerous lumps and tufts of grass that 

appeared to be designed to turn ankles. Most of the marines maintained 

their good humor and marched stoically through the bleak night. 

At 0200, they bedded down, only to be drenched in their sleeping 

bags by torrential rain before dawn. On the second morning, without 

respite, they left their heavy haversacks and marched into Douglas 

settlement to join the 3 Para at Teal Inlet. The march was not without 

cost: the men were wet and exhausted, and most had cold, blistered, 

Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

and injured feet. From Teal Inlet, the 3 Commando Brigade was poised 

to advance on the main Argentine positions at Stanley. 

During this first phase of 3 Commando Brigade’s movement, the 2 

Para (2d Battalion, the Parachute Regiment} attacked Goose Green, The 

bulk of 2 Para’s warm clothing was still on board the transports, 

unavailable to the men. Laden with ammunition and sagging at their 

knees, the soldiers of the 2 Para staged forward up the Sussex Mountains. It was a long, hard climb with slippery footing, and some men, 

overbalanced by their heavy packs, fell to the ground like beached turtles until they could be helped to their feet by their comrades, 

Once established on the Sussex Mountains, 2 Para patrols moved 

toward Goose Green. A platoon-size force moved by helicopter to within 

two kilometers of Camilla Creek House. From there, it took four hours 

to cover the remaining two kilometers-a testament to the difficulty of 

the terrain. Because of lack of support, the platoon withdrew after three 

days, short of food and suffering from injured feet and exhaustion. 

Two days later, the 2 Para moved forward to an assembly area in 

the vicinity of Camilla Creek House-an arduous march across difficult 

country. No vehicles and only limited helicopter lifts were available to 

support the operation. Because of the situation, the 2 Para would travel 

as lightly as possible. Soldiers would carry ammunition, two water bottles, food for two days, weapons, and a minimal number of radios. 

Some companies even left their entrenching tools behind. At least two 

platoons, which rejoined the battalion en route from patrolling, fought 

without helmets, which they left behind to lighten their loads. 

The paratroops carried two 81-mm mortars and ammunition, three 

Milan guided-missile launchers, seventeen missiles, and six light 

machine guns. The Royal Artillery, Royal Navy, and air strikes would 

provide the bulk of the fire support. 

The weather was moderate for the Falklands as the 2 Para traveled 

south to Camilla Creek House. As darkness settled, the 2 Para began 

to close its ranks, Moving down the road in the darkness, the men 

became torpid, their heads bowed and backs aching. When the soldiers 

halted, they gratefully sank to the ground and leaned back on their 

packs to ease the strain on their shoulders. At each stop, men dozed 

and had to be awakened. Weighted down with medical supplies and 

equipment, the medical section tried desperately to keep pace with the 

battalion. Captain Hughes, a medical officer who had gone without 

sleep for two days while attending patients on the Sussex Mountains, 

fell and suffered a hairline fracture in his ankle. Hughes walked through 

the rest of the campaign with a badly swollen ankle, only accepting 

treatment three weeks later after the campaign ended. 

108 
Endurance 

4 Other support troops experienced similar problems. The forward air 

controller fell and twisted his ankle but was carried forward by the 

battalion’s support company and evacuated the next day. The Blowpipe 

antiaircraft missile sections also struggled forward, encumbered by their 

launchers and missiles. 

Many of the marchers later noted that one of the worst things 

about their trek was the psychological pressure of not knowing how 

much farther they had to go. The men staggered on through the night, 

the sweat chilling their backs and the cold seeping up from the road. 

They pushed on, confident that they would eventually arrive at their 

destination. 

Finally, Camilla Creek House loomed ahead, the dark silhouettes 

of the buildings standing out on the landscape. The lead company 

cleared the buildings, and the battalion closed in. Although the Argentines had apparently left in some haste due to British artillery fire, 

the battalion commander decided to risk occupying the buildings and 

suffering the same fate. Staying warm was worth the gamble. After 

establishing blocking positions on the approaches, the companies eventually jammed themselves into the large farmhouse and outbuildings. 

As soldiers commonly do, they adopted some amazing sleeping positions. The staff section crammed into a coal shed, their bodies huddled 

against the walls, their feet sprawled to the center. One squad occupied 

a lavatory, while another crowded into a pantry. Not everyone rested. 

Two patrols moved forward to observe the enemy positions in the vicinity of Goose Green. 

At dawn, the patrols had excellent observation of several enemy 

positions that were invaluable for planning the attack. Eventually, 

however, the Argentines observed the exposed British positions and 

forced them to withdraw under fire. At first light, the British commander realized that Camilla Creek House was in a hollow, hidden 

from the Argentines’ view. It seemed an ideal place for the battalion 

to hide before attacking the next night. 

Around noon, however, the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) 

reported that “a parachute battalion is poised and ready to assault 

Darwin and Goose Green.” The commander was incredulous, and as 

everyone fumed, the battalion was ordered to disperse and find available 

cover. The battalion had to abandon what was an obvious target. 

The BBC, patrols, and air strikes had now thoroughly alerted the I Argentines, and any British movement in the open was suicidal. The 

rest of the day, the battalion remained on the bleak landscape, without 

/ its heavier equipment and warm clothing, left behind on the Sussex 

Mountains. Fortunately, some paratroops carried small individual heat109 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

ing units to warm their rations and tea. It was a long day as the 

British waited for darkness to continue the attack. 

At nightfall, orders were given, and the battalion redeployed in 

the darkness. Meanwhile, helicopters moved equipment from the caches 

on the Sussex Mountains to Camilla Creek House. As in most operations, not all military equipment went forward. As a result, only three 

of the support company’s machine-gun tripods were shipped. 

The battalion’s fire support team moved forward at 2300: the Milan 

platoon (three launchers), the machine-gun platoon (three guns with 

tripods and equipment and three without), snipers, assault engineers 

(as ammunition carriers), and the naval gunfire control team. Only 

the marine Blowpipe section was brought forward. The Royal Artillery 

gunners, unable to keep up with the battalion, were left at Camilla 

Creek House to protect the artillery deploying there. By 0200, the fire 

support team had arrived in position across the bay from the Argentine 

artillery positions. After the British settled into their positions by 0230, 

the team called for Royal Navy gunfire on enemy artillery. 

One company and the reconnaissance platoon spent the night reconnoitering routes and securing the battalion’s start lines. The going was 

difficult. The streams on the maps turned out to be at the bottoms of 

steep ravines. At 0220, the assault companies began their march on 

Goose Green, Because of the ravines, their approach was as difficult 

as the reconnaissance, and men were forced to move in single file. 

The attack on Goose Green began three and one-half hours before 

dawn. The men encountered no mines or barbed wire, and the first 

engagements with the Argentines were uniformly successful. Because 

the a-inch mortars had been left on the Sussex Mountains (due to the 

weight involved), the battlefield was left unilluminated. 

In the dark night, the H.M.S. Arrow could provide only a limited 

number of flare rounds, and the fighting rapidly became confused as 

the paratroops encountered scattered enemy positions. Then, the Arrow’s 

only gun jammed and even that support ceased. As casualties mounted, 

evacuation operations commenced. Enemy fire hampered this slow and 

painful process, As there were no stretchers, the casualties were laid 

on ponchos and carried hammocklike, which was exhausting to the 

carriers. 

As first light broke over the battlefield, 2 Para’s attack began to 

bog down as the Argentines brought the paratroops under intense fire. 

Daylight seemed to bring the enemy renewed confidence, and the Argentines increased their indirect fire. Lack of ammunition soon became a 

problem for the pinned-down British units. To alleviate this, stretcherbearers going forward carried loads of ammunition, which gave them 

no time to rest. 

110 
Endurance 

The deadlock was broken shortly after noon when the British battalion commander was killed while assaulting an enemy trench. The 

outrage generated by his death, along with skillful action by the battalion’s second in command, helped the British paratroops regain the 

initiative and capture Darwin. The wind was now blowing at fifty to 

sixty knots across the battlefield, dramatically affecting the accuracy 

of the 105mm howitzers, so the British ceased their fire. As evening 

approached, the 2 Para closed in on Goose Green from two sides 

Darkness was settling in when the British observed Argentine helicopters landing to the south of Goose Green to disembark troops. The 

British drove these Argentines off by artillery fire. The injection of 

fresh Argentine troops just as the 2 Para was feeling the deleterious 

effects of the long and arduous battle could have been disastrous. The 

battalion had left the Sussex Mountains forty hours earlier and had 

been fighting heavily for the last twelve hours, all with little sleep. 

The soldiers had almost run out of ammunition and energy, so the 

decision was made to consolidate, reorganize, and wait for morning. 

Through the long, shadowy night, the paratroops huddled in their 

positions, cold and clammy, unable even to take off their soaked boots 

to put on dry socks. In the rear were still many wounded to be evacuated. In the forward area, the wounded, cold and wet, suffered in the 

darkness, Snow began to fall, and the firing fell off. 

During the night, the battalion prepared to attack Goose Green. 

The new battalion commander, Major Keeble, was confident his unit 

could storm the settlement in the morning. The complete discomfort 

that he and his men were experiencing ensured that they would let 

nothing stand between them and proper cover. As it happened, the 

Argentines surrendered the following day, on 29 May, without renewing 

combat. For its part, the 2 Para sorely needed a respite to allow the 

men to dry out and recover. 

The Falklands campaign is replete with examples of British endurance in combat, from Harrier jump-jet pilots flying nearly round-theclock sorties to foot soldiers “yomping” the seventy-plus miles from 

San Carlos to Stanley. It is a testament to the endurance of British 

soldiers that they carried 120-pound loads to Goose Green and were 

still capable of conducting violent combat operations, 

British soldiers met all the privations with an extraordinary capacity 

for pain and discomfort. Many spent seventeen days in the open in 

the dirty, wet, and cold environment. It is a measure of the soldiers 

involved that despite the abysmal weather, terrain, fatigue, and fear 

they incurred that they went on to accomplish their mission. 

111 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Training was one of the keys to the success of the British Royal 

Marines of the 3 Commando Brigade. The marines and paratroops were 

well trained in conditions similar to those in the Falklands, which 

allowed them to endure hardships on the island. Additionally, they 

took every opportunity on the voyage to the South Atlantic Ocean to 

train physically for the campaign ahead, conducting runs around the 

promenade deck of the S.S. Canberra, among other physical activities. 

The second key to the British success was the confidence the men had 

in their leaders who, by example, endured the same privations as their 

men. Morale was the final key to British success: while things went 

wrong and supplies and equipment were not brought forward, the soldiers’ spirits never flagged and were excellent throughout the operation. 

Bibliography 

Frost, John. 2 Para Falklands: The Battalion at War. London: Buchan 

& Enright, 1983. 

Thompson, Julian. No Picnic: 3 Commando Brigade in the South Atlantic, 1982. London: Leo Cooper in association with Seckler & 

Warburg Ltd., 1985. 

Vaux, Nick. March to the South Atlantic: 42 Commando, Royal Marines, 

in the Falkland War. London: Buchan & Enright, 1986. 

112 
15 

Environment 

The 84th Smoke Generator Company’s Operations at the 

Moselle River, September 1944 

Major Terry L. Siems 

In the early morning of 10 September 1944, men of the 10th Infantry, 23d Armored Infantry Battalion, began crossing the Moselle River. 

Within seventy-two hours, they had established a bridgehead and crossing site and had routed the Germans from the terrain that dominated 

the site. 

One of the keys to their success was reinforcement, and the key to 

this reinforcement was bridges. But as Iong as the Germans manning 

the casemate artillery at Fort Driant observed activity on the Moselle 

River from the high ground above the west bank and the German 

guns on the east bank roved freely within range of the river, the 

responsibility for erecting a bridge and retaining it would rest on an 

untested U.S. company’s ability to produce a smoke environment that 

would conceal the engineers’ bridge-building activities and the assault 

force’s advance. 

A month before the Moselle crossing, the U.S. Third Army, commanded by Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr., had become operational. Shortly thereafter, it began its rapid march across France. By 

the late summer of 1944, the German Army pursued by Patton was in 

a desperate condition. Much of its equipment had been abandoned, 

morale was low, and replacements and supplies were nonexistent. In 

August, however, Patton’s lead units began to outrun their supplies of 

oil, gasoline, and ammunition. Eventually, due to a lack of supplies, 

the Third Army halted east of the Meuse River. This delay lasted for 

nearly a week while supplies caught up with the army. When the 

advance resumed on 6 September, the Third Army found that the Germans had caught their second wind and were no longer in full retreat. 

In fact, they had developed excellent defensive positions behind the 

Moselle River and were prepared to contest every inch of ground and 

counterattack to recover any lost ground. 

On resuming his advance, Patton was to seize crossing sites over 

the Moselle. Since the Germans commanded the high ground above 

113 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

the eastern bank of the river, Patton planned to use a new technique, 

a large forward smoke screen, to hide his assault and bridging operation The 84th Smoke Generator Company, which had been attached 

to the 5th Division on 6 September, was selected for the job. The 84th 

was under the operational control of the 1103d Engineer Combat Group, 

which was to construct the bridges (supervised by the 5th Division’s 

chemical officer). The 84th was to cover the site with smoke on the 

morning of the 10th so assault troops could cross the Moselle, To 

achieve surprise in the attack, no artillery preparation would be 

conducted. 

Screening assault and bridging sites with smoke was a new experience for many U.S. troops since members of such special units were 

usually assigned to transportation, guard, or security duties. Thus, after 

the Normandy invasion, only four of twelve smoke generator companies 

assigned to the European Theater of Operations (ETO) were available 

for forward-area smoke operations, and only two of these remained 

operational. Like most of the other smoke generator units in the ETO, 

the 84th had only trained for rear-area antiaircraft missions and not 

for assault support. Moreover, its units had never operated in the front 

under continuous heavy fire. In addition, the 5th Division, the assault 

force at Arnaville, had never been supported by a smoke generator 

unit in a river crossing. Furthermore, the engineers from the 1103d, 

who would build the bridge, had never done so under the cover of a 

large-area smoke screen. This would be the first smoke operation of its 

kind in the ETO. (Prior to this operation, however, smoke screens had 

been used successfully in North Africa and in the Italian campaign.) 

In September 1944, at the proposed crossing site at Arnaville in 

the narrow valley of the Moselle, a canal, river, and railroad roughly 

paralleled each other in a belt about 400 to 500 yards wide (see map 

12). East of the river was a flat strip of land 1,000 yards wide, beyond 

which the terrain rose to hills occupied by the Germans. A small creek, 

the Rupt de Mad, flowed under the railroad and canal and emptied 

into the Moselle. The roads running north and south on both sides of 

the Moselle marked the boundary line between the flat land and the 

beginning hills. On clear days, the Germans could observe five or six 

miles down the river toward Metz and three to four miles up the river 

valley, which included the Arnaville area and selected crossing sites. 

In a meteorological study of the area, the 5th Division’s chemical 

officer, with the aid of air force and artillery reports and local resident 

interviews, determined that the prevailing winds were westerly and of 

low velocity. Accordingly, the division chemical officer and the 84th’s 

commander placed the smoke generators on a line behind Hill 303, 

some 2,300 yards west of the crossing site. In this way, the prevailing 

114 
, _” ‘ - I^~(_, ~~. - ..^ _ - 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

winds would carry the smoke to the crossing site, covering U.S. troops 

and the flat terrain east of the river. Because the wind was not expected 

to shift during the course of the operation, no attempt was made to 

place generators near the crossing site itself. (This proved to be a serious 

mistake.) Another reason for not placing the generators near the crossing site was the 84th’s lack of experience under fire. The commanders 

felt that the protection of Hill 303 would provide cover for the smoke 

generator operators from artillery and small-arms fire and help to steady 

them as they set up their equipment. To further ensure that the smoke 

generator company was protected, observation posts were established 

on Hills 303 and 331. The 5th Division’s chemical officer, who was at 

the crossing site, maintained contact with these observation posts by 

radio. Meanwhile, the engineers had tactical control of the smoke 

operations. During the night of 9-10 September, the 84th moved into 

position 1. 

The 84th was equipped with the new mobile M-2 mechanical smoke 

generator. When World War II began, the United States had a limited 

capability in smoke generation. Shortly after the attack on Pearl Rarbor, 

the United States organized smoke generator units to aid in the defense 

of the Panama Canal; the locks at Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan; and 

aircraft plants on the West Coast. The first smoke generator developed 

was the M-l or ESSO model, which remained in the United States 

and Panama. The major drawback to this generator was its size: it 

weighed 3,000 pounds and expended 100 gallons of fog oil per hour. In 

contrast, the M-2, a mobile generator, weighed only 172 pounds and 

drew its fog oil from an external supply source, usually a 53-gallon 

drum. Also, the M-2 consumed only fifty gallons of fog oil per hour 

and could generate smoke in one minute-compared to three to five 

minutes for the ESSO. The fog oil used was a petroleum distillate. 

The smoke produced from fog oil resembled natural fog and was extraordinarily enduring, frequently extending five or more miles downwind. 

Moreover, it could obscure targets during day or night. In addition, to 

supplement the M-2’s smoke screen, the 84th had M-l and M-4 smoke 

pots available. 

The fog oil needed for the M-2s was located in the Third Army 

depot at Troyes, 180 miles to the rear. Since the 84th did not have 

enough organic transportation, the 5th Division’s quartermaster trucks 

hauled the fog oil to the 84th’s supply area, located four miles to the 

rear of Hill 303. Company trucks then carried the fog oil forward to 

the generators. Forty-eight generators were available for the operation, 

and the twelve at position 1 were scheduled to begin producing smoke 

at 0600 on 10 September. 

The combat operation began on schedule, with the crossing site 

well covered with smoke. After crossing the river, the 1st and 2d Bat116 
Environment 

talions, 10th Infantry, advanced to their hilltop objectives. The advance 

went well until the winds shifted from the west to the north-northeast 

at 1000. Now, the Germans had a clear view of the bridge site. Fortunately, the engineers had not yet moved their bridging equipment to 

the riverbank. During the time that the site had been covered by smoke, 

the 2d Battalion had crossed the river, wounded men had been evacuated, and new supplies had been pushed forward. But with the smoke 

gone, the German artillery now had complete command of this exposed 

area. 

In an attempt to reestablish the smoke screen and again conceal 

troop movements, four generators were moved near the river, behind 

an abandoned railroad embankment (position 2). By noon, smoke from 

the new generator site once again covered the bridgehead. Now, operations by the 84th became confused and the smoke generators low on 

oil. The assistant division commander and the division chemical officer 

searched for leaders of the 84th Smoke Generator Company. The 84th’s 

commander could not be found, and the executive officer was on the 

far side of the river searching for new positions. Meanwhile, the company had abandoned position 1, leaving its oil and equipment behind. 

Finally, the 84th’s first sergeant was found and was able to organize 

part of the company to move the oil, generators, and spare parts forward to the new positions. The company commander appeared in the 

late afternoon and was promptly relieved. 

In order to maintain the smoke screen regardless of the wind’s 

direction, the 84th established several new positions. One of these, position 3, paralleled the Arnaville-Noveant road and was augmented by a 

jeep-mounted generator that moved along the road to fill in gaps in 

the smoke screen. During the night, crews took eight generators across 

the river to position 4, which was ready for operation on 11 September. 

Two emergency positions, 5 and 6, were located south of Arnaville but 

were never needed for the operation. 

On 11 September, the generator crews in position 3 began producing 

smoke, and for several hours, crossing activities on the bridgehead 

proceeded without German interference. Meanwhile, several large pieces 

of bridging equipment had been hauled to the river, and construction 

was about to begin. At around 0900, an engineer officer-who probably 

was influenced by the lack of enemy fire-ordered the smoke generators 

turned off, since they hampered the engineers’ operations. When the 

smoke cleared, the Germans promptly destroyed some of the heavy 

equipment and disrupted the bridging operations. Smoke was soon 

reestablished. Fearing that the Germans had been able to pinpoint the 

original crossing site during the lull in the smoke screen, the engineers 

moved the crossing site 300 yards downstream. Now, the control of 

117 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

smoke operations was taken from the engineers and returned to the 

division chemical officer and the 5th Division commander. 

Subsequently, a great debate ensued on whether to continue using 

a smoke screen. The engineer commander felt that too much emphasis 

had been given to smoke. Besides, the smoke interfered with the men 

working on the bridgehead. The 5th Division commander, in contrast, 

maintained that a smoke screen should be continued, citing the damage 

the Germans had inflicted on the bridgehead on 11 September. Late 

on 14 September, the engineers completed the bridge at the southern 

site, and the following day, U.S. combat battalions captured the dominating hill in the area. This site was secured at the cost of 725 casualties 

in the 10th Infantry, 13 killed and 100 wounded in the 1103d Engineer 

Combat Group, and 2 killed and 7 wounded in the 84th Smoke Generator 

Company. 

The bridge was finally secured, but the need for smoke continued. 

The Germans still had dominating positions at Fort Driant and near 

Metz. Qn 21 September, the 161st Smoke Generator Company relieved 

the 84th and continued to produce smoke at the bridge site until 25 

September when XX Corps decided that smoke was no longer required. 

Once the smoke cleared, the Germans promptly destroyed the treadway 

bridge and damaged the pontoon structure, which stopped all traffic. 

The 84th returned to establish a smoke screen. 

The operations of the 84th Smoke Generator Company at the Moselle 

River demonstrate that smoke can be used effectively in assault and 

bridging operations, and many lessons can be learned from this operation. From the beginning of its operation, the 84th was plagued with 

logistical problems. While the 84th had sufficient trucks to transport 

supplies in its immediate area of operations, it lacked organic transportation and had problems transporting men, equipment, fuel, and 

supplies from the rear area. Commanders at Arnaville solved these 

problems in the short term, but in the future, logistics problems should 

be addressed in the planning phase of operations. 

Another lesson learned in this bridging operation was that smoke 

generators must be placed close to crossing sites, and plans must be 

developed for their resupply. In addition, definite control of large-area 

smoke screening must be established early in an operation. At the 

beginning of the Arnaville operation, the engineers controlled the smoke, 

which seemed logical. However, when the engineers lifted the smoke 

screen and the Germans rained down destruction on the engineers and 

assault troops, control reverted to the division commander. In future 

operations, smoke generator units should be controlled at the division 

level from the outset, where the full scope of the battle is better 

understood. 

‘> 118 
Environment 

In such operations, changes of wind direction also must be accounted for, because when wind directions change unexpectedly, the 

results may have disastrous effects on unprepared soldiers. Maintaining 

accurately placed smoke screens was difficult at the Moselle, and redundancy should have been planned as part of the operation. 

In addition, the men of the 84th should have been given proper 

combat training to prepare them for this operation. Historically, smoke 

generator companies had operated only in the rear areas. Thus, the 

84th’s generator operators were not trained to function in the dangerous 

and unpredictable environment of the front. Also, generator operators 

became fatigued because only one operator was assigned to each generator. The 84th should have had more operators. Additionally, more 

support personnel should have been attached to the division to repair 

damaged and faulty generators. 

The use of smoke in the assault and bridging operation at Arnaville 

was its first employment in the ETO, and it was a success. Clearly, in 

future wars, generating smoke to conceal operations should be used to 

manipulate the environment to gain advantages over the enemy. 

Bibliography 

Cole, Hugh Marshall. The Lorraine Campaign. United States Army in 

World War II. Washington, DC: Historical Division, United States 

Army, 1950. 

Kleber, Brooks E., and Dale Birdsell. The Chemical Warfare Service: 

ChemicaZs in Combat. United States Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, U.S. Army, 

1966. 

MacDonald, Charles Brown, and Sidney T. Mathews. Three Battles: 

Arnauille, Altuzzo, and Schmidt. United States Army in World War 

II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, Department of the Army, 1952. 

Pritchard, Paul W. Smoke Generator Operations in the Mediterranean 

and European Theaters of Operation. Chemical Corps Historical 

Studies. Washington, DC: Historical Section Office of the Chief of 

the Chemical Corps, US. Army, 1948. 

119 
16 

Fire Support 

Assessing the Adversary at Dien Bien Phu 

Lieutenant Colonel James R. McLean 

The village complex of Dien Bien Phu lies in the center of a large 

valley in northwestern Vietnam approximately 180 miles from Hanoi. 

This rich, fertile valley is some 12 miles long and 8 miles wide and is 

completely surrounded by tall, jungly mountains whose peaks rise to 

over 3,000 feet in many places. By 1953, the village had served as an 

administrative center for the Vietnamese government for over seventy 

years, being an important marketplace for two important local cash 

crops -rice and opium. An important regional crossroads, it sat on 

Provincial Road 41, the major north-south highway in the area, and 

controlled Vietnamese access to Laos, only eight miles to the west. 

It was at Dien Bien Phu in November 1953 that French colonial 

forces threw down the gauntlet to the Vietminh, challenging them to 

engage in a great battle that would determine the outcome of the long 

and bitter Indochina war. Neither side dreamed that within six months 

the French would suffer such a crushing defeat there that they would 

sue for peace a day after the village fell. 

The war between the French and the Communist Vietminh was in 

its seventh year when General Hem-i Navarre arrived in Indochina in 

May 1953 as the new theater commander. In the aftermath of World 

War II, French energies were devoted to reconstructing their nation, 

creating a new domestic political consensus, and coping with the threat 

of Soviet expansion in Europe. France’s global strategic goal was to 

return to its prewar status as a major colonial power, but the French 

had very limited resources available for this purpose. Although Indochina was one of the most important regions where French military 

forces were deployed in the early 195Os, Europe still remained their 

main interest. Thus, Navarre’s mission was to defeat the Vietminh 

insurgency and restore French political prestige and influence in the 

area-but to do so with limited men and materiel. 

Opposing the French were Vietnamese Communist nationalists 

under the leadership of Ho Chi Minh. Ho had organized the Vietminh 

to oppose Japanese occupation forces during World War II and continued to lead them against France when that country attempted to 

, 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

reestablish colonial rule in 1946. His goal was to create a unified, 

independent Vietnam under his leadership. The senior Vietminh commander was Vo Nguyen Giap, a former history teacher and long-time 

supporter of Ho Chi Minh. With the cessation of hostilities in Korea, 

the Chinese Communists were able to provide increasing military 

assistance and hardware to their allies to the south. Given this new 

level of aid, Ho and Giap sought to go on the offensive against the 

French and drive them from Indochina. 

In the summer of 1953, Navarre had 189,000 troops in Indochina: 

54,000 French soldiers, 20,000 Legionnaires (many of whom were 

German or Eastern European), 30,000 North Africans (Algerians and 

Moroccans), 10,000 air force and 5,000 navy personnel, and 70,000 

members of the Vietnamese National Army. Most of these were needed 

to man garrisons throughout Indochina, particularly along a chain of 

defensive positions in the Red River delta called the De Lattre Line. 

The Vietminh, with 6 divisions and 3 independent regiments, had at 

least 80,000 well-trained first-echelon soldiers, along with a large body 

of second-echelon militia available for regional conflicts and activity. 

These, in turn, were backed by large portions of the peasant population 

whose support the Vietminh had already won. 

Navarre’s long-term plan for defeating the Vietminh envisioned 

limited offensive operations by his regulars to keep Giap’s forces 

occupied while the French rebuilt the Vietnamese National Army in 

1954. Then, in 1955, he would mount a general offensive to destroy Ho 

@hi Minh’s People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN). Prior to Navarre’s 

arrival in country, the French had achieved some success against the 

Vietminh by creating forward operating bases behind enemy lines. An 

airhead, seized by an airborne insertion, would be rapidly expanded 

by airlifting in artillery, engineer, and support elements, as well as 

regular infantry units to replace the paratroopers. The French then 

would conduct limited local offensive actions disrupting the Vietminh 

rear and causing PAVN units to attack their positions in force. Next, 

the French would use the inherent strength of. the defense and their 

superiority in firepower, both artillery and air support, to inflict heavy 

losses on their opponents. When this was accomplished, the operation 

would terminate, and the entire French contingent would be withdrawn 

by air. 

The key to this kind of operation was to choose a provocative site, 

man it with sufficient forces to prompt the enemy to attack (and thus 

accept an attrition battle), and then retain the ability to withdraw the 

force when necessary. The French had employed these successful tactics 

before Navarre’s appearance. Navarre now intended to intensify these 

tactics and expand their scope. In the autumn of 1953, Navarre selected 

122 
Fire Support 

Dien Bien Phu as the centerpiece for his plan to engage the Vietminh 

in northern Vietnam. 

i On 20 November, elements of the 1st Airborne Battle Group jumped 

into Dien Bien Phu. Within two weeks, nearly 5,000 French troops were ti 

in the valley, improving two airstrips and building defensive positions. / 

/ Navarre’s trap was set. The bait was six battalions of airborne infantry, 

I the cream of the French Army in Indochina. 

Ho and Giap carefully analyzed the situation before accepting battle. 

They determined that the French strength was in fire support, both 

artillery and air power, and that the French weakness lay in their 

extended and vulnerable lines of communication (LO&). The Vietminh 

leaders also considered their own position and identified their strengths 

as their skilled infantry and the support of the people. Their weaknesses 

were their lack of firepower and their inability to sustain large-scale 

conventional operations. Therefore, the Vietminh leaders decided that 

victory at Dien Bien Phu would depend on their ability to reduce the 

effectiveness of French fire support and to sever the enemy’s lines of 

supply while, at the same time, reinforcing their own firepower and 

protecting their own LOGS. Less than a week after the first French 

paratroopers jumped into Dien Bien Phu, Giap ordered four divisions 

to converge on the valley, to arrive no later than the end of December: 

the Vietminh had accepted the challenge. 

The French military’s analysis of the centers of gravity for the 

Dien Bien Phu campaign was fatally flawed by its overestimation of 

French capabilities and its underestimation of the Vietminh’s. Like Ho 

and Giap, the French realized that the keys to success or failure would 

be logistics and fire support. The French fully respected the prowess 

of the PAVN infantry but felt confident that superior French air and 

artillery support would more than offset any numerical advantage the 

Vietminh might muster. Furthermore, the French believed that the 

Vietminh could neither mass nor sustain the forces necessary to overcome the garrison at Dien Bien Phu, and if they attempted to, French 

air power would smash their LOCs and pound their assembly areas. A 

combination of offensive maneuver and artillery and air support would 

prevent the Vietminh from interdicting French aerial resupply operations at the two airfields in the valley. 

Navarre and his operational commander in northern Vietnam, 

Major General Red Cogny, felt that the French Air Force would be 

able to locate and cut any Vietminh supply routes into Dien Bien Phu. 

However, during the operation, the French flew hundreds of reconnaissance and battlefield air interdiction sorties against the enemy 

LOGS and were not effective. Expert use of camouflage, movement at 

night and during periods of limited visibility, use of redundant routes, 

123 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

creation of extensive engineer repair systems to build and quickly repair 

the elaborate road network, the use of more than 500 2%ton trucks 

given by the Chinese, and the mobilization of tens of thousands of 

peasants to provide manual labor and to carry thousands of tons of 

supplies all helped defeat French efforts to cut the supply lines 

sustaining the Vietminh army. 

The French also grossly underestimated the fire support capabilities 

of their opponents. Colonel Charles Piroth, the commander of all French 

artillery at Dien Bien Phu, insisted that the Vietminh could bring 

neither large quantities of artillery nor the amount of ammunition 

necessary to sustain effective operations into the area over the 

extremely rugged terrain. He was wrong on both accounts. The French 

felt that Giap’s forces could field only 40 to 60 artillery pieces with 

fewer than 25,000 rounds of ammunition. In fact, Giap brought well 

over 200 guns to bear during the battle and fired over 350,000 rounds. 

Because the French had dismissed the Vietminh artillery threat, they 

did not adequately prepare their positions to withstand the heavy 

artillery bombardments that characterized the battle. Accurate, eoncentrated Vietminh fires and the lack of French overhead cover and deep 

bunkers, especially over critical airfield installations and artillery gun 

pits, contributed to heavy French losses early in the campaign. 

In addition to their other miscalculations, the French overestimated 

their ability to locate and destroy any artillery the Vietminh brought 

to bear. Piroth repeatedly boasted to high-ranking civilian and military 

officials who visited the valley in the months before Giap’s attack that 

his counterbattery fires would destroy any Vietminh gun that fired three 

rounds. Furthermore, several times, he turned down offers to have more 

artillery sent to the valley, claiming that he already had more than 

he could use. He based his claims on the belief that the firing of enemy 

guns could easily be spotted-either directly from ground observation 

posts or from light observation aircraft that were permanently stationed 

at Dien Bien Phu-since the weapons would be emplaced on the forward 

slopes of the surrounding hills. In reality, the hills were too far away 

for direct observation. Moreover, the Vietminh had learned valuable 

lessons from their Chinese advisers on how to protect key installations 

and supply routes from air interdiction. Camouflage was used expertly 

to hide positions, while dummy positions drew French efforts away 

from actual locations. Also, some units were moved nightly to lessen 

the chance of detection. The PAVN forces emplaced their artillery pieces 

individually, often digging them deeply into hillsides so that they were 

impervious to all but direct hits. 

In contrast to the French, the Vietminh realistically appraised 

centers of gravity for both sides. Three of the divisions Giap sent to 

124 
Fire Support 

Dien Bien Phu were elite infantry units built on the Western model of 

three regiments of three battalions each. Although each PAVN battalion 

possessed more riflemen, machine guns, and heavy mortars than its 

French counterpart, French overall superiority in artillery and air 

support more than made up the difference in firepower. But by 1953, 

the Vietminh had created a unit designed to redress this inequity-the 

351st Heavy Division. Modeled after the Soviet artillery division that 

had time and again provided massive firepower to smash through 

German defenses during World War II, the 351st consisted of engineer, 

mortar, rocket, antiaircraft, and field artillery battalions and was 

manned by the bulk of PAVN soldiers trained in these skills. The 

351st’s impact at Dien Bien Phu was enormous. 

Giap deployed the assets of the 351st Division to protect his 

LO&-his weakest link-and to counter the French superiority in fire 

support. His deployment of nearly 100,000 troops to this remote and 

inhospitable location and their sustainment during six months of 

intense siege warfare was a herculean task. To protect their LOCs, the 

Vietminh placed antiaircraft artillery (AAA) elements at every choke 

point the French could attack from the air. These “flak corridors” took 

such a toll on French fighter-bombers that the pilots were forced to 

change their tactics by flying faster and dropping their ordnance at 

higher altitudes, both of which significantly decreased the effectiveness 

of the French air campaign. Almost every airplane that flew against 

the Vietminh LOCs was damaged to some extent, and the French 

simply did not have the equipment, spare parts, and maintenance personnel to repair or replace them all. Consequently, as early as 26 

December 1953, French air commanders diverted attack aircraft to fly 

flak-suppression missions. Yet despite the maximum efforts of the 

French air arms-both air force and navy-at interdiction, supplies 

continued to flow in sufficient quantities to sustain Vietminh combat 

operations. 

The Vietminh did not employ their AAA in a defensive role only. 

They also used it offensively to attack the French center of gravity, 

the tenuous aerial resupply system at Dien Bien Phu. The Vietminh 

quickly surrounded the French with a ring of antiaircraft guns, mortars, 

and artillery, which they continued to strengthen as more weapons 

arrived in the battle zone. Consequently, it became increasingly difficult 

for the French to approach the valley by air due to the concentrated 

AAA fires. Once the Vietminh began their assaults and forced the 

French back, the PAVN leaders immediately ordered their 37-mm and 

.50-caliber AAA guns even closer to the airfield. This ring of AAA 

hindered French resupply efforts and helped protect the massed infantry 

divisions and support troops from the French Air Forces’ napalm and 

bombing runs, thus further degrading French fire support effectiveness. 

125 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Giap and his planners did not forget the airfield itself and made 

denial of its use by the French a primary objective for both ground 

maneuver and indirect fires. PAVN mortars and artillery interdicted 

airfield operations early by targeting the control tower, radio beacon 

system, aircraft repair and refueling facilities, observation planes and 

fighter-bombers parked on the flight line, and the airstrip itself. From 

December 1953 through March 1954, fewer and fewer aircraft landed 

at Dien Bien Phu. When Giap at last attacked on 13 March 1954, the 

PAVN artillery effectively shut down the airfield. Resupply then had 

to be accomplished by parachute. Initially, the French C-47s dropped 

their cargo in daylight at 2,500 feet, but as Vietminh AAA gunnery 

improved and they brought their guns closer to the drop zones, the 

drop altitude rose first to 6,500 feet and then later to 8,500 feet. 

Naturally, the accuracy of the drops decreased precipitously, as did 

the percentage of tonnage actually recovered by the French. Distribution 

of those items the French did recover was made extremely difficult 

because the enemy could sweep the drop zones and French positions 

with fire at will. 

Once the battle was joined, both sides used their fire support assets 

to great effect. The French had built their defense around a series of 

mutually supporting defensive positions with interlocking fields of fire 

designed to protect the main airfield in the center of the valley. Each 

of the artillery pieces had already fired at a number of critical targets, 

and the Vietminh suffered heavy casualties whenever they stormed a 

French position. The French gunners and mortarmen were highly 

trained professionals, possessed the finest equipment in the theater, 

and were as confident as their leaders that their fires would quickly 

smash the Vietminh artillery and infantry, 

Yet the fire support advantage went to the Vietminh. Before the 

fighting began, Giap wrote in the PAVN training manual drafted 

specifically for Dien Bien Phu that the Vietminh needed a minimum 

3-to-1 superiority in infantry and at least parity in artillery in order to 

defeat the French. He had surpassed these ratios when he initiated 

his offensive on the evening of 13 March 1954. Nearly three and onehalf infantry divisions plus the 35lst Heavy Division ringed the French 

garrison in the valley. A total of 49,000 combatants (and a further 

10,000 added as replacements later in the siege} opposed the French 

colonial troops, which although reinforced to 12 battalions stiI1 

numbered only 13,200, of which no more than 7,000 were first-line 

soldiers. Of particular importance was how Giap planned to employ 

his artillery. He knew that he lacked the trained observers, fire direction 

personnel, cannoneers, and sophisticated signal equipment necessary 

to operate in the traditional Western mode using indirect fires. However, 

he held dominant high ground only a few kilometers from his enemy’s 

126 
Riire Support 

front lines. Given these factors, Giap came up with an innovative solution to provide accurate and timely fire support. He positioned all his 

artillery pieces on the forward slopes of the hills so that they looked 

directly down on the French, and he instructed his artillerymen to fire 

every piece independently, if need be, by sighting down the tubes of 

howitzers or by using the direct-lay technique for mortars. This practice 

helped compensate for the inexperience of many of his men in the use 

of proper siting techniques. While Giap sacrificed the ability to lift, 

shift, and mass fires rapidly, he made the most of his assets. Each 

artillery piece was responsible for a limited sector and was prepared 

to fire on key targets within its zone. When incorporated into Giap’s 

carefully planned and coordinated attacks, the effects of the Vietminh 

fires were devastating. 

Giap delayed launching his assault on Dien Bien Phu until he had 

adequate stockpiles of ammunition of all types, his troops were sufficiently trained, and the monsoon season had arrived. The valley of 

Dien Bien Phu received more rain-almost five feet-than nearly any 

other valley in northern Indochina during the six-month monsoon 

season. Giap counted on the heavy rains and low cloud cover to hamper 

French air support and aerial resupply during this most critical phase 

of the operation. 

At 1700 on 13 March 1954, the Vietminh struck (see map 13). 

Concentrated barrages laid down by 105-mm and 75mm howitzers and 

120-mm mortars crashed onto the airfield and strongpoint Beatrice with 

pinpoint accuracy. While some of the PAVN artillery fired on the 

French infantry positions in support of the assaulting Vietminh, entire 

batteries that had remained hidden from French detection rained 

destruction on the open gun pits of the French artillery. Within eight 

hours, the control tower and radio beacon were destroyed, and airfield 

operations were effectively shut down. Of the light observation aircraft 

and fighter-bombers assigned to the airfield for local air support and 

artillery spotting, only two managed to take off and fly to Hanoi. The 

rest were destroyed on the ground, thus eliminating much of the French 

counterbattery potential. By the evening of 15 March, two more French 

strongpoints, Anne Marie and Gabrielle, had been overrun. 

The French were stunned. They had considered Gabrielle to be the 

strongest of all their fortifications at Dien Bien Phu. Colonel Piroth, 

the confident one-armed artillery commander, could not believe what 

had transpired in the previous forty-eight hours. His crews had taken 

terrible losses in their open gun pits. He had lost two of his 105-mm 

howitzers, a quarter of his 155mm howitzers, and a third of his 

120-mm mortars to PAVN artillery, and he had fired over 25 percent 

of his total 105mm ammunition. As far as he could tell, his cannoneers 

127 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Map 13. Dien 9ien Phu, 13 March-8 May 1954 

had had only negligible effects on the Vietminh artillery. He fell into 

despair and went from one command post to another under heavy fire 

to apologize for the failure of his command. With tears in his eyes, he 

said: “I am completely dishonored. I have guaranteed . . . that the enemy 

artillery couldn’t touch us-but now we are going to lose the battle. 

I’m leaving.” Later, Piroth went into his dugout and laid down on his 

cot. Pulling the pin from a hand grenade with his teeth, he held the 

explosive charge to his chest and committed suicide. 

The siege of Dien Bien Phu lasted another fifty-three days. The 

outcome, however, was clear once the Vietminh had closed the airfield 

and had revealed the amount and power of their fire support. The 

French appealed desperately to the United States for immediate massive 

air support, to include tactical nuclear weapons-but to no avail. On 7 

128 
Fire Support 

May 1954, the exhausted French stopped fighting, and the victorious 

PAVN troops swarmed over the last French positions. On the next 

day in Geneva, France’s foreign minister asked for a cessation of 

hostilities in Indochina, a prelude to coming to terms with the Vietminh. 

The victory at Dien Bien Phu belonged to Vo Nguyen Giap and was 

due, in no small part, to his keen analysis of the centers of gravity 

for both sides and to his brilliant employment of fire support assets to 

achieve military success. 

Bibliography 

Davidson, Phillip B. Vietnam at War: The History, 1946-1975. Novato, 

CA: Presidio Press, 1988. 

Fall, Bernard B. Hell in a Very Small Place: The Siege of Dien Bien 

Phu. Philadelphia, PA: J. B. Lippincott, 1967. 

O’Ballance, Edgar. The Indo-China War, 1945-1954: A Study in Guerilla 

Warfare. London: Faber and Faber, 1964. 

Roy, Jules, The Battle of Dien Bien Phu. Translated from the French 

by Robert Baldick. New York: Harper & Row, 1965. 

Vo, Nguyen Giap. Dien Bien Phu. Hanoi: Foreign Languages Publishing 

House, 1964. 
17 

Flexibility 

The U.S. Third Army at the Battle of the Bulge, 1944 

Dr. Michael D. Pearlman 

On 15 December 1944, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme 

Commander, Allied Expeditionary Force, gave Field Marshal Bernard 

L. Montgomery, commander in chief, British 21st Army Group, permission “‘to hop over to England” to spend Christmas with his son. Meanwhile, intelligence reports on the German Army were identifying more 

than normal amounts of railroad movement by the enemy, signs of 

engineers with bridging equipment, and requests for aerial reconnaissance around the Ardennes Forest. Nonetheless, the Allied high eommand remained confident that the Germans were doing nothing truly 

significant. On his part, Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley, commander of the U.S. 12th Army Group, expected just a local “spoiling” 

or a “diversionary attack” by the Germans and went off to visit 

Eisenhower for a game of whist. 

At dawn the next day, 16 December, two German panzer armiesalmost 500,000 men, over 2,000 tanks, and almost 2,000 planeslaunched an attack on the U.S. VIII Corps and the right wing of the 

V Carp at rest in front of the Ardennes Forest. This onslaught, 

according to Adolf Hitler’s plan, would split the British and the 

American forces in the European Theater of Operations (ETO); isolate 

the British and Canadians in the north; and open a corridor to 

Antwerp, the principal Allied port in northwestern Europe (see map 

14). Hitler told his subordinates that a great victory on the Western 

Front would “bring down this artificial coalition with a crash.” 

The Allies were shocked. “No Goddamned fool would do it,” said 

Bradley’s G2 (assistant chief of staff for military intelligence). Not 

everyone, however, was completely astonished. In August 1944, when 

Eisenhower’s own G2 was writing that “the end of the war in Europe 

[is] within sight,” the G2 of the U.S. Third Army, Colonel Oscar W. 

Koch, remained cautious and alert. According to Koch, the withdrawal 

of the Wehrmacht from Normandy “had not been a rout or [a] mass 

collapse.” He warned that the Germans would “wage a last-ditch 

struggle in the field at all costs.” 

131 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

natration. 26 Dee 44 

Map 14. Battle of the Ardennes, 16-26 December 1944 

In the succeeding months from August to mid-December, Koch kept 

his eyes on quiet sectors adjacent to the U.S. Third Army. He and its 

commander, Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr., recognized that 

inactivity can foreshadow an enemy assault; Because the Germans were 

not under attack in front of ihe Ardennes Forest, it was the very place 

132 
Flexibility 

where they might choose to build up their strength. Koch, at a staff 

meeting on 9 December, specifically said that the Germans might be 

concentrating their combat power opposite the VIII Corps at the 

Ardennes. 

Koch’s boss, Patton, had no interest in heading north toward the 

VIII Corps, since Germany, his objective, was due east. For months, 

he had been planning “to go through the Siegfried Line [Germany’s 

border fortifications] like shit through a goose.” Nonetheless, after 

Koch’s briefing on 9 December, he tasked his staff members to “be in 

a position to meet whatever happens.” Thereafter, they began to survey 

the road net and bridges leading from Third Army’s sector north to 

the Ardennes. 

Patton, despite his own premonitions and plans, initially underestimated the strength of the German offensive launched on the 16th. He 

had been angry and embarrassed that elements of the First Army, to 

his north, and the 6th Army Group, to his south, had already reached 

Germany before his own troops. (They “made a monkey of me,” he 

complained.) Now that he had finally battered his way through the 

defended towns of the province of Lorraine and the forts of the Maginot 

Line, he wished to move in only one direction, straight across the Saar 

River into enemy territory. Nonetheless, on 18 December, after Bradley 

showed him the extent and size of the German penetrations in the 

Ardennes, Patton responded that he would send one of his four army 

corps north within twenty-four hours. That contingent (III Corps) had 

been a planning cell removed from direct contact with the enemy. Now 

Patton would transfer three divisions to its command, approximately 

50,000 men, to contain the German onslaught on the southern shoulder 

of the bulge. Meanwhile, Patton also planned to send another corps, 

an additional 50,000 men, northeast to cut the enemy salient at its 

base and trap the Germans, preventing their escape. 

