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The Green Machine War

Pickett's Charge , The High Tide of the Confederacy

Today is the anniversary of the Day the Tide started going out for the South during the 2nd War of Independence.
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Pickett’s Charge

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Thure de Thulstrup‘s Battle of Gettysburg, showing Pickett’s Charge

Pickett’s Charge from a position on the Confederate line looking toward the Union lines, Ziegler’s Grove on the left, clump of trees on right, painting by Edwin Forbes

Map of Pickett’s Charge, July 3, 1863.

  Confederate
  Union

Map of Pickett’s Charge (details), July 3, 1863

  Confederate
  Union

Pickett’s Charge was an infantry assault ordered by Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee against Maj. Gen. George G. Meade‘s Union positions on July 3, 1863, the last day of the Battle of Gettysburg in the state of Pennsylvania during the American Civil War. Its futility was predicted by the charge’s commander, Lt. Gen. James Longstreet, and it was arguably an avoidable mistake from which the Southern war effort never fully recovered militarily or psychologically. The farthest point reached by the attack has been referred to as the high-water mark of the Confederacy.
The charge is named after Maj. Gen. George Pickett, one of three Confederate generals who led the assault under Longstreet.
Pickett’s charge was part of Lee’s “general plan”[1] to take Cemetery Hill and the network of roads it commanded. His military secretary, A. L. Long, described Lee’s thinking:

There was… a weak point… where [Cemetery Ridge], sloping westward, formed the depression through which the Emmitsburg road passes. Perceiving that by forcing the Federal lines at that point and turning toward Cemetery Hill [Hays’ Division] would be taken in flank and the remainder would be neutralized…. Lee determined to attack at that point, and the execution was assigned to Longstreet.[2]

On the night of July 2, Meade correctly predicted at a council of war that Lee would attack the center of his lines the following morning.
The infantry assault was preceded by a massive artillery bombardment that was meant to soften up the Union defense and silence its artillery, but was largely ineffective. Approximately 12,500 men in nine infantry brigades advanced over open fields for three-quarters of a mile under heavy Union artillery and rifle fire. Although some Confederates were able to breach the low stone wall that shielded many of the Union defenders, they could not maintain their hold and were repulsed with over 50% casualties, a decisive defeat that ended the three-day battle and Lee’s campaign into Pennsylvania.[3]
Years later, when asked why his charge at Gettysburg failed, Pickett reportedly replied: “I’ve always thought the Yankeeshad something to do with it.”[4][5]

Background[edit]

Military situation[edit]

Further information: Gettysburg Battlefield

Opposing forces[edit]

Union[edit]

Further information: Gettysburg Union order of battle

Confederate[edit]

Plans and command structures[edit]

Pickett’s charge was planned for three Confederate divisions, commanded by Maj. Gen. George PickettBrig. Gen. J. Johnston Pettigrew, and Maj. Gen. Isaac R. Trimble, consisting of troops from Lt. Gen. James Longstreet‘s First Corps and Lt. Gen. A.P. Hill‘s Third Corps. Pettigrew commanded brigades from Maj. Gen. Henry Heth‘s old division, under Col.Birkett D. Fry (Archer’s Brigade), Col. James K. Marshall (Pettigrew’s Brigade), Brig. Gen. Joseph R. Davis, and Col. John M. Brockenbrough. Trimble, commanding Maj. Gen. Dorsey Pender‘s division, had the brigades of Brig. Gens. Alfred M. Scales (temporarily commanded by Col. William Lee J. Lowrance) and James H. Lane. Two brigades from Maj. Gen. Richard H. Anderson‘s division (Hill’s Corps) were to support the attack on the right flank: Brig. Gen. Cadmus M. Wilcoxand Col. David Lang (Perry’s brigade).[6]
The target of the Confederate assault was the center of the Union Army of the Potomac‘s II Corps, commanded by Maj. Gen. Winfield S. Hancock. Directly in the center was the division of Brig. Gen. John Gibbon with the brigades of Brig. Gen. William Harrow, Col. Norman J. Hall, and Brig. Gen. Alexander S. Webb. (On the night of July 2, Meade correctly predicted to Gibbon at a council of war that Lee would try an attack on Gibbon’s sector the following morning.)[7] To the north of this position were brigades from the division of Brig. Gen. Alexander Hays, and to the south was Maj. Gen. Abner Doubleday‘s division of the I Corps, including the 2nd Vermont Brigade of Brig. Gen. George J. Stannard and the 121st Pennsylvania under the command of Col. Chapman Biddle. Meade’s headquarters were just behind the II Corps line, in the small house owned by the widow Lydia Leister.[6]
The specific objective of the assault has been the source of historical controversy. Traditionally, the “copse of trees” on Cemetery Ridge has been cited as the visual landmark for the attacking force. Historical treatments such as the 1993 film Gettysburg continue to popularize this view, which originated in the work of Gettysburg Battlefield historian John B. Bachelder in the 1880s. However, recent scholarship, including published works by some Gettysburg National Military Park historians, has suggested that Lee’s goal was actually Ziegler’s Grove on Cemetery Hill, a more prominent and highly visible grouping of trees about 300 yards (274 m) north of the copse. The much-debated theory suggests that Lee’s general plan for the second-day attacks (the seizure of Cemetery Hill) had not changed on the third day, and the attacks on July 3 were also aimed at securing the hill and the network of roads it commanded. The copse of trees, currently a prominent landmark, was under ten feet (3 m) high in 1863, only visible to a portion of the attacking columns from certain parts of the battlefield.[8]
From the beginning of the planning, things went awry for the Confederates. While Pickett’s division had not been used yet at Gettysburg, A.P. Hill’s health became an issue and he did not participate in selecting which of his troops were to be used for the charge. Some of Hill’s corps had fought lightly on July 1 and not at all on July 2. However, troops that haddone heavy fighting on July 1 ended up making the charge.[9]
Although the assault is known to popular history as Pickett’s Charge, overall command was given to James Longstreet, and Pickett was one of his divisional commanders. Lee did tell Longstreet that Pickett’s fresh division should lead the assault, so the name is appropriate, although some recent historians have used the name Pickett-Pettigrew-Trimble Assault (or, less frequently, Longstreet’s Assault) to more fairly distribute the credit (or blame). With Hill sidelined, Pettigrew’s and Trimble’s divisions were delegated to Longstreet’s authority as well. Thus, Pickett’s name has been lent to a charge in which he commanded 3 out of the 11 brigades while under the supervision of his corps commander throughout. Pickett’s men were almost exclusively from Virginia, with the other divisions consisting of troops from North CarolinaMississippiAlabama, and Tennessee. The supporting troops under Wilcox and Lang were from Alabama and Florida.[10]
In conjunction with the infantry assault, Lee planned a cavalry action in the Union rear. Maj. Gen. J.E.B. Stuart led his cavalry division to the east, prepared to exploit Lee’s hoped-for breakthrough by attacking the Union rear and disrupting its line of communications (and retreat) along the Baltimore Pike.[11]
Despite Lee’s hope for an early start, it took all morning to arrange the infantry assault force. Neither Lee’s nor Longstreet’s headquarters sent orders to Pickett to have his division on the battlefield by daylight. Historian Jeffrey D. Wert blames this oversight on Longstreet, describing it either as a misunderstanding of Lee’s verbal order or a mistake.[12]Some of the many criticisms of Longstreet’s Gettysburg performance by the postbellum Lost Cause authors cite this failure as evidence that Longstreet deliberately undermined Lee’s plan for the battle.[13]
Meanwhile, on the far right end of the Union line, a seven-hour battle raged for the control of Culp’s Hill. Lee’s intent was to synchronize his offensive across the battlefield, keeping Meade from concentrating his numerically superior force, but the assaults were poorly coordinated and Maj. Gen. Edward “Allegheny” Johnson’s attacks against Culp’s Hill petered out just as Longstreet’s cannonade began.[14]

