Category: Allies
Diamond’s expertise with a mortar kept troops safe through two world wars and countless skirmishes.
To be “salty” is to be recognized as having extensive experience in nautical matters. Time spent in these duties invariably results in exposure to salt water, which evaporates to a salty film around head and shoulders. Marines have a strong identification with naval matters, so a leatherneck with a few hashmarks (service stripes) is often deemed salty.
Vast troubles attend a youngster who displays the casual behavior of a seasoned veteran before he has served long enough to have a decent coating of sodium chloride. Today however, we are concerned with a man who was really salty—and to the benefit of many who were not.
Leland “Lou” Diamond was born May 30th, 1890 in Ohio of Canadian-American parents. After initial schooling there, as well as several years of railroad work, he enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps in 1917.
It was just in time to make the trans-Atlantic voyage to the war in France with the 6th Regiment of Marines. Diamond served with a rifle company throughout the Marines’ World War I service at Château-Thierry, Belleau Wood, Anise-Marne, Saint-Mihiel and Meuse-Argonne.
This was exceptionally violent trench warfare that convincingly established the Marine Corps as an elite branch of the naval service. After duty with the Army of Occupation, Diamond returned home and mustered out. It didn’t last—civilian life was not for the veteran and he spent most of the inter-war years with the 4th Regiment in China.
He spent a short tour with the Supply Department in Philadelphia, where his vast infantry experience was applied to the design of a new infantry pack. His system lasted well into Vietnam, earning more curses than kudos, as well as a hearty sigh of relief from this writer once rid of his.
Diamond was one of those old-time Marines who spent too much time in Asia, where his parade-ground roar struck terror in the hearts of young Marines who were not—in the Master Gunnery Sergeant’s estimation—squared away.
Diamond was not a spit-and-polish type Marine and even wore a goatee at times, but he knew bloody warfare. His troops were more inclined to fight than shine their Fair Leather belts, but they were always get-it-done warriors.
Diamond went to war again, this time with the 5th Marines at Guadalcanal in 1942. His service with that famous regiment was credited with heavily influencing the outcome of several critical fights. Gunny Diamond was a mortarman, highly skilled with both 60- and 81 mm mortars. He led a mortar section that had both types in those early World War II Tables of Organization.
The mortar is often overlooked or misunderstood among the population, but profoundly appreciated by experienced infantrymen. This is because of the mortar’s inherent lethality.
It’s a weapon that delivers a cast-steel shell full of high explosive to a target several thousands of meters away. On impact (or in the air with a variable-time fuse) the mortar round explodes into multiple pieces of jagged metal that strike with velocity.
In actual battle situations, a single mortar round often kills or wounds several enemy soldiers. An indirect-fire weapon, the mortar is fired by a small crew that can’t usually see the target, but is remotely aimed by an observer who can.
Mortar gunnery is a complex subject that cannot be adequately described in this limited space. The gun itself is a marvel of simplicity and is really nothing more than a steel tube, closed off with a ball-shaped cap at the bottom end. The ball fits into a socket in a heavy piece of steel called a baseplate. There are no moving parts in this arrangement.
Mortar shells are heavy and come in strong cardboard tubes. Shaped somewhat like cartoon bombs, with a pointed front end and fins at the rear, the mortar shell has an igniter in its base. This is essentially an oversize primer that will flash with fire when struck. Also, the shell comes with strips of propellant, wired onto the fins.
The gunner drops a round down the upright mortar tube and falling by its own weight, the base of the round strikes a fixed firing pin at the bottom of the tube. The igniter flashes and ignites the propellant, which produces high-pressure gases that drive the cartridge up and out of the gun. Tilted slightly away from straight up, the mortar round describes a steep arc and comes roaring down on the enemy.
There is a bipod close to the top of the tube that braces two legs against the ground. It has the means to vary the angle and direction of the tube. Changing the number of propellant increments changes the range. It is remarkably simple and quite effective.
The mortar was Lou Diamond’s pet weapon. Over the years, the Marine Corps has used several sizes of these things. From the little 60 mm and bigger 81 mm tubes of World War II, Korea and Vietnam, through a dalliance with the 4.2-inch mortars of Korea, to the 120 mm guns now in use, we have depended on these weapons. The Master Gunnery Sergeant’s skill with them drew strong formal praise from no less than the commanding general at Guadalcanal, Alexander Archer Vandegrift.
But, his skill was also the source of one of those persistent war stories that are such a big part of Marine folklore. Japanese ships were often found at close range in the 1942 Guadalcanal campaign. I can recall a (quite) salty Gunnery Sergeant facing my platoon of shiny new Second Lieutenants at Basic School. He was an instructor and his subject was mortar gunnery.
Quietly, he related the tale of how Diamond had sunk a Japanese destroyer by dropping an 81 mm mortar round down her stack. Over time, I have noticed that the emphasis provided by successive generations of salty storytellers is starting to weaken. For many decades, I have looked at appropriate histories to verify this story and found nothing. It is possible, I suppose, but I did not see it and I don’t know. I have been on both sides of mortar fire and mightily respect this unique kind of fightin’ iron.
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Good one Gunny!
After retiring, a former Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant took a new job as a high school teacher.
Just before the school year started, he injured his back. He was required to wear a light plaster cast around the upper part of his body. Fortunately, the cast fit under his shirt and wasn’t noticeable when he wore his suit coat.
On the first day of class, he found himself assigned to the toughest students in the city.