Not the least of Patton’s many contributions during this operation 

(which Americans would call the Battle of the Bulge) was his style of 

leadership and his manner of command. Patton, according to Bradley, 

‘“naturally radiated unbound confidence and dogged determination,” It 

was now his outspoken conviction that Germany’s surprise attack was 

not a defeat for the Anglo-American coalition but, instead, a great 

opportunity for the Allied armies. In mid-August, the Allies had failed 

to destroy the entire German Seventh Army in France when they 

allowed as many as 240,000 enemy soldiers to escape through the 

Argentan-Falaise gap in Normandy. After that, supply shortages (especially gasoline fuel), constant rain, and stubborn German resistance 

on broken terrain dramatically limited mobility. It took Patton’s Third 

Army sixteen miserable weeks to fight its way across Lorraine 

133 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

(approximately seventy-five miles wide). Now, in Deeember, as the 

Germans moved out from behind their fortifications, exposing their 

combat assets and logistical tail, a brand new chance at a decisive 

victory existed-if the Allies were fast, daring, and aggressive. (Bradley 

later called it “a ‘Falaise Gap’ on a far grander scale. But this time 

we would have to act with much greater speed and boldness” than the 

Allies had done in August.) 

On 19 December, the Allied high command met to plan its response 

to the German attack. Eisenhower tried to dispel the sense of gloom 

by saying that “the present situation is to be regarded as one of 

opportunity for us and not of disaster.” Patton did him one better. 

“Hell, let’s have the guts to let the bastards go all the way to Paris, 

then we’ll really cut them off and chew them up.” 

“When can YOU start?” Eisenhower asked, ignoring Patton’s more 

ambitious plan. 

“AS soon as you’re through with me,” Patton responded. 

When Eisenhower demanded a more specific time, Patton replied, 

“The morning of December 21st [thirty-six hours hence], with three 

divisions.” 

“Don’t be fatuous, George. If you try to go that early, you’ll go 

piecemeal. You will start on the twenty-second and I want your initial 

blow to be a strong one.” 

Between 19 and 23 December, in winter storms, the line and staff 

of the U.S. Third Army relocated 50 to 150 miles north. On unfamiliar 

roads and quagmires (after five weeks of steady rain from November 

to December), they deployed 133,178 motor vehicles; a new network of 

depots and dumps for 62,000 tons of supplies; 20,000 miles of field wire 

for a new communications network; numerous field and evacuation 

hospitals; and thousands of new terrain maps for troops entering a 

brand new sector. “It was,” said a syndicated newspaper correspondent 

then serving on Patton’s staff, “all wrought quietly and efficiently by 

a teamwork without parallel in the ETO, a teamwork rooted deeply in 

great know-how, in great confidence in itself and its Commander, and 

in great fighting spirit.” 

Patton, however, was not satisfied just moving his army north. 

His comment about letting the Germans go to Paris was only half in 

jest. If he had the authority, he would have let the Germans drive 

another fifty miles west and then cut the base of their salient. 

Eisenhower, having other responsibilities, could not be quite this daring. 

He already had committed the only strategic reserves he had, the US. 

32d and 101st Airbarne Divisions, to hold the transportation hubs and 

bottlenecks at the northern and southern shoulders of the German bulge. 

134 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

(approximately seventy-five miles wide). Now, in December, as the 

Germans moved out from behind their fortifications, exposing their 

combat assets and logistical tail, a brand new chance at a decisive 

victory existed-if the Allies were fast, daring, and aggressive. (Bradley 

later called it “a ‘Falaise Gap’ on a far grander scale. But this time 

we would have to act with much greater speed and boldness” than the 

Allies had done in August.) 

On 19 December, the Allied high command met to plan its response 

to the German attack. Eisenhower tried to dispel the sense of gloom 

by saying that “the present situation is to be regarded as one of 

opportunity for us and not of disaster.” Patton did him one better, 

“Hell, let’s have the guts to let the bastards go all the way to Paris, 

then we’ll really cut them off and chew them up.” 

“When can you start?” Eisenhower asked, ignoring Patton’s more 

ambitious plan. 

“As soon as you’re through with me,” Patton responded. 

When Eisenhower demanded a more specific time, Patton replied, 

“The morning of December Zlst [thirty-six hours hence], with three 

divisions.” 

“Don’t be fatuous, George. If you try to go that early, you’ll go 

piecemeal. You will start on the twenty-second and I want your initial 

blow to be a strong one.” 

Between 19 and 23 December, in winter storms, the line and staff 

of the U.S. Third Army relocated 50 to 150 miles north. On unfamiliar 

roads and quagmires (after five weeks of steady rain from November 

to December), they deployed 133,178 motor vehicles; a new network of 

depots and dumps for 62,000 tons of supplies; 20,000 miles of field wire 

for a new communications network; numerous field and evacuation 

hospitals; and thousands of new terrain maps for troops entering a 

brand new sector. “It was,” said a syndicated newspaper correspondent 

then serving on Patton’s staff, “all wrought quietly and efficiently by 

a teamwork without parallel in the ETO, a teamwork rooted deeply in 

great know-how, in great confidence in itself and its Commander, and 

in great fighting spirit.” 

Patton, however, was not satisfied just moving his army north. 

His comment about letting the Germans go to Paris was only half in 

jest. If he had the authority, he would have let the Germans drive 

another fifty miles west and then cut the base of their salient. 

Eisenhower, having other responsibilities, could not be quite this daring. 

He already had committed the only strategic reserves he had, the U.S. 

82d and 1Olst Airborne Divisions, to hoId the transportation hubs and 

bottlenecks at the northern and southern shoulders of the German bulge. 

134 
Flexibility 

The 82d, at St. Vith, was in the First Army’s area of operations. The 

lOlst, at Bastogne, was Patton’s responsibility. Meanwhile, Hitler 

declared that his panzer armies “would crush everything in their path.“’ 

Patton, always looking to strike a decisive blow that could end the 

war then and there, would have preferred to bypass Bastogne and head 

straight for St. Vith, where he could rope off and destroy the entire 

German salient. Eisenhower, however, insisted that the 1Olst be rescued, 

although many of those cocky paratroopers later claimed that they were 

doing quite well on their own. (One said, “So they got us surrounded 

again, the poor bastards!““) Whether the airborne divisions needed help 

or not, Patton, under orders, dispatched the 4th Armored Division, his 

favorite division, to relieve Bastogne. 

What Patton was to the operational art of war, the 4th Armored 

Division was to tactics: the U.S. Army’s most skillful practitioner of 

flexibility, initiative, and agility. “Speed, speed. Obsessiveness with 

speed permeated our lives,” recalled a division sergeant; “no one even 

had to tell us; there were no orders from Patton to move faster.” The 

4th was one of only two divisions in the ET0 to win a Presidential 

Unit Citation, the other one being the 1Olst Airborne Division, largely 

for its own exploits at Bastogne. 

Unfortunately, between September and December 1944, in the battles 

of attrition in Lorraine, the 4th Armored Division’s dash and spirit 

had become its liability. Patton said of its commander, Major General 

John S. Wood, “Unquestionably, in a rapid moving advance, he is the 

greatest division commander I have ever seen, but when things get 

sticky he is inclined to worry too much, which keeps him from sleeping 

and runs him down, and makes it difficult to control his operations.” 

Twenty days before sending the division toward Bastogne, Patton 

relieved Wood for general insubordination (“I hate to do this as he is 

one of my best friends but war is war.“) Admittedly, Wood was guilty 

of crossing unit boundaries and phase lines ((‘such lines meant little 

to me [he said], and I went where the going [was] good”). Wood bypassed objectives that he thought unimportant and vocally protested 

the way his corps commander used tanks-as if they were fire support 

for infantry rather than weapons for exploitation and maneuver. By 

late December, the slow and methodical Lorraine campaign was over. 

For Bastogne, Patton once again needed the 4th Division, whose military pride was “deep envelopment by armor.” 

Under Wood’s tutelage, the division had developed an extremely 

flexible form of command and control that today is called “missiontype orders. ” “Due to the swift movement of events” between July and 

September, “it was necessary,” according to 4th Armored Division 

personnel, to “permit a latitude of decision to staff officers and subor135 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

dinate commanders that at first appeared radical, On closer examination, however, the advantage of this system became apparent, It 

permitted the officer on the spot . . . to make a decision quickly and 

take action when it was most needed and when it would do the most 

good.” 

This flexibility was necessary during the 4th Division’s passage to 

Bastogne, 150 miles north. The lead unit of its relief column was the 

37th Tank Battalion, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Creighton W. 

Abrams, a future Army chief of staff (1972-74). In World War II, 

Abrams won two Distinguished Service Crosses, two Silver Stars, a 

Bronze Star, and an accolade from Patton: “I’m supposed to be the 

best tank commander in the Army, but I have a peer-Abe Abrams.” 

Although Time magazine called the 37th Tank Battalion “a fearsome weapon of destruction,” it was far from being at its best in late 

December 1944. When dispatched to Bastogne, it was short 230 men 

and 34 tanks-one-half of its organic firepower. It might never have 

arrived near Bastogne at all without close air support from the XIX 

Tactical Air Command and its P-47 Thunderbolt fighter-bombers, each 

plane armed with eight .50-caliber machine guns, rockets, and bombs 

to suppress German tanks and artillery. 

The Army Air Forces (AAF) in World War II took great pride in 

flexibility, its capstone manual claiming that “the inherent flexibility 

of air power is its greatest asset. This flexibility,” it continued, “makes 

it possible to employ the whole weight of the available air power 

against selected areas in turn.” At the beginning of the war, the AAF 

had virtually no capability for accurate and effective close air support. 

By 1944, however, it had developed and fielded the best fighter-bombers 

(P-47s) in any arsenal. It had also perfected a surface-to-air communications system that enabled tanks and planes to maneuver together, 

identifying targets of opportunity for one another as they appeared 

without warning on the battlefield. This, by comparison, was a far 

more flexible system of close air support than any the Germans had 

ever fielded, the Luftwaffe being used in prearranged missions for prepared breakthroughs on static enemy positions. 

The 4th Armored Division, despite close air support, was still outgunned on the ground by the time it arrived within striking distance 

of Bastogne, but the Americans maneuvered their weapons with greater 

rapidity. Therefore, Abrams’ immediate superior decided to skirt heavily 

defended enemy positions by taking secondary roads-a more timeconsuming but less-direct procedure. Abrams was about to proceed as 

directed when he observed C-47 aircraft dropping supplies on Bastogne. 

Convinced that American troops there were in desperate straits, he 

immediately changed his approach plan to the direct route (forgetting, 

136 
Flexibility 

however, to inform his commanding officer). After the first tanks of 

the battalion fought their way into the outskirts of Bastogne on 25 

December-the day after Patton said they would arrive-Abrams 

received a radio inquiry from his superior: the colonel asked him to 

consider a breakthrough attempt and linkup with the paratroopers that 

night. 

One would have liked to end the story of the Battle of the Bulge 

with the linkup at Bastogne. The airborne troops’ resistance and their 

relief by US. armor was surely one of the great exploits in the history 

of the U.S. Army. Unfortunately, as Patton recognized from the beginning of the entire operation, Bastogne was just a road junction at the 

waist of the bulge. As such, it should not have become the ultimate 

Allied objective. Instead, the decisive point of the campaign should have 

been a linkup from the north and the south somewhere at the base of 

the German salient. There, the Allied armies could trap all the Germans 

they had not killed or captured. However, the Allied high command, 

especially Montgomery, chose a more cautious but less-rewarding planpushing the Germans out of the bulge back into Germany. 

Patton thought this plan made no sense: “If you get a monkey in 

the jungle hanging by his tail, it is easier to get him by cutting off 

his tail than kicking him in the face.” Nonetheless, Patton did not get 

his way and was not allowed to begin his drive into the base of the 

bulge until 18 January. By that time, most of the Germans had escaped. 

To be sure, the Bulge was a victory. The Allies killed or captured 

at least 100,000 Germans and destroyed 800 tanks and 1,000 planes. 

In the words of the German Army’s official historian, the Ardennes 

offensive of 1944 “broke the backbone of the western front.” Still, most 

of the German soldiers and approximately half their equipment slipped 

through the noose that Patton would have tied around their neck if 

the entire Allied force had been as flexible as his command. 

The Army’s capstone manual, FM 100-5, Operations (1986), says 

the following about flexibility: 

The commander must foresee developments as far as possible. However, 

he must also expect uncertainties and be ready to exploit opportunities. . . . The defender must be agile enough to counter or evade the 

attacker’s blow, then strike back effectively. . . Reserves prepare to 

move anywhere in sector and make counterattack plans to cover all 

likely contingencies. Once the attacker has been controlled, the defender 

can operate against his exposed flanks and his rear. 

At the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, the U.S. Army fought 

one of the greatest battles in its history. It did not, however, completely 

fulfill the high standards its doctrine now sets for itself. It blocked the 

enemy’s main avenues of attack and rushed reserves into the critical 

137 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

sector, but it did not act quickly against the enemy’s exposed rear 

areas. 

Bibliography 

Blumenson, Martin. Patton: The Man Behind the Legend, 1885-1945. 

New York: Morrow, 1985. 

Bradley, Omar Nelson, and Clay Blair. A General’s Life: An Autobiography. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983. 

Farago, Ladislas. Patton: Ordeal and Triumph, New York: I. Obolensky, 

1963. 

Franke, Nat, and Larry Smith. Patton’s Best: An Informal History of 

the 4th Armored Division. New York: Hawthorn Books, 1978. 

MacDonald, Charles Brown. A Time for Trumpets: The Untold Story 

of the Battle of the Bulge. New York: Morrow, 1985. 

138 
18 

Initiative 

The Chance Seizure of the Remagen Bridge Over the Rhine 

Major Bruce Alsup 

In the Allied advance across Germany in March 1945, Brigadier 

General William M. Hoge was faced with a soul-searching decision. 

The 9th Armored Division headquarters, under Major General John W. 

Leonard, had directed him to push south rapidly and link up with the 

Third Army’s 4th Armored Division. But as Hoge prepared to go south, 

he recognized an opportunity to seize a standing bridge over the Rhine 

River-an opening through the enemy’s homeland defensive barrier. For 

Hoge to concentrate his forces on seizing and holding the bridge instead 

of driving south, however, would be a deliberate violation of orders. 

Furthermore, the Germans could be expected to blow up this bridge, 

as they had all the other bridges in the Allied armies’ path of advance. 

While success could excuse Hoge’s violation of orders, failure could 

result in his court-martial and disgrace. Demonstrating initiative, Hoge 

made his decision: he ordered his forces to seize the Ludendorff Bridge 

at Remagen. 

The May 1986 edition of Field Manual 100-5, Operations, defines 

initiative as “setting or changing the terms of battle by action.” Th,e 

Army encourages commanders at all levels to use initiative. For a subordinate commander, employing initiative requires a willingness and 

ability to act independently within the framework of his senior commander’s intent. Thus, a subordinate commander must be audacious 

and willing to take risks when exploiting battlefield opportunities. These 

risks, however, must be taken with a clear understanding of the senior 

commander’s intent and the battlefield situation. 

On the senior commander’s part, he must establish a command 

atmosphere that allows subordinate commanders to take risks, that is, 

a climate in which the execution of plans is decentralized and where 

flexibility exists for subordinate commanders to exploit opportunities. 

Once enemy vulnerabilities have been discovered or created by subordinate commanders, however, a senior commander must be able to alter 

his operational plans to exploit the situation. 

Opportunities to demonstrate these sorts of initiative were rife in 

1944. The fortunes of the German and the Allied forces had shifted 

i 139 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

radically. After the successful invasion at Normandy and breakout from 

the beachhead, the Allies pushed the Germans back to the Westwall 

(Siegfried Line), the German border defensive fortifications, With the 

end of the war seemingly in sight, the Supreme Headquarters, Allied 

Expeditionary Force (SHAEF), continued planning for the final offensive 

to destroy Hitler’s Third Reich, an attack that would punch through 

the Westwall and cross the Rhine into Germany’s heartland. 

General Dwight D. Eisenhower planned to assault Germany on a 

broad front, with multiple axes driving into the German homeland. 

The Allied forces would launch two major thrusts into Germany: one 

north of the Ardennes to seize the Ruhr industrial region and the other 

south of the Ardennes, a secondary effort, to assist the main drive 

and eliminate the lesser Saar industrial area. The earlier German 

counteroffensive through the lightly defended Ardennes Forest in 

December 1944-the Battle of the Bulge-momentarily had dominated 

the Allies’ planning. Once this attack stalled, however, the final offensive resumed. 

According to Eisenhower’s plan, the Allies would advance to the 

Rhine in stages and then push the Germans west of the river, preventing them from making another surprise attack in a weak sector. With 

the river as a buffer, the Allies could safely conduct a strategic 

economy-of-force mission in the south while supporting a major effort 

by Field Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery’s 21st Army Group in the 

north. 

As part of this operation, on 3 March, the 12th Army Group 

commander, Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley, ordered his subordinates, Lieutenant General Courtney H. Hodges, the First Army commander, and Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr., the Third Army 

commander, to clear the Rhineland north of the Moselle River (see map 

15). The enveloping thrusts of Operation Lumberjack would create a 

pocket of trapped Germans in the northern reaches of the Eifel. In 

this two-phase campaign, Hodges was to close on the Rhine between 

Dusseldorf and Cologne, with Major General J. Lawton Collins’ VII 

Corps protecting the right flank of Lieutenant General William H. 

Simpson’s Ninth Army as it advanced to the Rhine in the north. 

Meanwhile, Patton was to prepare bridgeheads across the Kyll River. 

Then, with Ninth Army safely at the Rhine, Hodges was to turn the 

VII Corps toward Cologne and strike swiftly with the whole army to 

the southeast. The First Army would join Patton’s columns as they 

stabbed toward the Rhine in the vicinity of Koblenz. 

As the attack progressed, Collins’ VII Corps met heavy resistance, 

while Major General John Millikin’s III Corps moved rapidly against 

light opposition. Between 2 to 5 March, the tactical situation resulted 

140 
Initiatiue 

FlFTti PANZER ARMY 

LEGEND 

--- Front Ilne, 7 Feb 45 

Front he. 28 Mar 45 

Westwall 

Scale I 0 10 20 30 20 40 30 kilometers11e5 

Map 15. The Battle of the Rhineland and crossing of the Rhine River 

141 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

in a series of boundary changes that oriented the III Corps farther 

southeast toward the Ahr River. In response, on 6 March, Millikin 

shifted all his divisions’ objectives to the southeast-the 1st Division 

to Bonn; the 9th Division to Bad Godesberg; the 9th Armored Division’s 

CCB (Combat Command B) to Remagen and CCA along the Ahr from 

Sinzig to Bad Neuenahr; and the 78th Division to Ahrweiler. 

By the night of 6 March, the 9th Armored Division(-), led by CCA, 

reached a position less than two miles from the Ahr. Hoge’s CCB, to 

the north, reached Stadt Meckenheim, located only eight miles from 

the Rhine River and the objective at Remagen. The next morning, CCA 

crossed the Ahr River at Bad Neuenahr against heavy German resistance. Closing the Ahr valley cut the withdrawal route for the Germans’ 

LXVII Corps. By this time, Patton’s forces were closing in the southern 

half of the pincer. The Eifel pocket was almost closed. As changes in 

the plans for the III Corps and First Army filtered down each echelon 

of command, Hoge reoriented the lead task forces toward CCB’s new 

objectives. 

On the morning of 7 March, while the 9th Armored Division(-) 

and CCA crossed the Ahr, Hoge’s CCB pushed southeastward in two 

columns: one to cross the Ahr near its confluence with the Rhine and 

another column toward the small town of Remagen. Then, the force 

rapidly would push south along the west bank of the Rhine to link 

with the lead elements of Patton’s army. 

The task force leading the column headed for Remagen was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Leonard Engeman and was built around 

the 27th Armored Infantry Battalion and the 14th Tank Battalion(-). 

A Company, 27th Battalion, reinforced by a platoon from A Company, 

14th Tank Battalion, spearheaded Task Force Engeman’s advance 

toward Remagen and met weak, sporadic German resistance. By noon, 

it entered the woods on the high ground just west of the town. 

Just before 1300, First Lieutenant Karl H. Timmerman, the new 

commander of A Company, responded excitedly to a call from his 

company’s lead platoon. As Timmerman’s jeep rounded a sharp curve 

in the road, he looked through a clearing in the heavy woods. Below 

him, within a panoramic view of the Rhine, was the town of Remagen. 

Just beyond it, silhouetted against the sky, was the Ludendorff Bridge, 

still standing and spanning the Rhine. 

From that moment on, the situation developed rapidly. Timmerman 

called for armor support and mortars to attack the retreating Germans 

on the bridge, This call attracted the attention of Engeman, who arrived 

at Timmerman’s vantage point minutes later, along with Major Deevers, 

the commander of the infantry battalion. Engeman directed Deevers to 

begin planning the attack on the town. Soon afterward, Major Ben 

142 
Initiative 

Cothran, Hoge’s operations officer, arrived. He assessed the situation 

and immediately called Hoge, who arrived a few minutes past 1300. 

Hoge quickly grasped the situation, then raged at the delay in 

taking Remagen. His display of anger produced the desired results: 

Engeman issued a rapid directive to the assault company commander, 

who moved out to execute the orders quickly. Satisfied with the new 

sense of urgency, Hoge quietly remarked to Engeman, “It would be 

nice to get that bridge too while we’re at it.” 

While Engeman directed his forces in seizing the town, Hoge carefully considered his response to the immediate situation. His orders 

were to orient his forces to cross the Ahr River and then to proceed 

south and link up with the 4th Division of Patton’s Third Army. Since 

Hoge’s force was the lead element of the First Army and III Corps, 

Bradley held him responsible for that linkup. Hoge understood Bradley’s 

intent to complete the encirclement of German forces in the Eifel pocket. 

If Hoge’s command failed to complete its part of that operation and 

the Germans found a way to escape, then Operation Lumberjack would 

fail. 

However, Hoge did not intend to ignore an intact bridge over the 

Rhine River, Germany’s historically impenetrable defensive barrier. 

Seizing such a bridge would be a windfall worth the gamble. A successful capture of the bridge might excuse a direct violation of his 

orders, but what was his likelihood of success? 

Although the possibility of capturing a bridge had been discussed 

at every echelon of command, no one expected the methodical Germans 

to leave any intact. In the opening days of Operation Lumberjack, the 

Ninth Army had made two concerted attempts to seize bridges over 

the Rhine near Cologne. Both attempts were nearly successful, but the 

Germans finally managed to destroy the bridges-one in the face of 

U.S. forces, the other as American soldiers crossed it. In both instances, 

the responsible U.S. commanders had failed, which resulted in the loss 

of American lives and the deflection of resources from the main effort. 

In Hoge’s case, he reasoned that his losses would be limited if his 

gamble failed. He might lose a platoon if the Germans blew up the 

bridge and cut off the first men who crossed. But what would be his 

commanders’ response if he failed to take the bridge? Would they find 

his gamble reasonable? 

While the possibility of taking a Rhine bridge had been discussed 

within the III Corps and 9th Division, the corps’ G3 had confirmed 

that the 9th Division’s objective was still the Ahr River, not the Rhine. 

Neither the 9th Division’s nor CCB’s field orders had even mentioned 

taking the bridge at Remagen, although Leonard, the 9th Division 

143 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

commander, had briefly hinted at that possibility to the CCB 

commander. 

Weighing the potential outcomes, costs, and results of both success 

and failure, Hoge made his decision: he ordered Engeman to seize the 

bridge. Engeman’s task force responded immediately. While 

Timmerman’s company worked through the town and across the bridge, 

Hoge faced another dilemma: how much of his force could he push 

across the river to hold the bridge against German counterattacks? 

As Hoge deliberated, he received two messages that placed him in 

a quandary. He received orders from the 9th Division’s operations center 

to divert as much strength as possible from Remagen and reinforce 

the bridgehead over the Ahr River at Sinzig. Meanwhile, Engeman 

informed him that Timmerman’s company had seized the bridge and 

had disabled the detonation system. The Germans’ attempt to blow up 

the bridge had failed. Nonetheless, the hold on the east side of the 

river was tenuous; additional forces were needed immediately to safeguard the bridgehead, 

While one message reinforced his earlier concerns about following 

orders, the other supported his earlier decision to take the bridge. But 

should he hold the bridge, disregarding his orders to drive south? For 

the second time, he decided that seizing and holding the bridge was 

critical, He ordered Engeman to use all the forces in the area to hold 

the bridgehead. Then, Hoge returned to his command post at Biersdorff 

to report his actions to Leonard, the 9th Armored Division commander. 

The news that CCB had seized the Ludendorff Bridge moved rapidly 

up the echelons of command-with varied reactions. Leonard was 

pleased but waited for permission from III Corps before allocating forces 

to reinforce the Remagen bridgehead. At the III Corps’ command post, 

Colonel James H. Phillips, the corps’ chief of staff (in command in 

Millikin’s absence), ordered Leonard to exploit the bridgehead as far 

as possible with his available forces. Even though Millikin was out 

with the 78th Division, Phillips was certain what his response would 

be. While Phillips called Mill&in, the corps’ operations officer called 

the First Army. Hodges, the First Army commander, and Brigadier 

General Truman C. Thorson, the First Army G3, pushed the decision 

one level higher to Bradley, the 12th Army Group commander. 

Bradley’s initial excitement was dulled by the SHAEF operations 

officer, Major General Harold R. Bull, who asserted that taking the 

bridge at Remagen did not “fit into the plan.” Consequently, Bradley 

referred the decision to Eisenhower. Ike’s response was: “To hell with 

the planners, Sure, go on; Brad, and I’ll give you everything we’ve got 

to hold that bridgehead.” That evening, the. First Army relieved the 

144 
India tive 

III Corps of the mission to push south and directed it to reinforce the 

bridgehead at Remagen. 

During the next two weeks, the III Corps expanded the bridgehead 

at Remagen with five divisions. In reaction, the Germans conducted 

numerous piecemeal counterattacks but were unable to dislodge the U.S. 

forces. Earlier, German forces had massed in the north to thwart 

Montgomery’s assault in the Ruhr area. While some of these forces 

were sent south to meet the Remagen threat, most remained in the 

north. With First Army’s bridgehead at Remagen and another one 

established by Third Army at Oppenheim, Eisenhower decided to make 

the 12th Army Group’s advance the main thrust into Germany. 

Thus, Hoge’s initiative had a significant impact on the war, He 

demonstrated exemplary willingness to act independently within the 

framework of his higher commanders’ intent and took risks to exploit 

opportunities arising on the battlefield. While Hoge’s commander, 

Leonard, appeared supportive-as did senior commanders up the chain 

of command-each echelon commander was cautious, seeking permission 

from the next higher headquarters. Hoge made his decision promptly, 

when it had to be made. The hesitation by commanders in the higher 

headquarters raises questions about the quality of their initiative. 

An analysis of reliefs in command and the combat operations of 

12th Army Group and First Army before they crossed into Germany 

indicates that the command climate discouraged initiative by subordinate commanders. Bradley explained his policy on command relief: 

“each commander must always assume total responsibility . . . if his 

commanders fail him in the attack, then he must relieve them or be 

relieved himself.” In the indecisive grinding through the hedgerows of 

France, Bradley fired four division commanders, three brigadier generals, and many regimental and battalion commanders. When he left 

First Army to command the 12th Army Group, that attitude concerning 

dismissals remained in First Army and moved higher with him. 

Hodges, on his part, “expected his officers to adhere strictly to 

orders and procedures and to carry out their missions. He had almost 

no tolerance for concerns, complaints, bad news, [or] extra questions.” 

Hodges fired four division and two corps commanders, including 

Millikin, the III Corps commander at Remagen. In this command 

environment, First Army generals showed themselves competent but 

were overly cautious. 

Thus, for Hoge, the decision at Remagen involved significant risk 

taking. Considering the command environment in First Army, if he 

had failed to seize the bridge before the Germans destroyed it, he risked 

being relieved of command. However, by succeeding, Hoge altered the 

145 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

course of the war in western Europe and demonstrated the decisive 

importance of initiative on the battlefield. 

Bibliography 

Bolger, Daniel P. “Zero Defects: Command Climate in First US Army, 

1944-1945.” Military Reuiew 66 (May 1991). 

Bradley, Omar Nelson. A Soldier’s Story. New York: Holt, 1951. 

Hechler, Ken. The Bridge at Remagen. New York: Ballentine Books, 

1957. 

MacDonald, Charles Brown. The Last Offensive. United States Army 

in WorId War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military 

History, U.S. Army, 1973. 

Pogue, Forrest C. The Supreme Command. United States Army in World 

War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 

Department of the Army, 1954. 

146 
19 

Innovation 

Close Air Support in World War II: The Roots of the 

Tragedy in Operation Cobra 

Dr. Michael D. Pearlman 

Necessity is the mother of innovation, and there is no greater 

national necessity than war. Moreover, nothing is more unpredictable 

and confusing than combat. Consequently, the best one can hope from 

preparedness in peacetime is a doctrine and force structure that has to 

make only minor adjustments in war. The adjustment time-when innovations are desperately necessary-costs every nation casualties. In 

the Pacific in 1943, the U.S. Marine Corps, which had been preparing 

for amphibious invasions since the 192Os, had to make its fire support 

more precise and responsive after Tarawa. In Europe, in 1944, the U.S. 

Army Air Corps had to make far greater adjustments to execute,close 

air support, a mission it never wanted. 

Between World Wars I and II, the U.S. Army Air Service or Air 

Corps (as it became known in 1926) had one overwhelming ambition: 

to gain institutional autonomy as an independent service separate from 

the ground forces. The Air Service-Air Corps felt that it had been vietimized more than most other branches of the Army during the long reign 

of retrenchment in military spending between 1920 and 1938. During 

this period, the War Department generally chose to preserve manpower 

rather than spend its meager resources on research, development, and 

fielding new equipment. This priority was good for the Infantry branch 

but bad for technology-intensive mechanized forces. It was downright 

dangerous for aviation. In the 1920s and 193Os, one airman died in a 

peacetime accident for every 12,800 miles flown. 

U.S. Army flyers, consequently, believed that aviation’s health and 

their own physical survival depended on the creation of a completely 

independent service in charge of its own budget and appropriations. 

But for that to happen, the Air Service would need independent missions 

under its own command and control, not that of ground commanders. 

The missions and responsibilities that met that criterion were, number 

one, that of obtaining air supremacy: the battle for control of the skies. 

Another mission that met the criterion was strategic bombing: “the 

progressive dislocation and destruction of the [enemy’s] military, in147 

Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

dustrial, and economic system” in the heartland of enemy territory. 

The Air Service also wanted the mission of battlefield air interdiction: 

hitting supply bases and transportation assets approximately seventyfive kilometers behind enemy lines. The Air Service’s least-sought 

mission was close air support, in which aviation would act as flying 

artillery under the control of ground commanders. 

In the 193Os, the theory of strategic bombing directly affected the 

Air Corps’ capabilities. Since doctrine underscored the invincibility of 

the heavy bomber (“the bomber will always get through”), that is what 

was funded and what came out of the factories in 1937. At that time, 

the Air Corps fielded its first seven B-17$, which could fly at 232 miles 

per hour with a range of 2,100 miles. Meanwhile, the Air Corps meagerly 

funded tactical aircraft and consistently changed its requirements for 

tactical air power. Different people demanded different capabilities, 

depending on their priorities: local air defense, long-range bomber escort, 

or battlefield interdiction. In these confusing circumstances, the Air 

Corps did not develop the capabilities to perform close air support, 

And because they did not have the immediate capability for that mission, airmen said that the mission could not be done. They claimed 

that targets at the battle front were too widely dispersed and usually 

dug in to protect airmen from enemy artillery. Far behind the front, 

targets were larger, softer,, and out in the open, which made them more 

vulnerable to the imprecise, high-altitude bombers whose main targets 

were large factories and cities. As late as mid-1943, the capstone manual 

of the U.S. Army Air Corps declared: “in the zones of contact, missions 

against hostile forces are most difficult to control, are most expensive, 

and are, in general, least effective. . . . Only at critical times are contact 

zone [battlefield] missions profitable.” 

Doctrine was one thing; necessity was another. Whatever American 

airmen may have wanted to do, war made unforeseen demands on 

their time and their resources, especially once Germany showed the 

importance of close air support to the ground battle. Because Germany 

was a land power in the midst of Central Europe, ground considerations 

predominated. Thus, the Luftwaffe did not have the same wide options 

as non-Continental air forces-the British Royal Air Force and the U.S. 

Army Air Corps. Although German flyers also considered close air support their last priority, Germany% wars against Poland, France, and 

Russia would be determined on the ground. Consequently, Germany 

had developed the Stuka dive-bomber in the late 1930s. By contrast, 

as late as April 1942, U.S. Army doctrine did not even mention divebombers. Furthermore, Army pilots (as opposed to their Navy counterparts) were not training for the mission as late as 1943. 

In the German invasion of France (1940), Stukas shattered the will 

148 

, 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

was not successful in 1916, but what other options did the Allies have? 

Now in 1944, they again proposed bombardment, this time from airplanes, 

not just artillery tubes. 

Air Chief Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, commander of the Allied 

Expeditionary Air Forces, became the primary advocate of carpet bombing, a tactic rarely used before Operation Cobra. The principle was to 

cover selected terrain with bombs like one covers floors with carpets, 

saturating the entire area. The area selected in July 1944 was a plot 

of ground five miles wide and one mile deep (see map 16). Crawling 

with Germans, the area blocked the march route of the US. VII Corps. 

After the Allies saturated this rectangle with 50,000 bombs, the ground 

forces would spring through it and drive deep into the enemy rear. 

That, anyway, was the plan. 

Once the plan was made, all that was needed was precise execution. 

Nothing, however, is less precise than war. This is particularly true of 

joint operations. Frequently, ground force and air force commanders 

know little about each other’s capabilities and requirements, unless joint 

operations, like close air support, have a high priority in their institutions, doctrines, and training. This was not the case in Britain or 

the United States before the war. The results, unfortunately, were apparent in the execution of Operation Cobra. 

Bradley, befitting a former commandant of the Infantry School at 

Fort Benning, wanted his assault troops in the operation ready to attack 

as soon as possible after the bombing. If they dispersed, dug in, and 

waited, they would be safe from friendly fire from the air. They would 

not, however, be safe from the Germans, who would crawl out of their 

holes and reestablish their positions before American soldiers got 

through their lines. Thus, maneuver should be simultaneous with fire: 

a basic principle at Fort Benning. 

The U.S. Eighth Air Force commanders, whose primary experience 

had been bombing cities and industrial sites, understood much better 

the imprecision of their weapon, the heavy bomber, than their Army 

colleagues. Consequently, the air commanders wanted ground forces to 

withdraw at least 3,000 yards from their current positions, giving them 

some protection from bombs falling short of the targets. However, 

according to Bradley, that fallback might defeat the purpose of the 

bombing-which was to allow Bradley’s troops to spring across enemy 

strongpoints. The result, finally, was a compromise that satisfied neither 

side. Troops withdrew 1,250 yards. 

Another issue causing great disagreement was the direction of the 

air approach: should it be perpendicular or parallel to U.S. ground 

forces? Perpendicular meant that the bombers would fly from north to 

south, over their own troops. Parallel meant they would go west to 

150 
Carpet bombing area 

MONTGOMERY 

Map 16. The area of U.S. VII Corps’ advance in Operation Cobra 

__ ^ .._ .__- .__...X_ .=.-.__ -_ I.-. ----.-- I .- 

., _,___ “, x ^ _ 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

east, thereby not flying over friendly forces and therefore avoiding a 

deadly bombing error. 

Ironically, the Army and the Air Corps switched roles on the issue 

of caution. Bradley, though he wanted his soldiers out of their trenches 

and near the bombing site as quickly as possible, insisted that the 

AAF take the parallel approach to reduce deaths from bombing errors. 

Meanwhile, the AAF maintained that the parallel approach was technically impossible. All 1,500 bombers could not fly in 1 hour down a 

corridor 1 mile wide-the physical dimension of the area to be bombed. 

Unfortunately, the Army and the AAF did not communicate clearly 

with each other on this issue. Airmen apparently voiced their opinions 

to Bradley-but not as vigorously as when they spoke among themselves. On this occasion, their good manners and their deference to a 

senior officer led to more misunderstanding. On 24 July, to quote General Bradley, “the planes flew a course perpendicular to our lines rather 

than parallel to it as I had been assured they would. I have seldom 

been so angry. It was duplicity-a shocking breach of good faith.” 

To add to the confusion, AAF planners believed that they had 

clearly explained the problem to Bradley. Bradley, however, wanted 

maximum tonnage dropped in the minimum time to increase the shock 

that might benumb the Germans. Because this was impossible on the 

parallel approach, Bradley led the airmen to believe, in their own words, 

that “he had decided to accept the additional risk of perpendicular 

bombing.” 

One suspects that both sides were telling the truth at least as 

they experienced it. They did not, however, understand each other, although they spoke the same native language and served the same cause, 

and many had graduated from the same institution-the U.S. Military 

Academy. Before the war, however, they had different doctrines and 

different priorities. War should be the last place where servicemen learn 

to communicate. 

Another basic problem in Operation Cobra had to do with air-toground visibility. On 24 July, the scheduled day of the attack, heavy 

clouds covered the target. This made precision bombing virtually impossible. But before Leigh-Mallory decided to postpone the operation, 317 

heavy bombers were in flight. The exact damage to the Germans on 

this day is not known. Twenty-five Americans, however, were killed 

and 131 wounded by the bombing. 

The next day, after the cloud cover dissipated, the full Allied air 

armada went into action: almost 1,500 heavy bombers (B-17s and B-24s) 

dropping 4,400 tons of ordnance. When this much firepower is concentrated in a small space and one hour of time, an air force inevitably 

will create its own visibility problem in the dust clouds and smoke 

152 
Innovation 

emanated by its ordnance. In Operation Cobra, this haze obscured the 

road that was supposed to be the bomb line demarcating friendly forces 

from the foe. Consequently, some 75 planes dropped their bombs short 

of the target, causing 601 American casualties, 111 of them killed, 

One of the dead was Lieutenant General Leslie J. MeNair-the 

highest-ranking American casualty in the European theater. During 

maneuvers before the war, he had sharply criticized the quality of air 

support, and he had remained an outspoken opponent of an independent 

air corps, largely because it would deprive the Army of effective fire 

support from its own air assets. His own death helped prove his case 

that air-ground operations needed much improvement. 

The Germans, who were subject to far greater ordnance, suffered 

only marginally more casualties than the Americans: 700 dead, wounded, 

or missing. They had anticipated the bombing and had dug in for 

protection, American troops, out in the open and ready to move, were 

far more exposed. 

Cobra did, however, degrade important German units, especially 

the Panzer Lehr Division that stood directly in the path of the U.S. 

VII Corps. Before the bombing, the German division had been in continuous combat for forty-five days without resupply or refitting. Hence, 

it only had about 2,200 combat soldiers and 45 working armored vehicles 

when the bombing began. Cobra may have provided the blow that 

broke the proverbial camel’s back. It did not kill many men and many 

tanks, but it did wreck numerous motor vehicles, including antitank 

assets. Even more important, it destroyed the communication wires that 

gave the Germans most of their command and control. This meant 

that the Germans could not react effectively to US. maneuver units 

(especially armor) that went back into action on 26 July. German artillery fire, for example, now had to be preplanned. Forward observers 

had lost their links to German firepower. By 27 July, two days after 

the bombing, General Bradley assessed the battlefield and concluded 

that the enemy’s defenses had now been penetrated. The next day, he 

wrote to General Eisenhower: “This operation could not have been the 

success it has been without such close cooperation of the Air. . . . The 

bombardment which we gave them [on 25 July] was apparently highly 

successful even though we did suffer many casualties ourselves.” 

Although most of Cobra’s air power consisted of heavy bombers, 

P-47 fighter-bombers, built for close air support and long-range bomber 

escorts, also saw action. Unlike the heavier bombers, they could and 

did safely attack enemy targets barely 100 meters in front of American 

troops. In the last week of July, the fighter-bombers in the U.S. VII 

Corps’ area of operations destroyed or damaged over 500 enemy assault 

guns and tanks, Despite the deadly confusion of Operation Cobra, the 

153 

..-- -- -.--- ..-.. ---- ------___ 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

armed forces of the United States had still developed the most effective 

system of close air support seen in all of World War II. 

The correct weapons-P-47s and P-Sls-now entered the European 

theater in mass. Furthermore, soldiers and airmen in the field devised 

doctrine, techniques, and equipment for rapid and effective ground-toair and air-to-ground communication. After the war and long after 

Cobra, one former tank commander recalled how “reconnaissance pickup 

of [enemy] resistance was immediately radioed to TAC [tactical air 

command]. Invariably [TAG] would wipe out the enemy for us; from 

Rennes to Vannes he never missed. The planes were mainly Thunderbolts and Mustangs, gorgeous things to look at in formation-all the 

more gorgeous in that they were seldom more than two hundred yards 

in front of us.” The Army and the AAF had improved a great deal in 

the short time after Cobra. 

The U.S. Army Air Corps entered World War II without doctrine, 

capabilities, and training for close air support. Consequently, the Air 

Corps’ commanders and the Army’s ground commanders had to innovate 

during wartime. Operation Cobra, where 136 soldiers were killed by 

friendly fire, demonstrated the danger of learning while fighting. While 

close air support was both effective and relatively safe by the end of 

World War II, tragedy occurred at Operation Cobra when innovation 

took place during the rapid tempo of combat. 

Bibliography 

Blumenson, Martin, Breakout and Pursuit. United States Army in World 

War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 

Department of the Army, 1961. 

Cooling, B. Franklin, ed. Case Studies in the Development of Close 

Air Support. Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, U.S. 

Air Force, 1990. 

Futrell, Robert Frank. Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinking in the 

United States Air Force. Vol. 1. 1907-1960. Reprint. Maxwell Air 

Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1989. 

Sullivan, John J. “‘The Botched Air Support of Operation Cobra.” 

Parameters 8 (March 1988). 

154 
For much of the world, the Falkland Islands War appeared to be 

a folly unfolding in slow motion, A modern army struggled to move 

itself 8,000 miles aboard luxury cruise ships to engage a Third World 

enemy described as “disinterested, inept, and dozy.” The improbable 

spark that inflamed hostilities was the arrival of an Argentine scrap 

metal salvage team at a long-deserted whaling station on a desolate 

island near Antarctica under British sovereignty. Yet when British and 

Argentine forces finally collided, the fighting was furious and the outcome often in doubt. 

The battle for the Falklands in 1982 was a proving ground for 

advanced technology and a classic study in projecting power over 

extended lines of communication. The war in the Falklands provides 

commanders a number of insights into modern combined arms operations at the tactical and operational levels of war. Great Britain’s 

tenuous logistical operations were particularly revealing in the context 

of a rapid deployment operation into an undeveloped area. In this 

setting, the link between logistics and operations was close and mortal. 

When commanders and planners ignored sound logistical concepts for 

operational expediency, the price was paid in lives and the margin of 

victory made all the more slim. 

From the outset, political considerations influenced military planning. When the Argentine Army seized the Falkland Islands on 2 April 

1932, British politicians demanded the immediate deployment of their 

forces and a conclusive victory. However, no contingency plans existed 

for such an action, and the Royal Navy and Air Force had virtually 

no strategic lift capability. Thus, military planners requisitioned over 

50 merchant ships, pillaged 500,000 tons of NATO supplies, and 

developed a forward staging area-all within a week’s span. 

Decisions made in the first days of the Falkland crisis had repercussions on logistics that lasted throughout the war, beginning perhaps 

with British alert procedures, Shortly after Argentina’s invasion, Brigadier Julian Thompson, commander of the 3 Commando Brigade, Royal 

Marines, was told that his unit would deploy. He was forbidden, how155 

20 

Logistics 

British Logistics in the Falklands 

Lieutenant Colonel Matthew S. Klimow 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

ever, to divulge that information or to make preparations. This bow to 

secrecy created a delay in moving critical supplies to the debarkation 

port and left the unit with only three days to move. 

Further complicating matters, the British armed forces were so 

pressured to put to sea that they had no time to combat load ships, 

Ideally, a logistics plan is based on a mission analysis, the maneuver 

plan, and the organization for combat. Ships then can be loaded so 

fighting units and their equipment and supplies hit the beach together 

and in sequence. Sound combat loading also ensures that men and 

materiel are “cross-loaded” among the various convoy vessels to lessen 

the impact caused by the loss of a single ship. Logisticians and commanders embarking for the Falklands failed to provide for any of these 

requirements. 

British planners were not ignorant of these principles. Political 

necessity simply overrode sound military procedures. Tons of stocks 

were loaded onto ships before the full scope of the mission was clear 

and the ground combat units selected. Unlabeled and unmanifested 

crates of spare parts and equipment were rushed aboard vessels. More 

over, critical items, even when properly marked, were often placed in 

the bottom of ships’ holds, making it extremely difficult to find or 

recover them before marines and soldiers were to storm the beach. 

While interservice cooperation generally went well, problems did 

arise. The navy loaded ships with required supplies without considering 

the ground forces’ needs. In addition, some ship captains refused to let 

army officers inspect their cargo holds to learn the location of key 

pieces of equipment. The ground force logisticians gained a degree of 

authority over the placement of cargo much too late. Recognizing that 

the jumbled cargo had to be organized before battle, strategic planners 

selected Ascension Island (located half-way to the Falklands) as a 

restowing and staging area. 

The 3 Commando Brigade was the logical choice for the ground 

force, since it was structured to move by sea at a moment’s notice 

with all its classes of supply stored aboard ships. Additionally, its 3,500 

commandos had trained extensively in Norway, an advantage since 

the harsh antarctic winter was approaching. However, since more 

infantry was needed to mount an offensive, two army parachute battalions were added to the marine brigade. Days later, planners also 

decided to send the British Army’s 5th Infantry Brigade. Once ashore, 

overall command would be established under Major General Jeremy 

Moore of the Royal Marines. 

The logistics regiment of the 3 Commando Brigade provided service 

support. The regiment’s five squadrons -medical, transport, workshop, 

156 
Logistics 

ordnance, and headquarters- were a mix of marines, soldiers, and 

sailors, all skilled in their specialty and also commando qualified. 

Unlike the relatively self-contained marines, the 5th Infantry Brigade had no organic support regiment. Consequently, the commando 

logistics regiment had to support 9,000 combat troops-three times its 

normal requirement. Planners further exacerbated the regiment’s problem by ordering it to leave behind one-half of its men and one-third of 

its equipment to provide more room on the ships for combat and combat 

support units. Some additional logistics troops were eventually sent, 

but only after an ordnance officer bluffed a ship’s loadmaster into 

believing that his ordnance unit was a provisional infantry company 

needed for beachhead defense. 