Artillery barrage[edit]

Cannons representing Hancock’s defenses, stormed by Pickett’s Charge.

The infantry charge was preceded by what Lee hoped would be a powerful and well-concentrated cannonade of the Union center, destroying the Union artillery batteries that could defeat the assault and demoralizing the Union infantry. But a combination of inept artillery leadership and defective equipment doomed the barrage from the beginning. Longstreet’s corps artillery chief, Col. Edward Porter Alexander, had effective command of the field; Lee’s artillery chief, Brig. Gen. William N. Pendleton, played little role other than to obstruct the effective placement of artillery from the other two corps. Despite Alexander’s efforts, then, there was insufficient concentration of Confederate fire on the objective.[15]
The July 3 bombardment was likely the largest of the war,[16] with hundreds of cannons from both sides firing along the lines for one to two hours,[17] starting around 1 p.m. Confederate guns numbered between 150 and 170[18] and fired from a line over two miles (3 km) long, starting in the south at the Peach Orchard and running roughly parallel to the Emmitsburg Road. Confederate Brig. Gen. Evander M. Law wrote, “The cannonade in the center … presented one of the most magnificent battle-scenes witnessed during the war. Looking up the valley towards Gettysburg, the hills on either side were capped with crowns of flame and smoke, as 300 guns, about equally divided between the two ridges, vomited their iron hail upon each other.”[19]
Despite its ferocity, the fire was mostly ineffectual. Confederate shells often overshot the infantry front lines—in some cases because of inferior shell fuses that delayed detonation—and the smoke covering the battlefield concealed that fact from the gunners. Union artillery chief Brig. Gen. Henry J. Hunt had only about 80 guns available to conduct counter-battery fire; the geographic features of the Union line had limited areas for effective gun emplacement. He also ordered that firing cease to conserve ammunition, but to fool Alexander, Hunt ordered his cannons to cease fire slowly to create the illusion that they were being destroyed one by one. By the time all of Hunt’s cannons ceased fire, and still blinded by the smoke from battle, Alexander fell for Hunt’s deception and believed that many of the Union batteries had been destroyed. Hunt had to resist the strong arguments of Hancock, who demanded Union fire to lift the spirits of the infantrymen pinned down by Alexander’s bombardment. Even Meade was affected by the artillery—the Leister house was a victim of frequent overshots, and he had to evacuate with his staff to Powers Hill.[20]
The day was hot, 87 °F (31 °C) by one account[21] and humid, and the Confederates suffered under the hot sun and from the Union counter-battery fire as they awaited the order to advance. When Union cannoneers overshot their targets, they often hit the massed infantry waiting in the woods of Seminary Ridge or in the shallow depressions just behind Alexander’s guns, causing significant casualties before the charge began.[22]
Longstreet had opposed the charge from the beginning, convinced the charge would fail (which ultimately proved true), and had his own plan that he would have preferred for a strategic movement around the Union left flank. He claimed to have told Lee:

General, I have been a soldier all my life. I have been with soldiers engaged in fights by couples, by squads, companies, regiments, divisions, and armies, and should know, as well as any one, what soldiers can do. It is my opinion that no fifteen thousand men ever arrayed for battle can take that position.[23]

Longstreet wanted to avoid personally ordering the charge by attempting to pass the mantle onto young Colonel Alexander, telling him that he should inform Pickett at the optimum time to begin the advance, based on his assessment that the Union artillery had been effectively silenced. Although he had insufficient information to accomplish this, Alexander eventually notified Pickett that he was running dangerously short of ammunition, sending the message “If you are coming at all, come at once, or I cannot give you proper support, but the enemy’s fire has not slackened at all. At least eighteen guns are still firing from the cemetery itself.” Pickett asked Longstreet, “General, shall I advance?” Longstreet’s memoir recalled “The effort to speak the order failed, and I could only indicate it by an affirmative bow.”[24]
Longstreet made one final attempt to call off the assault. After his encounter with Pickett, he discussed the artillery situation with Porter and was informed that Porter did not have full confidence that all the enemy’s guns were silenced and that the Confederate ammunition was almost exhausted. Longstreet ordered Porter to stop Pickett, but the young colonel explained that replenishing his ammunition from the trains in the rear would take over an hour, and this delay would nullify any advantage the previous barrage had given them. The infantry assault went forward without the Confederate artillery close support that had been originally planned.[25]

Infantry assault[edit]

Cemetery Ridge, looking south along the ridge with Little Round Top and Big Round Top in the distance. The monument in the foreground is the 72nd Pennsylvania Infantry Monument.

Copse of trees and “high-water mark of the Confederacy” on the Gettysburg Battlefield; looking north.

