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Theodore Roosevelt’s Amazon Adventure and Gun Gift By Kurt Allemeier

Following his stinging defeat in the 1912 election, President Theodore Roosevelt planned a trip to South America with a lecture tour and river expedition in the works.

On the trip he exchanged one river expedition meant as an enjoyable excursion for another that was far more dangerous. That trip, on the River of Doubt, veered into a fight to stay alive.

An engraved nickel and gold plated Smith & Wesson .38 Double Action 4th Model Bicycle revolver Roosevelt carried with him to South America and bestowed as a gift to an Argentine university president on his speaking tour is available in Rock Island Auction Company’s May 13-15 Premier Auction. Engraving on the short-barreled gun was done by master engraver L.D. Nimschke or his shop.

ad-shot-on-backgroundLot 238: This engraved nickel and gold plated Smith & Wesson .38 Double Action 4th Model Bicycle revolver is an extreme rarity as well as the gift of Theodore Roosevelt to a former Argentine university president on a trip to South America in 1913.

South America Tour

As one who enjoyed “the strenuous life,” Roosevelt, who was 55, wasn’t one to sit around and let his defeat to Woodrow Wilson gnaw at him. He accepted an invitation to South America for a series of lectures as well as a river tour to collect flora and fauna samples.

A friend, Rev. John Zahm, a Roman Catholic Priest who had traveled extensively in South America, invited Roosevelt on the expedition. An off-hand comment by a Brazilian official suggested an expedition of the unmapped River of Doubt that feeds into the Aripuanã River. The Aripuanã meets the Madeira River, the Amazon River’s largest tributary. The River of Doubt hadn’t been officially named since it had yet to be explored.

“I thought of making the trip a zoological one only, but in Rio de Janeiro I learned there was a chance of our doing a work of geographical importance,” Roosevelt later wrote.

S-W-facing-left-on-backgroundThis extremely rare .38 caliber Smith & Wesson Double Action 4th Model Bicycle revolver has some amazing engraving from the shop of L.D. Nimschke or by the master engraver himself.

Roosevelt, despite the risks, wanted to take on the River of Doubt. The director of the American Museum of Natural History, a sponsor of the original expedition, warned against the danger.

“If it is necessary for me to leave my bones in South America, I am quite ready to do so,” Roosevelt wrote.

Theodore Roosevelt – The River of Doubt, Part 1

Expedition Begins

Col. Candido Rondon was a veteran of the Amazon forest, a former military officer who led the effort to install telegraph lines through the jungle served as co-leader of the party. He was aware of the dangers faced by the expedition.

He and Roosevelt discussed what to expect, the former president wrote, “such as poisonous insects and the fevers they cause, dysentery, accidents in the rapids, and starvation!”

The expedition party traveled upriver by steamboat to a remote town where it began an overland trek to the River of Doubt. Several men fell ill and half of the pack animals died of exhaustion. Further complicating matters, it was discovered that the provisions were more for a cruise like Zahm had in mind than a tough river adventure. There was olive oil, tea, sweets and Rhine wine, but not enough necessities like dried food and salted meat.

Rio-RooseveltPresident Theodore Roosevelt stands next to a marker with the new name of the River of Doubt, Rio Roosevelt, or Roosevelt River. Naturalist George Cherrie is on far left. To the right of the marker is Col. Candido Rondon, who co-led the expedition, and Kermit Roosevelt, the president’s son.

Before setting off on the River of Doubt, the expeditionary team downsized due to the lack of proper supplies. In February, 1914, the party started out with the former president, his son, Kermit, Rondon and his assistant, a doctor, naturalist George Cherrie, and several porters. The number was 22.

Dangers of the Amazon

From the start, the expedition faced the threat of alligators, piranhas, and hostile natives. Roosevelt wrote of being overwhelmed by “torment and menace” from mosquitos and stinging flies.

A venomous coral snake nearly bit the former president who was saved by the thick leather of his boot. Still Roosevelt was captivated.

“It was interesting work, for no civilized man, no white man, had ever gone down or up this river or seen the country through which we were passing,” Roosevelt later wrote. “The lofty and matted forest rose like a green wall on either hand.”

Indigenous people, later learned to be hostile to outsiders and cannibalistic, were stalking the party. Rondon, the Brazilian, forbid anyone to go deep into the jungle after discovering his hunting dog shot with arrows.

S-W-in-case-on-backgroundThe impossibly rare engraved, gold and nickel plated Smith & Wesson Double Action 4th Model Bicycle revolver that was presented as a gift by Theodore Roosevelt.

River Rapids

By March the expedition faced treacherous rapids and had to decide whether to shoot through them or portage through the jungle. Several canoes were destroyed, causing delays as new ones had to be made. They were making about seven miles per day.

On one occasion, daring the rapids turned fatal. A canoe carrying Kermit Roosevelt and two other men was sucked into a whirlpool then sent over a 30-foot waterfall. Kermit and one of the men escaped. The third, a Brazilian, drowned.

Malaria and Murder

Men were overtaken by malaria, dysentery, and suffering as supplies ran low.

Roosevelt, attempting to rescue a canoe in a series of rapids, suffered a nasty gash on his leg. Easily treated in civilization, the wound quickly got infected, leaving the Rough Rider delirious from fever as high as 105 degrees and begging to be left behind. His son wouldn’t hear of it.

“There were a good many days, a good many mornings when I looked at Colonel Roosevelt and said to myself, he won’t be with us tonight,” naturalist George Cherrie later remembered. “And I would say the same in the evening, he can’t possibly live until morning.”

Roosevelt-with-Cherrie-on-his-rightFormer president Theodore Roosevelt with naturalist George Cherrie to his right. The men explored the River of Doubt in South America in 1914.

Cherrie would eventually be a veteran of 40 expeditions in his career and have several species, including a lizard, birds, and a pocket gopher named after him.

Eventually, on a muddy riverbank, the expedition’s doctor was forced to operate without any type of pain reliever for the former president. No matter, the doctor cut away the dead flesh and Roosevelt, who lost nearly 60 lbs. began to improve.

One night, a Brazilian porter was caught stealing food. He fatally shot the man who caught him and fled into the jungle. The party couldn’t find the fugitive and left him to his fate.

River Rescue

In April, the expedition started seeing signs of civilization. They recognized rubber trees tapped for their sap by Brazilian pioneers who had pushed into the jungle. Some of the pioneers were generous to the ragtag expedition and provided new canoes and food.

A relief party was spotted on April 26 at the confluence of the River of Doubt and Aripuanã River. The expedition had trekked more than 400 miles on the River of Doubt.

At his first opportunity, Roosevelt sent off a telegram to the Brazilian government declaring the expedition, “a hard and somewhat dangerous, but very successful trip.”