As the odd armada of naval vessels, merchant ships, ferries, and 

luxury liners set sail, planning for the land war began in earnest. The 

politicians demanded a quick victory, and the Royal Navy believed 

one was necessary, for the vicious South Atlantic weather would so 

damage the ships that the navy would be unable to sustain operations 

for more than a few weeks. Furthermore, logisticians had brought 

enough supplies to keep the task force at sea for three months but 

had prepared for only thirty days of supplies to sustain troops in 

combat. With an 8,000-mile logistical pipeline and worsening weather, 

little could be done for the land forces if they became bogged down in 

prolonged fighting. 

Since the 3 Commando Brigade departed several days before the 

5th Infantry Brigade, initial ground operations were planned by 

Thompson and his staff aboard the H.M.S. Fearless. Only a handful 

of officers had the expertise to plan an amphibious operation, and few 

outside this circle of naval and marine officers understood the complexity of the task. Thus, lack of experience showed up in logistical 

preparation and execution, With the brigade scattered among eleven 

ships and radio silence in effect, parallel planning was almost impossible. The staff of the logistics regiment, aboard R.F.A. Sir Lancelot, 

wrote its service support plan without precise knowledge of the operational concept. 

The logistics staff clearly realized that Stanley, the island’s only 

port, would not be attacked immediately. Therefore, the sustainment 

effort for ground combat would be a logistics-over-the-shore (LOTS) 

operation: ships would have to anchor offshore and unload their cargo 

onto a limited number of small logistics landing ships and helicopters 

that would then ferry supplies to the beach. Once on land, the cargo 

would have to be off-loaded primarily by hand due to the limited 

number of forklifts and other heavy equipment. During LOTS opera157 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

tions, air superiority was crucial since both ships and supply dumps 

on the beach were extremely vulnerable to attack. 

Land transport consisted of foot soldiers carrying back-breaking 

loads. Since trafficability on the Falklands was abysmal and there were 

only twelve miles of roads, military planners thought that wheeled and 

tracked vehicles would be useless. Accordingly, only a handful of 

vehicles were shipped from England, and few were capable of all-terrain 

movement. Most were brought not for mobility but because the 

vehicle-mounted communications systems and other specialized equipment could not be manpacked. Fortunately, the marines brought Volvo 

BV 202 tracked vehicles that they had used in Norway. Although 

designed for use in snow, these vehicles became the logistics workhorses 

that hauled supplies and artillery over Falkland peat bogs. 

While the British relied heavily on ships for strategic transport, 

helicopters became the lifeblood of tactical logistics. But again, the 

merchant ships could carry only a limited number of helicopters. 

Weather, untrained crews, incompatible communications systems, and 

lack of experience in helicopter resupply made fighting, in the words 

of Brigadier Julian Thompson, “no picnic.” 

Ships stopping at Ascension Island (4,000 miles from Great Britain) 

provided logisticians a chance to rectify some of the mistakes made in 

the frenzied initial stowage of stores and equipment. After the armada 

set sail, logisticians inventoried each ship and devised a restowing plan 

to combat load each ship as much as possible. Even though maintaining unit integrity was important, some units became dispersed because 

all the men would not fit on the same ships from which they would 

launch their amphibious assault. Therefore, a separate plan for “crossdecking” was developed. This called for ferrying men and supplies to 

other ships to join their units just hours before the launch on D-day. 

Complicated by the lack of a port facility, the restowing process 

took twelve days. Additionally, all work ceased each night as ships 

slipped out of Ascension’s harbor to avoid being trapped by submarines 

or destroyed by Argentine frogmen, Other problems made the Ascension 

operation a logistician’s nightmare. For instance, tons of supplies 

requested by the invasion forces piled up on the island. Royal Navy 

logisticians refused to allow army supply teams to assist them in 

marrying up men and materiel. As a result, when supplies arrived 

addressed to a unit, the naval logistics team had no idea which ship 

or ships the unit was on. In addition, many crates came to Ascension 

Island bearing only a stock number, making it impossible for the navy 

supply people to determine what type of marine or army outfit would 

need the materiel. In this way, key items were lost, including special 

ammunition and weapons sent for a special forces unit. 

158 
Logistics 

The use of helicopters and landing craft in the restowing process 

also severely restricted unit rehearsals for the amphibious assault. This 

was especially critical to the army units, for they lacked training in 

amphibious operations. In a few days, heavily laden soldiers would 

have to board their landing craft in darkness on the roughest seas in 

the world. 

D-day was scheduled for 21 May with the 3 Commando Brigade, 

outnumbered by the Argentines 2 to 1, set to go ashore by helicopter 

and landing craft. British air superiority, once considered likely, became 

a false hope. Consequently, the cross-decking plan was changed to 

reflect the expected loss of at least one ship to the Argentine air attack. 

On 19 May, the transfer of men and equipment began amid twentyfoot seas. The cross-decking operations were not without cost: twentytwo troops died when a helicopter ditched into the South Atlantic. 

Nonetheless, the landing went well as marines and soldiers quickly 

secured the beachhead. But Argentine fighters bombed and strafed ships 

and troops, necessitating a major change in plans. Because the ground 

logistical effort depended on helicopter resupply, a minimum of air 

parity was needed before the 3 Commando Brigade could advance. For 

five days, while British infantry dug in, Harriers whittled away at the 

Argentine Air Force. 

Ground forces also needed the pause to build up the brigade support 

area, since it was impossible to move troops forward without a secure 

logistical base to sustain them. Original plans called for keeping most 

of the supplies afloat on ships anchored close to shore. The intensity 

of air attacks forced the navy to drop supplies and then seek the protection of the carrier battle group at sea. Many ships departed before 

vital personnel and supplies were off-loaded. For example, the Canberra, 

under intense air attack, was forced to sail off before the brigade’s 

field hospital and surgical support team were unloaded. In many cases, 

ground forces were left in short supply of ammunition, batteries, and 

rations. 

Supplies were moved at night in blackout conditions, with little 

but human muscle to move heavy cargo. Because the navy continued 

to cross-deck cargo at sea, incoming ships did not carry what the 

marines expected. To alleviate this problem, commando logistics officers 

examined the holds of the ships to determine what should be sent 

ashore. 

Meanwhile, pressure mounted for the British to take offensive 

action. On 26 May, the 2 Para (2d Battalion, the Parachute Regiment) 

was ordered to take Goose Green. Soldiers carried more than 100 pounds 

during their advance. With each step, the crust of the bogs gave way, 

forcing them to trudge through a slurry of ice water and mud. Night 

159 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

movement averaged one kilometer an hour, prompting troops to dub 

their torturous march “yomping.” The chaotic supply system left paratroopers without tents, dry clothes, or sufficient rations in the freezing 

weather. But more important, ammunition would be in short supply, 

As the 2 Para engaged Argentine soldiers in ferocious fighting, 

resupply grew tenuous. Helicopters supporting the fight were sometimes diverted to move critical supplies from ship to shore. Helicopter 

fuel ran short. Although bulk fuel was plentiful, it was difficult to get 

ashore for distribution because no one was trained in fuel management; 

the logistics regiment’s petrol troop was a reserve unit and did not 

mobilize for the war. 

The lack of dedicated helicopters also frustrated ground commanders. Throughout the war, helicopters remained under the control 

of the amphibious task group commander (a navy commodore) and 

were never transferred to the land force commander, Major General 

Jeremy Moore. Because of this situation, the navy often diverted helicopters from their ground mission. Also, ground troops could not communicate with the helicopter pilots without mobile air operations 

teams, which were in short supply. Getting the right helicopter with 

the proper cargo to the correct landing zone was often a matter of 

luck. 

No single event hurt the logistics effort more than the loss of the 

Atlantic Conveyor to an Argentine Exocet missile. All the British 

heavy-lift assets (CH-47C Chinook helicopters) and several medium-lift 

helicopters were aboard that one ship. Fortunately, one of the Chinooks 

escaped and became the workhorse of the British logistical effort. Also 

lost on the ship was tentage for 4,500 men and a great number of 

cargo nets. Without cargo netting, cargo had to be stowed inside helicopters, which increased loading time and allowed less to be carried. 

Compounding that problem was the lack of soldiers trained in loading 

cargo and utility helicopters. 

On 29 May, the 2 Para finally secured Goose Green-but not without significant casualties, including the death of its battalion commander. Again, the helicopter was the primary asset for evacuating 

the wounded. Despite snowy whiteouts and marauding Argentine attack 

planes, evacuation pilots courageously took to the air. The wounded, 

including numerous trench-foot cases, were initially sent to a field 

dressing station in the brigade support area and, within six hours, 

transferred aboard the Uganda, a makeshift hospital ship. The survival 

rate of the wounded was 90 percent. Marine bandsmen, trained as 

stretcher-bearers and in first aid, were crucial to the medical evacuation 

process. 

160 
Logistics 

During an after-action review, the acting commander of the 2 Para 

implemented immediate changes in combat service support procedures, 

First, he established a separate administrative-logistics net for radio 

transmissions. Second, at the expense of combat power, he created a 

35man platoon to be used exclusively for ammunition resupply and 

stretcher-bearing. Although the Goose Green attack had been Britain’s 

primary effort, 2 Para’s dwindling ammunition stocks had not been 

replenished. Also, the paratroopers lacked facilities for casualty evacuation. In addition, at the height of the fighting, mortarmen ran out of 

rounds, and artillery support had to be curtailed. Later analysis showed 

that the planning rates for ammunition expenditure were unrealistic. 

The 2 Para used four times its daily allotment of small-arms ammunition and five times its allocation for 105mm howitzers and 81-mm 

mortars. 

Part of the problem in supporting the Goose Green operation was 

a devastating Argentine air attack on the brigade support area, which 

destroyed 500 mortar and artillery shells. More than bad luck was 

involved. In the fight for limited shipboard space, key air defense artillery assets had been left behind. The British had not adequately protected a vulnerable area. As Thompson, commander of the 3 Commando 

Brigade noted after the war, the strike against the logistics base was 

far more damaging than any other enemy action. 

The 5th Infantry Brigade’s arrival in the Falklands further strained 

the British logistical effort. The soldiers who landed on 2 June could 

not locate equipment that was hastily stowed. Moreover, the 5th had 

only two ordnance companies to ease the distribution problem. Without 

forklifts, troops formed human chains to bring ashore supplies and 

establish a forward brigade maintenance area. Furthermore, fuel pods 

were left behind, and 5,000 jerricans were brought in empty, the result 

of peacetime shipping restrictions. 

Further hampering British supply efforts was the inadequacy of 

their air defense. When the brigade’s logistics ship, Sir Galahad, 

dropped anchor, it was in view of an Argentine outpost. As LOTS 

operations began, Argentine A4s flew in with devastating results. 

Troops on Sir Galahad had been ordered to remain on board until 

fuel, ammunition, and stores had been removed. This error in judgment 

led to the loss of 43 soldiers killed and 200 wounded. 

The 5th Infantry Brigade learned from 2 Para’s logistical experience. Thus, it delayed its attack on Stanley until sufficient stocks of 

ammunition were established. Moreover, after the 5th fought fiercely 

to gain its initial objectives, the commanding officer of its logistics 

regiment recommended that it pause to replenish ammunition before 

beginning the final assault. The brigade commander agreed, even 

161 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

though it meant losing the unit’s momentum. In the twenty-four hours 

that followed, artillery shells were rushed forward. When the fighting 

resumed, the British dropped 6,000 105mm rounds on the Argentine 

defenders and secured the final British objectives. Balancing the speed 

of the operation with the resupply effort paid off. 

The British experience in the Falkland Islands reveals the importance of the proper combat loading and cross-loading of ships, the need 

to identify parts and supplies accurately in the logistical pipeline, the 

desirability of cross-training personnel, the necessity for a dedicated 

logistics communications net, and the requirement for protecting Iogistics bases. On a more general level, the war teaches the importance of 

balancing the conduct of operations with a suitable level of logistical 

support. Units can only maximize their combat effectivenesss by maintaining an adequate resupply network. To feel the tempo of battle, it 

is sometimes necessary to take its pulse along the lines of supply. The 

trade-offs between logistics and operations often dictate the margin of 

victory. 

Bibliography 

Frost, John. 2 Para Falklands: The Battalion at War. London: Buchan 

and Enright Publishers, 1983. 

Hastings, Max, and Simon Jenkins, The Battle for the Falklands. New 

York: W. W. Norton and Co., 1983. 

Middlebrook, Martin. Task Force: The Falklands War, 1982, revised ed. 

London: Penguin Books, 1987. 

Thompson, Julian, The Lifeblood of War: Logistics in Armed Conflict. 

London: Brassey’s, 1991. 

No Picnic: 3 Commando Brigade in the South Atlantic, 1982. 

London: Leo Cooper, 1985. 

162 
21 

Military Operations on Urbanized Terrain 

The 2d Battalion, 26th Infantry, at Aachen, October 1944 

Dr. Christopher R. Gabel 

Throughout history, terrain has shaped the conduct of military 

operations. Traditionally, generals have been concerned with watercourses, elevations, depressions, and vegetation in the planning and 

conduct of battle. With the coming of the industrial age, a new terrain 

feature-the modern city-became important in the waging of war. 

In ancient times, a city’s military significance resided in its fortifications and its garrison. If these could be overcome, a city ceased to 

be a military impediment. In modern times, however, an urban area 

can constitute a major military obstacle. A modern city might be large 

enough to block a strategic avenue of approach into an enemy’s land. 

Also, its population poses major logistical, administrative, and security 

problems for the invader. Tactically, a city’s closely packed buildings, 

basements, alleyways, and sewer systems offer cover, concealment, and 

ready-made defensive positions to the defenders. Masonry buildings 

tend to muffle the blast effect of the attacker’s artillery, and when 

destroyed, these buildings choke the streets with rubble and broken 

glass. Offensive movement through urban terrain is further hindered 

by the canalizing effect of man-made terrain such as roadways, 

embankments, and cuts. 

Generally, a modern city magnifies the power of the defender and 

robs the attacker of his advantages in firepower and mobility. A city 

can ingest an invading army, paralyze it for weeks on end, and grind 

it down to a state of ineffectiveness. The German city of Aachen, 

population 165,000, posed just such a threat to the U.S. First Army in 

the autumn of 1944. 

The First Army reached the German border near Aachen early in 

September after a rapid seven-week advance across France and 

Belgium. At this point in the war, the First Army was an experienced, 

highly respected fighting force, but it had overextended its lines of 

communication. Its transportation requirements had far exceeded preinvasion planning and were being met only through the efforts of the 

improvised “Red Ball Express.” Units were depleted through the 

exhaustion of men and materiel. Frontages had become overextended. 

163 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Moreover, when the First Army entered Germany, it immediately 

encountered the Westwall, known to the Allies as the Siegfried Line. 

The Westwall was essentially a giant antitank barrier consisting of 

obstacles and pillboxes covering Germany’s entire western border, Two 

separate belts of the Westwall protected the Aachen gateway, testimony 

to the importance of the region. Fortunately for the First Army, many 

of the German troops that were to defend the Westwall around Aachen 

had been cut off and captured in Belgium before they could reach their 

new positions. Even so, the Westwall constituted a significant combat 

multiplier for the second-rate forces that were pressed into the defense 

of Aachen. 

When the First Army arrived at the German border on 10 September, the Germans expected an immediate assault on Aachen and 

deployed their meager forces accordingly. Instead, Lieutenant General 

Courtney H. Hodges chose to attack the Westwall just south of the 

city, hoping to break through the border defenses before logistical shortfalls brought his operations to a halt. From 13 to 15 September, elements of the 3d Armored and 9th Infantry Divisions penetrated the 

Westwall and, in the process, outflanked Aachen to the south. But they 

were unable to press their advantage. The First Army then stood down 

for three weeks to reorganize and build up strength for a deliberate 

attack on Aachen itself. 

On 8 October, Hodges undertook the encirclement of Aachen, with 

the 30th Infantry Division of XIX Corps attacking from the north and 

the 1st Infantry Division of VII Corps from the south. German 

resistance was stiff and progress slow, prompting Hodges to begin the 

reduction of Aachen before the encirclement was complete. A surrender 

ultimatum delivered to the German garrison in Aachen on 10 October 

brought no response: Hitler had designated Aachen as a “fortress,” 

meaning it was to be held to the last man. 

The task of reducing Aachen fell to Major General Clarence R. 

Huebner’s 1st Infantry Division, a veteran of the Tunisia, Sicily, and 

Normandy campaigns. Since the 1st Division was also responsible for 

the southern jaw of the Aachen encirclement, only one regiment, the 

26th Infantry, could be spared for the assault on the city (see map 

17). The 26th, under Colonel John F. R. Seitz, had only two of its 

three battalions on hand. It would face a numerically superior foe: 

some 5,000 Germans, commanded by Colonel Gerhard Wilek, garrisoned 

the city. (The 1st Division’s G2 estimated the defenders at only 3,500.) 

Adding to his complications, Seitz was ordered not to become inextricably involved inside Aachen while the encirclement battle raged. One 

circumstance working in the Americans’ favor was the relatively low 

quality of German forces in the garrison, which included overage 

conscripts, converted navy and air force personnel, and city police. 

164 
t?esidentia/ district 

3?+ _ 

. . 

_ F Industrial district 

.a 

0 

E Air-raid n L,, 

Map 17. The advance of the 2d Battalion, 26th Infantry, Into central Aachen, 12-2
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

In an attempt to secure a degree of surprise, Huebner elected to 

attack Aachen from the east rather than from the south, where the 

26th Infantry currently occupied lines. Major General J. Lawton Collins 

provided a corps asset, the 1106th Engineer Combat Group, to man 

the lines vacated by the 26th. The engineer force consisted of two 

engineer combat battalions and elements of two bridge companies and 

was reinforced by an antitank company and a mortar company. Its 

mission was defensive. 

The 26th Infantry’s plan of attack called for sending one battalion, 

the 3d, north of Aachen to capture the high ground commanding the 

area, while the 2d Battalion cleared the center of the city, Lieutenant 

Colonel Derrill M. Daniel, commander of the 2d, organized his battalion 

into three hard-hitting company task forces. Each rifle company was 

reinforced with three tanks or tank destroyers (tanklike weapons), 

which allowed company commanders to supply one to each platoon; 

two 57-mm antitank guns; two bazooka teams to augment the three 

bazookas organic to each company; a flamethrower; and two heavy 

machine guns. Daniel also obtained one self-propelled 155-mm gun to 

augment his firepower. Since his frontage would be two to three times 

that recommended by doctrine for urban fighting, all three companies 

would have to participate in the assault; there could be no battalion 

reserve. On the positive side, intelligence gatherers provided him with 

maps of Aachen. Furthermore, at least seventy-four batteries of corps 

and division artillery were in the Aachen sector, giving the Americans 

a significant edge in overall firepower. 

For two days prior to the 26th Infantry’s assault, artillery and air 

power pounded the defenders of Aachen with 160 tons of bombs and 

10,000 rounds of artillery. The 1106th Engineers contributed to the 

preparation by packing a trolley car with explosives (dubbed the 

“‘V-13”) and rolling it down railroad tracks into the city’s center. 

Apparently, because of the stout masonry construction of the city’s 

buildings, the preparatory fires had little impact on the Aachen garrison Nonetheless, the infantry assault proceeded on 13 October as 

planned. 

The 2d Battalion’s line of departure lay along a railroad embankment fifteen to thirty feet high that bounded Aachen to the east. At 

H-hour (0930), all the infantrymen threw hand grenades over the 

embankment and scrambled across, firing all weapons. It took thirty 

minutes for the Germans to recover and begin returning fire. Meanwhile, two tanks succeeded in passing over the embankment, followed 

by the rest of the battalion’s vehicles, which drove right through a 

railroad station that was located under the tracks within the embankment itself. 

166 
Military Operations on Urbanized Terrain 

The 2d Battalion deployed with F Company on the right, where it 

tied in with 3d Battalion; E Company in the center; and G Company 

on the left, its flank resting on the railroad embankment south of town. 

Each company zone was roughly three blocks wide, meaning that each 

platoon within the company worked a separate street. As the battalion 

advanced, every building was assumed to be a German defensive position until proven otherwise. No German, whether soldier or civilian, 

was allowed to remain in the battalion’s rear. Every room of every 

building was thoroughly searched before the attack continued to the 

next. Even the sewer manholes were blocked up to prevent enemy infiltration. To maintain positive control over his companies and prevent 

flanks from opening up, Daniel used a “‘measle system”-city maps on 

which every intersection and all key buildings were numbered. The 

companies operated within specified zones and halted periodically at 

checkpoints designated by battalion to establish positive liaison with 

flank units, In sum, speed counted for less than thoroughness; it took 

Daniel’s battalion nine days to clear downtown Aachen. 

Equally noteworthy was the battalion’s effective use of firepower, 

which was in keeping with Daniel’s slogan, “Knock ‘em all down.” 

His principle was to keep up a continuous stream of fire from every 

available weapon, ranging from rifle to medium artillery. The division 

and corps artillery had remained south of Aachen when the assault 

forces moved to their jump-off points east of the city, misleading the 

enemy as to the Americans’ intended axis of advance and permitting 

the artillery to shoot parallel to the front of the assault troops, This 

eliminated the danger of Yshort” rounds falling on friendly troops and 

allowed the infantry units to call down fire very close to their own 

positions. By shelling German lines of communication, Daniel isolated 

objectives. He also used artillery to drive defenders out of the upper 

floors of specific buildings. Direct fire from tanks, tank destroyers, 

antitank guns, and machine guns also chased the enemy away from 

his firing positions. Machine guns commanded the streets along the 

axis of advance, ready to cut down any evacuating Germans. Daniel’s 

infantry stayed out of the streets whenever possible, preferring to move 

from building to building by blowing holes in walls. Ideally, by the 

time the infantry closed in on a given strongpoint, the Germans would 

have been driven down into the cellars. Grenades and, if necessary, 

flamethrowers and demolition charges finished the job. 

Knowing the effectiveness of German antitank weapons, the 

Americans were especially cautious in employing their valuable armor. 

Generally, tanks and tank destroyers stayed on the side streets (perpendicular to the axis of advance) and nosed cautiously around corners to 

fire. They would generally shoot one building ahead of the infantry 

167 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

advance until an entire block was cleared, then advance to the next 

side street. 

Obviously, this method of combat required high expenditures of 

ammunition. Daniel established a battalion ammunition dump to ensure 

the steady supply of munitions. Evacuating the wounded also posed 

special problems, because the rubble and glass in the streets quickly 

ruined the tires of wheeled vehicles. Therefore, tracked utility vehicles 

known an weasels were pressed into duty for casualty evacuation. 

Several incidents called for special ingenuity on the part of the 2d 

Battalion. Early on 15 October, G Company encountered fire coming 

from a massive three-story air-raid shelter constructed of concrete fifteen feet thick. Infantrymen quickly drove the German defenders inside 

and fired on the doors with machine guns. Through an interpreter, the 

G Company commander issued an ultimatum, which the defenders 

ignored. At that juncture, a flamethrower was brought forward. When 

the flamethrower failed to ignite, the company commander lighted it 

with a match. After one squirt of flame at a baffle-covered door, the 

defenders gave up. Two hundred soldiers and about 1,000 civilians 

emerged from the gigantic sheIter. 

Later that day, the Germans counterattacked G Company with a 

tank-infantry force and penetrated the U.S. line to a depth of several 

blocks, The penetration was quickly sealed off and eliminated. This 

counterattack was one of the few German offensive actions inside 

Aachen during the U.S. advance. 

On 16 October, U.S. troops spotted what appeared to be a pillbox 

several blocks ahead of the battle line on the street that served as the 

boundary between E and G Companies. Since none of the company 

weapons could destroy it, Daniel decided to employ his precious 

155mm gun. To do so safely, he concocted a rather unique combined 

arms effort. While one tank destroyer knocked holes in a building at 

the foot of the street in question, creating a field of fire for the 

155mm gun, other tanks and tank destroyers fired into the cross streets 

to keep roving German armor at bay. Meanwhile, riflemen cleared the 

nearby houses of German infantry. When all was safe, the 155mm 

gun fired some twelve rounds into the pillbox and into the intersections 

along the street. The “‘pillbox” proved to be a camouflaged tank, which 

was utterly destroyed. Another German tank was destroyed by one of 

the 155-mm gun’s random shots into the cross streets. After his capture, 

the German commander of Aachen was said to have denounced such 

use of a large weapon as being “barbarous.” 

Two days later, G Company made further “barbarous” use of the 

155mm gun. Despite the Americans’ care in clearing all buildings, on 

18 October, they came under rifle fire from the rear. After two hours 

168 

.- 
Military Operations on Urbanized Terrain 

of searching, they found that the shots were coming from a church 

steeple that had not been secured. Tank and tank destroyer fire had 

no effect on the steeple, which, it was later discovered, had been 

reinforced with concrete. One shot from the 155-mm gun brought down 

the entire structure. 

As the 2d Battalion advanced through Aachen, its already wide 

frontages extended even farther. Fortunately, the encirclement battle 

east of Aachen was won on 16 October, freeing up forces to aid in the 

city’s reduction. C Company from the 1st Battalion, 26th Infantry, 

joined the assault on 18 October, taking a sector on the battalion’s 

right flank. A battalion from the 28th Division, the 2d Battalion, 110th 

Infantry, joined Daniel’s force on 19 October, occupying a gap between 

G Company and the engineers south of the city. As welcome as these 

reinforcements were, the battle in Aachen was already winding down. 

German resistance became less determined as the defenders realized 

that they were encircled and had been abandoned by their high 

command. 

On 21 October, Daniel’s force reached the railroad embankment 

that marked the western edge of central Aachen. Daniel staged another 

embankment assault (like that employed on 13 October to enter the city) 

and secured the far side of the obstacle. Meanwhile, just to the north 

of the interbattalion boundary, elements of the 3d Battalion prepared 

to destroy a bunker with their attached 155mm gun. Unknown to them, 

one of the inhabitants of the bunker was Colonel Wilck, the garrison 

commander. When Wilck recognized his predicament, he radioed a 

message to his high command and announced his determination to 

fight to the end; he then promptly surrendered. 

For all practical purposes, this marked the end of the battle for 

Aachen. The operation netted a total of 5,600 German prisoners and 

cost the 26th Infantry 498 casualties from all causes. Daniel’s 2d 

Battalion and attached units lost less than 100 casualties. By the end 

of the battle, U.S. forces had destroyed 80 percent of the buildings in 

Aachen. 

Doubtless, the capture of Aachen would have been much more difficult had the defending German forces been of higher quality. Even 

so, the U.S. forces involved must be credited with fighting skillfully 

and intelligently. Through their masterful use of firepower, careful 

control measures, and sound tactics, the Americans defeated a numerically superior opponent who enjoyed all of the advantages of defending 

in urban terrain As the first German city captured by the Allies in 

World War II, Aachen represented a milestone in the destruction of 

Hitler’s Third Reich. 

169 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Bibliography 

MacDonald, Charles Brown. The Siegfried Line Campaign. United 

States Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief 

of Military History, Department of the Army, 1963. 

Werstein, Irving. The Battle of Aachen. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell 

Company, 1962. 

Whiting, Charles. BZoody Aachen. London: Leo Cooper, Ltd., 1976. 
22 

Miracles 

A Platoon’s Heroic Stand at Lanzerath 

Lieutenant Colonel John R. Finch, U.S. Army, Retired* 

A miracle by definition is “an accomplishment or occurrence so 

outstanding or unusual as to seem beyond human capability or 

endeavor.” In military history, miracles are not common, but they do 

occur, and the events effecting a miracle are magnified by the lifeand-death struggle surrounding the event. In the book Infantry in 

Battle, a chapter on miracles details episodes it claims meet that 

definition. In the process of effecting miracles, the author says, 

“resolute action by a few determined men is often decisive.“’ This 

description aptly applies to the heroic defense conducted by the Intelligence and Reconnaissance (I&R) Platoon of the 394th Infantry, 99th 

Infantry Division, on 16 December 1944. 

The 99th Infantry Division arrived in the European theater in early 

November 1944. Since it lacked combat experience, it was assigned to 

the Ardennes defensive sector on 9 November in an area that seemed 

unlikely to attract a major German attack. After a month of aggressive 

patrolling actions and significant improvement of its defensive positions, the division was committed to its first offensive action, a 

supporting attack. The 99th attacked while also defending approximately a twenty-mile front, which was nearly double the recommended 

distance for a division defense. Compounding its problems, the 99th 

was without adequate reserves, since the men who ordinarily would 

have composed its reserve were engaged as a task force in supporting 

the attack. From this vulnerable offensive-defensive posture, the 

division was struck by the lead elements of the German Sixth Panzer 

Army on 16 December 1944-at the beginning of the German Ardennes 

counteroffensive. 

Outnumbered in men, artillery, and armored vehicles in some 

sectors by five to one, in others by as much as eighteen to one, the 

division’s tenacious defense was instrumental in the successful delay 

and diversion of major elements of six German divisions: the 1st and 

*This study was originally written under the general topic “Tenacity.” Major George 

J. Mordica II contributed the introductory and concluding paragraphs and some other 

passages in the present essay. 

171 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

12th SS Panzer Divisions; 3d Parachute Division; and 12th, 277th, and 

326th Volksgrenadier Divisions. Over the first five days of the German 

attack, the 99th Division, in conjunction with the magnificent defensive 

accomplishments of the veteran 2d Infantry Division, were able to 

disrupt the synchronization of the Sixth Panzer Army, Initially, the 

99th accomplished this disruption by denying the Germans access to 

key roads and then holding successfully the northern shoulder of the 

salient (an encounter that would be known as the Battle of the Bulge). 

The Sixth Panzer Army, commanded by General Sepp Dietrich, had 

the primary effort, which was to drive 100 miles through the Ardennes 

to the objective at Antwerp. To accomplish this mission, Dietrich had 

a strict timetable: on the first day, penetrate and break out; the second 

day, get mobiIe units past the restricted terrain in the 99th Division’s 

rear; the third day (by evening), reach the Meuse River; and the fourth 

day, secure a bridgehead and cross the river. Although Dietrich’s 

schedule was ambitious, earlier in the summer of 1940, Erwin Rommel’s 

7th Panzer Division had attacked through the Ardennes and handily 

reached the Meuse by nightfall of the third day. 

Dietrich described his mission in more simplistic and humorous 

terms: 

All Hitler wants me to do is to cross a river, capture Brussels, and 

then go on and take Antwerp! and all this in the worst time of the 

year through the Ardennes where the snow is waist deep and there 

isn’t room to deploy four tanks abreast let alone armored divisions! 

Where it doesn’t get light until eight and it’s dark again at four and 

with reformed divisions made up chiefly of kids and sick old menand at Christmas! 

Dietrich’s weakest units were the reorganized and still inexperienced 3d Parachute Division and the under-strength volksgrenadier 

divisions. Moreover, these units would be forced to attack without 

supporting artillery battalions. In addition, many of Dietrich’s other 

units lacked sufficient numbers of experienced officers and noncommissioned officers. As events showed, these weaknesses were to have 

serious ramifications for the Sixth Panzer Army’s timetable. 

Terrain and weather also affected the Germans’ advance through 

the Ardennes. The broken and heavily forested terrain, in conjunction 

with the heavy fogs and precipitation, reduced ground visibility in 

many places to fifteen to twenty yards and provided excellent cover 

and concealment for American defenders and assembling assault formations. Furthermore, off-road movement was extremely difficult in the 

snow, which was up to one foot in depth. Because of the restrictive 

terrain, most traffic was channeled into the east-west roads. 

By 14 November, the 99th Division had occupied its twenty-mile 

172 
Miracles 

sector of the line, with its 395th Infantry in the north, 393d Infantry 

in the center, and 394th Infantry in the sauth. All battalions and 

companies were an line except the 3d Battalion, 394th Infantry, which 

was held in division reserve (an the boundary with the VIII Carps in 

the vicinity of the Lasheim gap). 

All the 99th’s battalions held defensive fronts of 2,500 to 3,000 

yards-instead of the 800 yards prescribed by doctrine. Consequently, 

the many gaps in the front line could only be covered by patrols. The 

99th’s position, although heavily protected by lag-covered entrenchments 

and foxholes, could best be described as a woefully weak outpost 

line-key terrain that featured many short, steep hills covered by dense 

forest and thick underbrush. 

With only two battalions under his command, the U.S. 394th 

Infantry’s commander, apprehensive about the route leading through 

the town of Lanzerath, positioned his understrength regimental I&R 

Platoon (eighteen men) just northwest of Lanzerath, mainly to give 

warning of enemy attacks from that area (which was the responsibility 

of VIII Corps and its 14th Cavalry Group). 

It was fortunate far the 99th Division that the 394th’s commander 

took this precaution, far in this small quadrangle, the critical battle 

an the northern shoulder of the bulge began an the morning of 16 

December. The German Sixth Panzer Army, which was designated the 

main effort in the counteroffensive, attacked along the main roads 

through the 394th’s sparsely defended sector. 

In early December, the U.S. V Corps moved the veteran 2d Infantry 

Division into the rear area of the 99th Division at Camp Elsenborn. 

This was in preparation for an attack through a two-mile-wide sector 

in the center of the supporting 99th Division’s line, with the objective 

of capturing the Roer River dams. The seizure of the dams was necessary to provide security far a planned U.S. crossing of the Roer River 

by units of the First Army. Because of the importance that the 

Germans placed on the dams, with their critical defensive ability to 

control the flaw and depth of the Raer River, the First Army and V 

Corps anticipated that the Germans might launch a spoiling attack to 

disrupt the U.S. 2d and 99th Division’s own drive. 

As night fell an 15 December, U.S. situation maps showed Sixth 

Panzer Army units clustered around the city of Cologne and thus no 

immediate threat ta the 2d and 99th’s drive (aver thirty miles to the 

southwest). The horrendous errar of this assessment was made apparent 

at 0525 an Saturday, 16 December, when what is claimed to have been 

the heaviest two-hour barrage ever delivered in World War II fell on 

the American front lines. One assaulting German corps was supported 

with up to twenty-three battalions of artillery and racket launchers. 

173 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

This unexpectedly heavy barrage, assumed by most in the 99th to 

be merely a diversion against the 2d Division’s attack, was followed 

by German infantry attacks at 0800, approximately one hour after the 

barrage ceased. This appeared to be the spoiling attack that had been 

predicted. Considering that intelligence reports had located only two 

German horse-drawn artillery pieces apposite one of the U.S. battalions, 

one executive officer was certainly within his rights in saying, “they 

[the Germans] sure must be working those two horses to death!” 

While uncertainty reigned in the 99th Division’s command structure 

because of the severing of wire communications by this barrage, the 

initial fighting quickly turned into a series of small-unit actions. 

Significantly, one af these actions involved the I&R Platoon of the 

394th Infantry. The tenacious defense by this platoon would have a 

major impact an the course of the German offensive on the northern 

part of the front. The fallowing detailed account provides a view of 

the miracle performed by these few determined men against seemingly 

insurmountable odds. 

The I&R Platoon was located at the edge of a heavily wooded area 

to the west and north of the village of Lanzerath. To the west of the 

platoon, approximately 800 to 1,000 yards, was the right flank of the 

1st Battalion, 394th Infantry, at Losheimergraben (see map 18). 

Approximately 400 yards to the right of the platoon along the southern 

edge of Lanzerath were 4 towed guns of the 820th Tank Destroyer 

Battalion and reconnaissance troops of the 14th Cavalry Group, which 

guarded the VIII Carps’ boundary. 

The tiny village of Lanzerath (ten houses) was situated about 200 

to 250 yards to the right front of the platoon. The village was on 

sIaping terrain, with a draw to its east. The location of the I&R 

Platoon, an high ground, thus gave it a perfect view of the terrain to 

its left, right, and front. The mission of the platoon, commanded by 

First Lieutenant Lyle J. Bauck Jr., was to maintain contact with the 

14th Cavalry elements and provide a warning to the 394th in case of 

any unusual activity. To accomplish this mission, Bauck, on 10 December, had chosen to occupy a position that had been previously canstrutted by a battalion of the 4th Infantry Division and that was 

approximately one-half mile outside the 99th Division’s sector boundary. 

Although unorthodox, it was well that he dug in across the corps 

boundary. 

Since entering the front line in November, the I&R Platoon had 

managed to acquire a surplus of unauthorized weapons and ammunition. Instead of just Ml rifles, platoon members had equipped themselves with Browning automatic rifles, large quantities of hand 

grenades and ammunition, and a light (.30-caliber) machine gun and a 

174 
Miracles 

---_.- 

LtGEND 

277-w 

Yen 

__ _-- Map 18. The southern flank of the U.S. 99th Infantry Division. ?6 December 1944 

heavy (JO-caliber) machine gun mounted an a jeep. These weapons 

gave the I&R Platoon a sustained firepower capability. 

Under Bouck’s guidance, the platoon’s hilltop position was 

improved to withstand artillery, mortar, and small-arms fire. The foxhales were enlarged so that two men could stand on the ground and 

their line of vision would be level with the slit openings for their 

weapons. The sides and tops of the foxholes were covered with four- or 

five-inch logs, with mud and dirt wedged between the lags as a sealer 

against the cold. In addition, the two-man positions were sited to provide overlapping fire and were impervious to anything but a direct 

hit. The machine-gun jeep was placed in a defilade position, allowing 

it to sweep the field in front of the village. The snow an 13 and 

15 December covered these defensive positions, camouflaging them so 

they blended with the terrain. 

175 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

In the early morning of 16 December, the platoon’s position came 

under heavy artillery fire as the German offensive’s rolling barrage 

passed to the west. As a result, Bouck’s telephone line to the regiment 

was severed, but by SCR-300 radio, he was ordered to hold his position. 

Within Lanzerath, the unsupported tank destroyers of the 14th Cavalry 

pulled out and moved to the rear. The single I&R Platoon, guarding a 

potentially vital road on a corps boundary, was alone. Soon afterward, 

Bouck spotted a long column approaching Lanzerath from the east. 

His calls for artillery fire on the exposed enemy column were not 

approved because of higher regimental priorities. Consequently, Bouck 

decided to wait in his undiscovered position until the main body of 

the German column was within range. Approximately 100 Germans 

passed the platoon ambush point and marched north toward the crossroads at Losheimergraben. By their uniforms, Bouck recognized the 

enemy as paratroopers, and as the seemingly endless column halted, 

he decided to open fire on what appeared to be a command group of 

officers. Just then, a blonde teenage girl ran out into the road, shouted 

something in German, and hurried off. As the Americans held their 

fire to avoid hitting the girl, the Germans dived into a roadside ditch, 

and a sharp skirmish ensued. Bouck had lost an excellent opportunity 

for an ambush at a range of 100 yards from covered and concealed 

positions-ruined by the “friction of war” in the form of an unexpected 

warning from a child. 

When the initial shooting died down, at least a battalion of the 

German 3d Parachute Division’s 9th Regiment regrouped to attack 

Bouck’s position. The tactical inexperience of the German leaders 

(members of the Luftwaffe) caused them to order unsupported frontal 

attacks across open ground and up the hill. Their men charged, wave 

after wave, firing their weapons as they advanced. They made it as 

far as a barbed-wire fence strung across an open field directly in front 

of the American foxholes. Bouck’s men had zeroed their automatic 

weapons on this fence and were able to stop the attack just by pulling 

their triggers. 

The disorganized Germans regrouped and attacked again at midday 

and a third time later in the afternoon. Each time, the Americans’ 

murderous interlocking fire halted them at the fence. The paratroopers 

did not maneuver or even call for support from mortars or artillery. 

By late afternoon, with the Americans running out of ammunition and 

their radio destroyed, a fourth attack, supported by two assault guns, 

finally overwhelmed the I&R Platoon. Of the eighteen Americans who 

participated in the defense, two were killed in action, and most of the 

rest were wounded. In return, they had inflicted an estimated 560 

German casualties, many of them killed, and stalled the German attack 

for nearly a full day, aiding the U.S. 99th Division’s defense of its 

176 
Miracles 

vulnerable right flank. Although Bouck and his men had no way of 

knowing it, their refusal to retreat or surrender blocked one of the 

roads earmarked for the main German drive. Although, for various 

reasons, it took nearly thirty-seven years for the I&R Platoon to be 

recognized, the miracle at Lanzerath would finally go down in history 

as one of the most valorous and pivotal actions of the Battle of the 

Bulge. 

Because of a loss of radio communications, Major General Walter 

E’. Lauer, the 99th Infantry Division’s commander, had no way of 

knowing the fate of Bouck’s unit. No one in the 99th knew that the 

I&R Platoon had protected the south flank of the 394th Infantry 

against a powerful initial attack that might well have destroyed the 

regimental position if it had been delivered in the early morning and 

that the platoon had helped delay the penetration by German tanks of 

the 1st SS Panzer Division for a crucial eighteen hours. 

Yet, unfortunately for the 99th, at approximately 0100 on the 17th, 

one of the youngest regimental commanders in the German Army, a 

29-year-old German Wuffen SS lieutenant colonel, rudely awakened the 

Americans to the true nature of the enemy attack by leading his panzer 

regiment of 30 King Tigers and 72 medium tanks (some of which were 

equipped with the then-revolutionary infrared night-vision system), 80 

half-tracks, and approximately 4,000 men in a daring penetration along 

the now-exposed boundary of the V and VIII Corps. This man, 

Lieutenant Colonel Joachim Peiper, commanded the 1st SS Panzer 

Regiment, the lead assault element of the 1st SS Panzer Division that 

spearheaded Dietrich’s entire Sixth Panzer Army. But on 16 December, 

Peiper’s timetable had been upset by the stiff American resistance 

along his main route through Losheimergraben and Hunningen and 

by the horrendous traffic jams of the 3d Parachute and 12th Volksgrenadier Divisions as they backed up before destroyed roads and 

bridges. Peiper finally reached Losheim at 1930, where he was blocked 

again by another destroyed bridge overpass. Peiper quickly diverted 

his units south toward Lanzerath in the 3d Parachute Division’s sector. 

Arriving in Lanzerath shortly before midnight (after losing ten vehicles 

in an unavoidable crossing of an old German minefield), he discovered 

a much-battered 9th Parachute Regiment. The paratroopers were still 

recovering from their earlier encounter with and capture of the surviving members of the 394th’s I&R Platoon, 

Peiper briefly and bitterly reflected that if the 12th Volksgrenadier 

Division or the 3d Parachute Division had punched through the 

Americans at 0700, as expected, his tanks at that moment might have 

been astride the Meuse River. But the assault troops had failed, the 

roads had become clogged, and German engineers were slow in repair177 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

ing bridges. So, the spearhead of the Sixth Panzer Army was still at 

Lanzerath and falling dangerously behind its timetable. 

Extremely heavy fighting would continue through 21 December, 

especially at Butgenbach and by the 2d Division in the area of the 

villages of Rocherath-Krinkelt-where at one point the units were so 

intermixed that one 2d Division battalion commander had men from 

sixteen different companies of both divisions fighting under him. 

Lauer’s troops and the men of the 2d Division were so thoroughly 

entangled that the 99th temporarily ceased to exist as an integral force, 

and so, on the evening of 18 December, Major General Leonard T. 

Gerow (V Corps) appointed Major General Walter M. Robertson as 

temporary commander of the 99th Division with Lauer as his deputy. 

By the evening of 19 December, the 99th and 2d Divisions had successfully completed their multiple rearward passages through lines to 

Elsenborn. There, in conjunction with the 1st and 9th Infantry Divisions and massed corps artillery, they ensured the complete failure of 

the Sixth Panzer Army’s mission. 

By the end of December, the 99th had lost approximately 1,400 

men killed and missing and another 1,600 wounded. Like the 2d Division, it could only defend a regimental frontage on Elsenborn ridge. 

Companies of 187 men had been reduced to .30 to 60 men, and battalions of 825 men came back to Elsenborn with strengths of only 160 

to 200. Because of greatly overextended defensive positions, the 99th 

Division’s center and right flank had received the full initial onslaught 

of the Sixth Panzer Army. The 99th slowed down the German onslaught on the first day and diverted it on the second day, allowing 

the 2d Division the time to reorient its defenses and the 1st Infantry 

Division the opportunity to provide vital reinforcements. 

In a postbattle analysis of this brief but violent action, the 99th 

and its attached units were credited with over 4,000 enemy killed in 

action and 60 armored vehicles destroyed. They had assisted in the 

decimation of the 12th SS Panzer and 3d Parachute Divisions, as well 

as the 12th, 277th, and 326th VoZllzsgrenadier Divisions. Following an 

attack by the reconstituted division on 30 January 1945, the 99th 

continued the war and became the first infantry division in the First 

Army to reach and cross the Rhine at Remagen. The 99th finished the 

war with Patton’s Third Army on the Austrian border and was 

inactivated on 27 September 1945. 

Thirty-six years later, on 25 October 1981--following a book by 

John Eisenhower mentioning the exploits of the I&R Platoon at 

Lanzerath and an expose by columnist Jack Anderson and subsequent 

congressional and presidential interest-the eighteen men of the I&R 

Platoon were awarded a Presidential Unit Citation, four Distinguished 

178 

--- - 
, 

Miracles 

Service Crosses, five Silver Stars, and ten Bronze Stars with V devices, 

thereby becoming the most heavily decorated platoon for a single 

action in World War II. 

The I&R Platoon’s action exemplifies the determination of the 

American soldier and what he can do when properly prepared, motivated, and led. The action at Lanzerath had a much greater impact 

on Peiper’s command than Bouck could have ever imagined (only 800 

of Peiper’s 5,800 men returned to the German lines), but that in itself 

is what made the defense by the platoon in Lanzerath a miracle. 

Bibliography 

Cavanagh, William C. C. Krinkelt-Rocherath: The Battle for the Twin 

Villages. Norwell, MA: The Christopher Publishing House, 1986. 

Cole, Hugh Marshall. The Ardennes: Battle of the Bulge. United States 

Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of 

Military History, Department of the Army, 1965. 

Eisenhower, John S. D. The Bitter Woods: The Dramatic Story, Told 

at All Echelons, From Supreme Command to Squad Leader, of the 

Crisis That Shook the Western Coalition--Hitler’s Surprise Ardennes Offensive. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1969. 

Lauer, Walter E. Battle Babies: The Story of the 99th Infantry Division 

in World War II. Nashville, TN: The Battery Press, 1988. 

MacDonald, Charles Brown. A Time for Trumpets: The Untold Story 

of the Battle of the Bulge. New York: William Morrow and 

Company, 1985. 
23 

Morale 

The Destruction of the 28th Infantry Division in the 

Huertgen Forest, November 1944 

Lieutenant Colonel Thomas E. Christianson 

The Greek mercenary Xenophon noted the importance of morale in 

deciding battle when he wrote in the fourth century B.C.: “Neither 

numbers nor strength bring victory in war; but whichever army goes 

into battle stronger in soul. Their enemies generally cannot withstand 

them.” Likewise, Napoleon’s maxim, “morale makes up three quarters 

of the game; the balance of manpower accounts only for the remaining 

quarter,” remains an axiom in military leadership training. Perceptive 

commanders throughout history have recognized that high morale is a 

prerequisite to victory. 