The entire force that stepped off toward the Union positions at about 2 p.m.[17]consisted of about 12,500 men.[26] Although the attack is popularly called a “charge”, the men marched deliberately in line, to speed up and then charge only when they were within a few hundred yards of the enemy. The line consisted of Pettigrew and Trimble on the left, and Pickett to the right. The nine brigades of men stretched over a mile-long (1,600 m) front. The Confederates encountered heavy artillery fire while advancing nearly three quarters of a mile across open fields to reach the Union line and were slowed by fences in their path. Initially sloping down, the terrain changed to a gentle upward incline approximately midway between the lines. These obstacles played a large role in the increasing number of casualties the advancing Confederates faced. The ground between Seminary Ridge and Cemetery Ridge is slightly undulating, and the advancing troops periodically disappeared from the view of the Union cannoneers. As the three Confederate divisions advanced, awaiting Union soldiers began shouting “Fredericksburg! Fredericksburg! Fredericksburg!” in reference to the disastrous Union advance on the Confederate line during the 1862 Battle of Fredericksburg. Fire from Lt. Col. Freeman McGilvery‘s concealed artillery positions north of Little Round Top raked the Confederate right flank, while the artillery fire from Cemetery Hill hit the left. Shell and solid shot in the beginning turned to canister and musketfire as the Confederates came within 400 yards of the Union line. The mile-long front shrank to less than half a mile (800 m) as the men filled in gaps that appeared throughout the line and followed the natural tendency to move away from the flanking fire.[27]
On the left flank of the attack, Brockenbrough’s brigade was devastated by artillery fire from Cemetery Hill. They were also subjected to a surprise musket fusillade from the 8th Ohio Infantry regiment. The 160 Ohioans, firing from a single line, so surprised Brockenbrough’s Virginians—already demoralized by their losses to artillery fire—that they panicked and fled back to Seminary Ridge, crashing through Trimble’s division and causing many of his men to bolt as well. The Ohioans followed up with a successful flanking attack on Davis’s brigade of Mississippians and North Carolinians, which was now the left flank of Pettigrew’s division. The survivors were subjected to increasing artillery fire from Cemetery Hill. More than 1,600 rounds were fired at Pettigrew’s men during the assault. This portion of the assault never advanced much farther than the sturdy fence at the Emmitsburg Road. By this time, the Confederates were close enough to be fired on by artillery canister and Alexander Hays’ division unleashed very effective musketry fire from behind 260 yards of stone wall, with every rifleman of the division lined up as many as four deep, exchanging places in line as they fired and then fell back to reload.[28]

They were at once enveloped in a dense cloud of smoke and dust. Arms, heads, blankets, guns and knapsacks were thrown and tossed into the clear air. … A moan went up from the field, distinctly to be heard amid the storm of battle.

Lt. Col. Franklin Sawyer, 8th Ohio[29]

Trimble’s division of two brigades followed Pettigrew’s, but made poor progress. Confusing orders from Trimble caused Lane to send only three and a half of his North Carolina regiments forward. Renewed fire from the 8th Ohio and the onslaught of Hays’s riflemen prevented most of these men from getting past the Emmitsburg Road. Scales’s North Carolina brigade, led by Col. William L. J. Lowrance, started with a heavier disadvantage—they had lost almost two-thirds of their men on July 1. They were also driven back and Lowrance was wounded. The Union defenders also took casualties, but Hays encouraged his men by riding back and forth just behind the battle line, shouting “Hurrah! Boys, we’re giving them hell!”. Two horses were shot out from under him. Historian Stephen W. Sears calls Hays’ performance “inspiring”.[30]
On the right flank, Pickett’s Virginians crossed the Emmitsburg road and wheeled partially to their left to face northeast. They marched in two lines, led by the brigades of Brig. Gen. James L. Kemper on the right and Brig. Gen. Richard B. Garnett on the left; Brig. Gen. Lewis A. Armistead‘s brigade followed closely behind. As the division wheeled to the left, its right flank was exposed to McGilvery’s guns and the front of Doubleday’s Union division on Cemetery Ridge. Stannard’s Vermont Brigade marched forward, faced north, and delivered withering fire into the rear of Kemper’s brigade. At about this time, Hancock, who had been prominent in displaying himself on horseback to his men during the Confederate artillery bombardment, was wounded by a bullet striking the pommel of his saddle, entering his inner right thigh along with wood fragments and a large bent nail. He refused evacuation to the rear until the battle was settled.[31]

Field of Pickett’s Charge, viewed from north of The Angle, looking west.

As Pickett’s men advanced, they withstood the defensive fire of first Stannard’s brigade, then Harrow’s, and then Hall’s, before approaching a minor salient in the Union center, a low stone wall taking an 80-yard right-angle turn known afterward as “The Angle.” It was defended by Brig. Gen. Alexander S. Webb‘s Philadelphia Brigade. Webb placed the two remaining guns of (the severely wounded) Lt. Alonzo Cushing‘s Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, at the front of his line at the stone fence, with the 69th and 71st Pennsylvania regiments of his brigade to defend the fence and the guns. The two guns and 940 men could not match the massive firepower that Hays’s division, to their right, had been able to unleash.[32]
Two gaps opened up in the Union line: the commander of the 71st Pennsylvania ordered his men to retreat when the Confederates came too close to the Angle; south of the copse of trees, the men of the 59th New York (Hall’s brigade) inexplicably bolted for the rear. In the latter case, this left Captain Andrew Cowan and his 1st New York Independent Artillery Battery to face the oncoming infantry. Assisted personally by artillery chief Henry Hunt, Cowan ordered five guns to fire double canister simultaneously. The entire Confederate line to his front disappeared. The gap vacated by most of the 71st Pennsylvania, however, was more serious, leaving only a handful of the 71st, 268 men of the 69th Pennsylvania, and Cushing’s two 3-inch rifled guns to receive the 2,500 to 3,000 men of Garnett’s and Armistead’s brigades as they began to cross the stone fence. The Irishmen of the 69th Pennsylvania resisted fiercely in a melee of rifle fire, bayonets, and fists. Webb, mortified that the 71st had retreated, attempted to bring the 72nd Pennsylvania (a Zouave regiment) forward, but for some reason they did not obey the order, so he had to bring other regiments in to help fill the gap. During the fight, Lt. Cushing was killed as he shouted to his men, three bullets striking him, the third in his mouth. The Confederates seized his two guns and turned them to face the Union troops, but they had no ammunition to fire. As more Union reinforcements arrived and charged into the breach, the defensive line became impregnable and the Confederates began to slip away individually, with no senior officers remaining to call a formal retreat.[33]

The monument on the Gettysburg Battlefield marking the approximate place where Armistead was fatally wounded. The wall behind the monument marks the Union lines.