The smart-a** punks, having already heard the new teacher was a former Marine, were leery of him but he knew they would be testing his discipline in the classroom.
Walking confidently into the rowdy classroom, the new teacher opened the window wide and sat down at his desk.
With a strong breeze blowing it made his tie flap. He picked up a stapler and stapled the tie to his chest.
Dead Silence .
The rest of the year went smoothly.
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Happy Birthday USMC!
The Marines’ savage fight for Belleau Wood is depicted in Franc-Earle Schoonover’s Belleau Wood. Art Collection of the National Museum of the Marine Corps. 
and other pictures of “The War to End all Wars”
Marine officers with of the 2nd Battalion, Sixth Regiment after the Battle of Belleau Wood. (U.S. Marine Corps Photograph, National Archives.)
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Meanwhile in California….
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Hehehe!
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One Hard Stud!
All Images: Alastair McKenzie
If there was ever anyone who went a little further than most mortal men, it was Alastair MacKenzie. In a storied career spanning 30 years, MacKenzie served uniquely with the New Zealand Army in Vietnam, the British Parachute Regiment, the British Special Air Service (SAS), the South African Defence Force’s famed ParaBats, the Sultan of Oman’s Special Forces and a host of private security agencies and defence contractors.
MacKenzie’s new book, Pilgrim Days, vividly documents in incredible detail his experience of infantry combat in Vietnam, life with the Paras, the gruelling selection process to become UK Special Forces and his covert SAS operations in South Armagh along with counter-terrorism work. We spoke to Alastair MacKenzie about his life lived to the full as a career soldier.
The MALESTROM: It seems you got an early taste for travelling the world in your formative years when your father was a soldier?
Alastair Mackenzie: I was keen on training to be a veterinary surgeon but I did not have the funds to attend the appropriate university in New Zealand. There was, therefore, a certain amount of inevitability in a career in the army.
My travels with my parents to various overseas military postings, my own interest in military matters and my involvement in the army school cadets certainly pointed to a military career. School cadets were quite a major part of schooling at Wellington College (NZ).
At the beginning of each school year would be Cadet Week and we would dress in our ‘sandpaper suits’; these were brown serge uniforms with shorts, long socks and highly polished shoes with a side cap. The school academic staff would have the positions of the officers and students would hold the non-commissioned ranks.
We would drill with and train on .303-calibre, bolt-action World War II rifles, map-reading, minor tactics, independence and self-discipline.
In the long mid-year school summer holidays, the New Zealand Army would run three-week cadet camps at various military locations. I was an enthusiastic participant in this military environment. NZ no longer has school cadets as it is seen as too militaristic which is, I believe, a shame.
TM: Was there any other career for you than the army?
AM: I am very fond of the C-47 ParaDak or ‘Gooney Bird’. Our NZ para training was carried out by the New Zealand Special Air Service and the Royal New Zealand Air Force.
The NZSAS provided the physical training element, which was severe, whilst the actual parachuting was jealously guarded by the Air Force. In all the armies I have served in, the parachuting aspect was controlled by the relevant Air Force.
The military could only provide ’assistant’ parachute instructors. The one exception was the South African Army where the ‘Parabats’ were trained by paras and despatched by paras. The Air Force drove the planes.
This made a lot of sense to me as Air Force personnel might be excellent at training paratroopers to jump out of aircraft but they are not familiar with the main reason for paratrooping – to get aggressive paras as close to the enemy as suddenly and quickly as possible, whereas paratrooper trainers definitely are!
TM: That early parachute training you underwent from the ‘Dakota’ sounded like a real experience. Tell us about that…
AM: The Dakota is difficult to board when wearing a parachute, reserve parachute and carrying full equipment attached to the parachute harness. The aircraft sits nose-high on the tarmac so even when you have climbed the access ladder into the rear of the aircraft you have an uphill climb to your seating position on a bench running down each side.
The exit door is at the rear port side and in flight, paratroopers, when ordered, stand up and hook their parachute ‘strop’ onto a wire running the length of the aircraft. Paras hook on to the wire alternately from each side of the aircraft. The sequence of orders, accompanying hand signals, is: ’Stand up – hook up’; ‘Tell off for equipment check!’
On this instruction, each paratrooper checks his equipment, including his helmet and then ensures his static line is firmly hooked up. Once this is done, each paratrooper checks his colleague in front of him and taps him firmly on the shoulder to confirm this has been done.
The last man, towards the front of the aircraft, then shouts ‘Sixteen OK!’ (This is a normal full load of paratroopers in the C-47). This is repeated in descending order by each paratrooper until it reaches number one who looks at the despatcher directly in the eye and shouts ‘Number One, OK! Stick OK!’ and gives the thumbs-up.
Whilst this is going on the aircraft may be bucketing all over the sky. Good despatchers leave the paratroopers sitting down as long as possible as it is exhausting standing up in a bucking aircraft whilst often supporting loads of 100lbs or more. The paratroopers adopt the ‘shuffle’ stance which has the left foot forward.
As the aircraft approaches the dropping zone (DZ) the despatcher orders ‘Action stations!’. On this command, the paratroopers shuffle towards the door shouting the cadence ‘Right, Left!’ which is abbreviated to ‘Ra, leff!’ The right foot is stamped on the floor and the left foot slides forward.
In this manner, the paratroopers reach the door in an ordered fashion. The door is slid open as the DZ approaches and a rush of cold air and noise fills the aircraft! The red light indicating ‘prepare to jump’ is illuminated and the despatcher orders ‘Stand in the door!’