Conversely, low morale contributes to the failure of military 

operations. Soldiers suffering from low morale lack motivation, are 

more susceptible to fear and panic, and can become psychiatric 

casualties. When low morale is widespread and severe within a military 

organization, defeat is likely. This was the case of the 28th Infantry 

Division when it faced determined German resistance in the Huertgen 

Forest in November 1944. 

Earlier in 1944, morale among American soldiers had been high 

as they pushed German defenders from the hedgerows of Normandy 

to the German border. Sweeping ever eastward, the GIs advanced with 

confidence, limited only by U.S. logistical efforts. Rumor had it that, 

with luck, the war would end before Christmas. Men of the 28th Infantry Division were veterans of this success and, in recognition of their 

courage and combat effectiveness, proudly wore the blazing red keystone that the Germans respectfully called the Bloody Bucket. On 11 

September, 28th Division patrols crossed the Our River, and on the 

13th, the remainder of the division marched into Germany, the first 

U.S. unit to enter the German heartland in force. Here, they honed 

their skills in destroying pillboxes and fortifications along Hitler’s 

famed Westwall. On 1 October, in need of supply and reinforcements, 

they moved to the rear for rest and recovery. Many of the soldiers 

went to Paris on leave, while others remained behind to train 

181 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

replacements for the next breakthrough, which many thought would 

spell ultimate victory for the Allies. 

On 26 October, the rested 28th Division moved forward and 

replaced the 9th Division in the Huertgen Forest. This dense area of 

firs and other evergreens has steep ridges with occasional open 

plateaus and farming hamlets that break up the vast tangle of thick 

green forest. Throughout this area, the German Todt organization had 

constructed a system of concrete pillboxes and log and earth bunkers. 

These positions, with interlocking fields of fire, were augmented with 

booby-trapped concertina wire and minefields designed to restrict all 

movement. 

The US. First Army commander, Lieutenant General Courtney H. 

Hodges, wanted to eliminate the Huertgen Forest as a threat before 

resuming a general offensive. Both he and the VII Corps commander, 

Major General J. Lawton (“Lightning Joe”) Collins, were World War I 

veterans of the Meuse-Argonne campaign. They believed that the 

Huertgen Forest posed a threat as a concealed assembly and counterattack position, just as the Argonne had in October 1918. If U.S. forces 

could break through the forest to the crossroads in the hamlet of 

Schmidt, however, they would then control the highest ridge and thus 

facilitate the attack onto the Monschau plain, to the Ruhr, and beyond 

to the Rhine. 

What appeared so simple, however, proved impossible for the 

soldiers of the 9th Infantry Division, who had been assigned the 

mission in late September. After a month of desperate fighting, they 

had gained only 3,000 yards and suffered 4,500 casualties. The 

Germans had fought with uncommon tenacity, and their morale rose 

as they frustrated the 9th Division’s attacks. Wehrmacht soldiers were 

now on German soil, fighting for their homeland and families. Success 

reinforced the Germans’ will to fight and hold. The frequently poor 

weather and the lush forest growth in the Huertgen also provided 

respite for the German defenders from the constant Allied air attacks 

that normally accompanied Allied ground action. 

As the soldiers of the 28th prepared to relieve the 9th, they were 

encouraged by intelligence reports indicating a hard-pressed German 

defense. One report to the 109th Infantry suggested that “the West 

Wall was manned with battered remnants of German forces” and that 

“the Germeter-Huertgen area is thinly held and consists of a series of 

field fortifications rather than deliberate defenses.” 

But all the favorable intelligence reports in the world could not 

blot out the haggard faces of 9th Division soldiers as the GIs from 

the 28th moved forward in relief. Morale of the men of the 28th plummeted from the moment they entered the tangled fir forest. The forest 

182 
Morale 

bore the scars of war: the record of the bitter contest waged by the 

9th was all about in the form of abandoned helmets, gas masks, 

blood-soaked field jackets, and loose mines. Water-filled shell holes were 

everywhere. Even worse, the bodies of German and American soldiers, 

entangled in the sucking troughs of mud and unclaimed by graves 

registration units, punctuated this grotesque, gloomy landscape. The 

28th’s veterans knew that staff intelligence experts often underestimated the enemy in order to justify a proposed course of action. 

Soldiers who had expected an easy victory were shocked by the hard 

reality that severe fighting lay ahead. 

Weather also contributed to unit demoralization. Within days, 

hundreds of soldiers suffered from the damp cold that matched so well 

the dark, gloomy forest. In their water-filled foxholes and tents, 

hundreds developed respiratory diseases-from colds to walking pneumonia. Immersion foot (trench foot) cases swelled the sick call roles. 

Moreover, the sick, shivering soldiers lacked adequate winter clothing. 

The division reported a shortage of 9,000 overshoes. (Ironically, the 

footwear arrived just as the 28th withdrew from the Huertgen fighting.} 

In this depressing atmosphere, soldiers prepared to attack what they 

now knew to be a resolute enemy. Weather forecasters offered little 

consolation. Along with the cold, damp weather, they promised occasional snow and freezing temperatures. The effect on morale was 

predictable. 

While the soldiers in the 28th huddled in their foxholes battling 

the elements, plans for seizing Schmidt continued. Major General 

Leonard Gerow, the V Corps commander, whose penchant for micromanagement was well known, specified the missions for each of the 

three regiments of Major General Norman D. Cota’s 28th Division. The 

109th Infantry would attack north toward the village of Huertgen and 

block any counterattack along the division’s left flank (see map 19). 

(In October, German counterattacks along this axis had been successful 

against the 9th Division.) Gerow directed the 110th Infantry to strike 

south from Germeter through the forest and pillbox defense line to 

form a corridor in the woods near Simonskall. This corridor would 

provide a more secure and trafficable main supply route into Schmidt. 

Only one regiment, the 112th, was to take Schmidt, the actual 

objective. The 112th would first assault Vossenack, then move down a 

dirt trail to the Kall River, cross it, proceed up the ridge to Kommerscheidt, and finally arrive at Schmidt. Gerow had told Cota that the 

main First Army drive would commence on 5 November. However, 

when the weather prompted cancellation of this main effort, Hodges, 

the First Army commander, saw no reason why the 28th Division 

should not attack as planned on 2 November. The perceived meddling 

by Gerow, and now the sure knowledge that no other attack would 

3 183 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

a Roadblock 

AXE of ma,n U.S. atracks 

German counterattackr 

.-8. Westwsll pillboxes 

Scale 

1 k~iameisrs 

Map 19. The 28th Infantry Division’s attack on Schmidt, 2-9 November 1944 

occw along the whole front, certainly affected Cota’s morale and that 

of his staff. Confidence in the operation slipped. 

Following an artillery barrage, soldiers of the 109th Infantry 

stumbled forward on the cold, misty morning of 2 November. Command 

and control in the dense forest became an immediate problem. To make 

matters worse, unit maps were inaccurate. Many infantrymen, unsure 

of their positions, ceased attacking and simply dug in. Portions of one 

battalion actually fought their way through to the objective overlooking 

Huertgen. But they had little time to savor their success, as repeated 

German counterattacks along their flanks hindered their efforts to 

consolidate gains. German patrols roamed freely in their rear, and 

continued enemy infiltration prompted the Americans to fall back to 

their original positions. 

Another battalion moving across more open terrain struck an extensive minefield. Their attack ground to a quick halt as soldier after 

soldier exploded mines. German machine guns and mortars frustrated 

.84 
Morale 

the engineers’ efforts to clear the minefield. Meanwhile, medics watched 

helplessly as dead and wounded soldiers lay stranded on the cold, wet 

field. Many of the wounded would freeze to death before morning. 

The dark forest, cold weather, rain, and constant sniping by an 

unseen enemy caused a massive sense of isolation in the soldiers. 

Many no longer knew what their mission was. Huddled in wet foxholes 

that offered no protection from the tree bursts of German artillery, the 

men of the 109th fought to survive. 

This pattern of battle for the 109th continued until 6 November, 

when members of the 4th Division’s 12th Infantry relieved them. 

Repeated attacks and counterattacks, all at close quarters, exacted a 

U.S. casualty rate of more than 50 percent. Completely demoralized, 

the 109th moved back to its assembly area at Germeter through a 

driving rain that changed to sleet, then snow. The 109th’s hopes for 

prolonged rest were shattered by new orders. The 109th was needed to 

assist its sister regiments, the 110th and 112th, both tottering perilously 

on the edge of total destruction. 

Farther south, the 110th Infantry’s initial attack against the pillbox 

defense belt near Raffelsbrand and its drive along the Kall River 

toward Simonskall stopped almost as soon as it started. German 

machine-gun fire from log bunkers and pillboxes, along with mines 

and booby-trapped concertina wire, combined to stop the 110th in its 

tracks. As with the 109th, units became disoriented, Communications 

in the dense forests and ridges was spotty at best. Soldiers, already 

weakened by the weather conditions, felt isolated and forgotten. Their 

sense of mission, other than to survive, evaporated. On 3 November, 

Cota ordered another assault by the 110th that proved even more 

costly. One company returned with less than forty-five soldiers, and in 

some battalions, all company-grade officers were killed or wounded. 

Cota, determined to succeed, ordered his division’s reserve battalion to 

assist. Prompting Cota’s decision was the supposed success of the 

112th Infantry, which had taken Schmidt on 3 November, (Cota would 

later regret his decision.) 

On the morning of 2 November, Colonel Carl L. Peterson’s 112th 

Infantry struck east of Germeter. Two battalions were quickly stalled 

in the woods under circumstances similar to those experienced by the 

109th and 110th. The 2d Battalion of the 112th, however, proceeded on 

schedule and, with the assistance of some attached tanks, controlled 

the important village of Vossenack by midafternoon. Grateful troops 

dug in along the northeastern ridge just beyond the village. Peterson 

decided to withdraw from the woods and then attack the next day 

southeast from Vossenack down the Kall gorge. 

185 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Peterson’s attack on 3 November brought almost incredible success, 

The soldiers passed through Kommerscheidt and controlled the division 

objective by nightfall. Unbelievably, German soldiers were captured 

drunk, playing cards, and eating. At least for a short time, the 

credence of G2 staffers who talked about weak German Army, Navy, 

and Luftwaffe remnants increased. The cold, weary U.S. troops dug in 

only superficially and threw some antitank mines out along the 

enemy’s major axis of approach without camouflaging or burying them. 

They were too tired, and after all, they had accomplished their mission. 

Cota received congratulations from his superiors and, despite the tremendous casualties suffered by the 109th and IlOth, said he felt like 

“a little Napoleon.” 

Congratulations for Cota’s victory, however, were premature. Coincidentally, at the time of the initial attack on 2 November, Field Marshal 

Walter Model and his major subordinate commanders were conducting 

a map exercise near Cologne. News of the U.S. attack brought quick 

action, Model ordered his generals at the map exercise to engage the 

Americans in a real operation. He issued orders for portions of the 

veteran 116th Panzer Division from Huertgen to attack the U.S. forces. 

When the German Seventh Army commander, General Erich Brandenberger, returned to his unit on 3 November, he learned of the US. 

capture of Schmidt. He decided to withdraw the tanks from Huertgen 

and reroute them to counterattack in the Schmidt-Kommerscheidt 

sector. Additionally, elements of the German 89th Division and the 

1055th Regiment, scheduled to move out of the area, were told to 

remain and support the counterattack. Unknown to the unsuspecting 

Americans, major enemy forces were now poised and ready to attack. 

Following a brief artillery barrage, the Germans launched a coordinated armor and infantry attack on the dazed U.S. 112th Infantry. 

The German tanks seemed impervious to bazooka fire and easily bypassed the shoddy minefield the U.S. troops had prepared the evening 

before. The Germans seemed to attack from all directions, and the 

confused GIs called for artillery and air support that always came too 

late or not at all. U.S. air support could not distinguish friend from 

foe and therefore was ineffective. The troops-cut off without communications and suffering mounting casualties-felt completely isolated. 

Rumors spread that orders to withdraw were imminent. Fear quickly 

led to panic. An infantryman in Kommerscheidt commented on the 

situation in Schmidt: “The next thing we knew, about four columns of 

ragged, scattered, disorganized infantrymen streamed back . . . in .low 

morale. We managed to stop some but most streamed back to the 

rear.” One company fled southwest into the woods even deeper into 

enemy territory. Most were killed, wounded, or captured. Soldiers in 

Kommerscheidt made frantic attempts to stop the demoralized mob, 

186 

_---- ___.-___- 
- 

Morale 

and some 200 eventually joined the Kommerscheidt defense. Those who 

were not killed, wounded, or captured crossed the Kall River, not 

stopping until they reached Vossenack or Germeter. 

Although Cota continued to order the 112th to retake Schmidt 

(including sending a task force to assist it), the 112th spent the next 

two days trying to hold Kommerscheidt. The American soldiers fought 

desperately, supported by a small force of tanks led by First Lieutenant 

Raymond E. Fleig. Casualties increased, and the weather got worse. 

Also, Cota had already committed his reserve to the 1lOth’s sector of 

operations. Ammunition, food, and other provisions were in short 

supply. Furthermore, the only available main supply route, the Kall 

trail, was difficult to negotiate. Night after night, the Germans remined 

it. The trail was littered with broken-down tanks, jeeps, thrown treads, 

and other military equipment that never made it to Kommerscheidt 

where it was needed. Engineers sent to improve the trail suffered high 

casualties from tree-burst artillery and eventually acted more as a 

security force than an engineer unit. An aid station was set up along 

the trail where artillery bombardment and German patrols were 

frequent. Again, troops along the trail felt isolated, out of touch with 

their mission and chain of command. Foxholes provided no shelter from 

tree bursts, only a place for water to collect. 

The soldiers of the 2d Battalion, 112th Infantry, on the Vossenack 

ridge were not immune to the looming catastrophe. Following their 

easy victory of 2 November, the Germans subjected them to three days 

of incessant artillery attack. Under direct German observation from 

the Brandenberg-Bergstein ridge, the troops suffered severe casualties. 

The Germans seemed intent on destroying the U.S. positions one by 

one. Their nerves shattered, U.S. soldiers cried that they could take it 

no longer. The battalion commander sat in the church at Vossenack 

crying pitifully, his adjutant forced to command. 

Finally, on the morning of 6 November, the men panicked. The 

dawn was uncommonly peaceful, but then, as daylight increased, an 

artillery barrage thundered upon them. Small groups of men fled what 

they thought was a sure, meaningless death. Panic in the demoralized 

group was contagious. Abandoning their positions and equipment, 

others joined in the race to the rear, thinking that someone had 

ordered a retreat. Most fled all the way to Germeter. Those soldiers 

remaining finally formed a line at the Vossenack church. Subsequently, 

the Germans who occupied the former U.S. positions were driven out 

but only after a tough fight with an engineer task force Cota had 

formed that night to reestablish control of Vossenack. 

Along with the precarious situation at Kommerscheidt and the wild 

rout of the men at Vossenack, the situation along the lifeline between 

187 

-- _ ~-_ 
Combined Arms in Battle Since I939 

U.S. forces, the Kall trail, also deteriorated. Early on the morning of 6 

November, the Germans cut the trail and effectively isolated the bedraggled troops at Kommerscheidt. The Germans placed a guard at the 

U.S. aid station (which held U.S. medical supplies and needed food) 

and patrolled and remined the trail. Firefights, measured in feet, between American and German soldiers were common. Although a task 

force led by Lieutenant Colonel Richard W. Ripple of the 707th Tank 

Battalion managed to punch through to Kommerscheidt on 6 November, 

the Americans only controlled the trail for hours. Ripple’s force was 

not strong enough to make a difference. Still intent on retaking Schmidt, 

Cota ordered his assistant division commander, Brigadier General 

George A. Davis, to lead another task force toward the village. He 

ordered the 109th Infantry, already battered at Huertgen, to secure the 

Kall trail. The 109th entered the dark forest only to get lost and end 

up miles away from the trail, to the rear of the 110th Infantry. 

The pocket of encircled Americans at Kommerscheidt continued to 

withstand repeated artillery fire and infantry probes. They were short 

of ammunition and food, and their foxholes were filled with water that 

froze each night. Completely demoralized, isolated, hungry, and wet, 

they finally broke before a combined armor and infantry assault on 7 

November. Dazed men ran wildly to the rear, refusing to take orders. 

The Germans claimed 260 prisoners. Those weary American defenders 

who held on waited for inevitable death or capture. 

Cota*s relentless obsession with taking Schmidt persisted, Peterson, 

commander of the 112th Infantry, received a message (which Cota later 

denied sending) to report back to division headquarters. Accompanied 

by a two-man escort, he tried to circumvent German patrols to get 

there. Engineers later found him near the trail, wounded twice, his 

escort dead. When Peterson reported to headquarters, Cota accused him 

of deserting his men; then Cota fainted. 

The KalI trail lost, Cota finally accepted this situation realistically. 

Perhaps Peterson’s trip back to headquarters had not been in vain. 

On 8 November, the survivors at Kommerscheidt tried their best to 

organize a breakout. Their trip down the gorge, across the river, and 

to Vossenack or Germeter was a disaster. One company reported back 

to Germeter with only 81 men out of its original 193. Scattered groups 

were picked off or captured by the Germans. Fortunately, the Germans 

allowed the wounded and litter bearers to use the Kall trail. Cota’s 

message “fight your way out” was late-too late for the men already 

poking through the forest trying to avoid the ever-present German 

patrols. For most of the 6,184 casualties (dead, wounded, or captured) 

of the 28th Division, the battle for Schmidt was over. 

188 
Morale 

The 28th Infantry Division’s experience in the Huertgen Forest was 

not unique. Five other divisions suffered a combined total of 23,000 

casualties (killed, wounded, or missing) in the forest, with 8,000 battle 

exhaustion and disease cases added to that list. Major General James 

M. Gavin called the tragedy of the Huertgen Forest the “American 

Passchendaele” -a fitting epitaph for the 28th Division. 

Certainly, one of the ingredients in the recipe for the 28th Division’s 

disaster was low morale. The horrific weather conditions, fatigue, constant artillery bombardment, and the almost diabolical nature of the 

dark forest all contributed to the demoralization of the 28th’s infantrymen. The isolation felt by the troops and junior leaders and their 

sure knowledge that their superiors were ignorant about the true battlefield conditions caused soldiers to experience low morale. Their isolation 

in the face of constant danger made them fearful and vulnerable to 

panic. Even battalion commanders became psychiatric casualties. Men 

believed rumors, gave up, or fled to the rear. Few, then, would disagree 

with Ardant du Picq’s claim that, in the last analysis, success in battle 

is a matter of morale. The destruction of the 28th Infantry Division 

bears solemn testimony to du Picq’s analysis. 

Bibliography 

Currey, Cecil B. Follow Me and Die: The Destruction of an American 

Division in World War II. New York: Military Heritage Press, 1984. 

MacDonald, Charles B. The Battle of the Huertgen Forest. New York: 

Jove Publications, 1963. 

. The Siegfried Line Campaign. United States Army in World 

War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 

Department of the Army, 1963. 

Three Battles: Arnaville, Altuzzo, and Schmidt. United 

States Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief 

of Military History, Department of the Army, 1952. 

Richardson, Frank M. Fighting Spirit: A Study of Psychological Factors 

in War. New York: Crane, Russak, and Co., 1978. 

189 
24 

Night Operations 

Claiming the Night: Operation Just Cause, 1%9-~990 

Dr. Thomas it4 Huber 

The last decade has witnessed more frequent employment of night 

operations by U.S. armed forces than in the past. With the introduction 

of sophisticated night-vision devices, fighting after dark has become a 

standard part of the American way of war. As senior U.S. officers 

proclaimed during Operation Just Cause, the US. invasion of Panama 

in December 1989, “We own the night.” 

It was not always this way. George Washington’s crossing of the 

Delaware and raid on Trenton was one of the few night operations 

conducted by the Continental Army. During the Civil War, what night 

operations were undertaken by large units usually ended in confusion. 

In World War I, massed firepower achieved a new relative dominance 

over maneuver. This altered environment increased the importance of 

night movement, which helped neutralize the overwhelming effects of 

the new firepower. At the same time, however, new technology, such 

as searchlights and illumination shells, mitigated the advantages of 

darkness, and night operations by Western forces continued to have a 

limited role. 

In World War II, both German and Japanese armed forces resorted 

to extensive night maneuvers and sometimes attacks (especially by the 

Japanese) as a means of overcoming superior Allied air power, which 

could observe and disrupt daylight troop movements deep in Axis rear 

areas. The Soviets, for their part, developed the most elaborate night 

operations. To frustrate superior German firepower, especially the 

superior German air power early in the war, the Soviets adhered to a 

philosophy of continuous operations. By early 1945, they were employing 

front-size forces continuously, day and night, to surprise, infiltrate, 

exploit, and envelop obstinate German positions. 

US. forces, who usually enjoyed the advantages of superior air 

power and artillery, generally avoided night operations. Night was still 

a constraining element, and night operations were restricted to special 

circumstances and objectives. For example, during the night preceding 

the 6 June 1944 dawn landings at Normandy, paratroops secured key 

points in the interior, Navy underwater demolition teams cleared 

191 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

beaches, Special Operations Executive resistance teams secured bridges 

and the like, and air and naval forces conducted preparatory bombardments. Still, all of this activity supported the main assault, which was 

by day. 

In the 104th Infantry Division’s “Directive for Night Attacks,” prepared at the European Theater of Operations headquarters in 1944, 

night operations were deemed useful mainly for moving troops secretly, 

crossing open terrain with a minimum of exposure to enemy fire, and 

achieving surprise in the attack. According to the 104th’s directive, 

night attacks were to be used only for special purposes, such as to 

surprise an unprepared enemy, exploit a successful daylight attack, gain 

terrain for further offensive operations, or avoid excessive losses from 

daylight attack “in seizing important limited objectives.” 

Communist expertise in night operations in Vietnam should have 

made a lasting impression on the U.S. military were it not for a concerted effort to purge that war from institutional memory while refocusing on the high-tech battlefield of Europe. Consequently, it was 

not until the 1980s that the U.S. infantry’s nighttime practices were 

fundamentally transformed. This was, in part, a response to the technological breakthroughs in night-vision devices, especially lightgathering goggles and scopes and thermal-imaging equipment. U.S. 

superiority in firepower in past conflicts allowed U.S. forces “to own 

the day”; by the late 1970s and early 198Os, superior night-vision 

equipment made it possible for U.S. forces to dominate the night. 

The new orientation toward the night is captured in Field Circular 

90-l (FC 90-l>, Night Operations, issued in 1985 by the Combined Arms 

Combat Developments Activity at Fort Leavenworth. Although FC 90-l 

is “aimed primarily at the . . . maneuver battalion task force,“’ it also 

introduces the idea of continuous operations: 

Increasing mechanization of land combat forces and rapidly developing 

technology enable effective movement and engagement at night to 

unprecedented ranges. Since armies now have the potential to fight 

without let-up, combat operations can continue around the clock at 

daylight intensities. 

FC 90-l also indicates the likelihood that regional powers around the 

world, some possibly hostile toward the United States, are likely to 

emphasize night training and night operations to counter superior U.S. 

firepower: Therefore, U.S. forces must prepare to engage and operate 

at night in order to deprive adversaries of an easy advantage. At the 

same time, the field circular prescribes increased use of the full range 

of night-vision equipment, goggles, sights, and scopes. 

The U.S. Army’s acceptance of night action is apparent in its 

operations conducted in the late 198Os, including Operation Just Cause, 

192 
Night Operations 

the invasion of Panama in December 1989 to depose the dictator 

General Manuel Antonio Noriega, restore democratic government, and 

protect American civilians in the country. The invasion was launched 

at 0045, in the depth of night. Traditionally, U.S. attacks have been 

launched at dawn, but U.S. planners, from the beginning of their 

planning efforts in February 1988, departed from tradition to claim 

the night. 

The planners of Just Cause found the night advantageous for several reasons. For one thing, a dramatic new technology in night devices 

was available for combat troops and pilots. At the same time, the objectives of the mission indicated that a night operation would be 

appropriate. The target of the invasion was the Panamanian Defense 

Forces (PDF) and their leader, Noriega. The Panamanian people were 

not considered the enemy, so another aim of the operation was to avoid 

or minimize civilian casualties. 

The mission of promptly defeating PDF units scattered in and 

around the Panama Canal put a premium on surprise. So, too, did the 

goal of capturing Noriega. A night assault would greatly enhance surprise. Moreover, in the urban areas that would become the battlefield 

for some of the assaults, fewer civilians would be on the streets in the 

deep night hours, thus reducing the risks of collateral damage. At 

Torrijos International Airport, a key D-day objective near Panama City, 

only one civilian flight was scheduled after midnight. Since there was 

no way to warn civilian airliners out of harm’s way without revealing 

the intention to invade, choosing an hour when only one flight was 

scheduled to arrive was the only feasible way to lessen the risk of 

disaster. 

Operation Just Cause called for many missions to be conducted 

simultaneously. Thus, many night-assault objectives (more than twenty 

major ones) were pursued at the same time. More than 26,000 US. 

military personnel, 13,000 already in Panama, the rest deployed from 

the United States, would participate in Just Cause under the operational 

control of Joint Task Force South, commanded by Lieutenant General 

Carl Stiner, also commander of the XVIII Airborne Corps. Most of 

these forces would be engaged in offensive operations at H-hour, originally scheduled for 0100. Given the scope of the plan and the number 

of units involved, coordination and command and control would have 

been difficult under daytime conditions. Since the operations would take 

place at night, airspace management and the delineation of clear 

boundaries between units had to be given special emphasis. Because 

several of the operations would involve fighting in built-up, urban areas 

at night, the specter of massive confusion and the greater possibility 

for friendly fire incidents existed. 

193 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Several maneuver task forces (TFs) were formed to implement these 

objectives. TF Bayonet, for example, was to secure the Comandancia 

(headquarters of the PDF), neighboring Fort Amador, the Pacific 

entrance to the Panama Canal, and various objectives in Panama City. 

TF Pacific was responsible for the suburban areas along the coast west 

of Panama City, including the Torrijos International Airport. TF Semper 

Fi’s mission was to seize the Bridge of the Americas over the canal 

(to prevent PDF reinforcements from the south) and secure Howard 

Air Force Base, a U.S. facility. TF Atlantic operated in the interior 

and on the Atlantic side of the isthmus. 

US. forces achieved virtually all of their daytime objectives by the 

end of the first day. These actions were not all trouble free, however. 

To prevent Noriega’s escaping Panama City by plane, members of the 

Navy SEALS (sea-air-land teams) were dispatched by water before daybreak to secure the Paitilla airport where the general’s Lear jet was 

kept. On reaching the airport, the twenty SEALs faced immediate sniper 

fire, losing four killed and eight wounded. Nonetheless, within hours, 

they secured the airport and destroyed Noriega’s plane. An AC-130 

Spectre was to have covered their operation with night sensors and 

could have either spotted and neutralized the enemy or alerted the 

SEALS to their location. The SEALS used several radio frequencies to 

contact the AC-130 but were unsuccessful. It is not clear whether the 

SEALS’ radio had been water-damaged in transit or if the AC-130 could 

not receive the signal. In any case, the high-tech night-vision equipment 

on the AC-130 was useless because of a field communications failure. 

The U.S. forces also conducted parachute assaults on both the 

Torrijos International Airport and the nearby Tocumen airport used 

by the PDF. TF Pacific subelements, TF Red-Tango, and TF Red-Romeo 

performed these operations expeditiously and were followed in by several 

battalions of the 82d Airborne Division. On the night of 19 December, 

an ice storm at Fort Bragg-Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina, delayed the departure of transports carrying the 82d, and since each plane 

took off only after the time-consuming process of having its wings 

deiced, the division did not arrive at Torrijos airport either together or 

on time. Strung out in the skies from the United States to Panama, 

the planes could not coordinate easily. Consequently, several craft 

strayed off course and failed to drop the troops and their equipment 

on the designated landing areas, not readily visible in the predawn 

hours. Some troops and armored equipment landed in marshes and 

fifteen-foot-high grass. These misfortunes greatly complicated nighttime 

command and control problems and the expeditious execution of the 

mission, 

194 
Night Operations 

Whether US. units moved to their objectives by air or land, once 

they arrived, they frequently called in aviation assets for preparatory 

fires and close air support. Assets included AH-1 Cobras, AH-Gs, 

AH-64 Apache attack helicopters, and AC-130 Spectre gunships, all of 

which could hit distant targets at night, Many of the flight crews and 

gunners had trained extensively at night, some half of their training 

flights being in darkness. The AC-130 Spectres, which were especially 

impressive, boasted 20-mm cannon, 7.62-mm Gatling guns, and 105-mm 

howitzers and could fire at 6 point or area targets independently with 

17,000 rounds per minute. The Spectres had sophisticated thermal and 

television observation devices that allowed them to pick out individuals 

or formations of troops on the ground as well as friendly and enemy 

weapons systems. To assist AC-130 gunners with target identification, 

friendly troops wore glint tape clearly visible to the plane’s sensitive 

night devices. Having Apaches, Cobras, and Spectres overhead, with 

their amazing capabilities for night operations, greatly increased the 

fire support available for surprise attacks at night. 

To spot targets, pilots relied heavily on the Aviation Night-Vision 

Imaging System 6 (ANVIS-B), which was essential to target enemy 

troops, but not civilians, in the urban terrain where much of the 

fighting occurred. The night fire-support aspects of the operation would 

not have been possible without the new night-device technology. Moreover, the ANVIS-6s also aided aerial navigation in an important way. 

In the early hours of the assault, more than 100 aircraft were in the 

air at the same time within 20 miles of Howard Air Force Base and 

operated without incident. 

Even the best of systems, however, cannot completely remove the 

fog of war from the battlefield. In the intense fighting around the 

Comandancia, an AC-130 was told to engage an enemy target. Unfortunately, in switching from one night-vision device to another, the 

gunner acquired the wrong target and proceeded to fire on a friendly 

Ml13 armored personnel carrier. A second Ml13 within the same 

platoon met a similar fate. Although no Americans were killed in this 

incident, the large number wounded by this friendly fire rendered the 

platoon virtually ineffective. 

U.S. pilots were not the only American personnel to take advantage 

of night-vision devices. The PVS7B and other less-advanced types of 

night-vision goggles (NVGs) were crucial for infantry troops in Just 

Cause. This was the first U.S. operation where such devices were widely 

distributed (each squad having several), which made it easier for the 

troops to move on course and with confidence at night. The NVGs, 

however, had some drawbacks in combat. One platoon leader in the 

battle for the Comandancia recalled that the NVGs limited depth per195 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

ception and blocked peripheral vision. Troops in a heated firefight with 

tracers, grenades, and hostile soldiers seemingly all around them often 

removed their NVGs to restore peripheral vision. In addition, the bulky 

goggles can also interfere with the conventional sighting of rifles, 

although according to some observers, rifle sights were often not used 

by troops in the operation anyway. Instead, to remain aware of the 

whole threat, the troops fired while looking over the sights. Muzzle 

flashes and tracers revealed the enemy without the goggles. Fires 

started by shells or carelessness, or any other light source, made the 

goggles inoperative. Though the goggles exhibited some limitations for 

use under fire, they remained, nonetheless, a critical element in night 

fighting. 

Despite the normal problems encountered in combat, Just Cause 

was a successful campaign in which night operations were essential 

in achieving US. objectives with minimal casualties on both sides and 

within the civilian population. As part of the operation, the United 

States moved a corps-size force to Panama in the dead of night against 

more than twenty different targets. Almost all of these forces were 

inserted by helicopter or air-dropped into the combat zone, and aircraft 

provided both transport and immediate fire support. Careful planning 

and training were necessary to ensure success, as has always been 

true of night operations in the past. The new night-vision devices, 

employed in the air and on the ground, played a crucial role in this 

achievement. Operation Just Cause marked a major turning point in 

night doctrine, inaugurating a new era in which continuous day and 

night operations have become a reality for US. forces. 

Bibliography 

Briggs, Clarence E. Operation Just Cause, Panama, December 1989: A 

Soldier’s Eyewitness Account. Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 

1990. 

Donnelly, Thomas, Margaret Roth, and Caleb Baker. Operation Just 

Cause: The Storming of Panama, New York: Lexington Books, 1991. 

Hughes, David. “Night Invasion of Panama Required Special Operations 

Aircraft, Training.” Aviation Week and Space Technology (19 

February 1990). 

196 
25 

Planning 

Operation Just Cause, December 1989 

Dr. Lawrence A. Yates 

The defense of the Panama Canal has been a mission of the U.S. 

military since the waterway’s completion in 1914. Under the CarterTorrijos treaties of 1978, defense of the canal also became the legal 

rationale for the continued presence of U.S. forces in Panama under 

the commander in chief, U.S. Southern Command (CINCSO, 

SOUTHCOM), a unified command activated in 1963 and headquartered 

at Quarry Heights, Panama, overlooking Panama City. Every two years, 

SOUTHCOM updates its operations plan (OPLAN) for the defense of 

the canal. In mid-1987, the existing plan, CLNCSO OPLAN 6000-86, 

postulated either combined operations with the friendly Panamanian 

Defense Forces (PDF) or, in the event the PDF remained neutral in 

the face of a threat to the canal, joint U.S. operations. What the plan 

did not anticipate was a threat to the canal from the Panamanian 

military itself. Yet from June 1987 on, the prospects of a hostile PDF 

move against strategic U.S. interests in Panama could not be 

disregarded. 

That month, General Manuel Antonio Noriega, the commander of 

the PDF, cashiered one of his colonels, who retaliated by accusing the 

general of drug trafficking, electoral fraud, and murder. In the resulting 

furor, groups opposed to Noriega’s role as the military strongman 

behind Panama’s civilian government organized demonstrations in the 

streets of the capital. The internal crisis escalated into a Noriega-U.S. 

confrontation after two federal grand juries in Florida indicted the 

general on drug-related charges in early February 1988. By that time, 

relations between SOUTHCOM and the PDF had deteriorated dramatically, as the latter engaged in a campaign of harassing American 

servicemen and their dependents and intruding onto U.S. installations 

in Panama. As the crisis worsened, it became prudent for U.S. officials 

to reexamine OPLAN 6000-86 for the defense of the canal. 

The plan was already the subject of the mandatory two-year review. 

Under regular planning procedures, however, SOUTHCOM would not 

publish a new OPLAN for several months. This timetable was hardly 

acceptable as mounting tensions between U.S. forces in Panama and 

197 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

the PDF raised the possibility of imminent hostilities. After taking 

several initiatives on his own to modify the existing plan, General 

Frederick Woerner, CINCSO, received authorization from the chairman 

of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), Admiral William Crowe, on 28 

February 1988 to undertake crisis action planning. Planners now had 

less than a week to create an entirely new plan, one that targeted the 

PDF as a hostile element and primary threat to the security of the 

canal. SOUTHCOM submitted a first draft of its effort to the JCS on 

4 March 1988. 

The new plan, code-named Elaborate Maze, was labeled an operations order (OPORD) because many planners believed it would be executed immediately. While drawing heavily from the key facilities list, 

force structure, and command measures contained in the existing plan, 

Elaborate Maze put forward a four-phased concept of operations against 

a hostile PDF. The first three phases involved the defense of American 

lives and property and the augmentation of U.S. forces stationed in 

Panama. The fourth phase envisaged offensive operations in which 

special operations and conventional forces would seize critical sites in 

the canal area and neutralize the PDF on the scene. The plan called 

for special operations forces to accomplish their D-day mission in a 

matter of hours, after which they would turn over their positions to 

conventional units. On order, conventional forces would also conduct a 

noncombatant evacuation operation. The JCS approved Elaborate Maze 

for further refinement and, with Woerner’s endorsement, directed that 

a fifth phase addressing law and order and reconstitution issues be 

added to the plan. SOUTHCOM complied with a revised OPORD dated 

18 March. 

From its inception, Elaborate Maze drew upon the assets of each 

service. Special operations forces would include Navy SEALS (sea-airland teams) and Army Rangers, Special Forces, and an element from 

Delta Force. US. Army South (USARSO) would provide the majority 

of the conventional forces from units stationed in Panama, including 

the 193d Infantry Brigade, an aviation battalion, a field artillery battery, and the Military Police Command. The Air Force would provide 

air support from its Panama-based inventory of A-7s, helicopters, and 

AC-130 gunships, while the Military Airlift Command would transport 

U.S.-based Army units, primarily a brigade from the 7th Infantry Division (Light), into Panama for augmentation or operations. The Navy 

had a few assets in Panama that could be used for special operations 

and coastal patrols. In addition, planners discussed the employment of 

a carrier battle group either for a show of force or to conduct sea 

interdiction and close air support, The Marine Corps had security forces 

stationed at the U.S. naval station in Panama, and a Marine rifle 

company had entered the country in early April as a part of Washing198 
r 

Planning 

ton’s security enhancement buildup. If needed, a Marine expeditionary 

brigade could deploy as well. Planners also raised the prospect of using 

the Marines for amphibious assaults on targets outside the canal area. 

Jurisdictional objections raised by the Navy eventually caused crisis 

planners to drop the carrier group from the emerging order of battle. 

As a result, any large-scale action against the PDF would still be a 

joint undertaking, but one dominated by Army forces. 

CINCSO’s Elaborate Maze provided theater-level guidance. Working 

out the details of supporting tactical plans fell initially to officers from 

the U.S. Special Operations Command South, augmented by a planning 

cell from the United States. On 23 Mareh, Woerner activated the Joint 

Special Operations Task Force (JSOTF) at Hurlburt Field, Florida, for 

further special operations planning. 

Taking another page from OPLAN 6000-86, Elaborate Maze called 

for a second joint task force, Joint Task Force (JTF)-Panama, to be 

responsible for conventional planning and operations. Woerner, however, 

was reluctant to activate the headquarters because the PDF, which 

had been read into parts of the old plan, might misread the move as 

a sign hostilities were imminent and react rashly, thus pushing the 

crisis closer to war. USARSO set up a small planning cell in which a 

handful of majors and captains labored throughout March to write a 

supporting conventional plan for Elaborate Maze. The need for additional planning assets and a headquarters to manage the crisis on a 

day-to-day basis, however, finally convinced Woerner to activate JTFPanama on 9 April. 

During March and April, as planners continued to refine Elaborate 

Maze, the National Command Authority deployed two groups of security 

enhancement troops to Panama to protect U.S. lives and property. While 

some of these forces appeared on the force structure list of Elaborate 

Maze, the JCS emphasized that their deployment did not constitute 

the execution of the plan. Addressing the plan itself, the JCS sought 

to simplify Elaborate Maze by directing Woerner to break it down into 

four separate plans: one plan, Elder Statesman (later renamed Post 

Time), would incorporate the first three phases of Elaborate Maze for 

troop augmentation and defensive operations; a second plan, Klondike 

Key, would address the noncombatant evacuation operation; a third 

plan, Blue Spoon, offensive operations; and the fourth plan, Krystal 

Ball (later renamed Blind Logic), the law-and-order phase. The new 

OPORDs would compose the Prayer Book plans; the code name Elaborate Maze would be dropped. On 9 May, the JCS approved the Prayer 

Book drafts “for further execution planning.” 

Of the Prayer Book series of plans, Blind Logic (for civil-military 

operations during and after hostilities with the PDF) was the most 

199 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

sensitive, To minimize the possibility of leaks, Woerner, under orders 

from the JCS, did not inform the U.S. Embassy in Panama of the 

plan, nor did he pass it to any subordinate headquarters. In the short 

term, compartmentalization made good sense. Should Blue Spoon be 

executed, however, the lack of coordination between planners of civilmilitary and combat operations created the potential for enormous 

confusion. 

The Prayer Book series of plans represented Woerner’s reasoned 

approach to the crisis, an approach backed by Crowe in Washington. 

Working with minimal and, at times, conflicting political guidance from 

the White House, Woerner and Crowe hoped to avoid overt U.S. military 

intervention to topple Noriega. Woerner agreed with Washington that 

Noriega had to go, but he thought that end could be achieved without 

resorting to hostilities. Should the Prayer Book be executed, however, 

Woerner planned to use the gradual buildup of U.S. forces in Panama 

called for under the Post Time OPORD to exert psychological pressure 

on Noriega’s subordinates, who conceivably would divest themselves 

of the dictator rather than place their institution and personal wellbeing at risk in a war with the United States. Woerner and Crowe 

dismissed contemptuously as “looney tunes” and the “Rambo option” 

the impetuous arguments emanating from the State Department in 

March and April 1988 to mount a surgical strike that would “snatch” 

Noriega or, alternatively, a U.S. invasion of the country. Americans in 

Panama were too vulnerable to PDF retaliation even if these operations 

succeeded, and U.S. interests in the region, Woerner believed, would 

not be served by the actual use of U.S. combat power. Also, as Crowe 

convinced President Ronald Reagan, American boys should not be sent 

to die for a cause over which few Panamanians were willing to sacrifice 

their lives. 

The crisis eased somewhat in late spring, and talk of any kind of 

surgical strike or large-scale U.S. military action against Panama 

waned. The situation was still volatile, however, and staff officers in 

Panama worried that, should the plans be executed, SOUTHCOM and 

JTF-Panama would not have the physical, military, and manpower 

assets to manage a major contingency. Woerner came to share this 

concern and, in June, had Major General Marc Cisneros, his operations 

director, discuss with XVIII Airborne Corps representatives the possibility that, in the event of hostilities, the corps might have to assume 

the role of the joint task force in charge of operations. The issue hung 

in abeyance until November, when in response to a Woerner initiative, 

Lieutenant General Thomas Kelly, the 53, JCS, designated the XVIII 

Airborne Corps the executive agent for planning and, at some undetermined point in the execution of the Prayer Book series of plans, the 

200 
Planning 

JTF to conduct operations against the PDF. Three months later at 

Fort Bragg, North Carolina, in a coordinating session with planners 

from JTF-Panama and other organizations, the corps reviewed the 

Prayer Book plans and assumed its role as executive agent for further 

planning. 

The involvement of the corps created a potential conflict of interest, 

since the corps commander, Lieutenant General Carl Stiner, and several 

of his staff shared strong reservations concerning Woerner’s concept 

of a gradual buildup. In keeping with the corps’ modus operandi, they 

preferred a concept of operations that emphasized the rapid use of 

overwhelming force to achieve the stated objectives. At this point in 

the crisis, however, their job was to write a supporting plan for 

Woerner, not to change the existing concept. So as one planner at Fort 

Bragg later commented, “We saluted the flag” and got on with the 

work. 

The lull in the crisis ended with the Panamanian presidential elections in May 1989 and Noriega’s violent response to the defeat of his 

candidate. President George Bush responded by deploying 1,900 additional U.S. troops to Panama during Operation Nimrod Dancer. These 

troops would protect American lives and assert U.S. treaty rights in 

Panama. The president did not say what U.S. planners knew to be 

true: that the units deployed represented a partial execution of the 

buildup called for under the Post Time plan. It was also during the 

election crisis that the XVIII Airborne Corps began rotating planners 

in and out of Panama on a continuous basis and began to fashion a 

plan at Fort Bragg more in line with the corps’ concept of a contingency operation. The chances that the new concept would win acceptance in Washington and Panama increased when it was announced 

in midsummer that Woerner would retire in September. 

The corps’ focus was on revising Blue Spoon, the OPORD for 

offensive operations. After extensive coordination with their appropriate 

counterparts in Panama and throughout the United States, corps 

planners, some of them graduates of the School for Advanced Military 

Studies at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, produced JTF-South OPORD 

90-l by mid-September. The plan never received formal approval, as it 

was soon overtaken by events in Panama. On 30 September 1989, 

General Maxwell Thurman took command of SOUTHCOM. Three days 

later, dissident elements of the PDF tried to oust Noriega, but the coup 

failed. The new CINCSO came under fire for not doing more to assist 

the coup plotters. Critics also charged that the U.S. military in Panama 

had no plan for responding to a PDF coup attempt against Noriega, 

even though months earlier President Bush had publicly encouraged 

PDF officers to remove their boss. In reality, Blue Spoon fragmentary 

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Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

orders for in-country U.S. forces to respond to a fast-breaking crisis 

could have been executed to ensure the coup’s success. But the problem, 

Thurman argued against his critics, was that the coup was ill-led, illplanned, and poorly executed and would not have improved the position 

of the United States or the prospects for democracy in Panama had it 

succeeded. 

Two days after the 3 October debacle, Thurman met in Panama 

with key US. military personnel dealing with the crisis. He proclaimed 

Stiner, the XVIII Airborne Corps commander, his “warfighter” and 

called for a new plan. The principal planners left for Fort Bragg that 

night and, over the succeeding days, reworked the draft Blue Spoon 

OPORD once again. They made adjustments to reflect the new PDF 

order of battle as it emerged after the coup attempt and to give greater 

emphasis to such PDF facilities as Rio Hato and Fort Cimarron, from 

which units loyal to Noriega had come to his rescue. Within days of 

the meeting at SOUTHCOM, planners finished JTF-South OPORD 

90-2. The plan was briefed to the JCS on 3 November and published 

the same day. 

In some respects, the contents of 90-2 revealed the evolutionary 

course of the planning process. The original target list remained virtually intact, although other targets were added and the priority and 

means of engaging certain targets changed in the wake of the coup 

attempt. H-hour still stood as 0100 to take advantage of U.S. capabilities in night operations and to minimize collateral damage. The biggest 

change in the force structure was to reverse the roles of the 82d Airborne Division and the 7th Infantry Division (Light). The 82d, a corps 

asset, would become a part of the initial combat force, while elements 

of the 7th would serve as a follow-on force, instead of vice versa as 

called for in the original Blue Spoon plan. At Thurman’s insistence, 

JSOTF would not operate independently under him but would come 

under the operational control of JTF-South (that is, the XVIII Airborne 

Corps together with JTF-Panama staff assets), a significant enhancement of unity of command. 

The new plan, however, also represented a significant change in 

concept that reflected differences in personality between Woerner and 

Thurman and in the perspective of Panama-based and U.S.-based commanders and staffs. Instead of Woerner’s plan for a gradual buildup 

of forces designed to compel a “Panamanian solution” to the crisis, 

the XVIII Airborne Corps and Thurman preferred to employ surprise 

and overwhelming force to strike critical points in Panama simultaneously in a full-scale U.S. invasion. Noriega and the entire PDF, not 

just PDF units in the cana area, were to be neutralized. Finally, 

Thurman indicated that military action in Panama would be conducted 

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Planning 

as a campaign, since the government of Panama would have to be 

unseated and reconstituted. Backed by appendixes, fragmentary orders, 

and supporting plans, 90-2 called for what was then the biggest U.S. 

military operation since Vietnam, as 27,000 military personnel from 

all 4 services stood trained and ready to attack 24 targets simultaneously; provide reinforcements, combat support, and combat service 

support; and conduct stability operations designed to “restore” democracy to Panama. 