The infantry assault lasted less than an hour. The supporting attack by Wilcox and Lang on Pickett’s right was never a factor; they did not approach the Union line until after Pickett was defeated, and their advance was quickly broken up by McGilvery’s guns and by the Vermont Brigade.[34]

Aftermath[edit]

While the Union lost about 1,500 killed and wounded, the Confederate casualty rate was over 50%. Pickett’s division suffered 2,655 casualties (498 killed, 643 wounded, 833 wounded and captured, and 681 captured, unwounded). Pettigrew’s losses are estimated to be about 2,700 (470 killed, 1,893 wounded, 337 captured). Trimble’s two brigades lost 885 (155 killed, 650 wounded, and 80 captured). Wilcox’s brigade reported losses of 200, Lang’s about 400. Thus, total losses during the attack were 6,555, of which at least 1,123 Confederates were killed on the battlefield, 4,019 were wounded, and a good number of the injured were also captured. Confederate prisoner totals are difficult to estimate from their reports; Union reports indicated that 3,750 men were captured.[35]
The casualties were also high among the commanders of the charge. Trimble and Pettigrew were the most senior casualties of the day; Trimble lost a leg, and Pettigrew received a minor wound to the hand (only to die from a bullet to the abdomen suffered in a minor skirmish during the retreat to Virginia).[36] In Pickett’s division, 26 of the 40 field grade officers (majors, lieutenant colonels, and colonels) were casualties— 12 killed or mortally wounded, nine wounded, four wounded and captured, and one captured.[37] All of his brigade commanders fell: Kemper was wounded seriously, captured by Union soldiers, rescued, and then captured again during the retreat to Virginia; Garnett and Armistead were killed. Garnett had a previous leg injury and rode his horse during the charge, despite knowing that conspicuously riding a horse into heavy enemy fire would mean almost certain death. Armistead, known for leading his brigade with his cap on the tip of his sword, made the farthest progress through the Union lines. He was mortally wounded, falling near “The Angle” at what is now called the High Water Mark of the Confederacy and died two days later in a Union hospital. Ironically, the Union troops that fatally wounded Armistead were under the command of his old friend, Winfield S. Hancock, who was himself severely wounded in the battle. Per his dying wishes, Longstreet delivered Armistead’s Bible and other personal effects to Hancock’s wife, Almira.[38] Of the 15 regimental commanders in Pickett’s division, the Virginia Military Institute produced 11 and all were casualties—six killed, five wounded.[39]
Stuart’s cavalry action in indirect support of the infantry assault was unsuccessful. He was met and stopped by Union cavalry under the command of Brig. Gen. David McM. Gregg about three miles (5 km) to the east, in East Cavalry Field.[40]
As soldiers straggled back to the Confederate lines along Seminary Ridge, Lee feared a Union counteroffensive and tried to rally his center, telling returning soldiers and Wilcox that the failure was “all my fault.” Pickett was inconsolable for the rest of the day and never forgave Lee for ordering the charge. When Lee told Pickett to rally his division for the defense, Pickett allegedly replied, “General, I have no division.”[41]
The Union counteroffensive never came; the Army of the Potomac was exhausted and nearly as damaged at the end of the three days as the Army of Northern Virginia. Meade was content to hold the field. On July 4, the armies observed an informal truce and collected their dead and wounded. Meanwhile, Maj. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant accepted the surrender of the Vicksburg garrison along the Mississippi River, splitting the Confederacy in two. These two Union victories are generally considered the turning point of the Civil War.[42]
History may never know the true story of Lee’s intentions at Gettysburg. He never published memoirs, and his after-action report from the battle was cursory. Most of the senior commanders of the charge were casualties and did not write reports. Pickett’s report was apparently so bitter that Lee ordered him to destroy it, and no copy has been found.[43]
The controversy over Lee’s plans and his officers’ implementation of them have led historians to question whether the charge could have succeeded if done differently. One study used a Lanchester model to examine several alternative scenarios and their outcomes. The results suggest that Lee could have captured a foothold on Cemetery Ridge if he had committed several more infantry brigades to the charge; but this likely would have left him with insufficient reserves to hold or exploit the position.[44]
Virginian newspapers praised Pickett’s Virginia division as making the most progress during the charge, and the papers used Pickett’s comparative success as a means of criticizing the actions of the other states’ troops during the charge. It was this publicity that played a significant factor in selecting the name Pickett’s Charge. Pickett’s military career was never the same after the charge, and he was displeased about having his name attached to the repulsed charge. In particular North Carolinians have long taken exception to the characterizations and point to the poor performance of Brockenbrough’s Virginians in the advance as a major causative factor of failure.[45] Some historians have questioned the primacy of Pickett’s role in the battle. W. R. Bond wrote in 1888, “No body of troops during the last war made as much reputation on so little fighting.”[46]
Additional controversy developed after the battle about Pickett’s personal location during the charge. The fact that fifteen of his officers and all three of his brigadier generals were casualties while Pickett managed to escape unharmed led many to question his proximity to the fighting and, by implication, his personal courage. The 1993 film Gettysburg depicts him observing on horseback from the Codori Farm at the Emmitsburg Road, but there is no historical evidence to confirm this. It was established doctrine in the Civil War that commanders of divisions and above would “lead from the rear”, while brigade and more junior officers were expected to lead from the front, and while this was often violated, there was nothing for Pickett to be ashamed of if he coordinated his forces from behind.[47]
Pickett’s Charge became one of the iconic symbols of the literary and cultural movement known as the Lost CauseWilliam Faulkner, the quintessential Southern novelist, summed up the picture in Southern memory of this gallant but futile episode:[48]

For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it’s still not yet two o’clock on that July afternoon in 1863, the brigades are in position behind the rail fence, the guns are laid and ready in the woods and the furled flags are already loosened to break out and Pickett himself with his long oiled ringlets and his hat in one hand probably and his sword in the other looking up the hill waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it’s all in the balance, it hasn’t happened yet, it hasn’t even begun yet, it not only hasn’t begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin against that position and those circumstances which made more men than Garnett and Kemper and Armistead and Wilcox look grave yet it’s going to begin, we all know that, we have come too far with too much at stake and that moment doesn’t need even a fourteen-year-old boy to think This time. Maybe this time with all this much to lose than all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world, the golden dome of Washington itself to crown with desperate and unbelievable victory the desperate gamble, the cast made two years ago.