By the time Roosevelt returned to New York in May, 1914 he was strong enough to walk down the gangplank to meet well-wishers.

Theodore Roosevelt – The River of Doubt, Part 2

Addressing Naysayers

Roosevelt was met by critics about the extent of his role with the expedition, but a lecture tour of the United States and Europe quickly silenced them. The party brought back 2,000 species of birds and 500 mammals for the American Museum of Natural History.

River-of-Doubt-cartoonTheodore Roosevelt was met with naysayers who didn’t believe the events of the expedition. He proved them wrong on a lecture tour of the U.S. and Europe.

The expedition took its toll on Roosevelt who suffered from recurring malaria for the rest of his life that he called “old Brazilian trouble.” He died in 1919 at the age of 60.

An expedition launched on the renamed River of Doubt, now Roosevelt River, in 1926 confirmed nearly everything the earlier expedition did. Rondon, as the leader of the first expedition, was responsible for naming the river and chose to name it after the 26th president.

Teddy Roosevelt Revolver

The engraved short-barrel Smith & Wesson .38 Double Action 4th Model Bicycle revolver, with its silver barrel and frame and gold-plated cylinder is an extreme rarity in Smith & Wesson collecting. The engraving is from the workshop of famed engraver L.D. Nimschke. These double action revolvers are rarer than their Safety Hammerless cousins, especially special order short-barrel versions so this is a nearly impossible to find Smith & Wesson model.

S-W-facing-right-on-backgroundLot 238: An extreme rarity, this engraved short-barrel Smith & Wesson .38 Double Action 4th Model Bicycle revolver was a gift given by President Theodore Roosevelt on a South American tour before departing for an expedition that turned out to be a fight for his life.

Heap on it being a gift from one of America’s most beloved presidents and the revolver’s value increases even further. The gun is accompanied by a statement of provenance in Spanish by the great-grandson of the original owner, Dr. Figueroa Alcorta.  The statement says the revolver “was given to my great-grandfather Dr. Figueroa Alcorta when the ex-President of the United States of America, Theodore Roosevelt, visited the country in 1913.” Argentina is the country referred to in the statement, and in the statement the revolver is identified by serial number and short description of gold and silver plating and pearl grips as well as a description of the accompanying retailer box. Alcorta is a past president of the University of La Plata in Argentina so likely met the former president on his lecture tour ahead of the expedition. The history, rarity and provenance of this Smith & Wesson makes this an amazing and highly desirable piece of gun memorabilia.

Sources:

The Amazonian Expedition That Nearly Killed Theodore Roosevelt, by Evan Andrews, history.com

The River of Doubt, Theodore Roosevelt Center at Dickinson State University

‘The River of Doubt: Theodore Roosevelt’s Darkest Journey,’ by Candice Millar

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Remember Pearl Harbor: The Men and the Guns by MARTIN K. A. MORGAN

pearl.jpg

The crew of the 4″/50-caliber deck gun on the Wickes-class destroyer U.S.S. Ward (DD-139) sank a Japanese two-man midget submarine at 6:45 a.m. on Dec. 7, 1941. This is the gun and these are the men who fired the first shots that day. U.S. Navy photo

In remembrance of the Japanese Attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, this poster was designed by Allen Sandburg and issued by the Office of War Information in 1942. The poster featured a quotation from Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address: “we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain….”

The standard, popularized narrative about Dec. 7, 1941, emphasizes the Japanese attack on the U.S. Navy base at Pearl Harbor. Because of the spectacular explosion of U.S.S. Arizona, and the extremely high loss of life on Battleship Row, it is understandable that so much attention continues to be directed toward that single part of the attack. But the Japanese also targeted every other military installation on Oahu that day. From Wheeler Army Air Field to the Naval Air Station at Kaneohe Bay to the Marine Corps Air Station at Ewa, Japanese aircraft bombed and strafed military facilities across the entire island. What happened at those other locations is every bit as important as what happened around the Pearl Harbor Navy Base because lives were lost there as well, and the face of history was changed forever. But at each of those locations, U.S. personnel also fought back. They did so in the air, on land and at sea, and they did so with some of the guns that would ultimately win the war against Japan.

The first shots of Dec. 7, 1941, were fired by Americans, not the Japanese. At 6:45 that morning, the Wickes-class destroyer U.S.S. Ward (DD-139) sighted a Japanese two-man midget submarine tailing the cargo ship Antares just a few miles south of the entrance to Pearl Harbor. Ward then brought the submarine under fire with one of its 4/50-caliber deck guns, scoring a direct hit on the starboard side of the sub’s tower that caused flooding and consequently, sinking. The Minnesota Naval Reservists manning that gun are remembered as the men who fired the opening shots on the “Day of Infamy.”

(l.) Marine Corps Tech./Sgt. Henry H. Anglin, the non-commissioned officer in charge of the Photography Section of Marine Corps Air Station Ewa, stands in front of the airfield’s dispensary on Dec. 8, 1941. Anglin is holding the Japanese 7.7 mm slug that wounded him during the attack the day before. Photo courtesy of Mike Wenger (r.) Sergeant Carlo A. Micheletto of Marine Utility Squadron (VMJ) 252 was delivering rifle fire with his M1903 Springfield when a Japanese fighter strafed him at Marine Corps Air Station Ewa on December 7th. He was 26 years old when he was killed in action.

Seventy minutes later, the first wave of the Japanese air raid started when bombs began to fall and torpedoes began to slice the waters of Pearl Harbor. Despite the early encounter between U.S.S. Ward and the Japanese midget submarine, soldiers, sailors and Marines were caught “flat-footed” by the attack when it began at 7:55 a.m. But even as explosions echoed across Oahu and combat aircraft roared overhead, some Americans on the ground began to fight back. Private First Class Melvin Thompson was on guard duty at the front gate at Marine Corps Air Station Ewa, seven miles west of Ford Island, when nine Japanese fighters, led by Lt. Cmdr. Shigeru Itaya from the aircraft carrier Akagai, began strafing the airfield. They had been given the mission of reducing Babasu Pointo Hikojo, the so-called “Barber’s Point Airdrome,” and so they came in low and fast over Ewa, attacking Marine aircraft on the ground there. Infuriated by this, Thompson walked out of the guard shack, drew his M1911A1 .45-cal. pistol, and opened fire on one of the passing fighters. At the same time, 27-year-old Lt. Yoshio Shiga’s section of nine fighters from Kaga came in over Ewa. From the cockpit of his A6M2 Zero, Shiga saw PFC Thompson facing off against him. The sight of the lone Marine shooting a handgun at a high performance combat aircraft strafing with 7.7 mm machine guns and 20 mm cannons left a powerful impression. Years later, Shiga remembered Thompson’s tenacity and fighting spirit and described the lone Marine as “the bravest American I ever met.”