Although planners had reviewed the entire Prayer Book series of 

plans, the emphasis of their labor was clearly on Blue Spoon and 

combat operations. Post Time, which called for the augmentation of 

U.S. forces in Panama, had been implemented in part during the 1988 

and 1989 troop buildups. Also, Thurman had secretly inserted Sheridan 

armored vehicles and Apache helicopters into the country in November. 

Klondike Key, the evacuation plan, lay moribund. During the election 

crisis the previous May and June, SOUTHCOM had brought many 

U.S. dependents onto military installations and had returned others to 

the States. Thousands of American citizens, however, continued to live 

in Panama proper, especially in and around Panama City. But under 

the revised concept of operations, a noncombatant evacuation operation 

to extract them while trying to launch a surprise attack and sustain 

subsequent military operations seemed fanciful. Blind Logic, the plan 

to restore law and order in Panama and reconstitute its government, 

received little attention until early December when SOUTHCOM finally 

sent the document to JTF-Panama for review. By then, Blind Logic 

was outdated, especially in the way it complicated command and control relationships by giving a civil-military operations task force, not 

JFT-South (the XVIII Airborne Corps), the responsibility for executing 

the plan. Just Cause overtook last-minute efforts by SOUTHCOM and 

JTF-Panama to update Blind Logic. 

Less than twenty-four hours after the PDF killed a U.S. Marine in 

Panama City, President Bush, on Sunday, 17 December 1989, ordered 

the execution of Blue Spoon, which was quickly renamed Just Cause. 

H-hour would be 0100 Wednesday, 20 December. During the interval, 

commanders and staffs concentrated on going over the plan’s execution 

checklists and making last-minute adjustments. Tuesday night, as 

H-hour drew near, an ice storm at Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina, 

from which the 82d was scheduled to deploy, threatened to ground or 

delay the troop transports. To this and other unforeseen problems, the 

planners, now operators, adapted, as a steady stream of fragmentary 

orders emanated from JTF-South headquarters throughout the operation. 

As a military operation, Just Cause was highly successful. U.S. 

combined arms generally worked together effectively to neutralize the 

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Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

PDF with minimum force and with less collateral damage than anticipated. As U.S. troops began securing their targets on the first day, 

the JCS issued an order to commence Promote Liberty, the new name 

for the Blind Logic phase of the operation. Here, the planners’ preoccupation with Blue Spoon resulted in serious lapses in command, control, 

and coordination. Almost to a man, the planners conceded that they 

could have devoted more time to Blind Logic and its integration into 

the planning for combat operations. Victory in combat was, to be sure, 

essential to the success of Promote Liberty. But if Promote Liberty 

failed to attain its goals, the combat operations and the American and 

Panamanian lives lost therein would be largely in vain. 

The overall success of the U.S. intervention in Panama can be 

attributed in part to the fact that the United States had predeployed 

forces in the target country. Those troops stationed in Panama yearround had been augmented by U.S.-based forces well before hostilities 

began. Success also rested on the nearly two years planners had to 

develop and refine a concept of operations, force structure, target lists, 

rules of engagement, joint communications electronic operating instructions, and so forth. There was also time to accommodate major revisions to the plan, such as replacing Woerner’s concept of operations 

with those of the XVIII Airborne Corps and Thurman. One can only 

speculate on what would have happened had U.S. military operations 

against Panama commenced in March 1988 after (as in the case of 

Grenada) only several days of frantic planning. These special conditions should not, however, detract from the primary reason for success: 

the efforts of those officers who brought their experience and talent to 

bear in crafting a plan of operations that brought a swift and commendable victory to U.S. combined arms. 

Bibliography 

i 

Donnelly, Thomas, Margaret Roth, and Caleb Baker. Operation Just 

Cause: The Inuasion of Panama. New York: Lexington Books, 1991. 

‘i 

; 

Woodward, Bob. The Commanders. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1991. 

Yates, Lawrence A. “Just Cause-Before and After: The Story of 

JTF-Panama.“’ Military Review 71 (October 1991). 

i 
26 

Political Factors 

The U.S.-Panama Crisis, 1987-1990 

Dr. Lawrence A. Yates 

The 1990 edition of U.S. Army Field Manual 100-20, Low Intensity 

Conflict, states emphatically that in low-intensity conflict (LIC) operations, “political [considerations] drive military decisions at every level 

from the strategic to the tactical.” Commanders and staff officers, the 

manual instructs, “must adopt courses of action which legally support 

those [considerations] even if the courses of action appear to be unorthodox or outside what traditional doctrine had contemplated.” 

While doctrine emphasizing the dominance of political considerations 

in low-intensity conflicts is relatively recent, the phenomenon itself has 

a long history. The U.S. experience in the twentieth century alone accounts for several examples: the Philippine-American War at the turn 

of the century; the landing of forces at Veracruz during the Mexican 

Revolution; the Sandino affair in Nicaragua in the 1920s; post-World 

War II counterinsurgency efforts in Greece, the Philippines, Vietnam, 

and El Salvador; and contingency operations in Lebanon, the Dominican 

Republic, Cambodia, Grenada, Libya, and Panama. In each example, 

political as much as, or more than, military necessity determined mis- i sions and objectives for the US. forces involved. The last case, Panama, 

is especially illuminating. Over a period of two years, a crisis in U.S.- 

Panamanian relations passed through several phases in which the 

actions of U.S. forces stationed in Panama were driven predominantly 

by political considerations that required commanders to adopt unorthodox courses of action. Commanders who were already acclimated to 

the LIC environment best understood the constraints political-military I interactions placed on them. Commanders wedded to the tradition of 

military officers being left alone to make decisions once political leaders 

have decided to employ armed force to achieve political objectives experienced difficulty, even some mental agony, as they were forced to 

adapt to a very untraditional situation. 

The first phase of the Panama crisis began in the summer of 1987. 

In June, General Manuel Antonio Noriega, commander of the Panamanian Defense Forces (PDF), fired his erstwhile heir apparent, Colonel 

Roberto Diaz Herrera, who retaliated by accusing the general of drug 

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Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

trafficking, election fraud, and murder. The allegations led to a series 

of demonstrations against Panama’s ostensibly democratic government 

(one run, in fact, by Noriega and his cohorts). The course of the demonstrations ebbed and flowed depending on the amount of violence N&ega 

sanctioned in controlling or suppressing them. Yet as the new year 

arrived, demonstrators were still taking to the streets. 

Washington’s response during this phase was hesitant. The Reagan 

administration, cognizant of U.S. interests in and around Panama, preferred retaining the status quo, but as the domestic crisis in Panama 

deepened, Reagan’s advisers could not ignore the drug trafficking 

charges and the demonstrations against Noriega. Neither could Congress. And neither could Elliott Abrams, assistant secretary of state 

for inter-American affairs, who was looking for a fresh issue following 

the failure of his Contra policies in Nicaragua. The result of this attentiveness was a series of sanctions designed to show US. dissatis,faction 

with the situation, but not enough to precipitate a rupture in U.S.- 

Panamanian relations. The sanctions played into Noriega’s hands as 

he tried to rally nationalist support by blaming Washington for his 

country’s instability. By the end of January 1988, relations between 

Washington and Panama City were severely strained. 

No one was more aware of the strain than General Frederick 

Woerner, the new commander in chief of the U.S. Southern Command 

(SOUTHCOM). As the crisis unfolded, Woerner asserted that U.S. interests in Panama and throughout Latin American could best be served 

by avoiding a confrontation with Noriega and the PDF. Woerner detested Noriega but maintained that through the exercise of normal 

relations with the PDF, U.S. armed forces could exert an exemplary 

influence, thus persuading their Panamanian counterparts to exert less 

leverage on the political life of the country. (A Panamanian government 

free of military influence was, in Woerner’s opinion, an unrealistic wish, 

given the country’s history and traditions.) 

By early 1988, the politically motivated sanctions emanating from 

Washington and a Senate initiative to cancel combined U.S.-PDF maneuvers had all but dashed Woerner’s hopes for normal relations between the two military organizations, the headquarters of which were 

located within sight of one another. The Reagan administration had 

curtailed most official contacts between U.S. officers and the PDF, and 

friction had replaced cooperation as U.S. servicemen in Panama and 

their dependents experienced increased harassment, especially from the 

PDF’s police branch. The cordiality that had once characterized normal 

relations seemed irretrievable. 

In February 1988, Noriega’s indictment by two federal grand juries 

in Florida opened the second phase in the crisis. Noriega stepped UP 

206 
Political Factors 

his anti-American rhetoric, engineered the ouster of the Panamanian 

president (after the president had tried to fire him), and survived a 

coup attempt in mid-March. He continued to crack down on the opposition, while refusing to relinquish power. Noriega’s intransigence and 

the threat he posed to U.S. interests in Panama compelled Abrams, 

among others, to recommend military intervention. Woerner and Admiral 

William Crowe, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, regarded this 

extreme proposal-dubbed the “Rambo option”-as unnecessary and 

unwise. Reagan did prohibit further meetings between Woerner and 

Noriega, but after Crowe argued that American boys should not be 

sent into combat for something for which few Panamanians were willing 

to die, the president rejected military intervention and sanctioned diplomacy in an effort to negotiate Noriega from office. After some promising 

signals, the negotiations faltered and collapsed in late May. At that 

point, the White House was on record as wanting Noriega ousted, but 

no one cared to push the issue. With the presidential campaign approaching, Woerner received word from Washington to avoid any provocations lest Vice President George Bush’s chances for election to the 

presidency be jeopardized. Woerner later described his orders as “based 

blatantly on partisan politics and no other single consideration.” After 

Bush’s election in November, SOUTHCOM was told to contain the crisis 

prior to the president-elect’s inauguration. Once Bush entered the White 

House, word reached Woerner that U.S. quiescence should be extended 

through Panama’s elections, scheduled for May 1989. 

The shifting political signals from Washington had their impact 

in Panama, as the U.S. military there entered what one colonel labeled 

“the Twilight Zone.” U.S. forces found themselves legally stationed in 

a country with whose government and military establishment the United 

States was no longer on friendly terms but with whom a state of hostilities did not exist. On 28 February, Crowe authorized Woerner to 

draw up contingency plans for hostilities with the PDF, but few senior 

military leaders in Panama believed Noriega would be so foolish as to 

provoke full-scale U.S. intervention. The vague guidance Woerner received from Washington as to missions and timetables concerning the 

plans reinforced the perception that hostilities were not imminent. 

Crowe, however, did authorize the augmentation of U.S. troops in Panama in order to cope with the rising tide of crime against U.S. personnel 

and property and the increasing threat to vulnerable U.S. facilities. 

The units sent in March and April included a Marine rifle company 

and Marine expeditionary brigade headquarters, aviation assets from 

the 7th Infantry Division (Light), and several military police battalions 

with a brigade headquarters. However sanguine U.S. commanders were 

about the unlikelihood of hostilities, many of the American troops stationed in Panama and others entering the country to enhance security 

were convinced war was imminent. 

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Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

But U.S. units in Panama were placed on anything but a war footing. In executing the security-enhancement mission, the U.S. military 

adopted peacetime rules of engagement (ROE) that placed tight constraints on the use of deadly force, The ROE were most restrictive for 

troops guarding those U.S. facilities that the PDF began probing in 

April on an almost nightly basis. When a guard spotted armed intruders 

on U.S. property, he had to issue a verbal warning before any other 

defensive action could be taken. Operational constraints prohibited the 

guard from putting a round of ammunition in the chamber of his weapon 

until he detected hostile intent on the part of the intruders. There 

were also strict rules for the employment of weapons systems. A vast 

combined arms arsenal existed in Panama, and a platoon leader or 

company commander engaged in a firefight in defense of U.S. property 

could expect support not just from weapons organic to his unit but 

from field artillery, combat helicopters, AC-130 gunships, Navy small 

boats, and a host of other systems. Whether he would get the support 

he requested depended more on politically motivated decisions than on 

military necessity. 

On 12 April 1988, the Marines at the Arraijan Tank Farm, a fuel 

depot on the Pacific side of Panama, engaged in a serious firefight 

with unidentified armed intruders. The Marine company commander 

charged with securing the tank farm used illumination rounds, fired 

his company’s mortars, and called for Cobra helicopters. Alarmed by 

the intensity of the fighting, senior U.S. commanders denied the Iatter 

request, moved to police the battlefield in such a way as to downplay 

the incident, and instituted even tighter controls over weapons systems 

whose employment might cause collateral damage and intensify the 

crisis. Determined to prevent another tragedy like Beirut, the Marines 

were furious, charging that the ROE and operational constraints seemed 

to place security forces at undue risk. 

Indeed, for many officers and enlisted men in Panama, it seemed 

as though the command groups both at SOUTHCOM and at Joint 

Task Force-Panama, an organization Woerner had activated to manage 

the crisis on a day-to-day basis, were more concerned with avoiding 

an incident with the PDF than they were with safeguarding their own 

troops and their dependents from increasing PDF violence and harassment. It is true that Woerner and several of his subordinate commanders 

considered war inadvisable. But the Reagan and Bush administrations, 

for largely political reasons, regarded it as unacceptable. Even if 

Woerner had desired to retaliate for PDF provocations, he could not 

have done so, given his instructions to avoid provocations, and still 

remained in command. So Woerner relied on strict ROE, operational 

constraints, the discipline of U.S. troops, and Noriega’s good sense to 

keep the situation under control and U.S. troops out of harm’s way, In 

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Political Factors 

part, then, political imperatives dictated the passive posture of U.S. 

troops in Panama into the spring of 1989. 

The crisis entered a third phase following the Panamanian election 

in early May 1939. The violence in the wake of Noriega’s annulment 

of the elections caused President Bush, under Operation Nimrod Dancer, 

to send 1,900 additional troops to Panama, including a Marine light 

armored infantry company with LAVs, a battalion with M113s from 

the 5th Infantry Division (Mechanized), and a brigade headquarters 

with a battalion from the 7th Infantry Division (Light). As the troops 

arrived in Panama, Bush declared that the United States would begin 

to assert its rights under the canal treaties, rights that Noriega and 

the PDF had been violating with near impunity since the onset of the 

crisis. Washington’s guidance to Woerner was simple but tricky: be 

tough and assertive-but do not start a-war. 

Many soldiers who deployed during Nimrod Dancer thought they 

were getting into a war. Instead, they encountered a situation in which 

the ubiquitous civilian population was by and large friendly, the PDF 

began assuming a lower profile, and the assertion of treaty rights 

entailed not combat operations but shows of force and resolve undertaken in risky but hardly battle conditions. To commanders and units 

who had trained force on force without constraints in the contralIed 

environment of the National Training Center or the Joint Readiness 

Training Center, the mission received from Washington via SOUTHCOM 

appeared unorthodox, bogus, vague, confusing, and, for those who could 

not readily adapt, frustrating. Compounding this feeling was the attitude 

of U.S. forces stationed in Panama who, having lived with the crisis 

for two years, went about their business without the visible sense of 

urgency the constantly vigilant newcomers brought with them. Commented one newcomer caustically, “It’s difficult to lean forward in the 

foxhole when everybody around you is going to the golf course.” 

In its first concerted effort to assert its treaty rights, the United 

States moved armed convoys from one side of the isthmus to the other. 

But before the first convoys set forth in late May, commanders and 

staffs had to determine and master the appropriate ROE, rules of confrontation, and operational and legal constraints. Doing so required 

long hours ‘of brainstorming seemingly countless scenarios, learning 

the letter of the law under the canal treaties, and then preparing the 

unit conducting the convoy (a squad or platoon) for all imaginable 

contingencies. One brigade commander concluded that he had to rely 

more on his staff judge advocate than his S3 (operations and training 

officer) in preparing for these movements. As for the squad or platoon 

leader at the head of the convoy, he had to memorize and be prepared 

to initiate a list of gradually escalating actions should the PDF interfere 

209 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

with his convoy. He also had to be sure to document any confrontation 

and be able to provide visual proof to his superiors and ultimately to 

Washington that any firefight that occurred was the fault of the PDF 

and not U.S. troops. In many ways, from Operation Nimrod Dancer 

on, the crisis took on the aspects of a “camcord war,” with each side 

using videotaping for propaganda and documentation. 

The detailed and painstaking planning and consideration that went 

into the convoy movements also appeared in other military activities, 

from patrolling to joint training events designed to rehearse the contingency plans. Again, the goal was to be assertive but restrained, with 

the emphasis on restraint derived from Washington’s desire to make 

its point without resorting to hostilities. After a short time in Panama, 

an infantry commander concluded to his surprise that he would be 

delighted to trade some of his riflemen for military police, for whom 

restraint was routine. The downside in employing restraint was that 

ROE and operational constraints almost guaranteed that if something 

did go wrong in a confrontation, an American soldier was almost certain 

to be the first casualty. Throughout the summer and fall of 1989, U.S. 

troops in Panama racheted up their activities against the PDF, but 

despite a series of unintentional close calls, neither side slipped over 

the line separating confrontation from actual hostilities. 

In early October, a small group of PDF officers mounted an abortive 

coup against Noriega. In its aftermath, the White House, acting on 

the advice of General Colin Powell, the new chairman of the JCS, and 

General Maxwell Thurman, the new commander in chief of SOUTHCOM, 

decided that the political objectives of U.S. policy in Panama could 

not be achieved solely by ousting Noriega while leaving the PDF intact 

but required the restoration of a civilian democratic government in the 

country. After members of the PDF shot and killed a U.S. Marine lieutenant on 16 December, Pres’ident Bush implemented this policy by 

force, ordering the invasion of Panama. Political guidance and military 

missions were now in sync: the United States aimed to neutralize the 

PDF, bring Noriega to justice, restore law and order to Panama, and 

help reconstitute the Panamanian government and economy. Still, political considerations influenced to some degree the conduct of combat 

operations. Because the Panamanian people were not the enemy, discriminate fire, constraints or prohibitions against the employment of 

certain weapons, and the use of proportional force were emphasized in 

order to minimize collateral damage and make the task of reforming 

the government and economy less onerous. Because of a decision made 

early in the intervention to use the rank and file of the old PDF as a 

cadre for a new Panamanian security force, U.S. forces received orders 

to use deadly force only when necessary, a stricture hardly in keeping 

210 
Political Factors 

with the U.S. military’s traditional emphasis on overwhelming the 

enemy through firepower. 

The day after Operation Just Cause began, Powell authorized the 

execution of stability operations in Panama. Code-named Promote Liberty, these politically oriented efforts to restore law and order and reconstitute the government of Panama did not take place in a military 

vacuum but occurred simultaneously with combat operations and became 

inextricably enmeshed with them. For many combat units, this meant 

being a warrior one day, operating under one set of ROE, and performing a constabulary function the next, under a radically different 

set of ROE. In an extreme example, units that had been fighting the 

PDF one day could find themselves walking combined patrols with 

their erstwhile enemy the next. Units assigned to Panama City could 

find themselves working off of different ROE as they moved from one 

part of the capital to another. For many combat troops, the rapid transformation from warriors to policemen and the need to work from a 

variety of ROE, depending on time and place, came as a difficult adjustment, necessitated by political considerations, for which few had 

been adequately trained or prepared. 

The overall conduct of the US. military throughout all phases of 

the Panama crisis from 1987 to 1990 was remarkable for its restraint, 

flexibility, and adaptability. Troops not experienced or adequately trained 

in political-military operations, particularly at the lower end of the conflict spectrum, learned the lesson of political dominance as, willingly 

or begrudgingly, they molded their actions to the directives of their 

superiors, both military and civilian. Doctrine for low-intensity conflict 

now concedes the primacy of political considerations and the need, at 

times, to adopt unorthodox measures. A soldier’s training and education 

must reflect these tenets. Military personnel must become proficient in 

political-military operations if they are to be prepared for real-world 

actualities where political considerations often determine military 

actions. 

Bibliography 

Briggs, Clarence. Operation Just Cause. Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole 

Books, 1990. 

Buckley, Kevin. Panama: The Whole Story. New York: Simon & 

Schuster, 1991. 

Yates, Lawrence A. “Just Cause-Before and After: JTF-Panama and 

the Panamanian Crisis.” Military Review 71 (October 1991). 

211 
27 

Reconnaissance 

Fighting on the Upper Seine River, August 1944 

Dr. Samuel J. Lewis 

Reconnaissance is an ambiguous word, one with several levels of 

meaning. It is one facet of intelligence gathering that can be performed, 

theoretically, without violence or, conversely, with considerable violence, 

as with a reconnaissance in force. English and several other languages did not have a suitable word for reconnaissance and hence 

adopted a foreign word. Other languages, such as German and Arabic, 

already had a suitable word, connoting securing information by force 

of arms, but as a rule, these words, too, remain ambiguous, The Russian 

language, on the other hand, fields a plethora of words for various 

forms of reconnaissance. The word remains firmly ensconced in the 

lexicon of Western military culture for a valid reason, because eventually, a commander will have to send an armed body to secure reliable 

information. An illuminating example of reconnaissance that reflects a 

number of its facets was the combat between the U.S. Third and German First Armies southeast of the upper Seine River in mid-August 

1944. 

On 13 August 1944, General Omar N. Bradley, commander of the 

12th Army Group, directed his forces to halt their advance to close the 

Falaise pocket. The decision allowed many troops of the defeated German Army Group B to escape over the lower Seine River. That same 

day, Bradley’s subordinate, Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr., 

commander of the U.S. Third Army, turned his attention eastward. 

The following day, Bradley approved Patton’s request to seize Dreux, 

Chartres, and Orleans to take advantage of German confusion and 

eventually to capture a bridgehead over the Seine at Mantes. The two 

American generals, at that point, still hoped to destroy the remainder 

of German Army Group B against the Seine. Patton directed the VIII 

Corps to continue clearing Brittany and the XII Corps to advance east 

to Chateaudun, seize and hold Orleans, protect the southern flank of 

the army, and prepare for further advances. He ordered the XV Corps 

to advance east to seize and hold a bridgehead over the Eure River at 

Dreux and dispatched the XX Corps to advance east to capture a bridgehead over the Eure River at Chartres and prepare to advance farther 

east. 

213 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

These powerful Allied forces had complete command of the air, the 

active assistance of the French Resistance, and a wealth of intelligence 

sources on the enemy, including Ultra intercepts of top-secret German 

military radio messages. Ultra information was an awkward blessing, 

however, because commanders had to ensure that the Germans never 

discovered the security breach. In addition, only several senior officers 

at army and army group headquarters knew of the Ultra coup, which 

on occasion left corps commanders and staffs puzzled at the confidence 

of their superiors. To protect the Ultra source, Bradley and Patton, 

like their colleagues, used the full spectrum of their intelligence assets. 

Patton required his reconnaissance forces not only to secure information 

aggressively but also to protect the intelligence information secured by 

Ultra, the obtaining of which had to remain secret. 

Oberbefehlshaber West (OB West), the German headquarters in 

France, realized the nature of the crisis following the debacles of Operation Cobra and at Falaise and struggled to cope with what was essentially a hopeless situation. On 8 August, the staff directed that the 

First Army turn over its sector along the Bay of Biscay coast to the 

LXIV Reserve Corps and transfer to Fontainebleau, near Paris, where, 

under Army Group B, it would defend the Paris-Orleans gap. OB West 

instructed the German First Army to construct a defensive front between 

AlenCon and the Loire River to prevent any further U.S. advance toward 

the upper Seine River. German intelligence reported strong U.S. armored 

formations massing west of Le Mans, whose reconnaissance units were 

probing east toward the Paris-Orleans gap. OB West warned that the 

Americans could be expected to force a crossing of the lower Seine 

west of Paris in an attempt to complete the destruction of Army Group 

B. Another danger was a possible American advance through the ParisOrleans gap to the Langres Plateau in an attempt to cut off and destroy 

the forces of Army Group G. The commander of OB West gave specific 

instructions that the First Army units were not to be deployed piecemeal 

but should be massed to form a defensive line through Gien-NemoursMontargis to the Seine River. OB West planned to send the First Army 

two corps headquarters and five infantry and two panzer divisions, but 

other emergencies subsequently canceled most of these movements. 

The commander of the First Army was General Kurt von der 

Chevallerie, a 52-year-old former branch chief of the German General 

Staff who had held successive division and corps commands on the 

Eastern Front. On his arrival in Fontainebleau on 11 August, he faced 

a formidable challenge: the defense of some sixty miles of flat terrain 

without any major formations. Two badly battered divisions from Normandy were still west of Paris and not yet in the area. Two weak SS 

replacement brigades were approaching Chalbns-sur-Marne, and the 48th 

Infantry Division was slowly moving south from the Belgian coast. 

214 
Reconnaissance 

Von der Chevallerie had few options. To gain time for his major 

units to arrive and form a coherent defensive line, he spread his meager 

forces out across the main roads to hinder the U.S. advance. Although 

this violated OB West’s instructions, it was his only chance to gain 

the time required to bring up other units to defend the upper Seine 

River. He placed the First Army’s assault battalion in l%tampes under 

the command of his adjutant. The 1010th Security Regiment established 

a security screen in the Malesherbes-Bellegarde area, and two security 

battalions occupied Chartres. The First Army’s specialist staff officers 

served as garrison commanders in Pithiviers, Chateaudun, and Fontaine 

bleau. OrIBans had its own commandant. 

Between lo-14 August, U.S. cavalry groups probed the ParisOrleans gap in preparation for assaults on Orleans and Chartres. The 

German security screen repulsed these thrusts, but German reconnaissance and intelligence measures were by necessity passive as a result 

of insufficient combat units and reconnaissance assets. The First Army’s 

reconnaissance company, consisting of twelve obsolete and road-bound 

French armored cars, patrolled the vicinity of Chartres. German staff 

officers fluent in French systematically used the French national telephone lines, asking the locals if they had been liberated yet and where 

the Americans were. Since the First Army was equipped and organized 

for a static coastal defense, it depended largely on the French telephone 

system for its own command and control. 

The commander of the German 48th Infantry Division, General Karl 

Casper, arrived with the 48th Fusilier Battalion in Fontainebleau on 

15 August. Von der Chevallerie told Casper that the First Army would 

deploy the 48th Division behind the Seine as it arrived. Meanwhile, he 

directed Casper to take his battalion with him to assume command in 

the Chartres sector. 

On 15 and 16 August, Patton’s forces seized their objectives, rolling 

forward against scant opposition, The garrison of Orleans retired across 

the Loire and that of Chateaudun withdrew to Malesherbes. On 18 

August, von der Chevallerie directed Casper”s provisional command to 

retire to defend Ktampes and Dourdon. The only serious German losses 

occurred at Chartres, where the U.S. 5th Infantry Division surrounded 

the SOO-man garrison. There was no American pursuit, because on the 

evening of 15 August, Bradley, fearing a German counterattack, directed 

Patton to halt. 

While Patton fumed and complained in his diary, the American 

inactivity allowed von der Chevallerie to piece together another security 

screen in front of the Seine and bring up additional forces to defend 

the river. The First Army’s assault battalion held Dourdon, a Luftwaffe 

flak detachment defended Etampes, and a reinforced company of the 

215 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

1010th Security Regiment held Malesherbes. Casper directed his own 

48th Assault Gun Company to occupy Maisse and his 48th Fusilier 

Battalion to hold Arpajon. In front of Paris, the remnants of the 352d 

Infantry Division held Limours. East of Malesherbes, the Loing River 

bisected the First Army front between Montereau and Melun. Von der 

Chevallerie named General Edgar Arndt commander of this Loing sector. 

Arndt commanded only weak security forces to defend a very wide 

front. He therefore placed his entire force in Montargis behind the 

Loing River. 

Patton was not particularly concerned with this front but, rather, 

with the remnants of German Army Group B, struggling to escape 

across the lower Seine. On 19 August, his XV Corps seized the first 

bridgehead across the Seine at Mantes (see map 20). Over the following 

days, Bradley and Patton unsuccessfully attempted to drive forces down 

the west bank of the Seine. The XIX Tactical Air Command, attached 

to Patton’s Third Army, conducted reconnaissance along the Loire River 

and between Paris and Orleans. The Third Army’s indigenous cavalry 

groups and squadrons (mechanized) scoured the front, identifying von 

der Chevallerie’s second delaying position. The day before, on 18 August, 

the U.S. 43d Cavalry Squadron had penetrated the German security 

screen and from the wooded banks gazed down on the winding Seine. 

This aggressive reconnaissance was in the finest traditions of the 

cavalry and air corps, but it was in this instance also grand theater. 

Generals Bradley and Patton knew from intercepted German radio 

messages not only the weakness of the German First Army but the 

impotence of the German forces south of the Loire River. Armed with 

such knowledge, it was doubly important to use aggressive reeonnaissance to protect the Ultra secret. 

The final act of the tragicomedy on the upper Seine began on 

Monday, 21 August, when Patton unleashed his full fury against the 

inconsequential German forces. On the 19th, Bradley gave Patton permission to breach the upper Seine, and Patton briefed his corps commanders the following day. The U.S. XX Corps advanced to seize 

bridgeheads over the Seine at Melun and Montereau. The US. XII Corps 

advanced to capture Sens on the Yonne River to protect Patton’s flank. 

Von der Chevallerie’s security screen based on strongpoints held up 

the U.S. Army for two days. On the afternoon of 22 August, von der 

Chevallerie instructed his garrisons to withdraw behind the Seine. The 

withdrawal proceeded as planned: after each German combat group’ 

crossed the river, German engineers blew up the bridges. The major 

German failure was allowing the U.S. XII Corps to surround the garrison at Montargis on the Loing River. Given the overall German weakness, however, and the flat terrain, one might ask what other possible 

216 
rhe U.S. Third Army drwe to the Seine River 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

course of action von der Chevallerie had. The isolated garrison held 

out until 23 August, when Arndt, its commander, died in combat and 

the survivors surrendered. 

During the fighting for the Seine, reconnaissance took its more 

traditional form, with units and commanders moving forward to determine the strength and location of the enemy. On the morning of 23 

August 1944, Major General Walton H. Walker, XX Corps commander, 

made a personal reconnaissance to observe the 7th Armored Division’s 

attempt to cross the Seine at Melun. Unfortunately, his impatience and 

frustration led him to interfere with the work of his subordinates, 

directing a pointless and costly assault on a small island. That same 

day, the XX Corps’ other division, the 5th Infantry, pushed through 

the Foret de Fontainebleau on a two-regiment front, ably guided around 

the minefields by members of the French Resistance. As the 11th Infantry emerged from the forest, the soldiers saw that the Seine bridge 

was still standing. As an American patrol approached it, however, the 

Germans blew up the bridge, sprinkling the patrol with debris. The 

lead battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Kelly B. Lemmon Jr., 

remained undeterred and reconnoitered the river bank. He found five 

small boats and began to establish a bridgehead on the far side. 

Patton’s army had little difficulty crossing the Seine and breaking 

the German First Army’s line. Instead of the scheduled two corps headquarters and five infantry divisions, von der Ghevallerie received only 

the inexperienced 48th Infantry Division to defend a front of some 

fifty miles. The German infantry could not even observe much of the 

front, so German patrols had to reconnoiter the more inaccessible 

sectors. One such patrol discovered Lemmon’s bridgehead near 

Fontainebleau. 

At first appearance, Patton’s overwhelming superiority on the 

ground, in the air, and in intelligence-gathering assets would suggest 

that such a campaign would merit perhaps only academic interest. The 

disparity in strength, however, makes the military work performed by 

the commanders and staffs all the more intriguing-particularly regarding their differing approaches to reconnaissance. We have already 

observed how the need to protect the Ultra source made it doubly 

important for the U.S. Army to pretend that it was not reading the 

German’s radio messages by aggressively reconnoitering with its cavalry 

and air corps units. In hindsight, Patton could have carried out this 

deception even further by aggressively seizing bridgeheads across the 

Loire River. 

Reconnaissance by the German First Army naturally differed in 

scope and purpose from that of the much more powerful U.S. Third 

Army. Von der Chevallerie lacked not only combat units but reeon218 
Reconnaissance 

naissance assets, air support, and the help of the local population. He 

consequently decided to disobey orders and erect a security screen with 

the few units that were available. Von der Chevallerie saw this gamble 

as the only way to gain time for reinforcements to reach the upper 

Seine. In German doctrine, security and reconnaissance were interdependent and, true to form, von der Chevallerie’s security screen also 

provided ports from which his own meager reconnaissance forces could 

sally forth. 

The fighting along the upper Seine demonstrated the ambiguity 

inherent in reconnaissance. It can be performed by one man on foot 

or by highly organized special organizations. While it is normally conducted to secure information on the enemy’s location and strength, it 

can also be used to mask information identified by other sources. In 

the instance of the U.S. Third Army’s and German First Army’s combat 

on the upper Seine in mid-August 1944, Patton, von der Chevallerie, 

and their respective staffs demonstrated the broad applications possible 

in effective reconnaissance. 

Bibliography 

Allen, Robert Sharon. Lucky Forward: The History of Patton’s Third 

U.S. Army. New York: Vanguard Press, 1947. 

Blumenson, Martin. Breakout and Pursuit. United States Army in World 

War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 

Department of the Army, 1961. 

Farago, Ladislas. Patton: Ordeal and Triumph. New York: I. Obolensky, 

1963. 

219 
28 

River Crossings 

Crossing the Rapid0 

Dr. Roger J. Spiller 

A deliberate assault across a defended river is an operation most 

soldiers would prefer not to hazard. Yet it is the most common of tactical operations and is dreaded all the more because river lines offer a 

capacity for defense that is perhaps equaled only by high ground. A 

river that in peacetime presents a simple problem for tactical exercises 

can in combat become a nightmare for those who must fight their 

way to the other side. Nature alone is often sufficient to foil a river 

crossing; if a crossing point is expertly defended, the slightest aggravation of terrain becomes a weapon in the enemy’s hands. A marshy 

approach, a sloping bank at an awkward tilt, a turbulent surface or 

an uneven bottom, even the kinds of vegetation along the banks-all 

must figure into the calculations that must be made before launching 

such an operation. By their very nature, river crossings demand the 

coordinated action of several arms and branches whose roles are critical 

to tactical success. Yet even when fortune appears to favor one’s own 

side, the potential for disaster in this, as in all other military operations, 

is never far away. 

Italy’s Rapid0 River is an inconsiderable stream that lies athwart 

the southeastern entrance to the Liri valley. In its widest places, the 

river is sixty feet in breadth and up to twelve feet deep. Sometimes, 

its steep banks are as much as ten feet high. About halfway across 

the valley floor, the Rapid0 curves to meet the Gari River, which continues the river line westward past the valley entrance and on to the 

sea. There are no easy fords along the Rapid0 here. 

In January 1944, the Rapid0 achieved a good deal more importance 

than its size would suggest, for it formed part of a strong defensive 

belt called the Gustav Line that the German Army had thrown across 

the width of the Italian peninsula. After the Allies stormed ashore at 

Salerno in September 1943, they had pressed a fairly steady, but increasingly difficult, advance until they reached the Gustav Line. There, 

their advance halted. 

The Allied Combined Chiefs of Staff were anxious to take Rome 

before launching Operation Overlord, the cross-channel attack on France, 

221 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

but the terrain, the awful winter weather, and the strong defenses at 

the Gustav Line had so far foiled their ambitions. The Allied high 

command was convinced that only another amphibious landing could 

deliver Rome in time, and the commander of the U.S. Fifth Army, 

Lieutenant General Mark W. Clark, selected Anzio as the target for his 

U.S. VI Corps. The hazards of such a landing were compounded by 

the presence of a strong German reserve in Rome, the I Parachute 

Corps of two reinforced divisions. Clark decided that the Anzio landings 

should be coordinated with an attack by Major General Geoffrey Keyes’ 

II Corps against the Gustav Line at the entrance to the Liri valley. 

Keyes’ attack, Clark hoped, would support the Anzio landings in 

two ways: first, a substantial attack along the Gustav Line would force 

Field Marshal Albert Kesselring, the German commander in chief for 

Italy, to commit his reserve to protect the Liri valley and thereby expose 

Rome. Second, if Keyes’ II Corps could breach the Gustav Line, an 

armored force could attempt a drive up the Liri valley and eventually 

join with the VI Corps to take Rome. 

The defenses along the valley entrance reflected the Germans’ appreciation of its importance, The defense of the valley was assigned to 

Major General Fridolin von Senger’s XIV Panzer Corps, and to hold 

the river line, Senger had entrusted Brigadier General Eberhard Rodt’s 

formidable 15th Panzergrenadier Division, at that moment perhaps the 

best of all the German divisions in Italy (see map 21). The 15th had 

made two villages along the river line its defensive anchors: Garigliano 

to the southwest, opposite the British X Corps, and Sant’ Angelo (in 

Teodice) to the northeast. Sant’ Angelo was to be the focal point of 

the American attack. North of Sant’ Angelo stood the 104th Panzergrenadier Regiment, while on the opposite side of the village, the reconnaissance battalion of the 115th Panzergrenadier Regiment defended. 

The entire area was thick with concrete bunkers and other emplacements, all shielded by aprons of wire. From their slightly elevated bank, 

the Germans had devised an intense field of interlocking small-arms 

fire that covered the immediate riverside. Mining had been prolific on 

both sides of the river. Some German armor stood rearward in support 

of these positions. The whole area was subject to observed artillery 

fire. The commanding heights of Monte Cassino on the right flank 

towered over the scene. Thus, for the men who were to make the assault, 

the Germans had created the worst sort of tactical problem: an observed 

river crossing in the dead of winter against veteran troops who were 

well placed, well prepared, and well supported. 

Major General Fred L. Walker’s 36th Infantry Division was chosen 

to force the crossing. Formerly of the Texas National Guard, the 36th 

had been under Walker’s command since before Pearl Harbor. The 

222 
River Crossings 

YYY I I‘ 

Map 21. The Rapid0 River crossings, 20-22 January 1944 

223 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

division had spearheaded the amphibious assault at Salerno and was 

well regarded by higher commanders, but it had suffered substantial 

casualties at Salerno and in the fighting that followed. By January 

1944, 2 of the 36th’s 3 regiments were some 500 men under normal 

strength, and a large portion of their strength was made up of new 

replacements. Clark rated the division as 75 percent effective. 

When Walker considered the problem before his division, he was 

not confident the 36th could succeed. The German defenses were daunting, and every advantage of terrain, even on his own side of the river, 

seemed to lie with the enemy. Moreover, the approaches to the river 

were dominated by a series of mud flats traversed by primitive roads. 

Only at Monte Trocchio, about two miles to the rear, was there sufficient 

cover from artillery to establish the necessary depots and assembly 

areas. 

Walker intended to use two battalions each from his 141st and 

143d Infantry regiments for the attack and aimed to cross the river on 

both sides of the village of Sant’ Angelo after a heavy artillery bombardment. Each battalion was to seize a bridgehead secure enough to 

enable the placement of Bailey bridges. Once the Baileys were laid, an 

armored force stood ready to pass through the 36th’s lines into the 

valley and up Highway 6 toward Rome. In order to discourage enemy 

reinforcements, the British 46th Division on the left flank was to make 

an earlier cross-river assault against the village of Garigliano, Finally, 

because no one in the high command was under any illusions about 

the difficulty of this operation, it was decided that the 36th’s river 

crossing would take place at night. 

Early in January, II Corps engineer units began surveying and 

preparing the approaches to the river. They were to clear and mark 

safe lanes of passage through the marshes and minefields, improve 

the roads as much as possible, collect the boats and bridging equipment 

for the crossing, and move all the equipment as close to the crossing 

sites as possible. That done, the engineers were to guide the infantry 

through the minefields. At the river’s edge, the first assault elements 

would cross on footbridges jury-rigged from catwalks and inflatable 

boats or in M-2 assault boats. Then, if all went well, the much heavier 

Bailey bridges could be put in place. 

But throughout the month, there was heavy enemy patrolling on 

both sides of the river, and rumors flew about the division that the 

Germans were relaying mines in the cleared lanes. The roads seemed 

beyond improvement. There were shortages of the proper number and 

type of boats and bridging equipment. The engineers and infantrymen, 

who had never before worked together, had difficulty understanding 

each other’s problems. And because of the lack of cover, the assault 

224 
River Crossings 

over the Rapid0 would have to begin not at the river line but at Monte 

Trocchio. The infantrymen would have to manhandle their own boats 

(the M-2s were 13 feet long, 5 feet at the beam, and weighed over 400 

pounds} nearly 2 miles over marshy, mined terrain under enemy observation at night. 

Keyes and Walker had been counting on the British X Corps to 

divert the Germans’ attention by attacking on 18 January, two days 

before the 36th’s scheduled crossing. But Lieutenant General Sir Richard 

L. McCreery, X Corps’ commander, had decided to postpone sending 

his 46th Division across the Gari River for twenty-four hours. This 

was not enough time, Keyes protested, for the British to secure a bridgehead and draw German defenders from the American sector. Keyes 

was right. Far from resorting to local reinforcements to repel the British 

attack, the Germans committed their reserve I Parachute Corps. The 

British attempt, though stalled for the moment, had at one stroke removed the threat to the Anzio landings and so also one of the reasons 

for the attack across the Rapido. But the British had not taken pressure 

off their American flank. When McCreery recommended that the Rapid0 

attack be canceled, Clark disagreed. The 36th’s attack, scheduled for 

the evening of 20 January, would proceed as planned. 

At about 1900, the men of the 141st’s assault battalion were carrying 

their boats into the mud flats in front of the river. Their artillery sup 

port began thirty minutes later, when more than sixteen battalions of 

artillery opened fire on enemy positions around Sant’ Angelo. Immediate 

enemy counterfire fell on the assault troops, creating havoc and destroying the tapes laid down to guide them through the minefields. 

Olne German volley killed or wounded thirty men from one company 

alone. Looking for cover, some troops fled into minefields. By 2000, 

one-quarter of all the boats had been damaged. As the assault battalion 

neared the river, it suffered from extremely heavy small-arms fire from 

the opposite side. When the regimental commander, Lieutenant Colonel 

Aaron A. Wyatt Jr., saw that the crossing was in danger, he called 

for an extension of artillery cover. Meanwhile, under nearly impossible 

conditions, about 100 men from the battalion had crossed the river by 

2100. There, throughout the night, they held a tenuous grip on a small 

bridgehead while the engineers and remaining infantrymen attempted 

to get footbridges across the river. After a night of extremely heavy 

fighting, still only half of the battalion had come across the Rapido, 

and most of the bridges that had been put up had already been destroyed by enemy fire. At dawn, Wyatt began to withdraw his men. 

South of the village, Colonel’ William H. Martin’s 143d Infantry 

had managed to put one platoon across the river before enemy artillery 

found his position. By 2300, one company, much reduced by casualties, 

225 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

had made its way to the opposing bank, but the volume of enemy fire 

was so great that it was not until 0500 the next day that the survivors 

of the battalion had made good a crossing, Once there, the battalion 

found itself unable to advance and being steadily pushed back toward 

the river. With the pocket his troops occupied growing ever smaller, 

Major David M. Frazior, the battalion commander, asked for permission 

to withdraw but was refused. When later in the morning enemy armor 

joined the fight, Frazior began to get what men he could to the friendly 

side of the river. 

Farther downstream, another battalion of the 143d attempted to 

cross. In the confusion of darkness and the chaos of enemy shellfire, 

the engineer guides became lost. More men strayed into the minefields. 

By 2300, all the battalion’s rubber boats had been destroyed. By morning, still not one soldier from this battalion had crossed the river, and 

the battalion commander was relieved on the spot by a frustrated 

Martin. The new battalion commander arrived too late in the day to 

do much more than order a retirement to the assembly area. 

At dawn, with men stranded and sounds of heavy fighting coming 

from the enemy side of the river, Walker and his regimental commanders were trying to salvage the wreckage of their attack when Keyes 

called to relay Clark’s insistence that the crossing be attempted again, 

and soon. Walker wanted to resume the attack that evening, but Keyes 

pressed for an immediate attack that day. By midday on 21 January, 

regimental commanders Martin and Wyatt began preparing their men 

for their second cross-river assault in less than twenty-four hours. Few 

boats and little bridging equipment had survived the previous night’s 

action, and now the resumption of fighting had to await new supplies. 

Martin moved the remnants of the 143d into action once more. Lack 

of equipment forced Wyatt to wait until dark to try again. 

Martin’s 143d launched its second attack at 1600 against the same 

crossing sites. Aided-and sometimes hindered-by smoke, the 143d got 

one battalion across in rubber boats by 1900. Meanwhile, the engineers 

worked for eight hours under fire to construct a footbridge. By 0200 

the next morning, Martin had managed to get two additional rifle 

companies across the river. But ‘after advancing 500 yards, the men of 

the 143d advanced no more. By dawn, the battalion commander and 

all his company commanders had been wounded. The intensity of enemy 

fire had prevented the new battalion commander from reaching the 

bridgehead for three and one-half hours. Shortly after dawn, he reported 

that there were only 250 effective soldiers in the bridgehead, that all 

the boats had been destroyed by shellfire, and that the only footbridge 

had also been wrecked. The engineers managed to put up two more 

footbridges during the day, but by midday on 22 January, these were 

226 
River Crossings 

used to evacuate survivors. At noon, Martin ordered his men to 

withdraw. 

North of Sant’ Angelo, Wyatt’s 141st delayed its attack until 2100. 

For five hours, Wyatt’s riflemen worked to clear the opposing bank of 

enemy troops and then set the engineers to work on footbridges. By 

0400 on 22 January, Wyatt had pushed one battalion across, and by 

dawn, a second battalion had joined the fight on the far bank. Wyatt’s 

men advanced about 1,000 yards before being forced to dig in. As the 

fighting in Martin’s sector downstream gradually dissipated, more enemy 

pressure began to build on Wyatt’s position. By 1600, all the commanders in Wyatt’s two battalions had been either killed or wounded. 

Communications with the far side of the river had long been severed. 

As the evening approached, forty men managed to escape the bridgehead. They thought there was no hope for those who remained behind. 

Sounds of American weapons could be heard from the far side of the 

river until 2000. Then they stopped. 

Even as Martin was extricating the ruins of his battalions and 

while Wyatt’s battalions were steadily losing their grip on the far bank, 

the corps commander, Keyes, was considering ordering Walker to commit 

his reserve regiment. Walker protested, and Keyes relented. It was time 

to cut the 36th’s losses. And, anyway, that day, 22 January, Allied 

forces landed at Anzio against negligible resistance. 

The following day, Walker wrote in his diary, “two regiments of 

this Division were wrecked on the west bank of the Rapido.” The 141st 

and 143d suffered 1,681 casualties. Losses by supporting units attached 

for the attack, especially the engineers, drove casualty figures higher 

still. 