— William Faulkner, Intruder in the Dust

The battlefield today[edit]

A small portion of the Gettysburg Cyclorama

The site of Pickett’s Charge is one of the best-maintained portions of the Gettysburg Battlefield. Despite millions of annual visitors to Gettysburg National Military Park, very few have walked in the footsteps of Pickett’s division. The National Park Service maintains a neat, mowed path alongside a fence that leads from the Virginia Monument on West Confederate Avenue (Seminary Ridge) due east to the Emmitsburg Road in the direction of the Copse of Trees. Pickett’s division, however, started considerably south of that point, near the Spangler farm, and wheeled to the north after crossing the road. In fact, the Park Service pathway stands between the two main thrusts of Longstreet’s assault—Trimble’s division advanced north of the current path, while Pickett’s division moved from farther south.[49]
cyclorama painting by the French artist Paul Philippoteaux entitled The Battle of Gettysburg, also known as the Gettysburg Cyclorama, depicts Pickett’s Charge from the vantage point of the Union defenders on Cemetery Ridge. Completed and first exhibited in 1883, it is one of the last surviving cycloramas in the United States. It was restored and relocated to the new National Park Service Visitor Center in September 2008.

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Stolen from My Daily Kona – The Battle of Palmdale

When a WW II drone embarrassed the USAF

I remembered reading a book called “The Skunk Works” and the F117 fighter and the phrase Kelly Johnson or Ben Rich used when it came to the United States Air Force fascination with missiles.   he commented…”If the missiles did as advertised, they would be called “hittles” not Missles”.  This prompted the development of the Stealth fighter.
The United States Military had this fascination with Missiles hoping to find the single thing that would shoot down the enemy plane and make it easier than dog fighting.  Unfortunately it took Vietnam before they really started dog fighting and not super reliance on technology.
The United States military does not like to talk about the Battle of Palmdale. It is undoubtedly one of the most embarrassing American military defeats in history – and it happened right over U.S. soil.
Although not a single soul was lost, over 1,000 acres of American land was destroyed, the military was left embarrassed, and several Americans nearly perished in their own homes and vehicles.
All of this from a single enemy who could not even shoot back. This formidable foe was never defeated, or even damaged, by the American military.
Who was this foe, and why did the United States military so thoroughly fail to defeat it?

The Cold War arms race between the United States and the Soviet Union requires little introduction: the two superpowers of the world constantly wanted to ensure they had a military advantage over the other in the case of conflict.
One element of this race was the development of guided air-to-air missiles in the 1950s.

437th Fighter-Interceptor Squadron Northrop F-89D-70-NO Scorpion 53-2679 1956. Stationed at Oxnard AFB, California. At Nellis AFB, California.
437th Fighter-Interceptor Squadron Northrop F-89D-70-NO Scorpion 53-2679 1956. Stationed at Oxnard AFB, California. At Nellis AFB, California.

The United States seemingly won this race, with the Air Force and Navy introducing missiles on their fighters in 1956, a year before the Soviets. However, these missiles needed extensive testing and were severely flawed.
By 1956, in the late stages of testing, live fire tests became necessary. These were conducted against remote-controlled planes (“drones”), including the Grumman F6F-5K Hellcat.
Although the Hellcats were well-regarded during World War 2, they were obsolete by 1956, and this made them great practice targets.
On August 16, 1956, one of the Hellcat drones was launched from Naval Air Station Point Mugu in California. It was painted bright red to make it an easier target for the Navy which was to take it down with their new air-to-air missiles.

F6F Hellcat
                                                                            F6F Hellcat

However, the drone had other plans. The Hellcat broke from its course early in the mission. Instead of heading over the ocean, it took a turn towards Los Angeles and continued to climb in altitude.
For some reason, the drone was no longer responding to its controls. In response, the Air Force scrambled two fighters to take it down using unguided air-to-air rockets.
The relative strength of forces seemed firmly in the Air Force’s favor. The Air Force selected two Northrop F-89 Scorpions from nearby Oxnard Air Base for the task. The Scorpions were early jet-powered fighters – more than a match for a propeller plane.
Between them, the Scorpions had 208 rockets. On the other side stood an unarmed, unmanned, bright red, outdated drone.

U.S. Air Force Northrop F-89D-45-NO Scorpion interceptors of the 59th Fighter-Interceptor Squadrons, Goose Bay AB, Labrador (Canada), in the 1950s. 52-1959 in the foreground, now in storage at Edwards AFB, California
U.S. Air Force Northrop F-89D-45-NO Scorpion interceptors of the 59th Fighter-Interceptor Squadrons, Goose Bay AB, Labrador (Canada), in the 1950s. 52-1959 in the foreground, now in storage at Edwards AFB, California

Although the Scorpions’ rockets were not guided, they made use of a brand new computerized fire control system.
The Air Force obviously did not want to shoot down the drone over a populated area, so they waited for it to pass over Los Angeles. It continued to turn until it approached the sparsely populated Antelope Valley, at which point the Scorpions engaged.
Or at least they tried to. It turned out that the new fire control system was not all it was cracked up to be, and the rockets failed even to fire. However, the fighters were able to revert to a manual control mode not using the computerized system.
Unfortunately, the planes’ gun sights had been removed due to their supposed obsoleteness after the computerized system was added. In addition, the rockets in question, the MK 4 “Mighty Mouse,” were notoriously inaccurate.

Mighty Mouse Missile at Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center Virginia USA Photo by Sanjay Acharya CC BY-SA 4.0
Mighty Mouse Missile at Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center Virginia USA

When the drone continued turning, back towards Los Angeles, the pilots knew they needed to act quickly. With 208 rockets, the odds still seemed in their favor. They each launched a volley of 42 rockets, several of which connected.
However, the rockets only glanced against the drone’s fuselage, failing to detonate.
With 124 remaining rockets, the fighters made another pass, and each launched 32 rockets. This time none even made contact.
With only 60 rockets remaining, the pilots decided to recalibrate their intervalometer, hoping to increase the effectiveness of their rockets. This would be their last chance to take down the drone as they were running out of fuel as well as ammunition.

F-89D firing Mighty Mouse Rockets
F-89D firing Mighty Mouse Rockets

The pilots made one final pass, each launching their remaining 30 rockets as the drone approached the city of Palmdale. The last of the Scorpions’ 208 rockets again failed to make contact… at least, with the drone.
As the pilots returned to base, it became clear that their rockets had made contact, just not with the drone. Although the Mk. 4 rockets, if they missed their target, were supposed to disarm as their speed decreased, something went wrong with this system.