Paratrooper number one moves into the aircraft doorway looking straight ahead with his left hand on the outside of the aircraft fuselage and his right hand across his reserve parachute. He is held steady by the despatcher. On the green light, the despatcher shouts ‘Go!’ and whacks the number one on the back of his parachute.
As he reaches the door each paratrooper must firmly throw his strop away from himself across the aircraft otherwise the strop will get caught under his armpit and cause a severe burn; he must also drive himself out of the doorway away from the aircraft.
A weak exit will guarantee a helmet-banging journey down the outside of the aircraft – not pleasant! Paratroopers normally exit at about 80 knots and the ‘ride’ is not as startling as the 120 knots of a C-130 Hercules! The strop pulls out the parachute and a thin paracord separates and the paratrooper is then on his own under his own canopy!
At about 100 feet above the ground, the paratrooper releases his equipment, which drops on the end of a suspension rope. A few seconds later the paratrooper carries out his PLF (parachute landing fall), collapses his canopy, collects his weapon and equipment and sets off to do his real job!
TM: Tell us about that training incident in Malaysia pre-Vietnam when you fell into the hole full of snakes. Did you ever consider that an ominous omen for that war?
AM: My platoon was on a night patrol and I was concentrating on monitoring our navigation and our tactical formation. The sudden drop into the hole was totally unexpected and as I was carrying my rifle, the large, good old 7.62mm self-loading rifle (SLR), in the ‘ready’ position across my chest it jammed across the width of the hole.
My heart froze when I shone my torch into the hole. The seething, coiling mass was horrific to behold! I did offer mental thanks to my Maker. I am not ‘too’ superstitious so I did not consider the event as other than a close escape from a dreadful death.
TM: Getting on to Vietnam, many may not realise the New Zealand Army even had a presence there?
AM: At the time of the US commitment to South Vietnam, New Zealand, like a number of Pacific and South East Asian countries, was a member of SEATO, the South East Asian Treaty Organisation, and as a US ally agreed to send troops to assist. NZ does not have a large population or armed forces and is reliant upon treaties for its own strategic protection. NZ is an honourable ally.
Unfortunately, its forces when committed tend to be composed mainly of ‘fighting bayonets’ with administration support being provided by a host nation. The toll of NZ casualties in proportion to population was dreadful in both World Wars I and II.
Initially, NZ committed an engineer unit to Vietnam, followed by a small artillery unit and this was followed by two infantry companies. Small as these numbers may have been, they were most of the NZ Army’s regular forces!
We worked primarily with the Australians – this was the first time since the Gallipoli campaign in 1915 that an ANZAC force existed. I was surprised when serving in Vietnam to find forces from South Korea, the Philippines, and Thailand.
TM: How alien was that jungle environment? And the wildlife that inhabited it?
AM: As a young child I grew up in the tropical environment of Singapore and Malaya. Prior to active service in South Vietnam, we trained in the jungles of Fiji and then for six months we trained in the jungles of Malaya. The jungle was therefore not an alien environment for me and, in fact, it makes soldiering a very personal matter.
Neither you nor the enemy has a great advantage over the other. Visibility is negligible, concealment is easy, navigation is difficult, smells and sounds travel great distances which means that personal discipline is critical to ensure that any advantage can be gained.
Individual self-reliance is critical for survival in a combat environment. You carry all your own equipment, water, food, shelter, clothes, weapons and ammunition – there is unlikely to be a supply column following you with all these items. The jungle can either help you or hinder you – it is your choice!
A highly decorated British colonel, Freddie Spencer- Chapman DSO, who fought against the Japanese in the jungles of Malaya during World War II wrote an excellent book about his exploits entitled The Jungle is Neutral. This is an excellent mantra to follow and results from good training and self-confidence – remembering that knowledge of your environment dispels fear.
The worst jungle I operated in was in Belize in South America. This jungle was extremely dense; dirty – any scratch became infected; parasitic insects and nasties were numerous, and the ground was steep without connecting ridges. We called it eggbox country as we struggled over it.
TM: How much did it help being a small, close unit?
AM: My command in South Vietnam was an infantry rifle platoon of some 36 Kiwi soldiers and two attached Australian artillery observers. Normally, for various reasons, I would have 30 soldiers deployed.
This is not a small group and whenever tactically appropriate I would divide the platoon into two groups – one commanded by me and the other by my platoon sergeant.
This allowed us to patrol more ground silently. If the enemy threat increased I would combine the two groups. We had trained together for at least twelve months before deploying to Vietnam and so we all worked confidently together.
It was later in my military service, with Special Forces, that I worked with very small groups of two to four or even individually.
TM: How important was humour in the situation you were in? In fact, throughout your military career?
AM: The military is a physically and mentally tough environment in which to work and the fear and horror involved in combat operations can only be successfully managed by humour, mainly black humour. This black humour, to an outsider, civilian or non-combat soldier may appear callous, uncaring and definitely ‘un-PC’!
However, it is an essential mental survival technique. In all the units I served in a sense of humour was necessary to offset fear, stress, horror and, often, incomprehensible military decisions from above. Different military nationalities are amused by different events and incidents but I could not have survived without being part of that culture of black humour.
TM: Tell us about that first major battle with the Viet Cong that led to being trapped in a minefield? It must have seriously tested your leadership skills.