Senger, the opposing commander of the XIV Panzer Corps, remembered the affair at the Rapid0 in quite a different way. “The German 

Command,” he wrote, “paid little attention to this offensive for the 

simple reason that it caused no particular anxiety.“’ Considering the 

sacrifices of the troops on the Rapido, Senger’s recollection is the most 

damning “after action” imaginable. The report of Senger’s 15th Punzergrenadier Division for the Rapid0 assault simply reads, “prevented 

enemy troops from crossing S. Angelo.” 

A cursory examination of the Rapid0 operation would imply that 

it is merely another case of how tactical judgment was sacrificed for 

the sake of strategic objectives. But the strategic objective that the 

attack at the Rapid0 was meant to serve had already been achieved 

by the British X Corps two days earlier when vital German reserves 

were drawn from their positions around Rome. That the Rapid0 operation was executed as originally scheduled suggests a certain preoccupation by the U.S. high command with Anzio and a certain indifference 

227 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

to just how incidental the Rapid0 operation had become. Nor did the 

tactical situation demand an attack at the place that had been chosen 

for the division. Walker had argued that there were more suitable places 

to penetrate the Gustav Line, places that eventually were used after 

the failure at the Rapido. 

Even under the best circumstances, river crossings are fraught with 

technical and tactical difficulties. If the crossing is substantial and 

operationally significant, as the Rapid0 was, supporting units will inevitably be thrown into cooperation with combat units with whom they 

have never worked, whose problems and immediate concerns are different, and with whom they are little inclined to be understanding. 

Too, surveys of frontline troops in World War II showed that, of all 

the tactical problems they faced, they most dreaded assaults across 

water obstacles and amphibious landings. Little wonder, then, that the 

prospect of crossing the Rapid0 filled the troops with foreboding and 

that, during the battle, commanders reported their troops less than 

enthusiastic for the fight. 

And if to these difficulties are added the terrain and, indeed, the 

troops that effectively defended the Rapido, the result becomes understandable. Every irregularity of the terrain seemed to conspire against 

the efforts of the men of the 36th, who were all the more susceptible 

because their commanders’ doubts about the feasibility of the operation 

appear to have been translated to the lowest tactical levels. In the 

histories and documents that telI the story of the Rapido, much has 

been made of the colliding temperaments of Clark, Keyes, and Walker. 

But while these men were important figures in this story, they were 

not the whole story, nor even a large part of it. That part belongs to 

the men of the 36th, who at the Rapid0 became hostages to the disastrous fortunes of war. 

Bibliography 

Blumenson, Martin. Bloody River: The Real Tragedy of the Rapido. 

Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1970. 

. Salerno to Cassino. United States Army in World War II. 

Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, U.S. Army, 

1969. 

Graham, Dominick, and Shelford Bidwell. Tug of War: The Battle for 

Italy, 1943-1945. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1986. 

Hapgood, David, and David Richardson. Monte Cassino. New York: 

Congdon & Weed, 1984. 

228 
River Crossings 

Senger und Etterlin, Etterlin, Fridolin Fridolin von. Neither Neither Fear Nor Hope: The Wartime Wartime 

Career of General General Frido uon Senger und Etterlin, Etterlin, Defender Defender of 

Cassino. New York: Dutton, 1963. 
29 

Surprise 

The XIX Panzer Corps’ Lightning Advance into France, 

May 1940 

Lieutenant Colonel Edward P. Shanahan 

The desire to achieve surprise in military operations is timeless. 

Considered an essential element of victory from ancient times to the 

present, the concept of surprise is almost universally enshrined as a 

principle of war. Because surprise is vital to successful offensive and 

defensive operations, particularly at the operational and tactical levels 

of war, it can decisively shift the balance of combat power and affect 

the outcome of campaigns and battles. 

Surprise influences the enemy’s sense of self-confidence, mental 

stability, competence, and will and ability to fight. Surprise induces 

psychological shock in enemy leaders and soldiers when it targets their 

command, control, and communications systems-thus delaying their 

reactions and reducing the effectiveness of their combat and support 

systems. The enemy need not be taken totally unaware but only become 

aware too late to react effectively, thereby allowing the attackers to 

establish favorable battlefield conditions and set the terms of battle, 

Through the use of surprise, success out of proportion to the effort 

expended can be gained. 

A classic example of surprise is the Germans’ penetration of the 

Ardennes in May 1940. The German plan in 1940 was to win a quick, 

decisive victory against the French and their Allies by achieving strategic surprise. Beginning its operation at 0535 on Friday, 10 May 1940, 

the Wehrmacht launched its campaign in the west by invading the 

Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg. In less than one week, the 

Wehrmacht had shattered the French Army and, within the next six 

weeks, had conquered France and its Continental Allies in the west, 

driving the British Army from the Continent. The key to the 

Wehrmacht’s smashing victory was the successful attack of a major 

German force through the Ardennes, an operation that aehieved almost 

complete surprise. General Heinz Guderian’s XIX Panzer Corps, which 

spearheaded the advance, moved approximately 220 miles in 11 days, 

penetrating the “impassable” Ardennes Forest, breaching a fortified 

river line, and defeating a major slice of the French Army. The decisive 

231 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

German victory reaffirmed the critical importance of surprise in warfare. 

The original German plan to invade France and the Low Countries 

(Fall Gelb or Plan Yellow) was unimaginative and highly conservative. 

When Fall Gelb was compromised in January 1940, French forces were 

alerted and deployed to the frontiers. Nothing happened, however, and 

operations on the Western Front lapsed into the routine of the so-called 

“phoney war.” Fortunately for the Germans, the Allies had revealed a 

preview of their wartime strategy and dispositions. As a result, two 

changes occurred: the Germans altered their plans, and Hitler tightened 

the security surrounding the forthcoming operations. The Allies also 

initiated their own changes, deciding to reinforce the Netherlands and 

Belgium. General Maurice Gamelin shifted the French Seventh Army 

from strategic reserve and committed it to the Allied left flank in the 

Netherlands. Under this revision, known as the Breda Variant to the 

Dyle Plan, thirty French divisions would wheel into Belgium and the 

Netherlands at the outset of the German attack. The hinge of this 

operation was the French Ninth Army, composed of ten weak, mostly 

reserve, divisions. The other unit facing the so-called impenetrable 

Ardennes was the French Second Army, deployed with its strongest 

division on its right, to protect any attempt to outflank the Maginot 

Line, and its weakest divisions on the left, behind Sedan and adjacent 

to the Ninth Army. 

One of the alternative plans to Full Gelb was drawn up by General 

Erich von Manstein, the chief of staff of General Gerd von Rundstedt’s 

Army Group A. The Manstein variation shifted the main effort from 

the northern right wing to the center in the Ardennes region. 

Manstein’s aim was to achieve a decisive victory through a two-phase 

campaign: phase I was to break through the enemy’s front and cut off 

forces that had advanced into Belgium; phase II was to envelop the 

remaining enemy forces north of the Somme River. Manstein’s plan 

was predicated on achieving strategic surprise. He believed the French 

High Command would anticipate a German repetition of the World 

War I Schlieffen Plan and would react to stop a German drive into 

Belgium as far to the east as possible. Manstein also argued that the 

bulk of the Allied forces would be committed prematurely. Therefore, 

the German main effort should be shifted from Army Group B in the 

north to Army Group A in the center, and the penetration should occur 

along the Meuse River between Namur and Sedan. 

On 24 February, the OKH (Army High Command) issued a modified 

version of Manstein’s plan. Army Group B, with thirty divisions, would 

strike the Allied left flank as a major supporting attack to confirm the 

Allies’ preconceived belief that they were the main effort. This would 

draw the Allies into the Low Countries prematurely and divert their 

232 
Surprise 

attention from the critical area of the main attack executed by Army 

Group A. Army Group C, with nineteen divisions on the left wing, 

would hold the southern flank and demonstrate in front of the Maginot 

Line defenses to hold those forces, particularly the reserves, in place. 

The main effort through the hilly and densely wooded Ardennes 

would be made between Liege and Luxembourg. This thrust through 

the “impassable” Ardennes would be entrusted to General Ewald von 

Kleist’s panzer group, comprised of two spearheads-General Heinz 

Guderian’s XIX Panzer Corps with three divisions aimed at Sedan and, 

on his right, General Georg-Hans Reinhardt’s XL1 Panzer Corps of two 

panzer divisions aimed at Montherme. Farther north was General 

Hermann Hoth’s 5th and 7th Panzer Divisions to cover the northern 

flank of the main attack. 

The plan could only work if German armored and motorized units 

successfully negotiated the difficult Ardennes, with its limited road network, before the Allies identified the main effort. Surprise, speed, and 

operational security would be critical, as would the success of the 

deception executed by the right wing. German intelligence on Allied 

troop dispositions confirmed Manstein’s conviction that the Allies had 

discounted a blow in the Ardennes. 

Army Group A’s divisions were packed into the Ardennes from the 

Luxembourg border to the vicinity of Giessen-Marburg, some 200 kilometers. Despite the need for surprise, the assault tanks were moved as 

far forward as possible prior to the actual attack and put on designated 

priority roads. Guderian’s formations were drawn up in the attack zone 

with three divisions abreast. The main effort of the XIX Panzer Corps 

was the 1st Panzer Division in the center, the 2d Panzer Division on 

the right, and the 10th Panzer Division and the Grossdeutschland 

Infantry Division on the left. 

On 9 May 1940, Hitler authorized the initiation of operations. In 

turn, Kleist’s panzer group issued its start order. While the bulk of the 

XIX Panzer Corps prepared for the assault, special operations troops 

infiltrated across the border to seize key targets, thus facilitating surprise and the swift movement of major units. 

In conformity with their plans, the Allies turned their attention 

north to what appeared to be the main assault. The II and XI Corps, 

on the left of Ninth Army, moved from their frontier positions into 

Belgium between Namur and Givet. To their right, with orders to delay 

the enemy, two light cavalry divisions, a brigade of Spahis (African) 

Cavalry, plus a similar force (four and one-half cavalry divisions) from 

the Second Army, moved across the Meuse to meet Rundstedt’s vanguard in the Ardennes. The Belgian forces in the Ardennes consisted 

233 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

of two light infantry divisions, also with a mission to delay the 

Germans. 

On the morning of 10 May, elements of the XIX Panzer Corps 

rushed across the Luxembourg border (see map 22). The 1st Panzer 

Division, in the center of the corps advance, crossed at Wallendorf and 

headed for Martelange (the Belgian’s first line of resistance) and then 

to the first day’s objective at Neufchriteau. The 2d Panzer Division on 

the northern (right) flank crossed at Vianden and headed for Tintage 

and then Libramont, while the 10th Panzer Division, on the southern 

(left) flank, crossed near Echternach and proceeded toward Rosignol. 

The entire corps advanced in a tight formation, presenting an excellent 

target, but the Allies had been unable to penetrate the Luftwaffe screen 

and were taken in by the deception in the north. Meanwhile, the Luftwaffe completely surprised the Allies by attacking 72 key airfields in 

France, Belgium, and the Netherlands-in some cases to a depth of 

300 kilometers. In addition, the German use of special operations forces, 

unconventional tactics in Luxembourg, and airborne and air assault 

operations behind Belgian lines assisted the rapid movement of the 

XIX Corps by securing key facilities and critical passage points along 

the major routes of advance. By 1000, the 1st Panzer Division’s forward 

detachment reached the Belgian frontier east of Martelange. 

At Martelange, a company of Belgian chasseurs blocked the 

Wehrmacht’s advance, the first of several short but costly battles that 

upset the Germans’ timetable. By 1100, however, German lead elements 

had seized the high ground northeast of the town. By 1200, the advance 

guard had reached Bodange. Again encountering fierce resistance by 

Belgian defenders, the Germans attacked using concentrated artillery 

and four 88-mm antitank guns. By 1800, the defenders, unable to withdraw, surrendered. By evening, the Belgian frontier had been penetrated, 

but as a result of the battles along the frontier, Guderian’s XIX Corps 

did not accomplish its first day’s objectives-a credit to the valiant 

Belgian soldiers. 

During the night of lo-11 May, the 10th Panzer Division, ordered 

to halt, prepared a hasty defense between Etalle and Arlon against an 

anticipated French counterattack on the left flank. Guderian vehemently 

argued against halting his advance, insisting that reaching the Meuse 

River should remain the XIX Corps’ main focus to exploit the advantage 

of surprise. Guderian prevailed. The orders were canceled and the three 

panzer divisions continued their advance until around 0430 on 11 May. 

The divisions’ objective for the 11th was to reach the Meuse River. 

As the German panzer divisions proceeded, they struck the next defensive line about 1130. Then, the 10th Panzer Division bogged down 

in the forest around Arlies and Rulles, while the 2d faced stiff resistance at Libramont. Though slowed again by numerous road obstruc234 
1; 

I 

20 kilometers 

Map 22. The XIX Panzer Corps’ advance, IO-1 5 May 1940 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

tions and artillery fire, the 2d penetrated the second Belgian defensive 

line, and by 2100, its advance guard had pushed out to Paliseul, fifteen 

kilometers west of Libramont. 

Guderian intended for the 1st Panzer Division to break through 

the second defensive line in the vicinity of Neufchateau (the first day’s 

objective) and, if possible, advance to Sedan. The lst, however, did not 

begin its advance until around noon and then ran into numerous road 

demolitions and mines. To add to the confusion, the Belgian chasseurs 

had changed many of the road and town signs. Neufchateau was not 

secured until 1500. 

At 1700, for the first time since the beginning of the operation, 

the Germans of 1st Panzer Regiment encountered French troops, the 

5th Division LbgBre M&unique. The French put up stiff resistance but, 

after an hour, withdrew to Bouillon, a key defile on the Semois River 

leading to the Meuse at Sedan. In two days, the 1st Panzer Division 

had advanced 100 kilometers, 5 kilometers short of the French border 

and 20 kilometers from Sedan. 

Additionally, on the llth, OKH intelligence positively identified the 

Allied main effort along the Dijle River. Orders for operations on 12 

May reiterated the importance of reaching the Meuse River and establishing bridgeheads there. On the 12th, the XIX Panzer Corps resumed 

its attack, again successfully exploiting the element of surprise. By 

evening, the bulk of the XIX Corps (except for the 2d Panzer Division, 

tihich was delayed due to numerous detours) reached the northern bank 

of the Meuse River in the vicinity of Sedan. By 1900, the French withdrew to the left bank, destroying all bridges as the Germans concentrated their artillery to support the river crossing. 

The OKH, apprehensive about the river crossing, threatened to slow 

down the advance, but Kleist objected, emphasizing the importance of 

speed, timing, and surprise. He ordered Guderian to cross the Meuse 

at 1600 on the 13th. In response, the XIX Panzer Corps’ staff worked 

on the operations order throughout the night. The final order was issued 

at 0815 on 13 May, which gave the divisions little time to execute a 

difficult operation. Fortunately, the plan mirrored an operation they 

had war-gamed and rehearsed earlier along the Moselle River. 

Guderian’s attacking forces, the 1st and 10th Panzer Divisions, were 

to attack on line, with the main effort in the 1st Panzer Division’s 

zone of action (the 2d Panzer Division was still delayed at the Semois 

River). The Grossdeutschland Infantry Regiment, corps artillery, and 

heavy artillery battalions were to follow the 1st Panzer Division. To 

encourage his men, Guderian personally visited each of his three divisions that morning prior to their assaults. 

In the vicinity of Sedan, the Meuse was fifty-five meters wide and 

unfordable. Further enhancing the main line of resistance were concrete 

236 
Surprise 

bunkers and trenches hedged by belts of barbed wire. In addition, each 

defensive position had an antitank gun and machine guns spaced at 

183-meter intervals. However, the defenses were incomplete and were 

manned by the French 55th and 71st Infantry Divisions, which were 

composed of elderly reservists. Nonetheless, Marfee heights, which 

overlooked Sedan, provided an excellent position for observation by 

French artillery observers, and the 55th had massed 140 guns in this 

sector. 

By 0800, after working all night, all German elements were in their 

assault positions in the wood lines along the river. Forward of these 

positions, they faced several hundred meters of ground open to enemy 

observation and fire. At 1000, the Luftwaffe commenced a five-hour 

bombardment of enemy artillery, defensive positions, and assembly 

areas, At 1500, as the Luftwaffe bombing effort reached its culmination, 

the German artillery joined in for a massive combined, concentrated 

preparation. At the same time, infantry and engineers in the initial 

assault elements used this opportunity to cover their advance to the 

river’s edge. 

At 1600, the 1st Panzer Division advanced slowly but gradually 

increased its momentum. By dark, Lieutenant Colonel Hermann Balck’s 

1st Infantry Regiment had gained a foothold across the river. By 1730, 

the lead elements of the 2d and 3d Battalions had reached the 

Donchery-Sedan rail line one and one-half miles southwest of the 

crossing site. By 1800, Guderian crossed the river and joined the 1st 

Infantry Regiment in the advance. Meanwhile, Balck attacked the defensive line south of the Sedan-Bellevere road. By 2030, he had breached 

the line and opened a gap in the French line between Frenois and 

Wadelincourt. Balck realized the surprise he had achieved, understood 

his commander’s intent, and kept pressing the attack in order to carry 

the bridgehead as far forward as possible. At this point, French resistance was still minimal. A bridgehead three miles wide and six miles 

deep was established by dawn, and the first tanks were ferried across. 

The 2d and 10th Panzer Divisions of the XIX Corps fared worse 

than the 1st Panzer Division, even with their superior firepower. Due 

to extremely effective defensive fires, the 10th managed to establish 

only a small foothold by 1930-at a tremendous cost in lives and 

materiel. The 2d Panzer Division suffered an even worse fate than the 

10th. The 2d assaulted across open terrain under devastatingly accurate 

artillery fires and faced tank-to-bunker firefights. At 2100, Guderian 

redirected its crossing efforts. 

Guderian’s XIX Panzer Corps managed to establish the critical 

bridgeheads south of Sedan and at Gaullier. Without these significant 

237 
Combined Arms in BattEe Since 1939 

bridgeheads across the Meuse, the corps would not have been able to 

maintain its center of gravity. 

By midnight, the XIX Panzer Corps had established a salient six 

kilometers deep and five kilometers wide. Guderian, now concerned 

about a French counterattack, used the remainder of the night to 

strengthen his positions. He directed the infantry to dig in and all 

available panzer and antitank units to continue to move forward. On 

14 May, he intended to widen and protect the bridgehead, exploit his 

success, secure crossing sites along the Ardennes Canal, and conduct 

a breakout toward Rethel. 

The actions of 14 May proved to be highly significant in terms of 

the campaign, as the XIX Panzer Corps continued to enlarge its 

bridgehead south toward Stonne and the Ardennes Canal. Throughout 

the day, the French tried unsuccessfully to cut Guderian’s lifeline by 

attacking the bridgehead, both sides attacking and counterattacking 

throughout the day. Guderian, staunchly sustained by his vision of 

how the attack should unfold and the campaign’s objectives, continued 

to push armor and artillery over the Gaullier bridge site-some 300 

armored vehicles and a 105-mm battalion. Also during the night, the 

2d Panzer Division managed to advance a panzer regiment with 

infantry across. To keep the bridge operable, corps engineers endured 

continual air attacks. 

The 1st Panzer Division absorbed the brunt of the French counterattacks. In these engagements, the tactical competence and leadership 

of the well-trained Germans proved to be critical. The Germans’ capability to communicate and maneuver quicker than the slower-reacting 

French allowed them to engage French armor with flank shots-in 

microcosm, an analogy of the entire campaign in France. By 2400, the 

XIX Panzer Corps had fought off five and one-half French divisions 

and secured a great tactical victory-but at the operational level, it 

would be for naught if Guderian did not continue to exploit the advantage that surprise had given him and maintain the momentum and 

initiative he held. 

Again, Guderian’s superiors expressed concern for the security of 

his rapidly moving corps and feared that it was overextended. Guderian, 

however, opposed stopping and wanted the uncommitted divisions so 

he could continue the deep attack. By striking immediately and continuously, he could disrupt any Allied countermoves, and the speed of 

his advance would ensure XIX Corps’ security. Late that night, Kleist 

withdrew the order to stop Guderian and allowed him to continue the 

advance. As it turned out, OKH’s intelligence assessment reported no 

significant repositioning by the French reserves that would indicate a 

counteroffensive. 

238 
Surprise 

On 15 May, the XIX Panzer Corps’ breakthrough continued to 

develop successfully, literally splitting two French armies at their 

weakest points and setting the stage for the pursuit of forces to the 

English Channel. As a result of this success, the bridgehead was 

expanded to a depth of twenty-five kilometers by fifty kilometers, and 

French resistance in the sector dispersed. By nightfall, however, the 

operation was again halted because OKH feared that the XIX Panzer 

Corps’ deep penetration would be cut off by a French counterattack. 

Once again, Guderian pleaded to continue so he could take advantage 

of the surprise he had gained. Guderian believed that he should advance 

as long as he had the freedom to maneuver. If the XIX Panzer Corps 

slowed down or halted operations, the French would have the critical 

time they needed to react effectively. With Kleist’s support, the OKH 

rescinded the order, and Guderian spurred his weary troops on and 

effected a linkup between his 1st Panzer Division and the 6th Panzer 

Division from Reinhardt’s XL1 Panzer Corps at Montcornet. By establishing this two-corps front, Guderian set the stage for the pursuit phase 

of the operation. 

As the XIX Panzer Corps’ soldiers surveyed the open horizon on 

the morning of 16 May, they realized their achievement. The XIX Corps 

accomplished in six days what the German Army in World War I had 

only attempted. As Guderian wrote, “We are in the open now, the men 

are wide awake and aware that they have achieved a complete 

victory. . . .” 

Bibliography 

Doughty, Robert A. The Breaking Point: Sedan and the Fall of France, 

1940. Hamden, CT: Archon Books, The Shoe String Press, Inc., 1990. 

Guderian, Heinz. Panzer Leader. Washington, DC: Zenger Publishing 

co., 1979. 

Horne, Alistair. To Lose a Battle: France, 1940. Boston, MA: Little, 

Brown and Co., 1969. 

Manstein, Erich von. Lost Victories. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1982. 

Rothbrust, Florian K. Guderian’s XIXth Panzer Corps and the Battle 

of France: Breakthrough in the Ardennes, May 1940. New York: 

Praeger, 1990. 
30 

Teamwork 

Seizing the Critical Bridges at Benouville 

Major(P) Neil V. Lamont 

On 6 June 1954, the tenth anniversary of D-day, the bridge over 

the Caen Canal between the villages of Benouville and Ranville in 

northwestern France was named Pegasus. This name was inspired by 

the British 6th Airborne Division’s conduct of a critical operation at 

the bridge site and by the Gth’s shoulder patch, which features Bellerophon riding winged Pegasus. This 1944 World War II operation 

provides an excellent example of teamwork in which British Army, 

Navy, and Air Force units cooperated to complete an almost impossible 

task. 

By the spring of 1944, the Allies had marshaled 2.5 million men 

in preparation for an invasion of the Continent. When and where they 

would attack was uncertain. Since intelligence reports indicated that 

Hitler intended to push the Allies into the sea, Eisenhower was concerned about his troops’ vulnerability once they hit the Normandy 

beaches: at the outset, they would be outnumbered as much as ten to 

one. To ensure the success of the invasion, Eisenhower-under strong 

protest from General George C. Marshall, U.S. Army chief of staffproposed to drop airborne troops in front of and on the flanks of the 

invading forces to seize bridges and road junctions. As an integral 

part of the plan, the British 6th Airborne Division was to drop behind 

the lines at Sword Beach east of the British landing site. This blocking 

force was to prevent German panzers from attacking the left flank of 

the landing force. 

The commander of the 6th Division, General Richard (“Windy”) 

Gale, chose to drop his division east of the Orne River, five to seven 

miles inland (see map 23). His main body would seize and hold the 

bridges over the Caen Canal and Orne River so tanks, trucks, and 

other critical equipment could be moved forward. Gale’s success in 

holding these vital bridges would be crucial to the success of Operation 

Overlord. 

Since the Germans realized the importance of the bridges across 

the Orne, the garrison commander at the bridges had begun wiring 

them for demolition. But charges had not been placed. Because his 

241 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

(Calleci Pegasus 

Bridge in 1954) 

Map 23. The area of the British 6th Airborne Division’s assault on D-day 

units were twelve miles inland, he believed he would have plenty of 

time to place the charges after the initial invasion warning. Allied 

reconnaissance also revealed other preparations for countering an 

invasion. Among these was the placement of antiglider poles (called 

Rommel’s Asparagus by the Allies) to discourage the Allies from 

inserting troops in gliders. 

D Company, 5th Para Brigade, 6th Airborne Division, was to take 

the bridge over the canal. The commander of D Company, Major John 

242 
Teamwork 

Howard, a 31-year-old former sergeant major, had been with this unit 

for two years and thought of it as his second family. Howard’s operations orders, dated 2 May 1944 and signed by Brigadier Nigel Poett, 

the commander of the 5th Para Brigade read: 

, . . your task is to seize intact the bridges over the River Orne and 

canal at Benouville and Ranville, and to hold them until relief. . , . The 

capture of these bridges will be a coup de main operation depending 

largely on surprise, speed and dash for success. Provided the bulk of 

your force lands safely, you should have little difficulty in overcoming 

the known opposition on the bridges. Your difficulties will arise in 

holding off an enemy counterattack on the bridges, until you are 

relieved. 

The remainder of the 6th Airborne Division, which landed between 

the Orne and the Dives Rivers, was to relieve Howard’s company within 

two hours of his touchdown. Sometime around 0015 on 6 June 1944, 

the first of Howard’s gliders landed on the target. Within twenty-four 

hours, Howard’s operation was a success, due largely to the preparation 

and teamwork of the units involved. 

D Company, like other British airborne units, was composed of 

highly motivated volunteers. Derived from a variety of backgrounds, 

they had one thing in common -a reputation for being committed to 

“duty first.” The soldiers in D Company regarded Howard as a stern 

disciplinarian but a caring leader who trained them hard so they would 

be prepared for any challenge. Howard’s superiors also showed great 

confidence in him and his ability to instill a sense of cohesion and 

teamwork in his men. 

By July 1942, Howard, left on his own, developed training for his 

company that included basic light infantry training and marksmanship. 

He also required his airborne and gliderborne troops to be familiar 

with a variety of weapons, to include Enfield .303 rifles, Sten carbines, 

Bren light machine guns, 2- and 3-inch mortars, and Piat antitank 

guns. Additionally, the troops became proficient in using Gammon 

bombs-plastic explosives that disabled tanks. To provide realistic 

training, Howard used live ammunition. 

Howard also taught his men first aid, cooking, sanitation, and how 

to use German weapons. In addition, he ensured that his men were 

proficient in gas warfare, camouflage (both natural and artificial), and 

map reading. Howard continuously stressed that D Company, an elite 

force, should react quickly. What set Howard’s unit apart from other 

companies in the regiment was his demand for physical fitness. His 

men ran five miles cross-country before breakfast, conducted a full day 

of training exercises, and, in the evening, participated in sports. 

Additionally, twice a month, the company held two- or three-day field 

training exercises. 

243 

i 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

The officers of D Company trained with the soldiers, which 

strengthened the bonds of respect, camaraderie, and teamwork within 

the unit. But in spite of Howard’s efforts and good training, boredom 

was a continuous challenge, as troops tired of the same routine. Because 

morale was getting low, Howard convinced his colonel to allow him to 

implement more flexibile, realistic training. 

In the spring of 1943, about the same time that regimental commanders had increased emphasis on training, information was leaked 

that the 6th Airborne Division was to fight in France. Meanwhile, 

Gale’s planners decided that it was imperative to protect the left flank 

of the seaborne invasion to be conducted by the British 3d Infantry 

Division at Sword Beach, a vulnerable piece of terrain since the bulk 

of the German armored forces in the west was in this area. The planners knew that if Rommel committed his armor against Allied forces 

here and was allowed to cross the Dives and Orne Rivers, he could 

defeat the entire invasion force. 

Gale was convinced that he must protect the left flank at Sword 

Beach by sending his paratroopers in to blow up the bridges over the 

Dives River and seize the bridges around Ranville and Benouville intact. 

Without these bridges, his entire airborne division would be trapped in 

enemy territory with its back to the English Channel. Gale also knew 

that the Germans had prepared the bridges for demolition He therefore 

decided to insert his paratroopers in gliders at night. Although landing 

the gliders at night would be difficult, holding the bridges against a 

German counterattack would pose the main problem. 

To prepare for its upcoming mission, D Company began flight 

training in Waco gliders. Howard’s men practiced exiting the gliders 

quickly so as not to be trapped in them on landing. The flight training 

was tough, and the men suffered continuously from air sickness. 

Howard kept his men from becoming bored by physically exhausting 

them. He convinced his men that this rigorous training would condition them to make quick combat decisions, even while exhausted. 

Because the paratroopers would usually be fighting in darkness, Howard 

emphasized night training. 

In early April, Gale briefed the plan to all subordinate commanders, 

and a three-day exercise was planned to test it. D Company performed 

superbly, justifying its intense training. After D Company’s creditable 

performance, the regimental commander shared the secret invasion plan 

with Howard. D Company would be the spearhead for the division in 

this operation, a reward for all its hard work and training. The regimental commander also informed the proud Howard that his unit would 

be involved in a further training exercise. At the same time, Howard 

was given two extra platoons to support his company and thirty addi244 
Teamwork 

tional sappers from the Royal Engineers (who were also paratroopers). 

This new exercise, code-named Mush, was brilliantly planned and 

executed. Even though the units experienced problems, all commanders 

believed the coup de main would work, provided the new Horsa gliders 

landed in the right place. To prepare for the mission, the Glider Pilot 

Regiment worked day and night. During Operation Skylark, a demonstration conducted for Gale, pilots landed the Horsas on a small triangle from an altitude of 6,000 feet. To strengthen team spirit, the 

pilots whose airplanes would pull the Horsas were introduced to their 

glider crews-something that had never been done before. To further 

enhance camaraderie, the glider pilots were assigned the same tug crews 

for each training flight. In addition, the living quarters of glider and 

tug crews were placed near each other so the men would become better 

acquainted. Training flights were made intentionally difficult. Nonetheless, by early May, the crews were flying by moonlight and casting 

off seven miles from the target at 6,000 feet and landing their gliders 

close to their objectives. They landed in all types of weather, made 

difficult flying and landing maneuvers, and perfected their timing. By 

the end of their forty-third training flight (more than half of which 

had been conducted at night), all crews were well prepared. 

On 2 May, Howard received excellent information on the operational 

area emanating from British intelligence, Royal Air Force reconnaissance, local resistance people, and French collaborators. He received 

the most up-to-date intelligence available, passed on to him in the most 

hospitable and professional manner. British intelligence personnel, for 

example, built him a twelve-foot-square model of the operations area 

that had every building, bush, tree, fence, or ditch represented, and 

they updated it daily to ensure accuracy. Gale, who probably sensed 

Howardrs misgivings in seizing a bridge wired for demolition, reassured 

him that missions can succeed despite the overwhelming odds against 

them. 

Howard was to seize the bridges quickly and then move swiftly to 

establish defensive positions while awaiting relief. To maintain the 

secrecy of the operation, Howard was to conduct his training without 

revealing the details of the operation. To do this, he laid out a simulation of the real battlefield on a large plain, depicting with tape a river 

and a canal with two bridges over them at the exact distances of the 

real targets. His platoons repeatedly practiced capturing the simulated 

bridges, sometimes only one platoon participating and at other times 

all six. By having the gliders land between the bridges, rather than 

outside them, Howard minimized the distance his troops would have 

to travel on foot to attack the target and maximized mutual support 

245 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

between platoons. During this training, Howard’s men practiced every 

possible scenario to better prepare them for the operation. 

Poett, the 5th Para Brigade commander, told Howard in early May 

that anything he required to support his training was available. Howard 

took him at his word and requested a unit to act as “German opposition” as D Company simulated an attack on the bridges. This “German” 

unit would wear German uniforms, carry German weapons, use German 

tactics, and even speak German. But in spite of this intense, realistic 

training, the men still became bored. Finally, around the end of May, 

Howard called his men together and said: 

Look, we are training for a special purpose. .. . You’ll find that a lot 

of the training we are, doing, this capturing of things like bridges, is 

connected with that special purpose. If any of you mention the word 

“bridges” outside our training hours and I get to know about it, you’ll 

be for the high jump and your feet won’t touch before you land in the 

Glasshouse and get RTU [returned to unit]. 

After consulting with his other officers and drawing on lessons 

learned from the intense training, Howard finalized his operations plan, 

He decided that the key to the operation’s success was the quick 

destruction of the German pillbox near the bridge. Howard wanted to 

destroy the pillbox, while at the same time getting a platoon across 

the bridge. The pillbox, in addition to being a center of firepower, also 

contained the detonator that would blow up the bridge. Howard ordered 

three men from the number one glider to take out the pillbox and the 

remainder of the platoon to cross the canal bridge to take possession 

of the far bank. 

The men from the number two glider were to clear the inner 

defenses, trenches, machine-gun nests, and antitank gun pits along the 

eastern bank of the canal. Members from the number three glider were 

to reinforce the men from the number one glider on the far side of the 

bridge. Gliders four, five, and six had identical missions to the first 

three, but their objective was the river bridge. Each glider had five 

sappers, and they would move to the bridges immediately, then inch 

their way, hand over hand, across the beams underlying the bridge, 

cutting fuses and disposing of explosives as they went. As the operation 

proceeded, Howard intended to take two platoons from the river bridge 

and use them as fighting patrols or as a reserve force to protect against 

a German counterattack until the Allied reinforcements arrived. 

Howard’s superiors approved his plan, and his troops continued to 

practice their missions until D-day. To provide further realistic training, 

a British movie company and the Air Ministry produced a film from 

thousands of photographs that depicted what the pilots would actually 

see as they passed over the area of operations. 

246 
Teamwork 

Finally, D-day arrived. The operation generally went just as 

planned. Air Vice Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, commander of the 

Allied air forces on D-day, described the operation as the “greatest 

feat of flying of World War II.” Surprise was achieved as the number 

one glider crash-landed precisely on target in the wire at the base of 

the canal bridge. Although the men were temporarily knocked out from 

the impact of the crash, they soon regained consciousness, exited the 

glider, and continued their missions. The second glider came in, also 

on target, just a few feet from the first glider. The platoon gathered at 

its preassigned assembly point and moved forward to complete its 

assigned tasks. Number three glider’s landing was less smooth, with 

the crash trapping six men in the glider and throwing one man into a 

nearby pond, where he drowned. Nevertheless, the remaining troops 

carried on with their mission. At about 0020, the first of the paratroopers landed and, although disoriented, began to link up with 

Howard and his men. By 0026, both bridges had been captured, and 

the mission shifted from the offense to defense. 

D Company’s success in the operation was the result of teamwork 

instilled by rigorous and continuous training. The close cooperation of 

the men in Howard’s company led to an outstanding operational 

achievement. The countless hours Howard’s men spent in preparing 

for the operation culminated in a splendidly executed operation. While 

a number of factors contributed to D Company’s success-surprise, a 

brilliant plan, and insightful leadership-in the end, the exemplary 

teamwork of a dedicated group of soldiers and airmen accomplished a 

mission many might have doubted was attainable. 

Bibliography 

Ambrose, Stephen E. Pegasus Bridge, 6 June 1944. London: Allen & 

Unwin, 1984. 

Crookenden, Napier. Dropzone Normandy: The Story of the American 

and British Airborne Assault on D-Day 1944. New York: Scribner, 

1976.‘ 

Gregory, Barry. British Airborne Troops, 1940-45. New York: 

Doubleday, 1974. 

Howarth, David. D-Day: The Sixth of June, 1944. New York: McGrawHill, 1959. 

Ryan, Cornelius. The Longest Day: June 6, 1944. New York: Simon 

and Schuster, 1959. 

247 
31 

Tenacity 

The 43d Infantry Division’s Determined Attack on the 

Ipo Dam, 1945 

Major George J. Mordica II 

Dogged determination, courage, and persistence by men on the 

battlefield can create the tenacity that leads to victory. In the battle 

at Ipo Dam in the Luzon campaign in the Philippines during World 

War II, U.S. soldiers exhibited a tenaciousness that led to a crushing 

Japanese defeat. The adversity the 43d Infantry Division faced in 

carrying out its mission at the dam could have easily brought about 

failure. Yet due to decisive leadership and innovation at every level of 

command-and, yes, tenacity-the 43d succeeded. Its actions resulted 

in the destruction of a potent defensive force and the seizure and 

safeguard of a major water supply for metropolitan Manila. 

The situation confronting the U.S. Sixth Army after its capture of 

Manila on 28 February 1945 was threatening. While the Sixth Army’s 

mission after the fall of Manila was to clear southern Luzon of all 

Japanese forces, a more immediate menace faced it in the vicinity of 

Manila itself. The Japanese forces near the city, while small in comparison to the continuing buildup of U.S. forces, still threatened the 

city proper with possible attack. In addition, the Japanese were 

determined to hold the key terrain and supply routes in the Manila 

vicinity and to control the irrigation and water systems necessary to 

the city’s survival. 

In response to this threat, the U.S. XI Corps joined the XIV Corps 

in the Marikina valley area in an effort to destroy all enemy forces 

endangering the city. Unfortunately, poor intelligence led the Sixth 

Army headquarters to believe that the Wawa Dam on the Marikina 

River, fifteen miles northeast of Manila, was an integral part of the 

city’s metropolitan water supply and thus in peril. In reality, the 

Wawa Dam had been abandoned as Manila’s water source when the 

Ipo Dam and Novaliches Reservoir were completed in 1938. In 1945, 

water from the Wawa Dam was used only to irrigate the Marikina 

valley. 

The Ipo Dam, located twenty-five miles northeast of Manila on the 

249 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Angat River, was held by the Japanese. Unfortunately, it provided onethird of the capital city”s water supply. The Japanese also controlled 

aqueducts that fed the Novaliches Reservoir ten miles northeast of 

Manila, the city’s most immediate source of water and one which supplied half the city’s needs. 

U.S. forces would face a number of difficulties in their advance to 

seize the Ipo Dam. The area around the dam is extremely rugged and 

hard to traverse. Moreover, the dominant feature north of the dam is 

the Angat River gorge, a formidable barrier that is impassable to large 

numbers of troops and can only be crossed at certain fords. South of 

the dam, the area is also rough, blanketed by hills and deep valleys 

and covered with heavy undergrowth. Roads are nonexistent. West of 

the dam is the Palisades, a steep-sided plateau that dominates the only 

all-weather road in the area. Metropolitan Road runs north and south 

between Norzagaray and Novaliches, with a junction at Bigti, where 

Route 52 then proceeds east four miles to the dam (see map 24). The 

area on both sides of this route consists of gradually rising hills with 

little cover or concealment on top and heavy undergrowth and woods 

in the ravines. East of Metropolitan Road is the Santa Maria River, 

which issues from the Osboy and Fork ridges. The area is unsuitable 

for tanks, and the existing roads and trails require constant maintenance. All trails and roads are impassable during rainy periods, with 

the possible exception of some parts of Metropolitan Road. 

General Walter Krueger, the Sixth Army commander, gave the XIV 

Corps the mission to take the Ipo and Wawa Dams. The corps commander, Lieutenant General Oscar W. Griswold, ordered the 6th 

Infantry Division (which was already badly depIeted in strength from 

the Luzon campaign) and the understrength 1st Cavalry Division to 

secure the Wawa Dam on the Bihol peninsula. His plan called for the 

6th Division, on 20 February, to lead the attack against the two dams, 

with the U.S. line of departure on the west bank of the Marikina River. 

Both understrength divisions would attack with practically no initial 

reserve (a small reserve would eventually be formed from units still 

landing in Luzon). The 43d Division, which just landed on 9 January 

1945, would be the 1st Cavalry Division’s reserve. 

Supporting the XIV Corps was the XI Corps, which had initiated 

operations to destroy the Kobayashi Force. Meanwhile, XIV Corps’ 

operations bogged down before stubborn Japanese resistance. The 

campaign to seize the Wawa Dam became a bitter two-month struggle 

and a sideshow to the battle for Ipo Dam. In the struggle for the 

Wawa Dam, operations in May alone cost the 38th Division, including 

an attached infantry regiment of the 37th Division, over 750 casualties. 

In mid-April, Manila’s acute water shortage changed the complexion of operations. To ensure adequate water supplies, General 

250 
Map 24. The attack on Ipo Dam 

Tenacity 

Douglas MacArthur ordered a drive on the Ipo Dam, deemphasizing 

the Wawa Dam operations. Krueger, on receipt of a radio message from 

MacArthur, ordered XI Corps to drive on the Ipo Dam as soon as 

251 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

possible. In early May, Lieutenant General Charles P. Hall, the XI 

Corps commander, ordered the 43d to redeploy north to seize the Ipo 

Dam intact and destroy the Shimbu Group that was defending the 

dam. 

Meanwhile, the 112th and 169th Infantry regiments, now part of 

the 6th Division, pushed to the foot of the Palisades and attempted to 

dislodge the enemy. Because of heavy American casualties in the 

operation, U.S. commanders determined a much larger force would be 

required to take the dam. U.S. intelligence had estimated the Shimbu 

Group at 20,000 troops, but the force proved to be much larger. 

The key players in the 43d Division’s attack on the dam were 

Major General Leonard F. Wing, the 43d’s commander; Brigadier 

General Alexander N. Stark, the assistant deputy commander; and 

Colonel Marcus V. Augustin, commander of the Marking’s Fil-American 

Yay Regiment (the Marking Regiment). The 38th Division would assist 

the 43d by attacking on the right. Participating in the attack were the 

43d’s organic infantry regiments, the 103d, 172d, and 169th, and the 

Marking Regiment. Additional support came from the 754th Tank 

Battalion (less two companies), a chemical mortar company, a large 

contingent of antiaircraft units, two additional 155-mm artillery battalions, and a battery of &inch howitzers, A reconnaissance in force 

south of Metropolitan Road indicated that the Kawashima Force’s 

defenses were weaker here, so Wing chose this location for his main 

effort. 

On 7 October 1944, General Tomoyuki Yamashita assumed responsibility for the Japanese defense of the Philippines. He had last 

commanded a replacement and training army with headquarters in Bo 

Tanke, Manchuria. On assuming command in the Philippines, he was 

given only two days with the outgoing commander and, in fact, was 

not aware of the reasons for General Shigenovi Kuroda’s relief. The 

restrictions placed on Yamashita’s command were discouraging. He 

was to command all ground forces, including air and naval service 

troops in Leyte and Luzon. But he was not given control of the naval 

fleets, which were to be directed by Tokyo, or the air forces, which 

were controlled by Field Marshal Count Hisaichi Terauchi, a superior, 

in Saigon. Unable to coordinate Japanese sea and air forces with his 

ground forces, Yamashita was hampered in options and resources to 

the very end. 

Yamashita’s other problems stemmed from his earlier attempts to 

defend against U.S. landings at Leyte. Since the Japanese had lost 

tremendous casualties at Leyte (where they had massed their forces), 

Yamashita lacked the fully manned defense he needed to hold out 

against renewed U.S. attacks elsewhere. As a result, he planned to 

252 
Tenacity 

defend three key areas in Luzon until reinforcements could arrive from 

other parts of the Japanese Empire. He elected to defend west of Clark 

Field, which he hoped would prevent the use of the harbor; east of 

Manila, to cut off supplies; and in the north, where he hoped to block 

U.S. access through the mountain passes into Luzon’s breadbasket, 

the Cagayan valley. Yamashita did not expect to hold out forever. He 

was fully aware of his limited air support and fuel supplies and the 

hostility of the Filipino people. He needed outside reinforcements. 

The Shimbu Group defending the Ipo Dam was composed of 30,000 

veterans situated in excellent defensive positions: elaborate caves, dugin gun positions, and an extensive network of trenches. Lieutenant 

General Shizuo Yokoyama, the Shimbu Group commander, had 

organized his defenses well. He assigned 9,000 men of the Kawashima 

Force to defend the Ipo Dam along a main defensive line anchored in 

the center at Bigti. Here, a regiment manned a natural fortress created 

by the Palisades. South of Bigti, the 12,000-man Kobayashi Force 

defended the area midway between the Wawa Dam and Antipolo. 

Farther south was the 9,000-man Noguchi Force, defending the 

boundary of the Kobayashi Force to Luguna de Bay. Also in the south 

was the Kogure Detachment, a 2,250-man suicide boat detachment that 

was to prevent amphibious assaults on the Shimbu Group’s rear 

through Luguna de Bay. The key to Yokoyama’s planned defense was 

a 5,000-man reserve force that was to shore up defenses where needed. 

Prior to XI Corps’ advance on the Wawa Dam, Yokoyama had 

augmented his reserve force with three artillery battalions of 2,750 

men, plus other service units, moving them into the Bosoboso valley 

behind the Kobayachi Force, where he anticipated the Americans would 

strike. While correct in his assumption, his guess may have led him to 

commit his reserves too early in the rugged and compartmented terrain. 

The Japanese defensive scheme for the Ipo Dam called for the control of all approaches to the dam. The defense was well organized, 

with considerable depth west to east, but it lacked good north to south 

lines of communication, supply, and, more important, routes for reinforcements. The defense forces contained a mixture of combat service 

and combat service support troops built around a nucleus of the 8th 

and 105th Infantry Divisions. The logical approach to the dam was 

Route 52, a two-lane gravel road that ran the four miles from Metropolitan Road up to the dam. Because the terrain elsewhere was too 

rugged to sustain traffic, the Kawashima Force had thoroughly fortified 

the area around Route 52. 

Wing’s battle plan was simple in concept and provided for the 

fixing of the Japanese forces along their main defense line and the 

envelopment of that line from the south. Wing believed that the 

253 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Palisades would be difficult to take by direct assault. Thus, the scheme 

of maneuver called for the 169th Infantry, already in front of the 

Palisades, to continue pressure there. Meanwhile, the Marking Regiment and elements of the 169th were to feign an attack on the enemy’s 

right. Then, under cover of darkness, the 103d Infantry would move 

into position and attack from the south as the main effort. The 172d 

Infantry would support the attack, which would be preceded by large 

artillery concentrations. 

By 5 May 1945, all the 43d’s combat elements had moved into 

their attack position undetected by the Japanese: the deception had 

worked. On 6 May 1945, at 2200 under a moonlit night, the attack 

began. The Japanese were taken by surprise, and the results by daybreak were promising. The 103d had swiftly gained 5,000 yards. 

Meanwhile, the 169th engaged the fortress at Bigti from the north and 

south in company-size patrols. But the 172d, in support of the 103d, 

struggled over rough ground to maintain contact, which tended to 

canalize that regiment along the Kay Ban Ban Valley. Thus, a decision 

was reached to spread out the battalions as the regiment continued. 