Grumman F6F-5K drone
                                                      Grumman F6F-5K drone

The vast majority, possibly as many as 193, of the rockets detonated. These rockets caused several major fires and nearly caused several fatalities. Although the area around the battle was sparsely populated, the destruction was widespread.
The first fire was around Castaic and destroyed 150 acres. Another rocket fell near Placerita Canyon, where it set a number of oil sumps on fire. That fire nearly reached the Bermite Powder explosives plant, but fortunately was contained around 300 feet away.
At Soledad Canyon, an additional 350 acres went up in smoke, and several smaller fires added to the destruction. All-in-all, over 1,000 acres were destroyed by the fire.

F-89D loaded with rockets. 114th Fighter Interceptor Group, headquartered at Sioux Falls, in 1958.
F-89D loaded with rockets. 114th Fighter Interceptor Group, headquartered at Sioux Falls, in 1958.

A number of the rockets hit houses, nearly causing several fatalities. One piece of shrapnel flew through a woman’s window, bounced off her roof, and eventually smashed into a kitchen cabinet, where it came to rest.
Another house was hit with several fragments, which sliced through the garage and living-room, nearly hitting the woman who lived there.
Another rocket detonated right in front of a man and his mother who were driving along the road, destroying the front of the vehicle. Miraculously, neither was seriously injured.
Finally, a rocket scored a direct hit on another truck, totally destroying it. Fortunately, its occupants had just gotten out.

Scorpion in Fresno California July 1957, with front of rocket pods exposed
Scorpion in Fresno California July 1957, with front of rocket pods exposed

The drone itself caused only minor damage when it finally ran out of fuel and crashed. Although within sight of the Palmdale Airport, it crashed near an unpaved road, destroying several power lines in the process.
Its remains were eventually recovered in 1997, although it largely disintegrated upon impact.
One thousand acres of land was consumed by fires that took two days and 500 firefighters to extinguish.
Although there were no fatalities, the incident was certainly embarrassing for the U.S. military. Not only had they accidentally inflicted significant damage on American soil and failed to shoot down their target but also many of the brand-new technologies they had developed had proven faulty.
The fact that the remote controls for the Hellcat stopped working in the first place was unfortunate, but the Scorpions’ computer failure was another concern altogether. All of this technology, created to keep ahead in the Cold War arms race, had utterly failed.
However, the United States government learned from these failures. Fire control systems continued to advance, guided air-to-air missile technology became more practicable, and eventually, fail-safes were added to unmanned vehicles.
It would be nearly impossible for another “Battle of Palmdale” to happen today, as modern drones are equipped with fail-safes that will either return them to base if they are not destroyed quickly or cause them to self-destruct at a high altitude.

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Born again Cynic! Soldiering The Green Machine

There is a reason why on some ways the US Army never changes!

https://youtu.be/2TVTd-kQcuo

Image result for Private SNAFU "Gripes" 1943 US Army Training Cartoon; Mel Blanc, Friz Freleng

Private SNAFU “Gripes” 1943 US Army Training Cartoon; Mel Blanc, Friz Freleng

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Allies Born again Cynic! The Green Machine War

How the Czechs really got f**ked over in 1968

Cake and Perfidy: the 1968 Soviet Invasion of Czechoslovakia

By Sasha Maggio
A classmate commented on my post for the week, and the post was largely on SIGINT but in one part I make a tiny little comment about how sometimes things like radio could be used to broadcast narratives to particular “target audiences” like how the Soviet Union used it to garner public support in 1968, but also other times.
My point was that just because you get the message and you interpret it accurately, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true. And this classmate goes, “What are you talking about? Can you explain that?”
I was already moody to begin with so I’m like 😒 “yup…” I’ll fucking explain it
So, I said:
In 1968, Czechoslovakia was dealing with some personal problems at the time (internal unrest) and Moscow was getting nervous (as Moscow does when people start complaining about how they manage everything).
Moscow is all like, “Hey, what’s up? Want some help?”
And Czechoslovakia was like, “No thanks. We got this. We’ve seen how you ‘help’… we’re good.”
Moscow goes, “Ok, suit yourselves. But just remember how much we like aggressively saying we told you so.”
The internal unrest kept on for some time though.
After a while Moscow is like, “You know what would be great? Let’s get all of our ‘friends’ together for game night!” But instead of game night it was a Warsaw Pact “exercise” that they spread out over a couple months.
They invited Czechoslovakia, of course. Moscow was like, “Com’on! Everyone is going to be there! Poland is coming, they’re bringing kielbasa. Even Bulgaria RSVP-ed. You’re going to feel left out.”
And Czechoslovakia was like “No thanks. We’re kinda busy with our own stuff right now. But you guys go ahead, have fun. Oh… and don’t touch our stuff.”
NATO was watching, of course, and they were like, “I don’t know. They say it’s just an exercise, and it looks an awful lot like an exercise…. Hey…Did Steve bring cake? I heard there was cake in the break room.”
And Steve at NATO was like, 😆 “Fuck yeah, I brought cake! It’s my birthday, bitches!”😆🎉🎂
After a little while Moscow was like, “You know, this is going really well. NATO’s keeping quiet. Everyone is getting along. Let’s get some more people on board!” And they run a series of stories that they broadcast to their own people to gain public support because anytime a country sends its military anywhere to “help fix someone else’s problems” it’s important to have the support of the general public so the military doesn’t return home to find its own country dealing with “internal unrest”…
Anyway, so Moscow is all like, “Soviet people, Czechoslovakia needs us. They’re asking…. No, they’re begging for our help! Do you mind terribly if we help them?”
And the Soviet people are like, “Well, you have done so much for us, it would be nice to do something for our neighbors. Especially if they need us. Go forth, brave Soviet Army, and help the Czech people!”
And Moscow was like 😎“You got it!”
Meanwhile, Czechoslovakia is like, “Look, we don’t care that East Germany is bringing pretzels for everyone. We hear the West German pretzels are better anyway. Go do your exercise and leave us alone. We’re busy…. And don’t touch our stuff.”
So, the exercise continues and the stories continue and NATO starts to be all desensitized to the movement and activity throughout that region because it does look like an exercise and the narrative they’re getting is that it’s just an exercise so they weren’t too concerned. (Even if they were concerned, it’s not like they were going to go one-on-one with Moscow over Prague anyway.)
And Moscow keeps trying, “Hey…. Czechoslovakia…. You sure you don’t want in?”
And Czechoslovakia is starting to think: This does look like an exercise, and it has been going on for some time… they may be telling the truth… but we’re kind of too busy right now and we really want to break free from that group anyway… And they say, “Look, we don’t want in. But we won’t kill your commo guys if they cross our border. How’s that?”
And Moscow is like, “You guys are the best! We’re really missing you in this exercise. Hungary says hi, BTW.”
And Czechoslovakia is like, “Yeah, whatever… Don’t touch our stuff.”
Then the Soviets ‘find’ this cache of weapons near the border with Germany (that mysteriously appeared right where they put it) and they’re like, “OMG Czechoslovakia! Do you see this?! We’re totes shocked! It has CIA written all over it!”
It actually probably did have “Property of CIA” written all over it, but in a mix of Cyrillic and Roman letters like “Прoпeрty of ЦРУ” or maybe it once said “ОВД” or “собственность государства” or “военного имущества” or something that’s just ridiculously crossed out and written in by hand is “Property of ЦРУ”… but I digress…
It worked though. Czechoslovakia was like, “Ok, ok, ok…. Is it too late to join the exercise?”
And Moscow, thrilled to the core, was like, “It’s never too late for you – our good friends the Czech people! Welcome! Добро пожаловать!”
And the next thing they know, there’s a Soviet flag and tanks in Prague and everyone’s speaking Russian.
I ended the story with:
Some of this may have been dramatized for effect. Tune in next week when we discuss Transnistria…  😒 And the class was like: What? 😑