AM: That day in the Nui Thi Vai mountains in Phuoc Thuy Province in 1970 was a test of my leadership skills, professional skills and my courage. We were at a tactical disadvantage on the lower ground when my lead elements engaged the VC we had been tracking. We were following a blood trail after successful contact three days earlier.
With the support of artillery and then helicopter gunships we cautiously advanced into the enemy camp in an area of large boulders and caves. I was at the rear of the lead section, told them to ‘Go firm!’ and ordered the next section to advance through them. I then followed this section closely accompanied by my radio operator.
The explosion of the first landmine stunned us all – a noise that echoed around the surrounding hills. I initially thought it was the VC firing at us with an RPG 2. It soon became apparent that we were in a minefield! I was initially deafened by the blast – the mine that had been detonated was almost just where I had been standing a few minutes earlier!
The priorities now were to retain control of the platoon, treat the injured and evacuate, and maintain our tactical security. Everyone was ordered not to stand on soil but hop from rock to rock – but to no avail! “Boom!”… another mine was detonated.
I had called for a medical ‘dust-off’ evacuation helicopter, which was on its way. I was covered in blood from one of my soldiers as I tied a tourniquet around his smashed leg. Another explosion! “No more, God, no more!” I pleaded.
The evacuation of our wounded completed, dusk was approaching so we withdrew down the mountain away from that dreadful minefield. A week later we approached this enemy camp from a different direction. Immediately prior to sweeping it again, I had the shit blasted out of it by a brace of USAF Phantoms! The VC had long gone but we were to get our revenge on these NVA Engineers not long after.
TM: How did you control your fear in these extreme situations?
AM: The year, a full 365 days, that I spent as the platoon commander of 3 Platoon, Victor Five Company, 2 RAR(NZ) ANZAC was one in which I was able to confirm that I could successfully command men in combat situations.
It was a year that contained fear, more fear, excitement, pride and enhanced my self-confidence. The politics of the conflict were of limited interest to me – my commitment was to my soldiers and my unit. We had our injuries, sadly some very severe, but I brought all my soldiers home. This is a source of the greatest pride to me.
TM: How do you look back on that war in general terms? You mention in your book respecting your enemy in this case…
AM: I did respect the individual VC or NVA soldier who fought against us. They were generally well trained, used their weapons well, and were clever at negating the advantages we had in artillery and air power by hugging our perimeters so that we were likely to incur casualties from our own fire.
The political cadres, however, were cruel communist zealots and brutally treated and frequently publicly murdered those civilians who resisted their communist educational programmes. We frequently came across the results of their violence when we patrolled areas that had been visited by them.
In my experience frontline soldiers generally, respect opposition fighters. The exception is the low esteem held for the murderers of unarmed, uninvolved men, women and children. However, I may have respected our enemies in Vietnam but I have no desire to ‘kiss and make up’ – I am disappointed that my platoon and I did not kill more of them – that was our job!
TM: We speak to a lot of brave military men such as yourself who have suffered mentally from the effects of war, you mention in the book counselling wasn’t offered after your involvement in Vietnam. Do you think you would have benefited from some sort of help?
AM: This is an interesting question. Combat soldiers are proud of their ‘hardness’ and find great difficulty in accepting psychological assistance from others who generally have no idea of warfare other than films and what they have read in their textbooks.
It is considered a sign of weakness to seek help – particularly in soldiers from elite or special force organisations. If you show weakness or ‘lack of bottle’ you may suffer the fate of being Returned to Unit or even worse, medically discharged. In my case, after combat service in Vietnam, the NZ Army had no system of psychologically debriefing soldiers to enable them to readjust to ‘normality’.
After previous conflicts soldiers often returned from warfare in slow-moving troop ships, providing them with several weeks, amongst their comrades-in-arms to unwind. Today, with air transport a soldier can be reunited with his family only some hours after being petrified and covered in blood and snot during a firefight with the enemy.
We were young and bullet-proof and it is only in later years that you recognise the effects of combat stress on yourself, your friends, and most importantly your loved ones, who do not understand the changes you have undergone. I was not able to ‘unsee the things I had seen’ and the only ones who understood were my fellow veterans. Yes, I probably would have benefited from some ‘help’ but no, I probably would not have accepted it.
TM: Was it a proud moment to join the Parachute Regiment?
AM: Being accepted into the Parachute Regiment was a tremendously proud moment for me, especially when I was issued with my maroon beret and ubiquitous camouflaged Denison smock. I was posted to Patrol Company, the 3rd Battalion of the Parachute Regiment and the battalion was based in Aldershot as part of 16 Parachute Brigade.
Here was a 5,000 man group of paratroopers, parachute gunners and parachute sappers, all of whom could be inserted by parachute. Nearby was a major airfield, Farnborough, from which I imagined the brigade could deploy. This was a ‘real’ strategic organisation.
I was somewhat of a novelty to my fellow Paras with my colonial accent and different military experiences but was soon accepted. My soldiers or ‘Toms’ were brilliant aggressive airborne infantry, but they had a wicked sense of humour and as well as working hard would play hard too!
TM: How did you find the training course, including the interrogation exercise?
AM: The SAS continuation training followed the mentally and physically arduous initial selection process. Those that had successfully completed this phase were trained in all the basic SAS skills to ensure that, if they completed all the various other phases such as Resistance to Interrogation and static line parachuting, they could join a Sabre squadron and be functional.
It was then that specialist individual training, troop training and squadron training would be implemented as part of each squadron’s training cycle. It was only after some six months of comprehensive and assessed training that the coveted sand-coloured beret could be awarded!