U.S. M1903 Springfield Rifle


Melvin Thompson was not the only Marine returning fire at Ewa that morning. In a photograph that is now quite well-known, five enlisted Marines can be seen crouching near the foundation of a swimming pool under construction, each armed with a firearm that would do a great deal of fighting on December 7th—the M1903 Springfield bolt-action rifle. All over the field, Marines pumped fire into the air at the attacking enemy aircraft. One of those men was Sgt. Duane W. Shaw, the driver of the airfield’s fire truck. As the attack began, he attempted to drive the fire truck to the flight line to put out fires among the aircraft parked there, but the bright red vehicle attracted too much attention. All four of the fire truck’s tires were quickly shot out and the rest of the vehicle was punctured by holes from Japanese bullets before Sgt. Shaw could reach the burning flight line. Undeterred, he bailed out of the fire truck with his ’03 and started shooting. Nearby, Sgt. Carlo A. Micheletto of Marine Utility Squadron (VMJ) 252 was trying to put out fires among parked aircraft from his squadron when the final strafing attack commenced. With his ’03 Springfield in hand, the 26-year-old sergeant sought cover behind a pile of lumber and began directing rifle fire at passing enemy aircraft. One of the attackers soon thundered in toward the lumber pile firing its 7.7 mm machine guns, and a single bullet struck Micheletto in the head, killing him instantly. He was one of four Marines who made the ultimate sacrifice at Ewa Field on Dec. 7, 1941.

Two U.S. Marines who were part of the Ford Island Naval Air Station Police force are seen here on a motorcycle patrol in March 1942. They have parked on the quadrangle formed by the station’s Administration Building, Enlisted Barracks, Dispensary and the island’s shoreline. The aircraft carrier U.S.S. Enterprise (CV-6), which is moored at Ford Island’s Berth F-2, can be seen in the background. An ANM2 .30-cal. machine gun has been mounted to the motorcycle’s sidecar using the Mk. 9 Gun Mount Adaptor system.

From the swimming pool at Ewa, to emergency fighting positions that were hastily thrown together on Ford Island, the M1903 rifle put rounds into the air during both waves of the December 7th attack. For the Navy and the Marine Corps, the ’03 remained the standard-issue rifle, and it continued to serve in many of the Army units that were stationed in the Territory of Hawaii despite the standardization of the M1 Garand five years earlier. In fact, it was present on the morning of December 8th, when two Hawaii National Guardsmen walked down the beach near Bellows Army Airfield to investigate something that had washed ashore overnight. They were Lt. Paul C. Plybon and 20-year-old Cpl. David Akui from Company G, 298th Infantry Regiment. What the two soldiers found was one of the midget submarines that had participated in the attack on Pearl Harbor the day before. It had not managed to find its way into the harbor during the December 7th attack and, after depleting its batteries, drifted through the night, eventually washing up on the beach at Waimanalo Bay. By coincidence, the men of the 298th Infantry were nearby at Bellows Army Airfield, which is why Lt. Plybon and Cpl. Akui were sent to investigate. As they approached the derelict midget submarine, Akui noticed a Japanese man lying in the sand. It was 23-year-old Ens. Kazuo Sakamaki. Akui approached the Japanese submariner with his ’03 rifle at the ready and proceeded to take him into custody. Sakamaki was the first Japanese prisoner of war captured by the U.S. military during World War II.

Marine PFC Melvin Thompson drew his M1911A1 .45 ACP pistol and opened fire on Japanese fighter aircraft attacking Marine Corps Air Station Ewa. It made the Japanese after-action report.

While the M1911A1 pistol and the M1903 rifle fought effectively on December 7th, the big hero of U.S. small arms that day was the ANM2. This derivative of John M. Browning’s short-recoil-operated, belt-fed machine gun was specifically engineered for use in aircraft and came in .30-cal. and .50-cal. versions that were sometimes referred to with the nickname “Stinger.” The origin of the ANM2 dates back to a requirement issued shortly after the end of World War I. Springfield Armory produced the first version as the Model 1922, but after a series of interwar budget cuts ended government production, Colt Patent Firearms Co. began manufacturing it in 1931 as the M2. When it was standardized for “Army/Navy” use in 1933, the “ANM2” nomenclature took its final form. For the most part, the .30-cal. Stinger had the physical appearance of a downsized M1919 series .30-cal. machine gun because of the slightly smaller dimensions of its receiver, barrel and barrel shroud. This brought the ANM2’s weight down to a mere 23 lbs., compared to the 31-lb. weight of the M1919A4, but the similarities ended there. In addition to having a different receiver and barrel than the M1919, the ANM2 included a backplate equipped with spade grips and a different feed cover, extractor, barrel extension and bolt. These parts were specially engineered to allow the gun to feed from either the left or right side of the receiver, a feature that made the ANM2 .30-cal. particularly well-suited for use in aircraft. The gun’s 1,300 round-per-minute (r.p.m.) cyclic rate of fire made it an especially dangerous gun because it gave the operator the ability to deliver the highest possible volume of fire during the typically brief windows of opportunity presented during modern aerial combat scenarios. Although the modest dimensions of its lightweight barrel meant that it did not did not possess the same heat dissipating characteristics as the M1919A4’s heavy barrel, the ANM2 was intended to operate in flight at high altitudes where cooler temperatures and fast-moving airflow would prevent overheating.

By December 1941, the ANM2 .30-cal. machine gun was being supplemented in both Army and Navy service with the harder-hitting ANM2 .50-cal. machine gun. Like the smaller .30-cal. Stinger, the .50-cal. version, at 61 lbs., was still lighter than its ground combat counterpart, the 84-lb. M2 Heavy Barrel. The ANM2 .50-cal. aircraft machine gun also offered a significantly higher cyclic rate of fire (than the ground model) that approached 850 r.p.m., and it could also feed from either the left or right.

At several locations across Oahu, ANM2 machine guns were swiftly put to good use against the Japanese air raid. With enemy fighters and dive-bombers swarming Ewa Field, M/T/Sgt. Emil S. Peters rushed to a Douglas SBD-2 Dauntless dive-bomber belonging to VMSB-232, and climbed into the aircraft’s radio-operator/gunner position. The 47-year old Marine then proceeded to direct accurate machine gun fire at the enemy using the aircraft’s single, flexible mount ANM2 .30-cal. Stinger. Before it was all over, Sgt. Peters had brought down two Japanese D3A1 “Val” dive-bombers.

U.S. Marines and U.S. Navy sailors occupy an improvised fighting position that was thrown together on Ford Island in the aftermath of the Dec. 7, 1941, Japanese attack. In addition to four M1903 rifles, the position is armed with an ANM2 .50-cal. aircraft machine gun mounted on an instructional/training tripod. Based on earlier Browning machine gun designs, the ANM2 could be fed from either the left or right side and had a higher rate of fire than the infantry versions of the Browning.