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About the Author: Sasha Maggio is a full-time linguist and research analyst with a background in, among other things, Psychology, Intelligence, and Military Studies. She also collaborates on the podcast The Live Drop.


About the Editor: Angry Staff Officer is an Army engineer officer who is adrift in a sea of doctrine and staff operations and uses writing as a means to retain his sanity. He also collaborates on a podcast with Adin Dobkin entitled War Stories, which examines key moments in the history of warfare.

Categories
A Victory! Hard Nosed Folks Both Good & Bad Leadership of the highest kind The Green Machine War

U.S. Marines in Battle of Tarawa | 1943 | WW II Documentary in Color


Now Tarawa was one hell of fight & The US Marines can be rightly very proud of it! Grumpy

Categories
The Green Machine War

Today, One Hundred & Forty Three years ago, George A. Custer and the 7th Cavalry had a bad day at the hands of Sitting Bull in 1876.

Image result for George A. Custer and the 7th Cavalry
Image result for George A. Custer and the 7th Cavalry
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The Boy’s of ’76Seventh Cavalry Letters and Recollections

taylorThe men who served in the Seventh Cavalry in 1876 came from all walks of life. Some used the army for their own means; men who were one step ahead of the law. Others yearned for the excitement and adventure that the frontier army could provide.

Forty-two percent of the Seventh Cavalry ranks were foreign-born, with Irish and Germans predominating. Ironically, many western Europeans fled to the United States to escape military conscription. The army offered hope and a unique opportunity to learn English, to read and write, and learn the customs of their newly adopted country. The isolated life of a soldier could best be described as glittering misery. The caste between officers and enlistedmen was strictly adhered to. Here then, is part of the remarkable and poignant story of the 1876 Sioux War, told in their own words.
Fort A. Lincoln

Mar. 5, 1876

Dear Sister:

. . . we expect to leave here any day now . . . The boys are all making blanket shirts. I had a green blanket and so I made [a shirt]. . . I am going to bring it home when my time is out. We expect to go out after Sitting Bull and his cut throats, and if old Custer gets after him he will give him the fits for all the boys are spoiling for a fight. I only hope they will put it off until about the first of May and then we will not run the risk of freezing to death for its cold weather here now and I had rather be in quarters than out on the prairies in tents. Tell Irwin to write . . . I wish he were out here for awhile I would let him ride Dan Tucker. He is fat as a pig and feels so good he ran away with me yesterday and ran two miles before I could stop him . . . will say goodbye.

Henry

Henry Allen Bailey, a Blacksmith in Company I, was and killed with the Custer Battalion 25 June 1876 during the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Born in Foster, Rhode Island, his previous occupation was blacksmith. He enlisted on October 24, 1872 at the age of 22 in Springfield, Massachusetts. He had gray eyes, fair complexion, brown hair, and was 5’7 1/4” tall.

Ft. Totten, D.T.

March 5th, 1876

Dear Sister:

I take the preseant [sic] oppertunity [sic] of letting you no [sic] that I will soon be on the move again. We are to start the 10th of this month for the Big Horn country. The Indians are getting bad again. I think that we will have some hard times this summer. The old chief Sitting Bull says he will not make peace with the whites as long as he has a man to fight. The weather very cold hear [sic] at preasent [sic] and very likely to stay so for two months yet.Ella, you need not rite [sic] me again until you hear from me again. Give my love to Sister & Brother Jonny. Remember me to your husband. As soon as I got back of the campaign I will write you. That is if I do not get my hair lifted by some Indian. Well I will close, so no more at preasant [sic],

From your loving brother,

T.P. Eagan

P.S.
If you hear from Hubert tell him not to write until he hears from me.

Thomas P. Eagan was a Corporal in Company E and killed with the Custer Battalion during the Battle of the Little Big Horn June 25, 1876. His previous occupation was laborer. He enlisted on September 12, 1873, at the age of 25 at St. Louis Barracks, Missouri. He had gray eyes, light complexion, and was 5’5 1/2” tall.

William C. Slaper shared an interesting and humorous account of his experience as a young cavalry recruit enroute from Jefferson Barracks Missouri to Ft. Abraham Lincoln, Dakota Territory aboard a Northern Pacific Railroad car:

Jamestown, D.T.

March 25th, 1876

Ft. A. Lincoln. D.T.

April 20th 1876

“While stopping for coffee and something to eat at Fargo, Dakota, we had about two hours to wait. An Irish sergeant in charge of our car—seemingly an old veteran—instructed a bunch of recruits to go to a certain saloon not far from the station, take their canteens and guns, and pawn or trade the weapons for liquor, and to bring the liquor back in their canteens. On our return with the whiskey, he then took a squad of recruits, armed them as guards, and marched them over to the saloon. Here he threatened the proprietor for buying government arms and immediately confiscated the pawned weapons!. . . from Fargo to Bismarck that night, the sergeant’s car contained a bunch of noisy and hilarious troopers.”