During my military career, I would often hear about someone or other ‘passing’ SAS selection – this is meaningless in itself. If you were not ‘badged’ you were not a ’Pilgrim’! Well done for trying but…
The selection phase was physically draining but the main requirement was to remain mentally resilient. Mental stress and pressure were self-imposed – the SAS instructors were always non-committal and aspirants would fail themselves by allowing their self-confidence to drain away as distances increased, weights increased, and timings shortened.
The interrogation phase involved a great deal of self-evaluation as you crouched or stood in painful positions with arms extended or hands on your head for long periods of time – blindfolded, in a silent, silent environment. This silence would be interrupted by periods of ‘white sound’ – tuneless, rhythmless noise. This was difficult to manage.
Being marched in front of an interrogator and then balancing on a small one-legged stool while being shouted at and verbally abused was a welcome relief!
I found SAS selection physically and mentally very challenging. The support of my dear wife during brief phone calls home helped me through the very darkest moments when my confidence may have been wilting.
TM: How hostile an environment did you find Northern Ireland to be?
AM: NI was a toxic environment in which to soldier – carrying out the Government’s bidding. I recall on arrival in Flax Street Mill on the edge of the hostile Republican Ardoyne being advised that our task was to maintain an acceptable level of violence by the terrorists.
WTF is an acceptable level of violence? One bomb, ten civilians or soldiers murdered, two shootings – this was nonsense! Then, many years later, Blair’s government released Irish terrorists from prison and gave amnesty to others and a present British government is pursuing British soldiers for alleged crimes from service in NI during the 1970s with extraordinary vindictiveness.
I served tours in NI both in uniform and undercover and I consider the IRA and their ilk to be cowardly, gutless murderers of the lowest order.
TM: Of course, you had to be very much on your toes there. What was the hairiest situation you found yourself in on your multiple tours there?
AM: The most ‘hairy’ situation I was involved in during my tours in NI was when I was patrolling in a small group from 3 Para, Patrol Company in the Shankill Road. We had two open top Land Rovers with us and were patrolling the street alongside them. It was a Saturday and as usual, the pubs were full.
There was an incident with another patrol who were travelling in a Humber armoured vehicle, a ‘Pig’, several streets away and shots were fired. The street which we were patrolling suddenly filled with angry, aggressive people, men and women who poured out of the pubs. The atmosphere changed in an instant and our small patrol was surrounded by a snarling mob!
A long-barrelled rifle like the SLR is of little value in such a situation. It was like being in a large football crowd who suddenly want to tear you limb from limb. We had the slings of our rifles attached from the butt to our wrists so the weapon could not be easily snatched away but we were getting crowded, spat at, the crowd getting braver and braver to try to isolate each of us.
The threat of being killed was increasing by the minute. One of my senior NCOs fell and a man raised a beer barrel to smash it down on the fallen man’s head; I raised my rifle to shoot the man with the barrel, who was about 25m away. The restrictions of the ‘Yellow Card’ [rules of engagement, which restricted when a soldier could shoot] were racing through my mind…
Fortunately, my colleague rolled away, regained his feet, and raced to our vehicle. The rest of us legged it to our Land Rover, jumped in and we sped away from that baying, hysterical and blood-thirsty mob.
TM: Did that ongoing threat of severe injury or death on your many tours change your outlook on life?
AM: No. Maybe it was pragmatism or even denial but I never dwelt on the possibility of my death or severe injury. However, I became increasingly aware of my surroundings and circumstances – always looking for threats and dangers. This could be a little disturbing for others when I was in a benign environment – and continues even now.
One of the hardest parts of your job must have been returning home after such intense experiences… Yes, and it was even harder for my wife and children. To them, for putting up with me, I am eternally grateful. It cannot be easy loving and living with a ‘Pilgrim’!
TM: How did you find that step up to become part of the Special Forces? And to go on so quickly to commanding your own squad?
AM: To me, it was the opportunity for further challenges, further military experiences and more geographical awareness. But even SF have their quota of Luddites and rigid thinkers around whom one had to operate. Moreover, after the Iranian Embassy siege, there were more than a few who were in the Unit for career enhancement reasons.
Before the publicity of the siege, service in the SAS was a detriment to an officer’s career prospects. When I completed my first tour with the SAS and on rejoining the Parachute Regiment I was greeted with the comment ’Ah, MacKenzie, back to do some real soldiering?’
TM: Do you feel you were utilised to your best in your time in the SAS?
AM: The ‘Green Army’ always seemed very concerned about what SAS forces could do once they were deployed, especially in NI, and as a result, they were over-controlled and micromanaged. SF should only be controlled at the highest level – as a strategic asset – thus, we were not utilised to maximum effect.
TM: Was there a lot more pressure involved being ‘elite’?
AM: Being ‘elite’ is only a state of mind – it is a result of a greater level of training, enhanced individual responsibility, ability and initiative to take greater risks – but not careless risks.
Retaining high levels of personal fitness and health were a constant source of self-imposed pressure as well as the threat of non-combat injuries or health problems that may result in the dreaded ‘return to unit’ order!
TM: What do you see as your proudest moment from your time in service?
AM: My proudest moment was watching my son wearing my SAS beret at his own badging parade.
TM: Is there anything that you’d change?
AM: My late wife told me I was a superman but not THE Superman and there are some things that not even a Pilgrim can change – a terminal illness being one of them.
TM: Can you give us a piece of wisdom you’ve picked up over your long career in the military?