On Ford Island, sailors and Marines retrieved .30-cal. and .50-cal. ANM2 machine guns from ordnance storage lockers for the three patrol squadrons stationed there, and they mounted them in expedient positions made of sandbags, wood and sometimes even tent canvas. Because both calibers of ANM2 were set up on flexible pintle yokes for use in hard mounts on aircraft like the PBY Catalina, the men also had to haul out special training tripods that allowed the guns to be set up at chest height. Photographic evidence showing these positions on Ford Island reveals that the ANM2 .30-cal. machine guns were equipped with spade grips and the Navy’s flash hider specifically designed for night firing. The ANM2 .50-cal. machine guns that appear in photographs from December 7th are all mounted using an adaptor system that was equipped with a rubberized buttpad fixed to the back end of the cradle assembly, a pistol grip/trigger mechanism on the side of the cradle and a tower for mounting a telescopic site. To supply these ANM2 fighting positions with ammunition, an ad hoc ammunition-loading station was established on the island where sailors went to work belting .30-cal. and .50-cal. cartridges.

Fourteen miles to the northeast, at Naval Air Station Kaneohe Bay, sailors were doing the same thing: setting up temporary fighting positions for ANM2 machine guns. In one area of the air station a ditch had been dug for the installation of a sewage line, and five sailors set up a .30-cal. Stinger and a .50-cal. Stinger in it. They did not have the training tripods, so they used some of the framing structures in the ditch as field-expedient platforms and tied sections of rope to secure the guns.

In one section of Naval Air Station Kaneohe Bay, a temporary fighting position was set up in a ditch that had been dug for the installation of a sewage line. Lacking training tripods for the .30-cal. and .50a-cal. Stinger machine guns, these five sailors improvised a way to secure the guns by tying sections of rope to framing structures that had been built in the ditch.

Nearby on the parking ramp for Patrol Squadron (VP) 11, C.P.O. John William Finn directed his sailors in setting up several ANM2 machine guns and their instructional/training tripods. As the squadron’s highest ranking aviation ordnanceman, he was not only familiar with the operation of the guns, he also had full access to them and the ammunition they needed. During the following two hours, Finn personally operated a .50-cal. Stinger, delivering effective machine gun fire against Japanese aircraft attacking Kaneohe. Because he was firing from an exposed position, the 32-year-old chief drew return fire and suffered painful wounds, but he kept on fighting. Then, after the raid was over and after he had received cursory medical attention, he supervised the rearming of returning PBY flying boats. Nine months later, Finn was awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions above and beyond the call of duty on Dec. 7, 1941.

Second Lieutenant Kenneth M. Taylor (l.) and 2nd Lt. George S. Welch of the 47th Pursuit Squadron both scored victories in aerial combat over Oahu while flying P-40B Warhawk fighters on Dec. 7, 1941, and they both received the Distinguished Service Cross in recognition for what they did that day.

The Army also put the ANM2 Stinger to good use that day—namely, the U.S. Army Air Corps. When the attack began, aircraft of the 47th Pursuit Squadron were temporarily based on the north shore of Oahu, at the auxiliary airfield near Haleiwa, to conduct remote field gunnery training. As bombs began to fall on Wheeler Army Airfield, a group of pilots from the squadron rushed the 10 miles to Haleiwa and took to the air to oppose the enemy, but they faced a unique challenge: only .30-cal. ammunition was available there. Second Lieutenant George S. Welch and 2nd Lt. Kenneth M. Taylor both took off in B model P-40 Warhawk fighters, which were each armed with two ANM2 .50-cal. machine guns in the cowling and two ANM2 .30-cal. machine guns in the wings. When they first joined the unfolding air battle above Oahu that morning, only their wing guns were loaded. Second Lieutenant Harry W. Brown also took to the sky, but in an A model P-36 Hawk, which was armed with two ANM2 machine guns mounted in the cowling—one .50-cal. and the other .30-cal. For Brown, only the .30-cal. ANM2 was loaded. Nevertheless, he scored two aerial victories with it that day.

(l.) Aviation Ordnanceman (AOM) Jesse Rhodes Waller boards a PBY Catalina at Corpus Christi Naval Air Station in August 1942. Waller is holding an ANM2 .30-cal. machine gun in a Mk. 9 Gun Mount Adaptor. This hard mounting system consisted of a pintle yoke, ammunition box holder, brass catcher and link catcher. (r.) Second Lieutenant Harry W. Brown of the 47th Pursuit Squadron would use an ANM2 .30-cal. machine gun in his P-36 Hawk fighter to score two aerial victories against Japanese aircraft on Dec. 7, 1941.

Once in the air, Taylor and Welch climbed to 8,000 ft. in their P-40s and flew south to Barber’s Point. There, they observed a formation of 12 Aichi D3A1 “Val” dive-bombers and, despite six-to-one odds, they both attacked. Although each man shot down one enemy dive-bomber, they quickly ran out of .30-cal. ammunition. Both pilots then flew 13 miles to the north, landed at Wheeler Army Airfield and taxied to an ammunition replenishing point. There, ground crewmen reloaded their wing-mounted ANM2 .30-cal. machine guns, and gave both P-40s a full load of .50 caliber. They did not take on fuel—just the .30-cal. and .50-cal. ammunition that let them get back into the fight. The two pilots then roared into the air again and began dogfighting over Wahiawa. By the end of the air battle, Welch had shot down four enemy aircraft, and Taylor had scored two confirmed kills with two probables. In recognition for their extraordinary heroism in action, and their coolness under fire against overwhelming odds, George Welch and Kenneth Taylor both received the Distinguished Service Cross. Harry Brown was awarded the Silver Star for the “expertness in battle” he demonstrated from the cockpit of his P-36.

These three young airmen proved that American fighting spirit was strong on the “Day of Infamy,” and that the ANM2 aircraft machine gun was a fearsome and dangerous arm. During the following 44 months, the Empire of Japan would encounter it, as well as the other guns of Pearl Harbor, over and over again during a campaign that would ultimately carry U.S. forces all the way to Tokyo Bay.

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Something from the past, If you had one of these way back when. You could really do somethings!

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101st Airborne Pathfinders: First in France By Kurt Allemeier

A 140 lbs. former newspaperman from New York, a cigar clenched in his teeth, was the tip of the spear for Operation Overlord.

Capt. Frank Lillyman, of the 101st Airborne’s Pathfinders, is credited as the first Allied soldier to parachute into France shortly after midnight on D-Day, June 6, 1944. He commanded the first “stick” – or unit – of Pathfinders that parachuted into Normandy, tasked with helping mark landing zones for the 13,100 paratroopers that would soon follow in the early morning darkness.