By 7 May, the 103d had seized a dominant ridge in its zone of 

attack and was defending against piecemeal enemy counterattacks 

ordered by the local Japanese commander. At the same time, the 118th 

Engineer Battalion was breaking trails and bridging gorges behind the 

infantry in each attack zone and doggedly maintaining lines of communication-so desperately needed to resupply the attacking U.S. 

forces. The division artillery, strongly reinforced for this operation, 

continued to provide the advancing troops excellent fire support against 

the numerous enemy counterattacks. In the north, the Marking Regiment ran into heavy resistance but was able to seize a number of 

dominant hills. 

From 8 to 10 May, the 103d and 172d continued to advance steadily 

on their objectives. The 172d captured strong enemy positions at Hill 

805 and Tacbihan Mountain. The Japanese continued counterattacking 

against the 103d’s hastily prepared positions, but they were stubbornly 

repulsed. The 169th aggressively continued its actions, and the 

Japanese began concentrating available reserves to the center at Bigti, 

as the U.S. commanders hoped they would. 

While U.S. artillery was effective in concentrating its fire in front 

of the advancing troops, it was initially ineffective in its counterbattery 

role, due primarily to the Japanese trench and cave system. The 

Japanese had also concentrated antiaircraft fire on U.S. artillery 

spotter planes, preventing them from locating Japanese artillery 

positions. To stem the loss in spotter planes, U.S. dive-bombers shifted 

their priorities to Japanese antiaircraft positions. This increased 

254 

_--- 
Tenacity 

activity allowed U.S. spotter planes the freedom to pinpoint the 

Japanese artillery. Once this system was perfected, the division and 

corps artillery concentrations achieved great success. The Fifth Air 

Force flew over 100 close air support missions a day to support the 

43d Division. 

On 11 May, the enemy defense stiffened. The U.S. 3d Battalion, 

172d Infantry, suffered heavy casualties attempting to seize hills on 

Fork ridge and was forced grudgingly to withdraw. In addition, the 

Japanese repulsed the Marking Regiment three times from Four-Corner 

Hill. In all other sectors, U.S. gains were limited to 200 yards, 

signaling that the 43d Division had hit the main Japanese line. 

To attract more enemy attention and weaken Japanese defenses 

elsewhere, the 169th on 12 May was ordered to increase the tempo of 

its attacks on the Palisades. Heavy action intensified as the 169th 

attacked and seized San Mateo and temporarily penetrated the &boy 

ridge. Throughout the fierce fighting, the Japanese continued to shore 

up their center. Meanwhile, the 1st Battalion, 103d Infantry, captured 

Hill 815. The division commander now felt his plan was beginning to 

crack the enemy defense and committed his reserve, sending the 2d 

Battalion, 103d, to sweep east across the Ipo River to cut Japanese 

communications and their troops’ escape route to the south. After five 

hours of fighting, the Marking Regiment finally took Four-Corner Hill. 

On 13 May, the rain fell in sheets, hampering all operations-but 

not before the 1st Battalion, 103d, gained a foothold on the southern 

shoulder of Hill 860 and the 2d Battalion took a vantage point 1,000 

yards from the dam (where it reported the structure still intact). The 

Marking Regiment also seized the eastern part of Hill 803, which 

dominated the dam in the north. 

Yamashita’s communications with his Shimbu Group commander 

were completely cut off by 14 May. The bad terrain, poor weather, 

lack of fuel, and constant US. pressure from ground and air attacks 

had effectively sealed off Yokoyama. The Japanese communications 

network was completely disrupted at all levels, and only intermittent 

communications were possible. Local Japanese commanders, in 

desperation and without guidance, began to commit company-size 

banzai attacks in response to U.S. threats. 

On 14 and 15 May, the Japanese artillery continuously pounded 

all U.S. forward positions and lifted the barrage only long enough for 

Japanese troops to mount banzai charges, usually at night. The 103d 

Infantry stubbornly held against three such attacks. The Marking 

Regiment resisted two banzai attacks but was dislodged by a third 

one. 

Wing believed this increased enemy pressure to the north and south 

255 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

indicated the Japanese were worried about their flanks and may have 

weakened their center to mount such attacks. Wing altered his original 

plan accordingly and directed all elements to attack the Japanese at 

1030 on 17 May. 

The new plan called for the double envelopment of the Ipo Dam 

by the 103d in the south (according to the original plan) and added a 

northern envelopment by the Marking Regiment. Wing planned for the 

3d Battalion, 169th Infantry, to attack the Palisades and the 172d, 

with the 1st Battalion, 169th, to cut off and destroy the enemy forces 

on Osboy and Fork ridges. Intense close air support would aid the 

attacks at the Palisades and Osboy ridge. 

The first air assault would begin on 16 May; the second, on the 

17th, would screen U.S. attackers. On the 16th, 185 fighter-bombers 

struck the Palisades and the Osboy ridge with 50,470 gallons of 

napalm. The next day, 220 planes dropped 62,660 gallons. As planned, 

the attacks shocked the enemy, allowing tanks and engineers to clear 

Route 52. The 169th then stormed the Palisades using bamboo ladders. 

The accompanying close air support completely destroyed and 

demoralized the remaining Japanese defenders. 

Simultaneously, all 43d Division units seized their objectives. The 

Marking Regiment captured the northern part of the dam first, while 

the 103d took the southern end. This capture happened so quickly that 

the Ipo Dam was taken intact. US. troops quickly isolated the detonation charges set to blow up the dam and stopped all attempts to 

damage the facility. While the Japanese had placed charges below the 

dam gates, they had underestimated the speed, ferocity, and direction 

of the U.S. attack. 

The few Japanese that escaped the Ipo Dam scrambled into the 

thick undergrowth, escaping to the Dingalan Bay area. The battle had 

cost the Japanese 4,062 killed and 368 captured. US. losses included 

172 killed, 708 wounded, with 4 missing in action. Mopping-up operations began on 18 May, and by 19 May, all resistance had ceased. 

Even though the terrain on this battlefield was the worst in Luzon, 

U.S. forces had tailored their attack to exploit terrain, weather, and 

the array of forces available to them. While maintaining control of his 

forces, Wing had remained flexible enough in executing his plans to 

adapt to changing battlefield conditions. 

The Japanese, on the other hand, became isolated in the defense 

and unable to react to new threats. The communications problems and 

the restrictive terrain prevented them from shifting their forces in the 

defense when necessary. In addition, because of their command structure, they were unable to coordinate their naval, air, and ground forces. 

When the Japanese commander lost control of his ground forces, the 

256 
Tenacity 

battle was over. The piecemeal attacks ordered by Yamashita’s isolated 

subordinate commanders against the U.S. forces were desperation 

measures and no substitute for coordinated counterattacks. 

The 43d Infantry Division’s actions at the Ipo Dam exemplify 

tactics applied and executed beyond what might be expected. In fourteen days, from 6 May to 19 May 1945, the 43d Division accomplished 

what the 38th Infantry Division and the better part of a U.S. corps 

could not do in two months against the Wawa Dam under similar 

circumstances. The persistence and perseverance of the 43d allowed it 

to take the Ipo Dam intact in the face of banzai attacks and withering 

fire. Coordinated attacks and tenacity led to an impressive U.S. victory. 

Bibliography 

Craven, Wesley Frank, and James Lea Cate, eds. The Army Air Forces 

in World War II. Vol. 5. The Pacific: Matterhorn to Nagasaki, June 

1944 to August 1945. Washington, DC: USAF Historical Division, 

United States Air Force, 1953. 

Falk, Stanley Lawrence. Liberation of the PhiZippines. Ballentine’s 

Illustrated History of World War II. New York: Ballantine Books, 

1971. 

Krueger, Walter. From Down Under to Nippon: The Story of Sixth 

Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Combat Forces Press, 

1953. 

Smith, Robert Ross. Triumph in the Philippines. United States Army 

in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military 

History, Department of the Army, 1963. 

Spector, Ronald H. Eagle Against the Sun: The American War with 

Japan. New York: Vintage Books, 1985. 

257 
32 

Terrain 

Operation Spark: Breaking Through the Blockade 

at Leningrad 

Dr. Robert F. Baumann 

The Soviet-German struggle on the Eastern Front during World War 

II featured intense combat under the most varied conditions of any 

theater of the war. In the fighting, both armies adapted to the extremes 

of terrain and climate. Among the striking examples of such adaptation 

was the Soviet operation to break through the blockade of Leningrad. 

Conducted from 12 through 18 January 1943, Operation Spark (or Lskra, 

as the Russians called it) provides an instructive case of the influence 

of terrain and climate on the conduct of battle, as well as the power 

of well-coordinated combined arms attacks against prepared defensive 

positions. 

In December 1942, the city of Leningrad had endured more than a 

year of encirclement by German and Finnish forces. Without a land 

link to the rest of the Soviet Union, the city had survived the winter 

by means of the “road of life” over icy Lake Ladoga. Still, the privations and loss of life suffered by the inhabitants had been staggering. 

On the eve of the Soviet breakout, the situation remained precarious. 

As long as German forces held the narrow band of terrain jutting east 

of the city and north to the southern shore of Lake Ladoga, the blockade remained effective. Earlier in the year, Soviet forces had failed to 

pinch off the salient and thus close the gap between Leningrad and 

the vital rail lines running to the south and east. The operations, 

however, significantly eroded German strength. Key factors in the Soviet 

failures had been their lack of skill in operating in forest-swamp terrain 

and inability to coordinate forces on both sides of the salient. 

The distinctive wooded-swamp terrain characteristic of this region 

of northern Russia influenced not only the conduct but the timing of 

military operations. An impediment to year-round movement, the 

wooded-swamp areas posed an extraordinary difficulty to vehicular 

movement during the annual April-May wet season. In some areas, 

movement depended entirely on hastily constructed corduroy roads. Only 

in the dead of winter, when solid ice formed, did the terrain minimally 

accommodate normal traffic. The middle of winter was a fortuitous 

259 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

time of attack for another reason as well. Only then was ice on the 

Neva River hard enough to sustain a rapid armor-supported crossing 

attack from the west. As evidence to this effect, the Germans decisively 

repelled a warm-weather crossing in force as recently as September 

1942. Still, winter conditions were not entirely advantageous. Low, thick 

clouds could comphcate orientation on the ground and hamper air 

support. In addition, bitter cold would take a cruel toll on men and 

machines. 

In reality, Operation Spark was both a breakout and break-in. The 

plan prescribed synchronized converging thrusts by the Soviet SixtySeventh Army from the west and the Second Shock Army from the 

east (see map 25). The Sixty-Seventh had to force a crossing of the 

Neva River and advance to meet elements of the Second Shock Army, 

which would be fighting through tough defenses and difficult terrain. 

The Schlusselburg-Siniavino salient, occupied by the German Eighteenth 

Army, ran about fifteen kilometers from north to south and varied in 

width from twelve to seventeen kilometers. The German Eighteenth 

Army consisted of five divisions and three independent regiments but 

lacked adequate reserves. The Germans had been in place for sixteen 

months and had established a strong system of defenses, taking full 

advantage of terrain and built-up areas. In repelling an attempted 

breakthrough from the east by Soviet forces in the spring of 1942, the 

Germans, responding to local penetrations, had enveloped breakthrough 

units and restored the defensive front behind them. Rather than 

launching costly assaults on Soviet pockets in forested areas, the 

Germans pounded them into submission with artillery. 

A crucial role in the eastern or Volkhov Front attack plan fell to 

the Soviet 372d Rifle Division, Second Shock Army. By participating 

in previous operations in the vicinity, the 372d had obtained invaluable 

fighting experience in the forest-swamp terrain (areas of trees, brush, 

and grass standing in water ranging seasonally from a few inches to 

several feet or more in depth). Under the command of Colonel P. I. 

Radygin, the division was to strike its main blow directly against 

Workers Settlement Number 8, the main strongpoint of German defenses 

facing eastward in the Schlusselburg-Siniavino salient. 

The broader mission of the Second Shock Army against the salient 

included the penetration of forward defenses along the fifteen-kilometer 

front and the capture of Workers Settlements Numbers 1 and 5, as 

well as the village of Siniavino. The Second Shock Army deployed five 

divisions abreast in its first attack echelon, with one rifle division and 

two ski brigades in reserve. It also employed four tank brigades, one 

tank regiment, and four independent tank battalions to support the 

infantry in its attack. At the same time, elements of the Volkhov Front 

260 
1230 RIFLE BDE 

SIXTY-SEVENTH 

ARMY 

136TH RIFLE DIV m 

1

142D MOTOR-RIFLE BDE - 

k 

NF 

II? 

86TH RIFLE DI 

268TH RIFLE DIV 

GERMAN EIGHTEENTH ARMY 

Map 25. Breaking the blockade at Leningrad 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

positioned south of the salient created a deception by feigning preparations for an imminent offensive. 

Forces of the Leningrad Front, in turn, were to force the Neva 

River from the west. The Soviet Sixty-Seventh Army formed two operational echelons, with four divisions in the first echelon, The Soviet 

136th Rifle Division was to strike directly across the river on the 

Marino-Siniavino axis and clear the left-bank defenses held by the 

German 170th Infantry Division. The 136th would ultimately link up 

with elements of the 372d and 256th Rifle Divisions of the Second 

Shock Army near Workers Settlement Number 5. The Soviet 86th Rifle 

Division was to cross the river on the northern flank of the 136th and 

clear the town of Schlusselburg on the southwestern edge of Lake 

Ladoga. 

In preparation for the assault, forces of the Leningrad Front built 

storm ladders and rehearsed attacks against ramparts formed of wood, 

peat, snow, and ice similar to those defended by the Germans on the 

steep left bank. The secret establishment of roads behind the lines and 

concealed departure points for assault groups on the right bank posed 

a crucial task. Engineers conducted all work on the expansion of 

trenches and lines of communications at night. To enable tanks, particularly medium T-34s and 30-ton KVs, to cross the Neva, they constructed portable tracks consisting of wooden rails reinforced with ice. 

Equally intense preparation was under way on the Volkhov Front. 

On 2 January, Radygin; his chief of staff, Lieutenant Colonel M. K. 

Evdokimov; and his operations chief, Major P. V. Melnikov, visited 

the front where the Soviet 372d Rifle Division was to replace the 128th 

Rifle Division on the eve of the attack. The 128th would, in turn, stay 

in line but reduce its frontage by concentrating its forces on the 

northern flank of the 372d. Dressed as enlisted personnel, Radygin and 

his aides reviewed the terrain and received a briefing on German 

defensive positions. Throughout December, Soviet troops practiced 

assaults against obstacles, strongpoints, and ice-covered ramparts. Good 

aerial reconnaissance made possible a good approximation of the 

German defensive system. In accordance with the Second Shock Army’s 

plan of operations, Workers Settlement Number 8, one of a group of 

scattered residential clusters in the lightly settled area, assumed central 

significance. The Soviet 256th Rifle Division was to attack on the 

southern flank of the 372d. Follow-on elements of the 18th Rifle Division 

would then exploit in the direction of Workers Settlement Number 5. 

Workers Settlement Number 8 consisted of fifty-six separate buildings, making it an eminently defensible position. Two German regiments of the 227th Infantry Division held strongpoints along the front 

facing the Soviet 372d Rifle Division. Around and among the buildings, 

262 
Terrain 

they had established a network of gun and machine-gun strongpoints. 

Forward of the settlement were two trench lines and peat ramparts 

that would seriously hinder the movement of armor and heavy weapons, 

The Germans had doused them with water to coat them with a thick 

layer of ice. Lines of wire obstacles and firing points north and south 

of the settlement provided further defenses. Minefields obstructed all 

avenues of approach. 

In addition, terrain figured importantly in the organization of 

German defenses and in the Soviet scheme of offensive maneuver. The 

area east of Leningrad is widely forested and further interrupted by 

scattered peat bogs and marshes. These had the effect of canalizing 

traffic and could substantially strengthen linear defenses. In fact, 

German defenses several kilometers north and south of Workers Settlement Number 8 were anchored by forests. In addition, several bogs 

immediately to the east determined lines of communications in the 

Soviet rear area. Roads were few and unimproved. The onset of freezing 

weather in late 1942 somewhat mitigated the effects of the bogs for 

the infantry but could still provide only limited trafficability for armor 

and heavy vehicles. Soviet engineers worked furiously behind the lines 

to construct roads and bridges through woods and swamps to sustain 

the attack once it began. 

In general, both the Soviets and Germans found that forests and 

bogs obstructed not only movement but orientation and the control of 

artillery fire. Fighting within forests, in particular, placed a great 

burden on infantry units and engineers; delivery of effective fire support, 

whether by artillery or air, was difficult. Due to the increased ability 

of defenders to conceal their positions, vigilant security and reconnaissance were constantly necessary. 

Throughout the war, the Soviets demonstrated great adaptability 

in winter combat. This was in part due to lessons they had painfully 

learned during the Soviet-Finnish winter war of 1939-40 and the crisis 

brought on by the German invasion in the winter of 1941-42. Horses 

were sometimes the most effective means of transport, and both the 

Soviets and the Germans often used sleds to move provisions over snow 

and ice. Some Soviet units received white uniforms for winter camouflage, and many moved on skis. The Soviets also extensively winterized 

their weapons and vehicles, thus reducing the breakdowns that plagued 

their German adversaries. In addition, the wider tracks on Soviet tanks 

provided a modest advantage in mobility over frozen ground. 

On 6 January, the Soviet 372d Rifle Division organized assault 

detachments to lead the attack of each regiment. Training for this 

mission was critical. The organization of Detachment Number 3 of the 

1st Battalion, 1238th Rifle Regiment, was typical. It consisted of 127 

263 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

men, subdivided into special subgroups for engineering and reconnaissance (19 men), obstacle clearance (28 men), and the attack (80 men). 

The attack subgroup included one sapper and one rifle platoon, supplemented by sections of antitank guns, machine guns, and automatic 

rifles, as well as a 45mm gun detachment and a pair of artillery 

observers. 

The attack of the 372d would depend above all on speed, shock, 

and secure flanks and communications. On breakthrough, elements of 

the 98th Tank Brigade would join the advance. Each regimental commander received a plan to ensure synchronized conduct of the operation, 

as well as detailed instructions for rear-area units and artillery and 

the relief of units on the march. 

On the night of lo-11 January, the 37211 Rifle Division assumed 

its starting position for the operation. The Soviet attack began at 0930 

with a relatively brief but intense two-hour artillery preparation. The 

Leningrad and Volkhov Fronts exchanged artillery liaison officers to 

coordinate fires. These officers’ roles would increase in importance as 

the forces converged. During the barrage, which tore up large portions 

of the German minefields and trenches, engineers and storm groups of 

the 372d advanced with armor support against surprised defenders to 

clear the way for the assault. The Fourteenth Air Army bombarded 

German command and control centers, artillery positions, airfields, 

railroad junctions, and other targets in the rear area of the German 

Eighteenth Army. The combined effect of the strikes significantly disorganized the German defensive system. During the first day’s ground 

attack, launched at 1150, the Soviet 1238th Rifle Regiment advanced 

through German trench lines for two to three kilometers and captured 

several buildings on the southern periphery of Workers Settlement 

Number 8. However, a German counterattack with tanks halted the 

advance. Penetration of the German defenses even to this modest depth 

cost the regiment about 1,000 casualties. 

The experience of the Soviet 372d Rifle Division contrasted with 

that of the 256th Rifle Division on its southern flank. The zone in 

front of the 256th was a level peat swamp that formed, when frozen, 

a natural corridor between Workers Settlement Number 8 and the 

Kruglaia Woods just to the south. Soviet artillery fire quickly smashed 

German ramparts of timber, peat, and ice, permitting the infantry to 

move forward at a brisk pace. Yet, in part, because the frozen ground 

was not sufficiently hardened to permit the tanks to keep up, the rate 

of advance diminished. 

On the second day, 13 January, the 372d renewed its drive against 

the settlement, but the defenses still held. Heavy snowfall restricted 

air support. Now, elements of the second echelon joined in the attack. 

264 
Terrain 

Later in the day, the 372d received orders to begin bypassing Workers 

Settlement Number 8 and proceed northeast to Workers Settlement 

Number 1. 

In the meantime, the Germans began regrouping their tactical 

reserves-including elements of the 96th and 61st Infantry Divisions 

and a regiment of the 69th Infantry-in the vicinity of the Siniavino 

heights in the southern extremity of the salient. This probably served 

two purposes, First, the heights lay within a forest and provided highly 

defensible ground. Second, the heights commanded the southern portion 

of the main road from Workers Settlement Number 1 to Workers 

Settlement Number 5 just to the north. This road offered the most 

direct route of escape for forces attempting to flee the salient in the 

event of a defensive collapse. The Soviets, in turn, responded by 

massing their artillery on the Siniavino heights. 

From the Leningrad side, assault groups and sappers of the Soviet 

268th and 136th Rifle Divisions were the first to complete the 

600-meter dash across the frozen Neva. Air attacks and army and naval 

artillery paved the way by inflicting significant damage on the German 

defenders. Taking care not to drop shells on the Neva itself and risk 

breaking up the ice, Soviet gunners ignored the most forward defensive 

positions on the banks and concentrated on the first line of trenches, 

As soon as the assaulting troops advanced to within 150 to 200 meters 

of the left bank, fire refocused on deeper positions. By the second day, 

Soviet troops controlled a bridgehead along a five-kilometer front south 

of Schlusselburg. Soviet light tanks made the crossing on the first day, 

and the T-34s began crossing over corduroy roads with second-echelon 

elements on 14 January. However, the German defenders of Schlusselburg repelled the direct river-crossing assault of the 86th which then 

had to cross south of the city and attack by land from the south. At 

the end of the day, the gap between the two fronts had narrowed to 

four kilometers. 

From this point, the forces of the Leningrad Front had two principal tasks, First, the 136th Rifle Division was to drive on to Workers 

Settlement Number 5, which it accomplished on 17 January. Second, 

the 86th Rifle Division was to isolate and then seize Schlusselburg. 

However, an attempt to storm the city from the south bogged down in 

front of the Preobrazhenskii hill on the town’s fringes. Soviet forces 

subsequently managed to flow around this strongpoint. On 16 January, 

the 86th Rifle Division and the 34th Rifle Brigade, supported by heavy 

armor, broke into Schlusselburg. They successfully cleared the town 

after heavy street fighting on the 18th. 

Meanwhile, on 14 January, elements of the 372d Rifle Division 

continued the assault on Workers Settlement Number 8 and weathered 

265 

P 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

ten counterattacks. The cold was so severe that flesh froze on contact 

with metal. Combat at the settlement continued into 15 January when 

Soviet forces defeated desperate German counterattacks and broke the 

remaining defenses. After the battle, the entire complex of residential 

buildings had been reduced to rubble, reflecting the intense pounding 

by mortars and artillery. Yet that same rubble doubtless afforded 

defensive positions and concealment to the German defenders through 

the several days of fierce fighting. 

At the same time, Soviet forces in the salient concentrated their 

attacks on Workers Settlements Numbers 1 and 5 in an effort to block 

any escape by surviving German forces. Progress was slow, however, 

stirring General G. K. Zhukov to return to the scene and demand that 

the Second Shock Army completely eliminate the salient within 

twenty-four hours. In response, Radygin hastily formed a composite 

detachment from the remnants of the 1236th and 1238th Rifle Regiments. Under Major A. F. Gamarin’s command, the composite force 

was to cut the escape route southward from Workers Settlement Number 

1. The 12th Ski Brigade supported this effort from the north by stealing 

across the German rear over frozen Lake Ladoga to sever the German 

command and control of fleeing units. 

Though cornered, the Germans defended desperately and inflicted 

heavy Soviet losses. Throwing in his last reserve, Gamarin deployed a 

reconnaissance company and a composite battalion formed from remnants of the 1240th Rifle Regiment. Moving under Melnikov’s control, 

the unit crept southward along a ditch running parallel to the main 

road between Workers Settlements Numbers 1 and 5. Fields of burning 

peat lighted the route during darkness. Melnikov concentrated his forces 

on the edge of the forest just south of Workers Settlement Number 1. 

In combination with the composite force of the 1236th and 1238th Rifle 

Regiments, they pressed the settlement from the north, east, and south. 

Almost simultaneously, white-clad troops of the Soviet 123d Rifle Brigade of the Leningrad Front entered from the west. With the reduction 

of German defenses in the salient, linkup of the two fronts occurred at 

0930 on 18 January. Soviet troops then swept the forest to the south 

to capture scattered German survivors. 

The immediate effect of the Soviet attack was to create a corridor 

of some eight to eleven kilometers in width from north to south linking 

Leningrad once again with the rest of the country. Soviet success depended in large measure on successful adaptation to specific local conditions of climate and terrain. Logic and experience dictated a winter 

attack when the Neva’s ice had hardened and the wooded swamp zones 

became traversable. The Germans were doubtless aware of this, but 

the Soviets disguised their preparations effectively and achieved tactical 

266 
Terrain 

surprise. Rehearsals of the attacks and extensive preparations by the 

engineers facilitated rapid success. Above all, the Soviets worked vigorously to maximize their mobility over difficult terrain. The construction 

of roads and bridges in their rear areas permitted the ready flow of 

reserve and second-echelon forces into battle. The construction of corduroy roads and the clearing of obstacles further facilitated movement 

into the salient. Supported by overwheIming fire, the Soviets fixed 

German defenders all along the front with their initial attack and 

responded quickly to enemy counterattacks. In addition, the Soviets 

exploited natural corridors in the terrain and successfully flowed around 

defensive strongpoints. Although it did not eliminate the threat to 

Leningrad, Operation Spark had tremendous psychological impact. 

Leningrad, symbol of the 1917 Russian Revolution and the former 

imperial capital, had been rescued. When considered in light of the 

even greater triumph over German forces occurring simultaneously at 

Stalingrad, it marked a dramatic turning point in the war on the 

Eastern Front. 

Bibliography 

Meretskov, Kirill. “Breaking the Siege of Leningrad.” Battles Hitler Lost. 

New York: Richardson and Steirman, 1986. 

267 
I 

33 

Time 

Operation Market-Garden, September 1944 

Dr. Gary J. Bjorge 

Using time effectively is a challenge for everyone, but for a military 

commander, it is crucial. The changing battlefield, with its fleeting 

opportunities, often requires timely decisions. Failure to act at an opportune moment may cause the needless injury and death of many 

soldiers. Yet acting prematurely may also be a mistake that leads to 

disaster. Operation Market-Garden-the largest airborne operation of 

World War II (Operation Market) and a three-corps ground advance to 

link up with the airborne forces (Operation Garden)-illustrates the 

dilemma a commander can face when he seeks to exploit opportunities 

without acting rashly. 

By the end of August 1944, the rapid Allied advance across France 

had created an air of optimism about an early end to the war. The 

disorganization in the German Army had become so great that even 

an effective defense of the Westwall was considered unlikely. For weeks, 

General Dwight D. Eisenhower had sought to employ his strategic reserve, the First Allied Airborne Army, to deliver a decisive blow against 

the Germans. Numerous airborne operations had been planned, but none 

had been executed because the rapidly advancing ground troops had 

repeatedly made them unnecessary. 

By the end of August, both Eisenhower and Field Marshal Bernard 

L. Montgomery had begun thinking about using airborne forces to help 

the Allied armies cross the Rhine River. On 5 September, planning 

began on an operation to use one and one-half airborne divisions to 

seize river crossings in the Arnhem-Nijmegen area (Operation Comet). 

Then, on 10 September, this operation was canceled, to be superseded 

by Operation Market-Garden. The plan was to drop three and one-half 

airborne divisions along a fifty-mile corridor in southeast Holland to 

capture key bridges over several canals and large rivers and to open a 

route for the British Second Army to advance from the Belgian-Dutch 

border to the Zuider Zee, a distance of ninety-nine miles. The Allies 

sought to maintain the momentum they had built since crossing the 

Seine River on 25 August by cutting the land exit of the Germans 

remaining in western Holland, outflanking the German Westwall defense 

269 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 2939 

line, and placing British ground forces in position for a subsequent 

drive into Germany across the north German plain. Eisenhower and 

Montgomery believed Market-Garden was feasible, and after questions 

regarding the amount of supplies to be sent to the 21st Army Group 

were resolved on 12 September, Montgomery set 17 September as D-day 

for the operation. Market-Garden would be the key that would unlock 

the gates to Germany for the Allied armies. 

Market-Garden failed to achieve this objective because the Germans 

held the bridge over the Lower Rhine River at Arnhem. During the 

fighting there, they virtually destroyed the British 1st Airborne Division. 

The British XXX Corps, which was supposed to reinforce the airborne 

unit, could not advance quickly enough to make a timely linkup. When 

first briefed on the Market-Garden plan, Lieutenant General F. A. M. 

Browning, commander of the British Airborne Corps, suggested that, 

in light of the plan’s timetable, the objectives of the operation might 

have stretched “a bridge too far.” In retrospect, he was correct. 

A number of circumstances undermined Market-Garden’s timetable. 

Bad weather after the first day interfered with follow-on troop drops, 

aerial resupply, and tactical air support. Also, German resistance in 

the area was greater than predicted by Allied intelligence. In addition, 

Allied communications were inadequate, especially within the British 

1st Airborne Division and between this division and other units. This 

led to Allied command and control problems and made it impossible 

to redirect supply drops to secure drop zones. Furthermore, the British 

XXX Corps advanced too slowly to link up with the British 1st Airborne 

Division. Another factor affecting Market-Garden’s timetable was that 

only one main road existed for the Allied advance. This lack of alternate 

routes complicated troop and supply movement and simplified German 

defensive strategy. Furthermore, the Germans responded quickly and 

adeptly to developments. Finally, cases of simple misfortune helped 

throw the Allies off their schedule. The result, according to Major Brian 

Urquhart, the chief intelligence officer of the British Airborne Corps, 

was “an unmitigated disaster.” 

The difficulties in keeping Market-Garden on schedule stemmed from 

decisions made during its planning. One costly decision was to have 

only one lift on D-day. Since available aircraft and gliders could transport less than half of the 35,000 airborne soldiers at one time, the 

division commanders requested two lifts on D-day in order to have 

most of their men on the ground the first day. The troop carrier commanders, however, overruled this because they would not have enough 

time to check for aircraft battle damage, conduct spot maintenance, 

and rest the crews between lifts. The area of operations was located 

just within the maximum range of transports flying out of England, 

270 
Time 

and the troop carrier commanders feared that squeezing two lifts into 

one day would result in higher casualties. 

Another significant decision was the one giving airlift priority to 

the divisions in a south to north order. This was to ensure that the 

road in front of the British XXX Corps was cleared. Because of this 

decision, the British 1st Airborne Division at Arnhem (including a Polish 

independent parachute brigade) would not be completely delivered until 

D+2. A third decision that caused problems was the selection of drop 

zones and landing zones, especially those for the British 1st Airborne 

Division. Because the Allies overestimated the flak threat around 

Arnhem, the division landed four to nine miles west of Arnhem’s three 

bridges. These decisions reduced the airborne forces’ ability to exploit 

their greatest combat multiplier-surprise. With limited numbers of men 

available on D-day and substantial ground to cover, the Allies found 

it impossible to capture and hold all their objectives immediately. Some 

would have to wait. When the Germans responded quickly in strength, 

difficulties arose. 

-While the Allies were making decisions that would later cost them 

precious time, the Germans were using time to improve their response 

to Allied efforts. At the beginning of September, the German Army 

was fleeing through Belgium. However, after Antwerp fell to the Allies 

on 4 September, a series of events gradually changed this situation. 

First, on this same day, Hitler ordered General Kurt Student to move 

his First Parachute Army’s headquarters into the Netherlands to fill 

the gap in Army Group B between the Fifteenth Army in the Schelde 

estuary area northwest of Antwerp and the Seventh Army in the 

Maastricht-Aachen area. Student only had the LXXXVIII Corps, with 

just one division to cover a fifty-mile front. The division, however, was 

a full-strength “fortress” division that had been guarding the Dutch 

coast since 1940. Fortunately for Student, General Kurt Chill, who was 

retreating through Belgium with remnants of his infantry division and 

two others, decided to stop along the Albert Canal to organize a hasty 

defense. On 6 September, Chill contacted the LXXXVIII Corps’ commander and turned over his battle group to Student. Even though these 

German units could not stop the Allied advance, they did delay it. 

Coupled with the Allies’ logistical problems, Chill’s actions gained time 

for some of Student’s parachute troops and other units to arrive in the 

army sector. 

During this period, other troop movements advantageous for the 

Germans were taking place. On 3 September, Field Marshal Walter 

Model, the commander of Army Group B, ordered the Fifth Panzer 

Army-which was retreating in disorder-to release the 9th and 10th 

SS Panzer Divisions so they could move to the Arnhem area for refitting 

271 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

and reorganization. On 5 September, Model ordered the II SS Panzer 

Corps headquarters under General Willi Bittrich to move to Arnhem to 

rehabilitate the 9th SS Panzer Division and two other panzer divisions 

that would be moving into the Netherlands when conditions in the 

Seventh Army sector permitted. On 9 September, Model ordered the 

10th SS Panzer Division to Germany for rehabilitation and directed 

the 9th SS Panzer Division to move south to help meet the growing 

U.S. First Army threat around Aachen. Unfortunately for the Allies, 

by D-day, these German divisions had barely begun to move. They 

gave Model a ready reserve only a half day’s march from Arnhem. 

These movements provided German commanders with forces to 

respond to Market-Garden. However, the promptness of the German 

response made these modest forces even more effective. This speed was 

due to a number of factors, one of which was the closeness of several 

major headquarters to each other: Model’s Army Group B headquarters 

was in Oosterbeek just west of Arnhem; Student’s First Parachute Army 

headquarters was in Vught, a small town thirty miles southwest of 

Arnhem; and Bittrich’s II SS Panzer Corps headquarters was twentyfive miles east of Arnhem. These headquarters staffs had the manpower 

to implement commanders’ intentions quickly and provide cohesiveness 

to improvised organizations. The proximity of these headquarters to 

the Operation Market area of operations also made a rapid response 

easier. Student and his commanders had a ringside view of the U.S. 

1Olst Airborne Division’s airdrop to the east of his headquarters. Model 

was forced to leave his headquarters hastily at Oosterbeek because the 

British were landing only two miles to the west. Model then moved 

quickly to Bittrich’s headquarters and continued to command. 

German competence also made the rapid response possible. No doubt, 

the Germans were surprised; Model’s situation is evidence of that. In 

addition, reports of airdrops all over the Netherlands made confusion, 

indecision, and incorrect conclusions very possible. Bittrich, however, 

soon perceived from reports that the Arnhem-Nijmegen corridor was 

the key area. Immediately, he ordered the 9th and 10th Panzer Divisions 

to move in that direction. Lastly, chance played an important role in 

the quick German response. Someone shot down in a glider in the 

U.S. lOlst Airborne Division area was carrying a copy of the Allied 

operational order. Two hours later, this order was on Student’s desk. 

Once the Germans had this information, surprise at the operational 

command level was gone. The Germans now knew the Allied objectives 

and could organize their defenses and reinforce them. 

Another example of the Germans’ rapid response to Allied operations 

occurred when remnants of the 59th Infantry Division (which were 

moving by train through the First Parachute Army sector) were ordered 

272 
Time 

to detrain at Tilburg and move east twenty miles to fight the U.S. 

1Olst Airborne Division at Zon. The Germans also quickly formed rearechelon and regional defense units into larger fighting units. One such 

grouping, the so-called Division von Tettau, joined with the 9th SS 

Panzer Division in launching a two-pronged attack against the British 

1st Airborne Division drop zones and landing zones on 18 September. 

During the following days, other units straggling out of the Schelde 

estuary were brought into the fight. Also, reinforcements were transferred from Germany. 

On D-day, while the Germans struggled to organize a defense 

against Market-Garden, the Allied airborne forces enjoyed considerable 

success. The airdrops and glider landings were accurate and sustained 

low casualties. U.S. 1Olst Airborne Division units gained control over 

most of the fifteen-mile stretch of highway between Eindhoven and 

Grave, their objective (see map 26). The 101&s biggest disappointment 

was the failure to capture the bridge over the Wilhelmina Canal at 

Zon before it was destroyed. North of the 1Olst Airborne Division, the 

U.S. 82d Airborne Division captured the 1,800-foot bridge across the 

Maas River at Grave, a bridge over the Maas-Waal Canal at Heumen, 

and the hill mass southeast of Nijmegen. However, by the time the 

division was prepared to assault the 1,960-foot-long highway bridge 

across the Waal River at Nijmegen on the evening of D-day, Bittrich’s 

troops had already established a defensive perimeter south of the bridge. 

This force could not be dislodged. The British 1st Airborne Division at 

Arnhem experienced the greatest difficulty. German forces blocked the 

division’s efforts to gain control of the highway bridge over the Lower 

Rhine and the high ground north of Arnhem. At 2030 on D-day, Lieutenant Colonel John D. Frost finally reached the northern end of the 

highway bridge with his battalion headquarters and one company. From 

this position, he interdicted bridge traffic but failed to control the bridge. 

The Allied column, advancing from the Dutch-Belgian frontier, also 

ran into difficulties on D-day. German resistance was stronger than 

expected, allowing the British XXX Corps’ Guards Armoured Division 

to advance only seven miles before stopping. The next day, it was 

1900 before the main British armored column reached Eindhoven and 

linked up with the U.S. 1Olst Airborne Division. Pushing through the 

city without a pause, the column continued north to Zon where, during 

the night, British engineers installed a Bailey bridge across the Wilhelmina Canal. At 0645 on D+2 (19 September), the Guards Armoured 

Division began to cross the bridge on its way north. Already, it was 

more than thirty hours behind schedule. 

According to Market-Garden’s timetable, the Guards Armoured Division was expected to reach Nijmegen by 1800 on 18 September and 

273 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

4 

-NScale 

LEGEND 

- Canals 

- Roads 

Map 26. Troop dispositions in Operation Market-Garden 

274 
Time 

be in Arnhem by 1500 on 19 September. The division did not reach 

Nijmegen until the afternoon of 19 September and was then stopped 

by the German positions at the Waal River bridge. On D-day, Bittrich 

had decided that the British 1st Airborne Division was vulnerable and 

could be destroyed if the Allied linkup forces were delayed. Bittrich’s 

dispatch of blocking forces and Student’s attacks on the flanks of the 

long Allied corridor were intended to achieve this objective. So far, the 

Germans had achieved surprising success: the linkup column was still 

far from Arnhem, and the British 1st Airborne Division’s situation was 

becoming more critical by the day. 

The British 1st Airborne Division was suffering because planned 

airdrops of reinforcements and supplies had not occurred. Inadequate 

radio equipment and bad weather were also plaguing its operations. 

Messages to redirect supply drops were not getting through. Thus, aircrews repeatedly risked their lives to drop supplies only to have them 

fall into German hands. The greatest problems facing the British 1st 

Airborne Division, however, were those caused by the unexpected German strength in the area. The airborne division had been unable to 

reinforce Frost’s force at the northern end of the Arnhem bridge, and 

it was being steadily decimated (the last holdouts surrendered on the 

morning of 21 September). The remainder of the British 1st Airborne 

Division had been attacked by German armor and artillery on D-day, 

and these attacks continued. By 19 September, the division was reduced 

to holding a small defensive perimeter in Oosterbeek along the Lower 

Rhine. 

At this critical point in the action, the Germans miscalculated the 

British 1st Airborne Division’s strength and initiated operations that 

gave the Allies time to rescue the remnants of the division, By 21 

September, General Roy E. Urquhart, the airborne division’s commander, 

feared that a general, concentrated attack could overwhelm his force. 

Bittrich now believed, however, that small, scattered actions would 

destroy the British at less cost by taking advantage of the lack of 

initiative of British junior commanders and noncommissioned officers. 

The British contained these small-scale attacks and gained still more 

time when Model opted against a direct ground assault, believing that 

heavy artillery would eliminate the British force. While the German 

artillery bombardment was terrifying, the British survived by huddling 

in slit trenches, holding out as Allied ground forces advanced slowly 

from Nijmegen. Finally, on 23 September, the British 43d Infantry 

Division reached the bank of the Lower Rhine opposite the remainder 

of the 1st Airborne Division. Because the Germans did not expect a 

withdrawal, they were fooled by the deception measures that allowed 

2,398 paratroopers to evacuate across the river. For the 1,400 men killed 

and the 6,000 captured at Arnhem, the evacuation came much too late. 

275 

,s 

-. --. 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Operation Market-Garden reminds us that action and movement 

take time. It illustrates the difference between time as plotted on the 

map table and time experienced on the battlefield, where each force 

works feverishly to upset the timetables of its enemy. Allied leaders 

devised Market-Garden as a means to take advantage of German weaknesses. The operation failed because it was impossible for Allied forces, 

which were too dispersed, to capture a number of vital points in a 

timely way. This inability to reach objectives promptly placed the British 

1st Airborne Division in a difficult position and led to its tactical defeat. 

Ultimately, this failure in timing resulted in a significant strategic setback. Instead of opening the gates to Germany, Operation MarketGarden gave the Germans the opportunity to patch units together into 

an organized force capable of slowing and, for a time, stopping the 

Allied advance. Market-Garden exemplifies the crucial importance of 

time in war, where military actions must take place at the opportune 

moment to maximize their effects. 

Bibliography 

Bauer, Cornelis, and Theodore A. Boeree. The BattZe of Arnhem. New 

York: Stein and Day, 1967. 

MacDonald, Charles Brown. The Siegfried Line Campaign. United States 

Army in World War II. Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of 

Military History, Department of the Army, 1963. 

Piekalkiewicz, Janusz. Arnhem, 1944. New York: Charles Scribner’s 

Sons, 1976. 

Powell, Geoffrey. The Devil’s Birthday: The Bridges to Arnhem, 1944. 

New York: Franklin Watts, 1985. 

Ryan, Cornelius. A Bridge Too Far. New York: Simon and Schuster, 

1974. 

Urquhart, Robert Elliott. Arnhem. London: Pan Books, 1977. 

276 
34 

Training 

The “Truscott Trot”: Training for Operation Husky, 1943 

Major Stephen D. Coats 

At approximately 2230 on 22 July 1943, Lieutenant General George 

S. Patton Jr., commander of the U.S. Seventh Army, entered the Sicilian 

port of Palermo. A mounted column from the 2d Armored Division 

followed Patton’s command vehicle, guns silent. Soldiers of the 3d 

Infantry Division were already patrolling the streets as the armored 

procession snaked its way through the fallen town. 

Conflicting emotions must have swept over Patton as he surveyed 

his prize. On the one hand, the conquest of Palermo served notice to 

British Field Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery that Patton’s command 

could strike with virtual impunity in Sicily. On the other hand, the 

port had not fallen in a spectacular armored sweep as Patton originally 

envisioned. Before tanks could be unleashed, Patton’s infantrymen from 

the Seventh Army’s Provisional Corps, spearheaded by the 3d Division, 

had traversed nearly 100 miles of Sicily’s most challenging terrain to 

take Palermo. When he finally linked up with the 3d Division commander, Major General Lueian K. Truscott Jr., Patton exclaimed, “Well, 

the Truscott Trot sure got us here in a damn hurry!” 

In the euphoria of victory, Patton forgot to mention his Italian 

foes. Their unwillingness to offer stiff resistance accounted for some of 

the astounding speed enjoyed by the 3d Division. Yet in his remark to 

Truscott, Patton was on to something. The “Truscott Trot” was the 

manifestation of a rigorous, focused training program that had prepared 

the 3d Division for grueling combat in Sicily. The men of the 3d had 

Truscott to thank-and curse-for that training. 

At the beginning of 1943, Truscott supervised the organization of 

Lieutenant General Dwight D. Eisenhower’s advanced command post 

in Tunisia. While serving in that capacity, Truscott learned that the 

3d Division would participate in the invasion of Sicily, Operation Husky, 

scheduled to commence after the Tunisian campaign ended. When he 

assumed command of the 3d in North Africa on 8 March 1943, Truscott 

calculated that he had approximately four months to prepare his division for battle. 

277 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

Truscott believed that the available time could be put to good use. 

He concluded that the 3d had lost much of its combat-ready edge since 

he had tested and evaluated the division at Fort Lewis, Washington, 

in the summer of 1941. Truscott had departed Fort Lewis by May 1942, 

but the 3d Division remained stateside and intensified its training in 

amphibious warfare. On 8 November 1942, the division assaulted North 

African beaches near Fedala, Morocco, as a part of Operation Torch. 

The 3d seized Casablanca by 11 November. Between November and 

March 1943, however, the division had engaged in little combat or 

training. Given its relative inactivity in Morocco, Truscott believed a 

sort of “rear area” feeling had overcome the 3d’s infantrymen. “In 

consequence,” maintained Truscott, “disciplinary standards had suffered 

and the attitude toward training lacked the fire and intensity which I 

had hoped to find in a division which might be called upon to fight 

at any time.” 

To make matters worse, the division had lost some of its finest 

officers and men during the last week of February. Less than two weeks 

before Truscott assumed command, 3,500 soldiers, almost 25 percent of 

the division’s strength, had departed to fill the ranks of the 1st and 

34th Infantry Divisions after the battle at Kasserine. Some men within 

the division also had moved to new leadership positions vacated by 

departed comrades. Replacements had to be acquired quickly to fill 

remaining vacancies. 

Truscott must have weighed the variables at hand-mission, enemy, 

terrain, troops, and time available-and then established two principal 

objectives for his command: first, to attain the highest possible marching 

and physical standards for an infantry division; and second, to develop 

initiative and leadership among officers and noncommissioned officers. 

To realize the first of these objectives, Truscott drew from’.his personal theories on infantry training. For years, he had believed that 

standards for marching and fighting in the infantry were too low, “not 

up to those of the Roman legions nor countless examples from our 

own frontier history, nor even to those of Stonewall Jackson’s ‘Foot 

Cavalry’ of Civil War fame.” While serving with the Combined Operations Headquarters early in the war, Truscott had seen how rigorous 

training had prepared British Commandos and U.S. Rangers for combat. 

Now, he was anxious to determine the extent to which an entire infantry division could achieve similar training goals. 

Truscott began with speed marching. As a career cavalry officer 

with nearly twenty-five years of experience by 1942, he had learned to 

value quickness in military operations. Contemporary doctrine called 

for infantry to march two and one-half miles an hour for twelve miles 

a day. Truscott believed the infantry capable of greater performance 

278 
Training 

levels. He tested his hypothesis after less than a week in command by 

ordering battalions of the 3d to march ten miles at four miles an hour, 

The first battalion to execute lost nearly 10 percent of its personnel 

along the route. At the same time, it sustained a pace of less than 

three miles an hour. The next day, a second battalion moved the same 

distance. Of the 1,000 men who started, only 12 failed to complete the 

march at a rate of 4 miles an hour. 

Truscott believed that physical conditioning accounted for the performance disparity between the two units. The battalion relieved had 

been in the field for two weeks and had conducted challenging training 

in a desert environment. Truscott decided this episode validated his 

theory that infantry could “traverse given distances at maximum rates 

and be fit for combat.” 