AM: Never take anything or anyone at face value!
Pilgrim Days: From Vietnam to the SAS published by Osprey is out to buy now.
The Constitution contains a powerful set of ideals and a wise system of governance, based on a deep reading of classical and medieval history as well as Renaissance philosophy. However, none of this matters if no system of force is in place to keep and defend the Constitution.
Ultimately, this what the 2nd Amendment is about: A distributed capacity for violence guaranteed to private citizens so that they may serve as a check and balance on the power of the state.
America’s Founding Fathers understood an uncomfortable truth: Behind every law is the implicit threat of force, and behind every vote is the implicit threat of rebellion. Such a bargain is what holds a free society together. And no society with a wide power imbalance remains free for very long.
This truth was predicated upon the Founders classical education and their deep understanding of the power dynamics underpinning the systems of governance during the Roman Republic and Ancient Athens. The Roman Republic in particular influenced their views. Why? Because it provided not simply a template for government, but a historical warning about what can happen to a republic if precautions are not taken to ensure its survival.
Thus the Constitution intentionally contained concepts like separation of powers and a system of checks and balances. These concepts were predicated upon a core truth, as eloquently stated by Thomas Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence: ‘Governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.’”
If you picture political power as a pyramid, the intention of the Founders was clear: The individual was paramount, having natural rights, and the individual would then delegate a portion of his or her political power to the state – hence, the state governed with the individual’s consent.
This delegation took place in stages in order to maintain as much decentralization as possible: First, the individual would delegate a portion of their political power to the municipality level. Then the municipal government would delegate a portion of its power to the county level. Then the counties would delegate a portion of their power to the state level. And ultimately the states would delegate a portion of their power to the federal level.
This delegation is best reflected in the Bill of Rights’ 10th Amendment to the Constitution: “The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.”
Underpinning all of this tiered, sequential delegation was an uncomfortable, yet necessary, truth: That the individual must retain an implied threat of force against the state, and that this threat must be credible, in order to stop the state from deviating beyond the consent given to it or otherwise overrun the individual’s natural rights – what we’d refer to nowadays as a “power grab.”
But what happens when the state’s power grows so vast that individuals cannot resist it whatsoever? That they cannot provide a credible, implied threat of force to counterbalance state power because the state’s weapons have become so devastating? When the state no longer has the consent of the governed, and instead has intimidated the governed into submission?
This is a look at political power and how it has changed as weapons technology has advanced, from Ancient Athens and their virtuous citizen-hopline-freeholder, through the Middle Ages and armored knights, up to our modern weapons of war such as drones and atomic weapons. The concurrent centralization of power, finance, and the capacity to commit meaningful violence is no accident.
But how and why did this happen? And is there any way that we can play the tape backward to regain what we have lost?
A Centralized Capacity for Violence
When people talk about the atom bomb as a trump card for home-grown revolution, they’re really talking about the centralized capacity for violence.
The bomb could be anything as it is simply a stand-in for the average man’s recognition of the American military’s phenomenally powerful weapons; weapons in a totally different class than even a fully automatic battle rifle or rudimentary ballistics like TNT.
Atomic weapons are measured in kilotons of TNT – the best our brains can capture the awe and might of the bomb.
It’s a small example, but cuts to the heart of centralized capacity for violence: The increased ability of smaller and smaller groups of men to do greater and greater amounts of damage. In the case of the atomic bomb, the ability of a single man to wipe out millions with the push of a button. This capacity is not limited to just the bomb.
The military is smaller and thus relies on a lighter, more agile, and efficient infantry than it once did. Only one or two men are needed to wipe a city from a map. Compare with an infantry platoon of 27 men. As bombs became bigger, military technology became much more accurate and capable of hitting one specific thing (say, a Sudanese aspirin factory versus a small, neutral village).
America’s nuclear arsenal is the apotheosis of centralized force, giving a single man the ability to kill everyone on earth many times over.
But it is not hyperbole to say our current military technologies are Godlike, even disregarding the bomb. Entire regions can be wiped from the map at the push of a button, and it only takes one man to push that button. Compare with the mounted cavalry of old.
Not to belabor the point, but the term “bomb” fails to capture the magnitude of what a bomb can do. The atomic bomb is like dropping a small sun onto a city. It is ghastly and terrifying, and may mark man’s first true foray into “secrets man was not meant to know.”
In addition to being more precise, violence is much easier to distribute from afar. For context, during the Second World War, carpet bombing was developed because it was so hard to get a single bomb to hit anything, even when you were just a few thousand feet from the target. Now someone on the other side of the planet can send a missile into a cave and navigate the tunnels inside.
This happens at the micro-level as well. Think about the small-town sheriff who, for some reason, has a battle-ready tank. On one level, it’s laughable, the militarization of the police reduced to its most ridiculous cliche. But on another, perhaps more important level, it’s a demonstration of the centralization of capacity to commit force at the local level. The average police department is equipped like a small infantry squad with light tank support.
A well-armed home has a handful of long arms and pistols, with precious little training in things like small squad tactics. Our personal fortresses are anything but secure against the state.
Distributed Violence and Power in Ancient Greece
We think of Ancient Greece as a democracy, and indeed, it was, but its democratic polities were far from egalitarian. Its democratic society was made possible by the hoplite system.
The hoplite was the basic infantry soldier of ancient Athens and other Greek city states. To be a hoplite meant to supply one’s own arms. To supply one’s own arms was only possible for free landholders. Full citizenship was accorded only to men with a full set of gear. Men with only partially complete sets held lower rank, in the military and in society in general.