Medals, ribbons, and patches, including a Distinguished Service Cross and Purple Heart for Lillyman’s actions on D-Day, will be on offer at Rock Island Auction Company’s May 13-15 Premier Auction.

Array-of-Lillyman-s-medalsThe medals of Capt. Frank Lillyman, credited as the first man in France on D-Day, include a Distinguished Service Cross and Purple Heart for his actions on D-Day, as well as his parachutist pins and Bronze Star. The array of medals from this member of the Greatest Generation is Lot 410 in Rock Island Auction Company’s May 13-15 Premier Auction.

Paratrooper after Recruiter

Lillyman grew up in the Southern Tier New York town of Binghampton where he worked for the local paper covering sports and working elections before joining the army in 1934. Serving in the infantry, he was stationed in China and Hawaii before returning to New York where he served as a recruiter in Syracuse.

Lillyman longed to join the fight with the start of World War II and became a paratrooper in 1942. He made 47 training jumps before his first combat jump into the dark Normandy night.

Lillyman-on-backgroundCapt. Frank Lillyman, credited as the first Allied soldier in France on D-Day, June 6, 1944.

Pathfinders needed

Following a disastrous paratroop mission in Sicily that scattered airborne soldiers over miles of terrain and limited their fighting effectiveness, it was determined that a lead force needed to be inserted that could guide the larger force to drop zones.

The Pathfinders were born.

Pathfinder missions were considered suicidal with a fatality rate of 80 to 90 percent. Many of the men who volunteered for the role were considered mavericks – insubordinates and undesirables who were trying to stay out of the brig or rehabilitate their service record.

Pathfinder-patch-on-backgroundA rare Pathfinder patch is among the memorabilia of Capt. Frank Lillyman, the first Allied soldier in France on D-Day.

Lillyman fit the bill, considered by at least one superior as an “arrogant smart-ass.”

While mavericks and insubordinates may not be the best in the regular army, they were just what the Pathfinders needed. That showed on June 6.

War Paint and Special Equipment

Many of the men in Lillyman’s stick put war paint on their faces for the nighttime jump. Some wore Mohawk haircuts.

paratroopers-apply-war-paint-on-backgroundAirborne paratroopers wore war paint and some had Mohawk haircuts when they jumped into Normandy on D-Day.

The paratroopers carried special equipment to help guide the planes to the drop zones. First were the radio transponders, called Eurekas that transmitted to special receivers in the planes called Rebeccas. The Rebeccas calculated the range to the Eurekas based on the timing of the return signals and its position using a highly directional antenna. In the early hours of D-Day, Lillyman’s men placed the Eureka transmitters in a church steeple and in a tree. The second bit of special equipment were specially-designed lamps to show the jump zone.

Because of the extra equipment, many of the paratroopers ditched their reserve parachutes under their benches on the plane, going against procedure.

Might As Well Jump

Lillyman hurt his leg in training a few days prior to D-Day. He hid the injury and tried to ignore the pain so he would be able to lead his unit. He jumped with his signature unlit cigar held tightly in his teeth, carrying 70 lbs. of equipment and his Tommy gun.

“On my first jump I happened to have a cigar,” Lillyman explained. “So I’ve done it ever since. Now the boys attach a lot of importance to that cigar.”

The overcast sky troubled the plane’s pilot, missing landmarks on approach and coming in low. Lillyman and his squad missed their jump zone by about a mile, parachuting in from 450 feet. All but one of the Pathfinder units missed their jump zones that night.

parachute-pin-on-backgroundCapt. Frank Lillyman’s parachutist pin. Hist first combat jump was in the early hours of D-Day.

Make the Best of It

When Lillyman landed he tried to determine his position. As he did, he spotted a shape off in the darkness. Was it moving toward him? He racked his gun only to find out he was targeting a cow.

Collecting his unit, Lillyman improvised a drop zone in a field deemed big and open enough. As the men set their equipment in place a machine gun barked at them in the dark. The captain sent two soldiers to take care of the nest.

The Pathfinders also reconnoitered a nearby farmhouse, learning a German officer was there. The owner pointed to where the man was asleep, a bottle of champagne on the nightstand. The soldiers dispatched the German and made off with the bubbly.

Distinguished-Service-Cross-on-backgroundThe Distinguished Service Cross Capt. Frank Lillyman received for his actions on D-Day. He is credited as the first Allied solider in France on June 6, 1944.

Lillyman and his men heard the planes of the main paratrooper force at 12:40 a.m., less than 30 minutes after they landed. The first plane flew over their position at 12:57 a.m. on D-Day.

The weather troubled the main force of paratroopers, too, scattering them across the peninsula. Despite the Pathfinders, only 10 percent of the U.S. airborne forces hit their drop zones and 50 percent of the troops landed one to two miles from their drop zones.

After setting up the improvised drop zone and guiding in their fellow paratroopers, they checked where reconnaissance aircraft had spotted a gun emplacement that could hammer Utah Beach. They discovered it bombed out.

Lillyman’s unit was called on to set up another drop zone but this time for the second wave of gliders. On the evening of D-Day, Lillyman’s unit waited for the gliders, code-named Keokuk, to arrive. The Germans were also waiting near the landing zone. As the gliders coasted in, the Germans opened fire.

Lillyman’s unit returned fire at the nearby German gun nest, forcing the Germans to withdraw. The captain heard one last burst of gunfire and felt the sting on his arm. He glanced down. His uniform was chewed up and blood pulsed out. His legs gave way. He fell to the ground as mortar splinters hit him in the face. His injuries would get him shipped back to England for convalescence.

Purple-heart-on-backgroundThe Purple Heart earned by Capt. Frank Lillyman on D-Day. He was the first Allied soldier in France on D-Day.

Back In

After a couple days in the hospital, Lillyman was restless and ready to get back to the fight.

“I didn’t like the idea of staying in a hospital, so I found some clothes in a supply room and shoved off,” Lillyman said. “I forgot to tell anyone where I was going or what my intentions were, but after two days, I ended back here in France.”

He went absent from the hospital without permission, talked his way onto a supply ship, and by June 14 reported back to duty in France. That didn’t sit well with his commanding general who moved him to another unit. Lillyman was a pathfinder no more.

Bronze-star-on-backgroundThe Bronze Star earned by Capt. Frank Lillyman during World War II. He participated in D-Day, Operation Market Garden, and the Battle of the Bulge.

Market Garden and More

Lillyman, like his band of brothers in the 101st Airborne, still found plenty of action.