Thus, each infantry battalion would be expected to approximate 

Commando and Ranger standards for marching. However, Truscott was 

careful not to expect too much too soon from his infantrymen, Directing 

unrealistic rates of march over vast distances for short durations would 

be detrimental to the “psychological preparation” of his men. Truscott 

observed: “I realized that I would have to approach the objective gradually. To prescribe such standards for an entire infantry division and 

then fail to attain them would cause lack of confidence, affect command 

relations, and be generally harmful. Officers and men would have to 

be imbued with the importance of such preparation and with confidence 

in their ability to attain it.” 

Physical and leader development intensified for the 3d Division 

when it began to move to the Fifth Army’s Invasion Training Center 

(ITC) at Arzew, Algeria, on 15 March 1943. Truscott preceded unit deployments with daily training inspections and officer conferences that 

included leaders from each infantry regiment and the division artillery. 

At training sites, he “saw much, but said little, and that little usually 

only to officers on the subject of standards.” Truscott used the conferences to introduce himself to the division’s leadership and to impart 

his ‘“views on training for combat, on fighting, and on the responsibilities of leadership.” 

Truscott also conferred with the cadre at the ITC before the division 

reported. He wanted his views on training understood at the center 

and emphasized that the training his division received was of vital 

personal concern. To give greater focus to division training, Truscott’s 

staff pored over the initial Husky plan that had arrived at Arzew on 

5 April. 

Physical conditioning dominated unit and individual training throughout the two-week course. Infantrymen spent many hours log rolling, 

bayonet training, hand-to-hand fighting, and rope climbing. Units used 

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Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

speed marching, dubbed the “Truscott Trot” by soldiers, to move about 

training areas. Additionally, the 3d Division staff prescribed a minimum 

standard for marching: every officer and man would march five miles 

in one hour twice each week and eight miles in two hours once each 

week. Truscott later wrote, “Attaining these standards presented no 

difficulty and almost every battalion reported greater speeds during its 

first two weeks.” Most eventually achieved five miles in one hour, four 

miles an hour for the next two hours, and three and one-half miles an 

hour for the remainder of a thirty-mile march. Those who could not 

meet minimum standards because of “physical weaknesses or defects 

were reassigned elsewhere.” Truscott wrote that the action was necessary 

“so as not to jeopardize the combat efficiency of the units or the lives 

of fellow comrades.” 

Truscott and the ITC also incorporated lessons learned from the 

ongoing Tunisian campaign. Companies and battalions rehearsed joint 

amphibious landings during the day and night. They practiced combined 

arms team tactics and worked particularly close with supporting artillery. Units also trained in antiaircraft and antitank firing. In addition, 

soldiers learned how to remove mines and booby traps. 

To pursue the second principal objective that he had established 

for his command, Truscott personally promoted initiative and leadership 

among his junior officers and men. He seized available opportunities 

to talk informally with groups of officers and noncommissioned officers, 

emphasizing that leaders must (1) approach fighting as a simple business in which problems could be solved by common sense, (2) know 

weapons and tools, (3) be physically conditioned, (4) be determined to 

achieve, (5) know how to live and work together in the field, and (6) 

take risks. Truscott declined to punish junior officers for mistakes 

arising from personal initiative; at the same time, he directed commanders to “deal harshly” with those who failed to act when a situation 

dictated boldness. 

The division worked at the ITC to achieve Truscott’s standards in 

leadership and physical training. While the 3d went through its paces, 

Truscott and his staff planned a two-week course in mountain warfare 

to prepare the men for Sicily’s rugged, inland terrain. Physical fitness 

retained a priority in the training plan. Mountain techniques in marching, tactics, weapons firing, and day-night combat operations rounded 

out the core exercises. 

Just as the division’s first regiment completed its mountain training, 

Truscott and the 3d were ordered into Tunisia to participate in the 

final assault on Axis forces. At the end of April, Truscott quickly suspended training for his remaining regiments. (The 30th Infantry was 

still training at the ITC, and the 17th Infantry was just beginning its 

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Training 

two-week course in the mountains.) During the first half of May, the 

3d Division stood ready to attack in Tunisia, but no orders materialized. 

Truscott urged his superiors to permit a resumption of division preparations for Operation Husky. 

The 3d Division was released for training on 15 May and assigned 

to the Bone-Philippeville area. Unfortunately, Truscott found the environment unsuited for training in landing operations or mountain 

warfare. At first, requests for his unit’s transfer elsewhere were rebuffed 

by Allied force headquarters. But as Truscott later remarked, “persistent 

protests, like drops of water falling upon hard stones, eventually wore 

down the staff resistance.” On 1 June, the division was ordered to 

Bizerte, “an ideal spot for invasion training,” 

The division spent the first three weeks of June preparing for its 

assault mission in the upcoming invasion. Truscott assigned one battalion from each regiment to train for beach assaults. Other infantry 

battalions rehearsed passing through their respective assault battalions 

to seize specific objectives. Unit training culminated when the 3d 

Division, augmented by other units and redubbed the “Joss force,” conducted a full-scale dress rehearsal. Most soldiers thought they were 

beginning the actual invasion. 

Since that would not come for another two weeks, Truscott curtailed 

intensive unit training. More time was allowed for recreation, although 

the “Truscott Trot” and physical conditioning were continued to maintain performance levels. Truscott later wrote, “Never was any division 

more fit for combat and more in readiness to close with the enemy 

than the 3d Infantry Division when we embarked for the invasion of 

Sicily” on 6 July 1943. 

The 3d Division achieved extraordinary results in Sicily. On D-day, 

10 July, it seized the port and airfield at Licata. Within thirty hours, 

the 3d attained its D+3 objective. Truscott overheard subordinates 

saying, “Fighting the battle was a damn sight easier than training 

for it.” Subsequently, the infantry negotiated difficult terrain to seize 

Agrigento by surprise on 16 July. Then, in four days, Truscott moved 

his division nearly 100 miles over mountain trails, principally by foot, 

to seize Palermo on 22 July 1943. Truscott wrote after the war, “Careful 

planning and preparation, rigorous and thorough training, determination 

and speed in execution, had paid dividends in success.” There is little 

to dispute in that observation. 

Truscott’s rigorous training plan prepared the 3d Division for combat 

in Sicily. From years of personal experience, education, and observation, 

he was convinced that the Army’s “tactical principles and training 

methods were sound.” Most difficulties were due to “faulty execution 

and inadequate standards.” Truscott set about to correct those short281 
Combined Arms in Battle Since I939 

comings in the 3d Division in a manner compatible with the unit’s 

upcoming Husky missions. He quickly assessed the division’s combat 

readiness, established priorities in training, and communicated his goals 

through the chain of command. When reversals (personnel losses and 

changes in mission) threatened preparations for Husky, he carefully 

dealt with each situation, then worked with his higher headquarters to 

reorient on training for the invasion of Sicily. 

Yet he endeavored to establish training standards and objectives 

in accordance with soIdiers’ capabilities. Truscott believed that unrealistic goals could be as detrimental as no goals at all. He also recognized 

the value of decelerating training when appropriate. Rather than drive 

the division through difficult exercises up to the eve of the invasion, 

he accorded his men several days to relax and reflect on their accomplishments before the commencement of Husky. 

He never eased up in one area, however: physical conditioning. 

Speed marching was the heart and soul of his training program and 

philosophy. He firmly believed that the “Truscott Trot” had prepared 

the men for combat, “physically and psychologically,” and would see 

them through campaign challenges in Sicily. 

Bibliography 

D’Este, Carlo. Bitter Victory: The Battle for Sicily, 1943. New York: 

E. P. Dutton, 1988. 

Taggart, Donald G., ed. History of the Third Infantry Division in World 

War II. Divisional series. Reprint. Nashville, TN: Battery Press, 

1987. 

Truscott, Lucian King. Command Missions: A Personal Story. New York: 

Dutton, 1954. 

282 
35 

Unity of Command 

The Failure to Achieve Unity of Command in Vietnam 

Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame, U.S. Army, Retired 

Students of the art of war learn early that unity of command is a 

necessary principle of war ensuring success on the battlefield. The 

United States’ participation in the Vietnam War with other Free World 

military forces presents a classic example of where an integrated, or 

combined, command should have been established. It never was, and 

the lack of unity of command was evident in Vietnam at all levels. 

At the outset of US. involvement in Vietnam, the United States 

established a combined command with its ally France. From the arrival 

in Vietnam of the U.S. Military Assistance Advisory Group (MAAG), 

Indochina, in 1950 through the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu in 

May 1954, the United States, by attaching strings to American aid, 

tried to influence the strategic direction of the war and the development 

of an independent, indigenous Vietnamese army with a role in its own 

development and training. The French parried American pressure by 

developing indigenous Vietnamese units commanded and led by French 

officers and noncommissioned officers; they also accepted only minimal 

U.S. advice on the conduct of operations and steadfastly refused to 

allow the Americans a role in training the Vietnamese. As the fall of 

Dien Bien Phu appeared imminent, the French agreed to let the Americans participate in training the Vietnamese and to place U.S. advisers 

with Vietnamese units. At the beginning of June 1954, the French 

formally requested that the United States join France in organizing 

and training the Vietnamese National Army. 

After the Geneva Accords of 1954, the situation in South Vietnam 

was anything but stable. While the state of Vietnam had gained independence, the French remained in the south without a timetable for 

withdrawal. Meanwhile, French and American objectives did not coincide. But despite mutual distrust, the two powers agreed on a binational 

training organization under the overall authority of the French commander in chief in Indochina and the direct command of the chief of 

the American MAAG. Established on 12 February 1955, this integrated 

command lasted less than six months. By June 1955, the French were 

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Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

gone, and the experiment of creating and training the South Vietnamese 

Army had become entirely an American task. 

While the South Vietnamese government tried to stabilize itself, 

southern Communists began to rebuild and consolidate their own political and military apparatus. Beginning in 1956, the Vietcong (VC), as 

the southern Communists became known, initiated political agitation 

and subversion consisting of a systematic program of assassination 

and other acts of terrorism against government officials. Through 1957 

and into 1958, insurgent incidents increased. American officials, however, misread the nature and seriousness of the insurgency, believing 

it to be a diversion covering a conventional attack across the demilitarized zone. In 1959, scattered and sporadic terrorist acts evolved into 

a sustained campaign by the Vietcong. By 1960, the South Vietnamese 

and their U.S. advisers found themselves embroiled in an internal 

insurgency that was assisted by the northern Communists. 

Prior to 1960, U.S. advisers were primarily involved in training 

and performing high-level staff work. In 1960, they began advising 

ground combat units at the regimental level in the field. In 1961, U.S. 

advisers operated at the battalion level, and by 1964, they were with 

Vietnamese paramilitary forces. Gradually, U.S. advisers became involved in combat. In late 1963, President Ngo Dinh Diem was executed 

by members of a coup, and the tumultuous coup-filled year that followed 

led to political destabilization and battlefield losses. In 1965, U.S. combat units were introduced into the Vietnamese struggle. 

By 1964, the armed forces of South Vietnam grew to 250,000, and 

U.S. support grew apace, to 23,000 advisers. To coordinate all U.S. 

military support activities in South Vietnam, the United States established the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV), in 1962. 

By 1964, MACV had consolidated support and advisory activities and 

subsumed MAAG. 

MACV was a joint command subordinate to the U.S. Pacific Command (PACOM). The MACV commander, General William C. Westmoreland, commanded all U.S. forces in South Vietnam and was senior 

adviser to the chief of the Joint General Staff (JGS), Armed Forces of 

the Republic of Vietnam (AFRVN). While Westmoreland was responsible 

for combat operations within the borders of South Vietnam, the commander in chief of PACOM controlled the air war over North Vietnam. 

But despite the formal command linkage, Westmoreland more often 

reported directly to the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) and the president and bypassed the PACOM commander. Thus, no unity of command 

existed. 

In 1965, the United States decided to seek the assistance of other 

Free World combat troops in support of South Vietnam. This brought 

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Unity of Command 

Australia, New Zealand, the Republic of Korea, Thailand, the Republic 

of China, and the Philippines into the struggle. The involvement of 

these forces inevitably raised the question of command arrangements. 

Since the United States viewed Vietnam, like Korea in 1950, as a test 

of the Free World against Communist aggression, an arrangement similar to the United Nations Command in Korea seemed appropriate (although the UN had no role in Vietnam). 

On 18 March 1965, in a message to General Earle G. Wheeler, 

chairman of the JCS, Westmoreland stated that he felt it was time for 

a transition to a combined command-and-staff arrangement, He also 

stated that such an arrangement would be acceptable to the South 

Vietnamese. While Westmoreland believed that a small, combined, and 

coordinating operational staff should be superimposed on the current 

structure of individual commands-MACV and AFRVN-he also envisioned that as greater numbers of U.S. troops arrived, he would assume control of those operations where American troops were involved 

and shape the operations and functions of a transitional command. 

Westmoreland went so far as to request Army Brigadier General James 

L. Collins to organize and manage the combined staff. From this beginning, it appeared that the combined staff would evolve into a combined 

command, with MACV and the Joint General Staff of the AFRVN as 

components of it that dealt primarily with administrative and logistical 

matters. 

When Westmoreland, on 28 April 1965, met with the chief of the 

Vietnamese JGS, General Tran Van Minh, and then-minister of defense, 

Lieutenant General Nguyen Van Thieu, he found them “politically sensitive” to the proposal of a combined staff. Since South Vietnam had 

so recently gained its independence, the AFRVN leaders were cautious 

of any arrangement that appeared to threaten their national sovereignty. 

Moreover, they did not believe that the South Vietnamese populace 

would accept an American general in command of the AFRVN and 

feared fueling Communist propaganda charges that they were US. 

puppets. Because of these sensitivities, Westmoreland dropped the concept of a combined command and told his subordinates to get used to 

an environment where responsibility was “shared and cooperatively 

discharged without . . . traditional command arrangements.” 

In all cases, military working arrangements were decided on and 

agreements signed between the commanders of the various Free World 

military forces and the commander, MACV, that placed those forces 

under MACV’s operational control. For instance, the Korean working 

agreement stated that Korean forces would operate under parameters 

established by the Free World Military Assistance Council, composed 

of the chief of the Vietnamese JGS, the senior Korean officer in Viet285 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 2939 

nam, and the commander, MACV. This council provided operational 

guidance to, not control of, Free World forces through the annual Combined Campaign Plan. First published at the end of 1965, the Combined 

Campaign Plan was not a true operational plan. It only broke the 

operational effort down geographically and functionally but assigned 

no tasks,or goals. 

Without the benefit of an integrated command at the top, agreements between local Free World commanders and South Vietnamese 

ground commanders provided coordination of combat operations. While 

South Vietnamese corps commanders retained overall responsibility for 

military affairs in each corps tactical zone, U.S. and other Free World 

force commanders accepted responsibility for tactical areas of responsibility (TAORs)-arbitrary geographical areas in which U.S. and Free 

World units conducted combat operations. Westmoreland described these 

arrangements as an extension of the advice-and-support role Americans 

previously had performed. Though the subject of forming a combined 

command arose among leaders from time to time in the next several 

years, each time it met a negative response based on the belief that 

the concept of coordination and cooperation was functioning adequately 

and that a combined command would commit the United States more 

than it wanted to be. 

While the concept of TAORs and joint agreements between allied 

commanders seemed cleanly structured, it was not necessarily so. On 

the Vietnamese side, each corps tactical zone was broken into division 

tactical areas that were the responsibility of an infantry division. The 

several provinces within each division tactical area were called sectors 

(in military parlance) and commanded by the province chief. These 

sectors were subdivided into subsectors in which the Regional Forces 

and Popular Forces operated. Superimposed on top of this structure 

was the American organization, with Field Force commanders at the 

top. The Field Force commander corresponded to the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) corps tactical zone commander and was 

responsible to MACV for all U.S. operations within his TAOR. No U.S. 

division, however, was made permanently responsible for a specific tactical area. The Field Force commander was also designated the senior 

adviser to the Vietnamese corps tactical zone commander, making all 

U.S. advisers within the zone responsible to him as well. 

Cooperation and coordination between the ARVN and U.S. forces 

were not well exercised because the two forces had different languages 

and customs, and their missions were different: the ARVN was primarily 

responsible for area security in support of pacification; U.S. forces were 

committed to search-and-destroy operations. 

To coordinate the overall operations of combined U.S.-ARVN forces, 

a Combined Campaign Plan was developed. This concept would provide 

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Unity of Command 

ARVN forces the opportunity to observe and evaluate the standards 

displayed by U.S. combat units. Under this concept, for the entire year 

of 1967, Operation Fairfax integrated three US. battalions with those 

of the ARVN 5th Ranger Group (down to squad level). While touted as 

a success, however, the operation was planned and directed exclusively 

by U.S. forces and did nothing to enhance ARVN capabilities for 

planning and conducting operations. 

The same can be said for ARVN participation in one of the largest 

combat operations of the entire war, Operation Junction City. Directed 

against a major enemy stronghold, War Zone C in Tay Ninh province 

(in early 1967), Junction City was initially to have included two ARVN 

regiments. However, according to General Bernard W. Rogers, this plan 

was determined to be too ambitious, and ARVN participation was reduced to only four battalions, which were integrated at the battalion 

level. The implied rationale for this reduction was to eliminate the 

repetition of information leaks that had previously allowed the VC to 

escape from U.S.-ARVN forces, as in Operation Cedar Falls in the adjacent Iron Triangle. 

In Operation Junction City, elements of the U.S. 1st and 25th Infantry Divisions, 173d Airborne Brigade, 196th Light Infantry Brigade, 

and integrated ARVN battalions formed blocking positions in an inverted horseshoe around the operational area while the 11th Armored 

Cavalry Regiment and 2d Brigade of the 25th Infantry Division pushed 

into the open southern end of the horseshoe to search out and destroy 

elements of one VC division and one North Vietnamese Army (NVA) 

regiment (as well as the headquarters of the Communist Central Office 

of South Vietnam [COSVN]). In keeping with the ARVN’s primary mission of area security in support of pacification, elements of other ARVN 

divisions maintained a security cordon near the populated areas close 

to the area of operations. 

Junction City was considered a success and a turning point that 

vindicated large-scale, multiunit operations. Yet while inflicting considerable damage to the Communists, who lost nearly 2,800 confirmed 

dead, Junction City presented disturbing strategic consequences and 

demonstrated weaknesses in MACV-AFRVN cooperation and combined 

action. The COSVN headquarters and the VC-NVA units were not destroyed but simply withdrew into Cambodian sanctuaries. As for 

MACV-AFRVN cooperation and combined action, it was superficial at 

best. U.S. commanders did all the planning and relegated their Vietnamese counterparts to the role of blindfolded executioners of their part 

of the action. Operational plans on the Vietnamese side were merely 

translations of U.S. orders, and the tactical role of ARVN units was 

largely supportive. As for coordination at the top, the Vietnamese JGS 

operational staff knew nothing about Junction City until it was 

287 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

launched, although the operation plan was published a month in 

advance. This failure to inform the JGS, it is claimed, was done primarily to prevent leaks in security. Unity of command at the operational 

IeveI appeared to be a facade. 

In his memoirs, Westmoreland claims that he “never encountered 

serious disagreement” with senior Vietnamese officials and never regretted the decision not to establish a combined command. While former 

senior South Vietnamese officers, writing in the Center of Military History’s Indochina Monographs, thought “the concept of cooperation and 

coordination predicated on the principles of equal partnership and division of responsibilities according to capabilities was perhaps the wisest 

and most appropriate [course] in the Vietnam context,“’ problems were 

caused, in their opinion, by a shortage of “comprehensive guidance” 

by MACV and the JGS in their implementation of annual Combined 

Campaign Plans. Since U.S.-Vietnamese operations were planned and 

directed by Americans-with only token Vietnamese participation or 

approval-ARVN capabilities for planning and conducting combat 

operations on their own were not at all enhanced. These same senior 

former South Vietnamese officers also cite the Field Forces commanders’ 

focus on U.S. troop operations-to the exclusion of their advisory dutiesas a limiting factor to U.S.-ARVN cooperation and coordination. 

General Bruce Palmer, writing in The 25-Year war, contends that 

the lack of a combined command caused a reduction of the close coordination necessary to achieve unity of effort in operations in Vietnam. 

He further contends that the decentralized nature of Free World forces 

planning and operations, as well as the U.S. domination of the annual 

Combined Campaign Plan, allowed U.S. commanders to run “their own 

shows” according to their assigned missions and left the Vietnamese 

without a strategy of their own when the U.S. and other Free World 

forces withdrew. 

The Vietnam experience is replete with examples of allied and 

AFRVN operations where lack of unity of command produced flawed 

results. While allied deference to Vietnamese sensibilities was probably 

necessary, the lack of a single commander at the highest level led to 

decentralized planning and execution that resulted in minimal comprehensive guidance, reduced coordination between the allies, and, ultimately, failure. We can only speculate at this point, but had the 

principle of unity of command been adhered to at all levels by allied 

forces, the outcome in the Vietnam War might have been different. 

288 
Unity of Command 

Bibliography 

Palmer, Bruce. The 25-Year War: America’s Military Role in Vietnam. 

New York: Simon and Schuster, 1984. 

Palmer, Dave Richard. Summons of the Trumpet: A History of the 

Vietnam War from a Military Man’s Viewpoint. New York: Ballantine Books, 1978. 

Pimlott, John. Vietnam: The Decisive Battles. New York: Macmillan, 

1990. 

Rogers, Bernard William. Cedar Falls-Junction City: A Turning Point. 

Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, Department 

of the Army, 1974. 

Stanton, Shelby L. The Rise and Fall of an American Army: U.S. 

Ground Forces in Vietnam, 1965-1973. Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 

1985. 

289 
36 

Weather 

The Influence of Weather on Combined Arms Operations 

in Korea, 1950 

Dr. Jack J. Gifford 

Weather and terrain, as they apply to military operations, often 

interact to create a synergistic effect. So it happened during the Korean 

War around the Chosin Reservoir in December 1950, when the extremely 

cold, damp climate combined with the rugged, mountainous terrain to 

produce severe conditions for combined arms operations between the 

Chinese and U.S. forces. 

The previous month, U.S. ground forces had advanced to the Chosin 

Reservoir in hot pursuit of a badly battered North Korean Army. The 

Americans sought to close on the Yalu River, in the process destroying 

what remained of enemy forces and reunifying Korea under the control 

of the Republic of Korea (South Korea). Instead, they confronted the 

Chinese Communist Forces’ (CCF’s) Twentieth Army, which having 

slipped undetected into Korea, attempted to envelop and destroy the 

advancing UN troops. 

The critical terrain features that affected the outcome of this battle 

were the roads linking the advanced UN positions with the supply 

base at the port of Hungnam. For over half their length, these narrow, 

unpaved roads ran over a high plateau and through tortuous passes. 

Because UN forces depended on motor transportation to haul the bulk 

of their supplies, the roads became crucial for the movement of tanks 

and artillery pieces. Cutting the roads, which would prevent the movement of American motor vehicles, was a primary Chinese goal and a 

key to victory. 

In later assessments of the battle, both sides felt that their equipment and clothing were inappropriate for the bitter winter weather. 

Concerning the latter, the Chinese wore quilted-cotton pants and long 

shirts that usually hung over their pants. Underneath these clothes, 

they wore light, summer-weight cotton shirts and pants (their summer 

uniforms). On their feet, they wore tennis shoes and heavy cotton socks 

that they often tied as leggings around their lower legs. The quiltedcotton overgarments were warm, although the cotton underclothing did 

not really provide the warmth of normal layered clothing. Morever, 

291 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

when wet, the cotton garments were very difficult to dry and lost most 

of their insulation value. If they became soaked, the clothing frozeand so did the wearer. In addition, the thin tennis shoes offered little 

protection from the cold, and the Chinese suffered thousands of cases 

of frostbite and frozen feet. Some Chinese reports say whole companies 

of men froze to death during the campaign. 

The Americans’ layered woolen clothing offered much better protection against the cold, but Army and Marine equipment for the extremities had a number of shortcomings. For example, the U.S. forces had 

no satisfactory cold-weather boots. The leather boots the troops wore 

did not keep out the cold or damp, while the waterproof boots caused 

sweating, with the sweat then freezing inside the boots. When conditions did not permit the regular changing of footwear-for instance, 

after troops climbed hills or conducted extended firefights-U.S. forces 

also suffered frostbite and frozen feet. While American gloves gave 

considerable protection from the cold, soldiers still needed to remove 

all or part of one of their gloves to fire their weapons. In these cases, 

bare flesh froze to any metal weapon parts. 

The United States deliberately kept sleeping bags in short supply, 

as men sometimes froze to death in them. Other soldiers were killed 

attempting to get out of their bags when surprised by night attacks. 

During the day, the Marines used warming tents to alleviate the cold. 

Many Marines felt these tents were vital in allowing them to continue 

fighting in the bitter weather of Chosin. 

Personal weapons wielded by the men of both armies usually functioned despite the cold weather. With reduced lubrication, U.S. M-1 

Garand rifles worked satisfactorily. On the other hand, most carbines 

froze and- became inoperable. Problems also existed with many crewserved weapons. A spring in the Browning automatic rifles sometimes 

failed to work in extreme cold. Morever, machine guns, particularly 

water-cooled ones, tended to freeze up, as the antifreeze added to their 

water was only effective to 20 degrees below zero, while the temperatures around Chosin fell to 30 and 40 degrees below zero. Sometimes, 

machine guns could fire only in the single-shot mode. To keep their 

weapons from freezing up, most men fired them hourly. Of more significance, the baseplates for mortars often froze, then broke under recoil 

pressures when fired. On an earthen surface, good mortarmen can fire 

without baseplates; on ice or frozen ground, they cannot. Furthermore, 

the Chinese reported that over half of their mortar rounds failed to 

function properly due to the cold. Also, chilled Chinese fingers often 

found it impossible to unscrew the wooden caps of their potato-masher 

grenades. 

Most logistical support for the UN forces was airlifted. The airstrip 

292 
Weather 

at Hagaru-ri, at the head of the Chosin Reservoir, was particularly 

important for both bringing in supplies and evacuating 4,312 casualties-over half of which were cold-weather injuries. While cargo planes 

loaded at warmer and better-equipped sites in Japan, they landed on a 

short, frozen landing strip between high mountain peaks that was under 

intermittent small-arms fire. 

The weather also affected air support in several ways, For instance, 

airfields near Wonson did not have heated hangars for the land-based 

planes. Thus, mechanics worked on planes with bare hands, and contact 

with cold metal was painful. The mechanical-bomb and rocket-loading 

equipment often froze up, and all the munitions had to be loaded by 

human muscle power. On U.S. aircraft carriers supporting the war, ice 

often choked the decks and made refueling, loading, and above-deck 

servicing difficult. Furthermore, icy decks made takeoffs and landings 

hazardous, Snow flurries and low clouds also contributed to the difficulties facing pilots flying air-support missions. Still, despite these 

complications, air support proved a vital ingredient in U.S. operations 

at Chosin. 

Signal equipment was another critical item for troops fighting in 

Korea, but the cold put much of the equipment out of operation. Only 

the tank radios functioned satisfactorily, Communications failures contributed heavily to the destruction of Army forces east of the Chosin 

Reservoir. 

Medical support on the frigid battlefield was also difficult, as 

plasma and sedatives froze. Medics warmed sedative bottles in their 

mouths or against their bodies, but only a warming tent could thaw 

plasma and other medical supplies. Even in the warming tents, water 

froze when placed more than eight feet from the stoves. On the other 

hand, wounds quickly froze, preventing excessive loss of blood. Emergency rations also froze, and the troops had difficulty in thawing them 

enough to make them edible. The troops ate partly frozen rations that 

caused severe gastrointestinal problems that often resulted in uncontrollable diarrhea. 

Despite the cold weather, the artillery at Chosin gave strong supporting fires, but the numerous defilades in the mountainous terrain 

reduced the guns’ ability to strike many critical areas. Furthermore, 

some types of ammunition failed to detonate in the extreme cold, particularly illumination shells. Perhaps more telling was the effect the 

weather had on propelling charges. The cold distorted the burn rates 

of this ammunition and made it impossible to predict accurately the 

fall of rounds. Throughout the battle, short rounds fell on friendly 

forces. The cold so slowed the recoil mechanisms of the tubes that it 

took up to two minutes for the guns to relay themselves. This made 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

firing concentrated barrages difficult. In addition, prime movers for the 

artillery had to be started regularly, or they froze up and became 

unusable. 

Tanks and trucks, if not run on a regular basis, froze up. Also, 

the frozen ground around the Chosin Reservoir restricted the ability of 

tanks to negotiate icy slopes and left them largely road bound. Indeed, 

more tanks were lost to weather and terrain than to enemy action in 

the Chosin campaign. In the restricted terrain and in subzero temperatures, normal armor tactics sometimes proved disastrous for accompanying infantry and support units. When engaged on the road, tanks 

usually stopped to fire. This forced all the thin-skinned vehicles in the 

column to stop, which made them very vulnerable to enemy smallarms fire. At one stage in the Chosin campaign, when a relief force, 

Task Force (TF) Drysdale, attempted to fight its way to Hagaru-ri, it 

was largely destroyed when the tanks in the column stopped to fire at 

the Chinese. This made the light vehicles, which depended on mobility 

for survival, easy targets for Chinese gunfire. Small-arms fire quickly 

knocked out several trucks, blocking the road and cutting the convoy 

into several segments, three of which were subsequently overrun. 

Yet tanks, with their mobile artillery fire and protected machine 

guns, formed a vital part of the defensive perimeter at Hagaru-ri. Without this fire support and the tanks’ ability to push aside most of the 

Chinese roadblocks, none of TF Drysdale (in the above instance) would 

have reached Hagaru-ri, where its firepower immensely strengthened 

the defense of the garrison. 

A major U.S. attack planned for 0800 on 27 November aimed 

toward Mup’yong-ni, above the Chosin Reservoir, with the 7th Marines 

and the 2d Battalion, 5th Marines, in the lead. Meanwhile, the 1st 

Marines controlled key points along the road from Hamhung to the 

reservoir, On the east side of the reservoir, the 1st Battalion, 32d Infantry, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Don C. Faith Jr., and the 

31st Infantry, commanded by Colonel Allen D. MacLean, held firm 

positions. After the onset of the U.S. attack, however, the CCF’s 

Twentieth and Twenty-Seventh Armies initiated their own massive 

attacks (see map 27). 

On 26-27 November, TF MacLean, along the east side of the reservoir, established a perimeter at Pungnyuri inlet, about eight miles 

north of the 1st Marines’ command post at Haguru-ri. The task force’s 

infantry battalions were short of gloves, tire chains, and tarps for their 

trucks and had only kitchen tents for cover. The Chinese drove them 

from their forward positions north of the inlet on the second night of 

fighting. In this battle, the battalion’s 75mm recoilless rifle destroyed 

an enemy tank and self-propelled gun. In addition, the task force’s 

294 
Weather 

LEGEND 

c”) U.S powions. mght. 27 NW 50 

Axis of Chtnese attacks, 

night. 27 Nov-morning. 29 NW 50 

Scale 

2” 

s” CCF 

7 MAR(-) t.c. - ‘.. 

‘y r cli)J MAR(-) 

010-d b 

-N- 

.S. 2/l MAR(+) 

II 

Map 27. Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, 27-29 November 1950 

4.2-mm mortars gave fire support that broke up enemy assembly areas 

and blunted penetrations. A Marine tactical air control party provided 

air support for the task force and knocked out two Chinese self-propelled 

guns and a tank. However, the artillery battalion south of the inlet 

provided no fire support for the battalion north of the inlet. Moreover, 

the task force’s tanks were six miles to the rear with the rear command 

post, completely out of touch with the forward elements. 

TF MacLean’s 2d Infantry Battalion set up a perimeter south of 

the inlet and was joined by several batteries of an artillery battalion 

with eight 105mm tubes. A Chinese attack here on the first night of 

295 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

the battle overran almost all the positions, and U.S. artillerymen fought 

mostly as infantrymen during the battle. On the second night of fighting, three M-16 quad 50s and four M-19s with dual 40-mm guns, plus 

the artillery headquarters and headquarters battery, joined the fight in 

the perimeter. This group had fought off an attack on its position about 

a mile south of the inlet during the first night. On the second night, 

the group lost an M-16 when its battery failed in the cold and the 

Chinese overran and destroyed it. The task force’s tanks, six miles 

farther south, and the headquarters personnel with them were not 

attacked on the first night. 

In the following nights of fighting along the perimeter, US. Army 

artillery and mortars furnished supporting fires, but the M-16s and 

M-19s of the antiaircraft unit provided the bulk of the fire support for 

the hard-pressed infantrymen. By the end of the hostilities at the inlet, 

all the mortars had broken baseplates as a result of the cold. During 

the short daylight hours, air cover kept the Chinese relatively inactive, 

which allowed the task force to collect its dead and wounded and 

reorganize for the next Chinese assaults. 

The extreme cold constricted the capabilities of the task force. For 

example, the slower recoil of the guns hindered the artillery’s ability 

to fire rapid barrages. In addition, illumination shells generally failed 

to ignite. The batteries of the tracked antiaircraft vehicles also sometimes failed to deliver enough power to rotate the turrets, and men 

became casualties when they used ungloved hands to feed ammunition 

and inadvertently touched metal. Medical problems were enormous, with 

hundreds of wounded needing plasma, all of which had frozen. Moreover, there were no warming tents, and some wounded men froze while 

at the aid station. Most of the medical facilities of the units were not 

at the battle perimeter, and the Chinese roadblock just north of the 

headquarters-tank position prevented the medics from reaching the 

forward elements of the task force. 

For their part, the tanks moved out to clear the roadblock. However, 

they had no supporting infantry. At the roadblock, the tanks encountered a Chinese force armed with a captured American 3.5mm bazooka 

that knocked out the lead tank, which then blocked the road. Another 

tank was lost when it slipped on the icy slopes while trying to pass 

the knocked-out tank. The tankers found that, without infantry support, 

they could not clear the roadblock with the supporting fire block, and 

they fell back to their assembly area. A second attempt to open the 

road the next day also failed, with the loss of two more tanks to the 

treacherous, icy terrain. This last attack was supported by a makeshift 

infantry team gathered from the personnel of the rear headquarters. 

This uncoordinated mob could not manuever as a fighting unit and 

contributed little to the tank assault. Before the task force attempted 

296 
, 

Weather 

to fight its way south, the tank unit retreated and joined the defenses 

of Hagaru-ri, ending any chance of a full combined arms operation by 

the badly chopped-up units. Had the scattered U.S. forces been able to 

form a regimental combat team, they possibly could have fought their 

way out. 

On 1 December 1950, after losing Colonel MacLean to Chinese 

gunfire, the units east of the reservoir consolidated into TF Faith and 

began fighting their way back to Hagaru-ri. Because all the task force’s 

artillery pieces and mortars were frozen, they had to be. abandoned. 

For fire support during the retreat, the task force depended on close 

air support and its antiaircraft guns, Yet largely because of the freezing 

weather, only one of the antiaircraft vehicles could be started, an 

M-19 with dual 40-mm guns. Supported by this tracked vehicle and air 

cover, the unit moved some distance down the road, but the M-19 was 

used mostly for hauling trucks past roadblocks, and it ran out of 

ammunition before reaching the critical roadblock that the tank company had unsuccessfully attacked two days earlier. Although infantrymen cleared the roadblock, the trucks in the convoy, without supporting 

weapons of any kind, were later destroyed by the Chinese. 

While TF Faith’s experience serves as an example of the dangers 

inherent in failures to coordinate combined arms, the movement of the 

5th and 7th Marines from Yudam-ni to Hagaru-ri is an excellent 

example of successful combined arms operations in cold weather. The 

Marines emplaced artillery at both Yudam-ni and Hagaru-ri, fourteen 

road miles apart. They also had an infantry company at the pass 

between these two points, just within range of the supporting artillery 

at Hagaru-ri. Furthermore, the Marines employed a number of tanks 

in their defense of the base at Hagaru-ri, while a single tank with a 

SO-mm gun led the road column in the breakout from Yudam-ni. The 

Marine artillery also displaced by batteries and stopped to set up firing 

positions several times during the move to continue its support of the 

infantry. In addition, the Marines had close air support and made 

effective use of their organic mortars and recoilless rifles. Infantry units 

attacking the Chinese along the hills flanking the road also remained 

within supporting distance of their artillery. The Marines made night 

attacks across the ridges in weather so bitter that two men died of 

cold shock while advancing. 

The lone Marine tank led the column of lighter vehicles down the 

road to Hagaru-ri. As it came to roadblocks (there were thirty-seven 

the first six miles between Yudam-ni and Hagaru-ri), it provided fire 

support until the Marine engineers moved forward to clear the blocks. 

When a roadblock was a blown-out bridge, the engineers either put in 

a temporary replacement or built a bypass using bulldozers and other 

297 
Combined Arms in Battle Since 1939 

equipment. The Marine infantry moving along the hillsides annihilated 

the Chinese covering the road, and the convoy moved on. Wounded 

men and drivers rode; all others walked. The Marines evacuated everything but their dead, whom they buried before departing. The artillery, 

which remained in position until almost all the troops left, answered 

calls for fire support from the troops on the ridgelines. Meanwhile, 

close air support kept the Chinese relatively inactive during the daytime. By this time, the Marine columns began to encounter a number 

of Chinese immobilized by the cold. 

The company holding the summit above the critical pass between 

Yudam-ni and Hagaru-ri was just within reach of the fire base at 

Hagaru-ri, so as the column from Yudam-ni linked up with the force 

holding the pass, it came within range of artillery fire support. The 

head of the Marine column made it from Yudam-ni to Hagaru-ri in 

just fifty-nine hours; the tail of the column took seventy-nine hours. 

When the Marine column reached the top of the pass, its prime movers 

ran out of fuel, and it lost ten of its eighteen heavy 155mm artillery 

pieces. The prime movers were diesel powered, and fuel could not be 

moved forward to reach them. 

Meanwhile, the fire base at Hagaru-ri held out against heavy 

attacks. Combat engineers and service troops were pressed into service 

and established a defensive perimeter. The best infantry units, with 

preplanned mortar and artillery fires, defended a draw that offered the 

best approach for the Chinese into Hagaru-ri. Service and engineer 

troops held the key hills surrounding the town, and the tanks defended 

the open flatlands leading to the reservoir and gave fire support to 

the hill positions manned by the engineers, This defensive formation 

succeeded in holding the perimeter until additional combat troops (TF 

Drysdale) fought their way into Hagaru-ri. While the fighting raged, 

the engineers continued working on an airstrip using floodlights, even 

during the heaviest fighting. When completed, the airstrip allowed the 

wounded from the 5th and 7th Marines to be flown out, along with 

those TF Faith survivors who had worked their way back to Hagaruri across the frozen reservoir after the Chinese had destroyed their 

truck convoy. 

Overall, the Marine withdrawal to Hagaru-ri was a masterpiece in 

combined arms operations undertaken in the most bitter weather. While 

most of TF Faith became casualties, the Marines withdrew in good 

condition and were ready to return to combat almost immediately. On 

the other hand, the CCF’s Twentieth Army found the combination of 

Marine and Army combined arms operations and the frozen wastes of 

North Korea more than it could handle. The Twentieth Army was not 

fit for combat for nearly six months. Its total casualties can only be 

298 

-.- _x_R__I 
Weather 

guessed at, but some Chinese survivors reported nearly 100 percent 

losses in their divisions. Weather inflicted most of these casualties. 

Bibliography 

Appleman, Roy Edgar. East of Chosin: Entrapment and Breakout in 

Korea, 1950. College Station: Texas A&M Press, 1987. 

-. Escaping the Trap: The US Army X Corps in Northeast Korea, 

2950. College Station: Texas A&M Press, 1990. 

Hammel, Eric M. Chosin: Heroic Ordeal of the Korean War. Novato, 

CA: Presidio Press, 1990. 

Hopkins, William B. One Bugle, No Drums: The Marines at Chosin 

Reservoir. Chapel Hill, NC: Algonquin Books, 1986. 

Leckie, Robert. The March to Glory. Cleveland, OH: World Publishing, 

1960. 

Marshall, S. L. A. “Commentary on Infantry Operations and Weapons 

Usage in Korea, Winter of 195041.” Chevy Chase, MD: Operations 

Research Office, The Johns Hopkins University, 1953. 

Spurr, Russell. Enter the Dragon: China’s Undeclared War Against the 

U.S. in Korea, 1950-51. New York: Newmarket Press, 1988. 

299 
Authors 

Major Bruce Alsup graduated from Middle Tennessee State University in 1976 and is currently pursuing an M.A. in history at the University of Missouri. He is also a 1990 graduate of the U.S. Army 

Command and General Staff College. 

Dr. Robert F. Baumann has a Ph.D. in history from Yale University 

and researched this article on location while in residence at Leningrad 

University during the summer of 1991. 

Dr. Gary J. Bjorge received a B.A. from the University of Minnesota. After five years of service as an officer in the U.S. Navy, he 

received his master’s and doctorate degrees from the University of 

Wisconsin-Madison. His area of specialization at the U.S. Army 

Command and General Staff College is East Asian and Chinese military history. 

Dr. Jerold E. Brown received his Ph.D. in military history from 

Duke University in 1977. His published works include Where Eagles 

Land: Planning and Development of US. Army Airfields, 1910-1941 

and Voluntarism, Planning, and the State: The American Planning 

Experience, 1914-1946. 

Lieutenant Colonel Thomas E. Christianson earned a B.A. and an 

M.A. in history from the University of Wisconsin. He served as an 

assistant professor of European history at the U.S. Military Academy 

from 1984 to 1987. 

Major Stephen D. Coats earned a master’s degree in American 

history from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and is a graduate 

of the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. He has served 

with the 7th and 9th Infantry Divisions. 

Major Robert E. Connor received an M.A. in history from Northeastern Illinois University. He is currently studying toward a Ph.D. in 

English history at the University of Kansas. As an Infantry officer, 

he has served in command and staff positions in the United States 

and Germany. 

301 
Authors 

Lieutenant Colonel John R. Finch (U.S. Army, Retired) holds an 

M.A. in history from the University of Kansas and served twenty-two 

years as an intelligence officer, participating in the Vietnam War’s 

Easter Offensive, Operation Just Cause in Panama, and the latter 

stages of Operation Desert Storm in the Persian Gulf. 

Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Frame (U.S. Army, Retired) holds an 

M.M.A.S. from the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College” 

and an M.Ph. in history from the University of Kansas, where he is 

currently a Ph.D. candidate in Russian history. 

Dr. Christopher R. Gabel received his Ph.D. from the Ohio State 

University in 1981. His publications include The U.S. Army GHQ 

Maneuvers of 1941 and Seek, Strike, and Destroy: U.S. Army Tank 

Destroyer Doctrine in World War II. 

Dr. George W. Gawrych received a Ph.D. in Middle East history 

from the University of Michigan. His publications include Key to the 

Sinia: The 1956 and 1967 Battles for Abu Ageila and numerous articles 

in U.S. and international journals. 

Dr. Jack J. Gifford, a veteran of the Korean War, received a Ph.D. 

from the University of California-Los Angeles, where he also served 

as a lecturer. He was also a professor at Westminster College. 

Dr. Thomas M. Huber earned his doctorate from the University of 

Chicago and has taught at Stanford University. He is the author of 

Japan’s Battle of Okinawa, April-June 1945 and The Revolutionary 

Origins of Modern Japan. 

Lieutenant Colonel Matthew S. Klimow earned a B.S. from the U.S. 

Military Academy, an M.A. from Webster University, and an M.M.A.S. 

from the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. He is currently writing on his experiences in Operation Desert Storm. 

Major George E. Knapp, an infantryman and Vietnam War veteran, 

received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in history from Spring 

Hill College, Mobile, Alabama, and the University of Missouri-Kansas 

City, respectively. He conducted the interviews for Buffalo Soldiers at 

Fort Leavenworth in the 1930s and Early 1940s. 

302 j 
Authors 

Major(P) Neil V. Lamont has an MS. in national security affairs 

with a concentration in Soviet and East European area studies from 

the Naval Postgraduate School. He is also a graduate of the U.S. Army 

Russian Institute, the Defense Language Institute, and the US. Army 

Command and General Staff College. 

Dr. Samuel J. Lewis received his Ph.D. in modern European history 

from the University of California-Santa Barbara in 1983. He is the 

author of Forgotten Legions: German Army Infantry Policy, 1918-1941 

and Jedburgh Team Operations in Support of the 12th Army Group, 

August 1944. 

Lieutenant Colonel James R. McLean earned a B.S. from the U.S. 

Military Academy and a master’s in history from the University of 

North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He is a graduate of the U.S. Army 

Command and General Staff College. 

Major George J. Mordica II, an Armor officer, received a B.A. in 

history from the University of Southern Mississippi and an M.A. in 

international relations from Western Illinois University and is a graduate of the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. 

Dr. Michael D. Pearlman received a B.A. from Wichita State University, an M.A. from the University of Chicago, and a Ph.D. from 

the University of Illinois. He is the author of To Make Democracy 

Safe for America and has published articles on military issues in several 

., 

journals. 

1 Lieutenant Colonel Robert D. Ramsey III holds a master’s degree 

in history and is a Ph.D. candidate at Rice University. He is currently 

working on a study of the Meuse-Argonne campaign in World War I. 

Major Gary D. Rhay, a Vietnam War veteran, received a B,A. in 

political science from the University of Oregon and an M.M.A.S. from 

the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College. He has also taught 

at the U.S. Military Academy. 

Dr. William G. Robertson has a Ph.D. in history from the University 

of Virginia and is the author of Back Door to Richmond: The Bermuda 

Hundred Campaign, The Petersburg Campaign: The Battle of Old Men 

and Young Boys, the Bull Run chapter in America’s First Battles, and 

Counterattack on the Naktong, 1950. 

303 
Authors I 

Lieutenant Colonel Edward P. Shanahan earned a B.A. in political 

science from Eastern Kentucky University and an M.S. in geography 

from Pennsylvania State University. He served as an assistant professor 

of history at the U.S. Military Academy. 

Major Terry L. Siems, an Armor officer, received an M.A. in history 

from Pittsburg State University in 1982 and has served as a company 

commander in Germany. 

Dr. Roger J. Spiller, general editor, CGSC Press, and George C. 

Marshall Professor of Military History, U.S. Army Command and 

General Staff College, received a Ph.D. in history from Louisiana State 

University. He is the editor of the three-volume work, Dictionary of 

American Military Biography. 

Dr. Lawrence A. Yates received his Ph.D. in history from the 

University of Kansas. He has written Power Pack: U.S. Intervention 

in the Dominican Republic and is currently writing the official histories 

of Operation Just Cause and the role of Joint Task Force-Panama in 

the Panama crisis. 

f? U.S. GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE: 1992 657-632