Hoplites made ancient Greek democracy possible.
Indeed, there is great wisdom to how the Greeks granted citizenship: the benefits of citizenry imply a responsibility to defend the polity. Those incapable of putting up a meaningful fight against invaders (or in the case of Sparta, constant helot rebellions) did not enjoy the full fruits of Greek citizenship.
Ancient Greece was a far more equitable society than its contemporaries because the citizenry were landed men with skin in the game. They couldn’t simply take off for the nearest convenient city. They defended their democratic society — and their land — with their lives.
Decision-making included everyone who was going to fight. No one man held much power relative to others except for his ability to command larger groups of men through legitimately earned leadership and authority.
This isn’t an endorsement of turning America into Starship Troopers, but we should contrast the capacity of the Greek hoplites to commit meaningful violence against the rulers and their neighbors against the feudal system of serfs, lords and mounted cavalry emerged in the fallout after the collapse of the Roman Empire.
We tend to think of medieval lords as holding power due to accidents of birth, but they held civilization together while Rome fell. Their titles, such as duke and marquis, were military titles, implying a duty of military service to their lord and the king. The difference between these medieval lords and the free hoplites of classical antiquity is that the medieval world allowed much smaller groups of men to commit far greater levels of violence. This centralized capacity for violence.
Serfs were drafted, oftentimes reluctantly, when additional forces were needed, mostly for the pure weight of the meat. The medieval world had many peasant rebellions but peasants were, to put it bluntly, useless against men in armor on horseback with crossbows, lances, and strong martial culture.
The average Athenian didn’t have the means for a full hoplite spread, and thus full military service and citizenship. Still, men with only partial kit could do quite a lot, militarily. Thus their input was needed for democratic consensus. But the middle ages saw a greater contraction of the martial caste, due to revolutionary developments in weapons technology.
It took only the humble stirrup to radically alter the distribution of military power in Europe. Previously, men on horseback were simply mounted infantry, not true cavalry. They dismounted to fight. Now they no longer had to. They could attack at speed on horseback, allowing for heavier armor to be worn and heavier weapons to be used.
Fewer men could do more with less. A partial suit of armor and a short sword was worthless against true cavalry armed with broadswords, lances, and crossbows – the Sherman tanks of their day. This revolution in military technology meant that the more democratic society of ancient Greece and the Roman Republic were now impossible.
Far more wealth was needed to obtain a meaningful capacity to commit violence. The smaller group of men with the means to purchase such were also able to commit far greater levels of violence with far fewer numbers.
You are here.
Modern Revolutions in Distributed Violence
It’s important to note that the centralization of capacity for violence is predicated on the accuracy of weapons. Old school ballistics weren’t the most accurate thing in the world. Two armies could stand on either side of a field, shooting all day. Any kill shots they got were entirely coincidental because muskets weren’t that accurate, hence the need for large formations of men.
Then something changed: Rifling. Gunsmiths learned that by putting grooves inside of a barrel, the accuracy of a weapon dramatically increased. The American Civil War was a bloodbath in part due to the development of the Springfield Model 1861. While wildly inaccurate by modern standards, it was revolutionary at the time in terms of converting the implied threat of violence into a very real promise of death.
The nobility hated firearms because one didn’t need to learn how to use a broadsword to knock off a king. All one had to do was get close enough, point, and shoot. The ability to commit meaningful violence moved from the exclusive province of the military caste to anyone who could get their hands on a gun.
When bombs were developed, they followed a similar trajectory in terms of destructive power. Even as late as World War II, bombs were so inaccurate that German intelligence couldn’t figure out what the British were trying to blow up. Carpet bombing was developed as a way to offset this inaccuracy, an aerial counterpart to the mass formations of pre-rifling musketeer troop formations.
The Springfield 1861 wasn’t the end of firearms development. Nor were the first rudimentary aerial bombs the end of heavy ballistic development. Everyone knows about the arms race with regard to atomic weaponry. Less known is the development of conventional bombs that can actually hit their targets with reliable accuracy. Guided-missile systems were to heavy ballistics what rifling was to long arms.
Between 1967 and 1973, guided-missile systems were developed and proved to be orders of magnitude more accurate in hitting their targets. The clunky, inaccurate bombs requiring a score of men to deploy were replaced with precise systems requiring only one or two men.
It’s often said that during the Great War it took 10,000 rounds to kill a single man. Now one or two missiles could obliterate entire sections of a city. Ten thousand to one are some pretty long odds, but two to one or one to one odds are a virtual certainty. Guided-missile systems don’t kill a single man like the apocryphal 10,000 rounds, they can flatten a military compound, city block, or an entire city. While significantly more expensive, their efficacy makes them a cost-effective investment for the military-industrial complex.
One simple example demonstrates the dramatic increase in the ability of the state to commit violence. Remember how we said British bombs were so useless that the Germans couldn’t even identify the intended target? 50 years later during Desert Storm in 1991, a cruise missile fired from a ship could enter a building through a specific window on a specific floor and hit a specific target inside that building, changing direction at the will of the operator.
This is important because the state is violence.
At the end of the day, the state is a means of coercion. Coercion relies upon the meaningful threat of violence. With the advent of advanced weapons systems, this threat of violence has been transformed from a mostly idle threat requiring a massive investment of human capital to a near certainty of death.