His unit jumped into the Netherlands as part of Operation Market Garden in September, 1944 fighting for roads and bridges. The 101st was caught up in the Battle of the Bulge and was “the hole in the doughnut” as the Germans laid siege to Bastogne in December, 1944. Lillyman and his comrades were pulled off the line in February, 1945.

Returned to the line in early April, Lillyman’s unit captured Berchtesgaden. As the war ended the paratroopers took up occupation duties and started training for deployment to the Pacific Theater. The war ended before the 101st Airborne could get to the Pacific.

Lillyman returned home having been wounded three times and wearing 12 decorations, including the Distinguished Service Medal for his D-Day leadership.

After The War

During a quiet moment, Lillyman wrote a fanciful letter to a New York City Hotel about his dream homecoming in October, 1945.

“I desire a suite that will face east so the sun will wake me in the morning,” he wrote. “I do not desire to know in advance what dishes will be served, but I do not want a dish repeated. If meals are served after dark in the suite, I would like tapers for table lighting. I desire a one‐way telephone—outgoing only.”

He showed up at the hotel with his wife, daughter, and $500. Hotel staff told him their stay was on the house.

Lillyman remained in the army, serving through the Korean and Vietnam Wars, holding a variety of assignments at Fort Bragg and Camp Breckenridge. He retired as a lieutenant colonel in 1968, and died three years later at the age of 55.

101st-Airborne-patch-on-backgroundCapt. Frank Lillyman was a Pathfinder for the 101st Airborne on D-Day and is credited with being the first Allied soldier in France during the invasion.

D-Day Medals

The Distinguished Service Cross and Purple Heart earned on D-Day as well as a Bronze Star, Belgian Croix de Guerre, and two French Croix de Guerres awarded in service to the Allied cause mark Capt. Frank Lillyman as a war hero and truly one of the Greatest Generation. Also included is a Combat Infantry badge, Master Parachutist Badge, and a scarce Pathfinder “winged torch” patch. The memorabilia available at Rock Island Auction’s May 13-15 Premier Auction shows the history and bravery of a man and his unit on D-Day, and someone who committed his life and career to the United States Army.

Sources:

`First to Jump: How the Band of Brothers Was Aided by the Brave Paratroopers of Pathfinders Company,’ by Jerome Preisler

`First in France: The World War II Pathfinder Who Led the Way on D-Day, by Alex Kershaw, historynet.com

`Skaneateles Man, Captain Frank Lillyman, the First Soldier to Land on D-Day,’ Onondaga Historical Association

`Frank Lillyman Is Dead at 55; First Paratrooper at Normandy, The New York Times

`Airlift and Airborne Operations in World War II,’ by Roger E. Bilstein, Air Force History and Museums Program

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Better late than never! – 10 years later: Iconic Thanksgiving Parade at FOB Shank Afghanistan, remembered by Miguel Ortiz

Spending the holidays on deployment is a tough part of military life. On top of being separated from friends and family, the soldiers of the 101st Combat Aviation Brigade, 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault) were deployed to the infamous FOB Shank during Thanksgiving 2012. The Forward Operating Base, located in eastern Afghanistan, was one of the most heavily rocketed in the country during the war. To bring some holiday cheer to their deployment, 5-101 held a Thanksgiving Day Parade at the FOB: a “Shanksgiving” Day Parade. Special thanks to the The War Murals project for pulling this all together on Reddit!

Here are some pictures from the iconic 2012 Thanksgiving Parade at FOB Shank Afghanistan:

Team America UH-60 & Taliban Turkeys

thanksgiving parade TURKEY
(5-101, 5th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment “Eagle Assault” Facebook)

This float sums up Thanksgiving at FOB Shank quite nicely. The CAB flies the UH-60 Black Hawk, depicted here in Team America livery, as well as the CH-47 Chinook and AH-64 Apache helicopters. Also depicted are Thanksgiving-themed Taliban turkeys launching footballs from a mortar tube. Indirect fire, or IDF, was extremely common at FOB Shank. Whoever came up with this float found some serious creativity at the bottom of a Rip It can.

Elvis Lives

10 years later: Iconic Thanksgiving Parade at FOB Shank Afghanistan, remembered
(5-101, 5th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment “Eagle Assault” Facebook)

B Co., 1st Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment brought the King to FOB Shank with their float named “Elvis Lives.” If the sign on the side and the figure in front weren’t enough, one soldier dressed up as Elvis himself with a white rhinestone jumpsuit and guitar. For good measure, the Bearcats strapped two AGM-114 Hellfire missiles to their float.

Flying Gobblers

thanksgiving parade in 2012
(5-101, 5th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment “Eagle Assault” Facebook)

There’s a lot to unpack with this float. First, you have Santa on a .50-cal reminding everyone that Christmas is right around the corner. Behind him are what appear to be a Pilgrim and Native American, representing the Thanksgiving theme. The helicopter float overall appears to be a hybrid of a CH-47 in front and UH-60 in back. However, the keen-eyed viewer will note that the iconic 101st Airborne Screaming Eagle depicted on its nose actually reads “Screaming Gobblers,” maintaining the Thanksgiving theme.

Snoopy and The Peanuts Gang

eagle assault float
(5-101, 5th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment “Eagle Assault” Facebook)

No Thanksgiving Day Parade is complete without America’s favorite cartoon Beagle, and FOB Shank didn’t disappoint. F Co., 6th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment topped their float with Snoopy in his WWI Flying Ace persona piloting his doghouse. The float’s sides depict other Peanuts characters including Charlie Brown, Lucy, and Woodstock.

Avengers

5-101
(5-101, 5th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment “Eagle Assault” Facebook)

The summer of 2012 saw the release of the first Avengers movie. With their first big on-screen collaboration, characters like Captain America, Iron Man, The Hulk and Black Widow saw an explosion in popularity. Naturally, the 101st CAB included the Avengers in their Thanksgiving Day Parade, topped with Santa hats to keep the festive theming.

Mayflower

thanksgiving parade eagle assault
(5-101, 5th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment “Eagle Assault” Facebook)

B Co., 96th Aviation Support Battalion’s float was a simple yet impressive representation of the famous Mayflower, the ship that brought the Pilgrims to the New World in 1620. The float is even marked with the company’s nickname, “Big Ugly.”

Santa’s Sleigh

thanksgiving parade in afghanistan
(5-101, 5th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment “Eagle Assault” Facebook)

With this Santa-themed float, the Screaming Eagles depicted Saint Nick in a sandbag-fortified four-wheeler. With all the IDF that FOB Shank received, even Santa Claus could use the extra cover. Still he didn’t forget to bring presents for the troops deployed there. This float was actually named the champion of the parade.

Black Friday

In addition to the parade, FOB Shank transformed its stores into a Black Friday shopping center. Favorite retailers from back home like Target, Walmart and Best Buy were depicted as overlays on the existing storefronts. While there weren’t any doorbuster sales on TVs or gaming consoles, the added taste of home was a nice touch to round out Thanksgiving 2012.

Feature Image: 5-101, 5th Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment “Eagle Assault” Facebook

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Robin Olds: The Total Fighter Pilot Package

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This says it all! Grumpy

I know what you’re thinking…….was that 3 gallons or 4…..

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Baron Von Steuben – The Father of the American Army Basic Training

“The seemed to me a perfect personification of Mars. The trappings of his horse, the enormous holsters of his pistols, his large size, and his strikingly martial aspect, all seemed to favor the idea.”

“The seemed to me a perfect personification of Mars. The trappings of his horse, the enormous holsters of his pistols, his large size, and his strikingly martial aspect, all seemed to favor the idea.”

The Winter of 1778 was one of the most brutally-freezing, miserable, please-god-just-end-it-you-sadistic-bastard winters that has ever been recorded in the horrible annals of American meteorological history.  In the snow-covered wasteland of Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, the men of the American Continental Army sat around, bitching about the weather while miserably huddled together for warmth around dim campfires.  Exhausted, half-frozen, unable to feel any sensations below the waist and demoralized by months of getting shanked in the fucking face by Scottish Highlanders, the poor souls of the revolutionary army suffered equally from debilitating sicknesses, starvation, hypothermia, and their bum knees acting up because they had to march twenty miles through the snow uphill both ways any time they wanted a handful of week-old soup.

Their clothes, battered by long months of combat, were shredded to tatters like a fancy dress worn by a female protagonist in an action movie.  Many men were barefoot, their shoes either fallen apart or eaten for sustenance in a scene of desolation that would make even the most nightmarish The Force Awakens campout look like a bonfire party in the Baywatch universe.

A full quarter of the soldiers were listed as inactive due to illness.  Some men simply dropped dead, while others peaced out, quit the war and walked out on the job.  Many of the American rifles were frozen solid or rusted out from moisture, not that it even fucking mattered because there wasn’t enough gunpowder to actually shoot them anyway.  They sat in dirty tents amid chest-high snow drifts, pulling threadbare blankets or clothes around themselves as they struggled to survive through the winter cold, knowing full well that the only thing these poor souls had to look forward to was re-forming in the Spring and getting rochambeaued in the nuts by a powerful, seemingly-invincible British Army that had just kicked the ever-loving holy hit out them in huge battles around New York City and Philadelphia.

As the great revolutionary propaganda writer Thomas Paine put it in his appropriately-named pamphlet The Crisis, “These are the times that try men’s souls.”

scipioafricanus1.jpg

But then, suddenly, into this hellish post-apocalyptic frozen nightmare realm there appeared a sight that was so over-the-top bizarre that nobody knew what the fuck to make of it.

Through a driving blizzard on February 23, 1778, a convoy of crazy Santa Claus-style jet-black sleighs blasted through the snow, pulled by a team of powerful, gigantic, hard-charging horses.  Seated in the lead sleigh, surrounded by his servants, assistants, aide-de-camps, translators, a personal cook and his pet greyhound, sat a gigantic, barrel-chested, grizzled monster of a warrior.

Decked out in a pristine officer’s jacket from the Prussian Army of Frederick the Great, and covered from shoulder to shoulder in gleaming medals, this man’s scarred-up iron jaw was locked tight as he grimly surveyed the sad lot of wannabe soldiers surrounding him.  As the sleigh came to a stop, he calmly stepped off, his knee-high, well-polished black jackboots crunching into the snow with the authority of a Dark Lord of the Sith.

Slung by his side he wore two gigantic, brass-plated, pimped-out flintlock pistols and a fucking rad longsword that had been given to him by the Grand Duke of Hohenzollern-Hechingen in the German state of Swabia.  His giant hand held a letter from Benjamin Franklin, introducing him as a military genius personally recommended by the French Minister of War to aid the Colonial Army in its war effort.

This was Lieutenant-General Friedrich Wilhelm Rudolf Gerhard August, the Freiherr Baron Von Steuben, Palace Manager of Swabia and newly-commissioned Major General in the Colonial Army.  And he’d been sent by Congress to build up the morale of the men, drill this sorry group of farmer-soldiers into an elite fighting force capable of standing toe-to-toe with any military in the world, and kick the shit out of anyone who fucked with him.

vonsteuben2.jpg

Of course, while he did have an entrance that was worthy of the fucking heavy metal remixed Imperial March, there are three very interesting things worth mentioning when we talk about Lieutenant-General Baron Von Steuben:  He wasn’t really a Baron, he wasn’t really a General, and he didn’t actually speak a word of English.

Naturally, none of this stopped him from accomplishing his mission.

vonsteuben3.jpg

Friedrich Von Steuben was born on September 17, 1730, in a cool-looking medieval German castle called Magdeburg that seems to come up on this website any time I’m talking about badass German shit.  Friedrich’s grandfather, Augustine Steube, was some random fucking traveling preacher, but I guess one day Augustine decided he was tired of just being an ordinary punk so he arbitrarily changed his named to Augustine Von Steuben and just started telling everyone he was descended from an ancient line of German Barons.

Nobody bothered to fact-check that shit, and Augustine’s son Wilhelm was able to use this fake title of nobility to get an officer’s commission in the Prussian military.  Wilhelm was an Army Engineer under Fredrick the Great, one of the most brilliant military geniuses in European history, and was so badass at building bridges and siege weaponry that he ended up receiving tons of high-ranking medals for his bravery in battle – including the fucking Blue Max, the Prussian Medal of Honor.

Even as a young boy, Friedrich traveled around on campaigns with his dad.  After witnessing epic battles in Russia and Austria at his father’s side, Friedrich finally enlisted in the Prussian infantry at the age of 17.

Like I said, though, Von Steuben was never a General — in fact, he was never higher than a Captain, which is like a half-dozen ranks below General depending on what country you’re talking about.  As a Lance-Corporal in 1747, Von Steuben served as a front-line rifleman in the most modern and elite army in the world.  During the Seven Years’ War (the same war we call the “French and Indian War” here in the States), the Fake Baron fought in the Battles of Prague, and was wounded twice in combat against the Austrians – once by a sword, and once by a musketball.

He was wounded again while attacking Russian cannons at the Battle of Kunersdorf, survived a year in a Russian Prisoner of War camp, and stood his ground against cavalry charges from epic French cuirassiers.  As a First Lieutenant in the elite Mayr Free Battalion, he spearheaded the attack at the Battle of Rossbach, running head-on into the enemy even though he was outnumbered two-to-one.  With battle swirling around him, Von Steuben cut, shot, and bayonetted into his foes, helping the Prussian Army rout and annihilate a significantly larger enemy force.

scipioafricanus4.jpg

In 1762 Von Steuben was promoted to Captain and became a member of Frederick the Great’s headquarters staff.  There, he helped manage a humongous, 60,000-man army in epic battles across Europe.  During his time, Von Steuben was personally trained in advanced tactics by Frederick the Great, a military genius who had just fought two countries to a standstill at the same time, despite being horrifically outnumbered every step of the way.