Conversely, the democratic process provides a means for the populace to express their dissatisfaction with the state. This is an implied threat of revolution, however, now the state has weaponry that can hit you where you live in a single shot while leaving every last building around you standing. The masses have, at best, only long arms at their disposal.
This is a power imbalance that cannot be ignored.
The promise of real violence trumps the empty threat of revolution. It’s certainly true that the United States military has been defeated by much smaller and more poorly equipped forces.
However, none of these small, primarily guerrilla forces – the Vietcong, the Taliban, or similar – presented the threat to American hegemony that a restive domestic population would if roused to rebellion.
This massive power imbalance is not the end of the story, as such situations have arisen in the past.
Consider the citizen-soldier of ancient Greece, whose broad forms endured until the end of Rome. This gave way to the aforementioned mounted knight, who had armor, lances, crossbows, and longswords – the advanced weapons systems of the time. They could run roughshod over peasant populations armed with little more than farm tools. In turn, the mounted knight was dethroned by the development of gunpowder, which dramatically leveled the playing field.
It is no coincidence that the development of gunpowder and effective firearms coincided, roughly speaking, with the rise of the democratic republic. No longer could the nobility simply say “let them eat cake.” Ignoring popular sentiment came with serious consequences.
What technology will mankind develop that will level the playing field today?
It’s hard to say, but futuristic developments like powered armor, cyberwarfare, and fourth generational warfare provide a glimpse as to how technology can be leveraged to put a thumb on the scale and bring the capacity to commit meaningful violence back into balance.
Until the pendulum swings back, however, the disparity in the ability to commit meaningful violence is a problem for human freedom that cannot be ignored. Guerrilla insurrections against the American empire in far-flung Third World provinces simply are not comparable to an uprising in the imperial core — the American homeland.
Will America Strike Its Own Citizens?
America has a long history of not using the atomic bomb so we often forget that America is the only country to have actually used them. So why hasn’t America used them in so long and would they use them again?
America has never had a “no first strike” policy and remains ambiguous about what situations would cause it to use nuclear weapons. It’s difficult, but not impossible, to imagine an American first strike during the Cold War, but it is far more difficult to imagine today. Who would America nuke?
How about Des Moines? Or Morgantown? Or Dallas? Americans are in a precarious position with regard to their own government. America has an empire, but the empire hates the Americans – largely using them as tax serfs to fund failed social programs at home and failed wars of choice overseas. If anything, the American people are an obstacle to the aims of the American Empire.
The American citizenry is one thing most of the rest of the world isn’t: A threat to the American empire. The massive reaction by globalist elites to Donald Trump shows just how particularly thin-skinned they are about peasant rebellions at home. And constant attacks on Second Amendment have failed to disarm the American middle class.
It is instructive to compare the United States to Australia and Canada in the time of COVID: The latter two are among the most repressive medical regimes in the world. America remains relatively free. The capacity for meaningful force, ownership of the reigns of power, and ownership of capital remains more distributed here – and our rulers know it. They know there is only so far they can go.
But maybe the global elites don’t need such stern measures against American citizens. The story of 2020 was largely that of concentrated attacks on the American middle class in the form of COVID lockdowns and riots aimed at immiserating and terrorizing them. COVID lockdowns attacked small businesses and “non-essential” workers in one of the biggest wealth transfers in human history. The riots likewise terrorized average Americans into a state of shock and silence.
The foot soldiers of the elites can do anything they want to you. Raising your hand against them, however, comes with extreme consequences. This is another example of the centralization of force, not using the military or armaments, but economic leverage and an asymmetrical application of the courts — anarchy for them, tyranny for you.
And who needs nukes when you’re ruling over a nation of renter-class serfs? The elites wouldn’t need anything approaching nuclear weapons to keep in line a population who own nothing and are totally reliant upon government handouts. This is the aim of the attacks on small businesses and the War on the Suburbs.
Perhaps the model for the future is not the totalitarian regimes of the 20th Century, but the feudal estates of the middle ages – now armed with intrusive surveillance technologies and Godlike military hardware.
Remember: The Constitution means nothing without the means to protect and defend it.
Regardless, until the scales are rebalanced, America will look less and less like the democratic republic we were all raised in over the years. The Founders simply did not design their system for a mass of effectively unarmed debt peons. The system is ripe for the taking by anyone with enough political will.
The problem of a highly centralized capacity to commit meaningful violence is structural. There are no clear solutions. A revolution in military technology is needed to rebalance the scales. In the meantime, however, each man can do his part to carve out a small fortress in defense of liberty, keeping the flame of liberty alive in our homes and our communities.
There are alternatives to this kind of serfdom, however, that don’t require waiting for the development of power armor or another leveling development in military technology. Above all, it is important to make oneself as antifragile as possible which means accumulating valuable skills, having multiple revenue streams, and, above all, hoping for the best while preparing for the worst.
Such moves towards greater resiliency in the face of overwhelming state military power and centralized force do not just protect you and yours. They provide a small, but important bulwark against tyranny, reasserting the implied threat of rebellion.
Unfortunately, an American Renaissance is reliant upon a dramatic shift in military technology rendering all current advanced weapons technology moot. No single man or even group of men can simply will such a situation into being.
The price of liberty, as is often said, is eternal vigilance. We need this kind of vigilance more than ever. Objective forces of economic reality and military innovation mean freedom in America and the West is hanging off the precipice. While we can never simply “play the tape backward,” we can move through our current state of centralization to a new decentralization, appropriate for our own time and place.