When the Seven Years’ War ended, Von Steuben left the army, headed to the German state of Hohenzollern-Hechingen and spent twelve years as the Palace Manager there.

Well, years passed, and in 1776 the Baron Von Steuben was bored, out of money, didn’t have any good wars to fight, and his chief rival in the palace was going around telling everyone that Von Steuben should be fired because he was gay (there’s no evidence to support this claim one way or the other).

So, pissed off and ready for a new adventure, Steuben packed his bags, went to Paris, and offered his services to American envoy Benjamin Franklin.  Franklin looked at the Baron’s resume, mis-read “Lieutenant, General Staff of Fredrick the Great” as “Lieutenant-General, Staff of Fredrick the Great,” and was like “hell yeah dude, sounds great, catch a ship to the colonies and let Congress know what’s up.”  Franklin wrote Von Steuben a letter summarizing all of the Baron’s fake credentials, Congress liked it, made him a Major General, and the next thing you know this random fake Prussian General was shelling out his own cash to buy a fancy sleigh and servants so he can make an appropriately-epic entrance to Valley Forge.

vonsteuben5.jpeg

But here’s where it gets good.  For all of the things Von Steuben was not, he what he was is a grizzled life-long soldier with more badass combat experience in his sword arm than a Dynasty Warriors longplay YouTube walkthrough.

He’d survived the winter of 1759 in the frozen forests of Poland, roughing it on starvation rations along with 50,000 half-frozen Prussian soldiers.  He’d had shrapnel lodged in his body in several places, been hit in the head with a sword, and could run through the world’s intense military drills on his way to the fucking bathroom.  He took one look at this rag-tag band of American patriots, decided “no European army could have held together in such circumstances,” and went about hardening these backwoods farmers into a razor-sharp spear of liberty.

He did this by personally standing out there in the knee-deep snow with full dress uniform and a rifle, single-handedly demonstrating to the men how to work their weapons and then swearing at them with an unending withering stream of drill sergeant-grade profanity every time they fucked up.

vonsteuben6.jpg

Drills started before dawn, and the Baron Von Steuben ran these demoralized American troopers through the first Boot Camp in U.S. history.  Screaming and swearing like a motherfucker, Von Steuben would start cursing in German, switch to French, and then start making up colorful new compound swear words using whatever broken English he could cobble together.

When he ran out of curses for those fucking cocktoasters, he would snap his fingers, and his adjutant (a German-American), would come running up, get right up in the fuck-up soldier’s face and start screaming at him using English swear words.  Drill took place twice a day, and was designed to teach the men to march in lock-step, load their fucking rifles quickly, fight off bayonet attacks, kick someone’s ass in hand-to-hand combat, and completely and utterly crush the ego of every man in that army until they started thinking of themselves as American soldiers first and nothing else second.

It might sound insane, but the Baron Von Steuben was actually massively popular with the soldiers he was kicking the crap out of.  For starters, the idea of a Major General running the drill was completely unheard of – British officers believed it was “ungentlemanly” to get down and dirty with the men, so they never did this.  And as for the screaming and swearing, it kind of became a piece of performance art – guys would show up to watch drill just to marvel at this guy’s ridiculous vocabulary of profanity.

Also, Von Steuben made a point of learning the name of every soldier in the Army – after he was done crushing their egos and hammering them out into soldiers, he re-built them back up to have pride for their abilities.  This is the same strategy used in basic training across the U.S. military today.

vonsteuben7.jpg

Two things that Von Steuben really focused on were loading the musket and fighting with bayonets.  The Americans were tough fighters, but Von Steuben was fucking appalled by how long it took these assholes to load their fucking rifles.  So, all day every day he had his men go through the procedure of loading and firing a musket.  They didn’t actually shoot them – they didn’t have enough ammo to waste – but he drilled this into them so the soldiers could prime the powder, ram a musketball, and fire in their sleep.

He also was fucking pissed off when he heard stories of how the Americans were terrified of British bayonet charges (mostly because the Americans didn’t have a lot of bayonets).  Steuben freaked the fuck out, requisitioned any bayonet he could find (there were a bunch of them just starting to be imported from France), and taught these guys how to kick the shit out of anyone by jabbing them in the fucking eye with a steel spike mounted to the muzzle of a firearm.  By the time he was done, these guys could march, wheel, fire by company, reload twice as fast as before, and then charge bayonets into the enemy.

Baron Von Steuben had arrived to find a demoralized, under-equipped, poorly-prepared group of farmers.  It took him four months to make them an Army.

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Von Steuben eventually wrote his instructions down, in French, and they were translated to English by Alexander Hamilton and Nathanael Greene.  Known originally as “BARON STEUBEN’S INSTRUCTIONS,” it was eventually renamed “Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States” and was in use by the U.S. Army until 1814.

Another highly-important but less-sexy accomplishment of Von Steuben was that he got the camp at Valley Forge whipped into shape as well.  He was appalled at the conditions in camp, and ordered those sons-of-bitches to clean that shit up.  He kept track of supplies, demanded monthly inspections of equipment stores, and any guy who failed to keep his rifle appropriately maintained found himself getting his ass kicked with a Prussian jackboot.  His efforts reduced disease in the camp by a significant margin, and by the time he wrote his last camp report in May 1778 there were only three muskets in the entire Continental army that were listed as “deficient.”

The British had ended the campaigns of 1777 by crushing the American army at the Battles of Brandywine and Germantown, smashing George Washington’s troops with elite Imperial discipline and the tip of the bayonet.

When they encountered that same army at the Battle of Monmouth in May 1778, they were shocked as fuck when the Continentals stood strong and turned back a British cavalry and bayonet charge.

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As Inspector-General of the Continental Army, Baron Von Steuben fought through the rest of the American Revolution.  He served as quartermaster during Greene’s southern campaign, commanded a wing at Yorktown, and was standing at the front lines when Lord Cornwallis surrendered.  He was kind of grumpy after the war that he didn’t get all the back pay he was owed, but he still retired on a 16,000-acre farm in upstate New York so life probably wasn’t all that bad for him.

Nowadays September 17th is known as Von Steuben Day in the United States.  It’s a pretty big deal to German-Americans, but for most of us it’s best known as the parade where Ferris Bueller sings Danke Shein.

“The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this cons…

“The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.”

– Thomas Paine, “The Crisis”