William C. Slaper was a private in Company M and took part in the valley fight and subsequent two day battle on Reno Hill, and survived the Battle of the Little Big Horn. He was born in Cincinnati, Ohio and enlisted on September 10, 1875 in Cincinnati. His previous occupation was safemaker. He had blue eyes, brown hair, fair complexion, and was 5’8 1/2” tall. After the battle he was appointed corporal and received an honorable discharge on expiration of service on September 9, 1880 at Ft. Meade, D.T. as a corporal of good character. He died November 13, 1931.

The following is a vivid twentieth-century account by German immigrant Charles A. Windolph describing the departure of the Dakota Column from Ft. Abraham Lincoln, May 17, 1876:

“The wagon train was headed west, the wheels of the heavy outfits making big ruts in the rain soaked ground. General Terry suggested that Custer parade to the fort so that the worried women and children there could see for themselves what a strong fighting force it was. The band on white horses led off and we paraded around the inner area. Then married men and officers were allowed to leave their troops and say good-by to their families. In a few minutes ‘Boots and Saddles’ was sounded, and the troopers returned to their companions. Then the regiment, its guidons snapping in the morning breeze, marched off, while the band played over and over again ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me’ . . . You felt like you were somebody when you were on a good horse, with a carbine dangling from its small leather ring socket on your McClelland [sic] saddle, and a Colt army revolver strapped on your hip; and a hundred rounds of ammunition in your web belt and in your saddle pockets. You were a cavalryman of the Seventh regiment. You were a part of a proud outfit that had a fighting reputation, and you were ready for a fight or a frolic.”

Charles A. Windolph, aka Charles Wrangel, a German immigrant, was a private in Company H, and a recipient of the Medal of Honor at the Battle of the Little Big Horn with the citation: “With three comrades, during the entire engagement, courageously held a position that secured water for the command.” He was promoted to corporal on September 1, 1876. He had brown eyes, brown hair, dark complexion, and was 5’ 6” tall. He was the last surviving Seventh Cavalryman from the battle when he died at the age of 98 on March 11, 1950 in Lead, South Dakota.

Camp Powder River

June 8, 1876

My Dear Wife,

I received your letter today and was glad to hear from you and them little children. I was a great deal troubled about it, that I didn’t get no letter from you. I am all right if I only know that you and them children are all well. We are 250 miles from Lincoln on the Powder River but we don’t see a sign of an Indian but we expecting every day to meet with them. We had terrible bad weather and a terrible snow storm the first and second June.

The Command is stopping here on Powder River and resting two days. We are going to leave here in the morning 5 o’clock for the Yellowstone. The ration [sic] are running out very near, and so we have to hurry to get to the Yellowstone. Myself and Hageman and Weis got some antelopes[sic] meat from them Indian Scouts, but had to pay $2 for a quarter of it. I spended [sic] already $8 for eating. General Tarry [sic] said if we get Sitting Bull and his tribe soon, then we are going home, but if we don’t, we will stay three months and hunt for him. I wish for mine part we would meet him tomorrow. Serg Botzer and me came to the conclusion, it is better anyhow to be home and baking flapjacks, when we get home we will pay up for this and bake flapjacks all the time.

Dear Lizze I cannot forget Harry. I don’t know how it is but he is in my min [sic] all the time, and sometime I worry a great deal about him. The best thing for you to do is to go to the carpenter and get him to make a fraling fenz rows (German) and don’t forget to send for that tombstone, for we don’t know [sic] if we got any time to spare after we get back again.

Take good care of yourself and Hetty and Charly and don’t forget Your Husband And wrighth [sic] to me when [sic] ever you get a change, [sic] for I am lonely her [sic] to hear from You.

Serg Botzer, Hagemann, Weis, Serg Fortny, others and very near the hole [sic] Camp Send their best regards to You and Hetty and Charly. I for myself send my love And a Kiss to You and one to Hetty and Charly. My best Regards to Mrs. Hughes And her Children and to Klein and Mrs Klein and Mrs James and to Serg Loyd, Lawler and Luther.

I remain Your True and Loving Husband.

Henry C. Dose

Trumpeter Troop G 7 Cavalry.

Henry C. Dose, a Trumpeter in Company G, was killed with the Custer Battalion June 25, 1876 during the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Born in Holstein, Germany, his previous occupation was artificer. He enlisted for the second time on February 1, 1875 at age 25 in Shreveport, LA. He had gray eyes, brown hair, fair complexion, and was 5’6” tall. He left a widow Elizabeth, and his two children Hattie and Charles.

No Date: probably early July 1876, Mouth of the Big Horn River.

“When the Red devils got Custer they cut the heart out of this Regiment. It is not often a soldier wastes tears over an Officer But I saw maney [sic] an old hand wipe his blouse sleeve (we had no handerchiefs) [sic] The day we bureyed [sic] Custer. “

D.E.Dawsey

Troop D 7th Cav.

Custer’s last letter to Libbie:

June 22, 1876

Camp at Junction of Yellowstone and Rosebud Rivers

My Darling – I have but a few moments to write as we start at twelve, and I have my hands full of preparations for the scout. Do not be anxious about me. You would be pleased how closely I obey your instructions about keeping with the column. I hope to have a good report to send you by the next mail. A success will start us all toward Lincoln.

I send you an extract from Genl, Terry’s official order, knowing how keenly you appreciate words of commendation and confidence in your dear Bo: “It is of course impossible to give you any definite instructions in regard to this movement, and, were it not impossible to do so, the Department Commander places too much confidence in your zeal, energy and ability to impose on you precise orders which might hamper your action when nearly in contact with the enemy.”

Your devoted boy Autie.

This was the last letter written by Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer to his wife Elizabeth in his “A” tent from the Seventh Cavalry Headquarters bivouac just below the mouth of Rosebud Creek, on the Yellowstone River. Shortly after he finished the letter, Autie, dressed in his familiar buckskins, dark blue shirt, high topped cavalry boots, canvas cartridge belt, holstered pair of Webley R.I.C. white handled revolvers and his familiar white wide brimmed low crowned hat, rode into history and legend at the head of his regiment, marching up Rosebud Creek to the Little Big Horn. Mrs. Custer received the letter after she heard the news of her husbands fate back at Ft. Lincoln. She kept it sealed until she finally gained the courage to read his last words to her.

This last personal recollection is by William O. Taylor who vividly recalled the Seventh Cavalry’s last camp on Rosebud Creek on Saturday June 24, 1876:

Orange Mass.

May 29th 1910

“Our Last Camp on the Rosebud”

It was about sundown on the 24th of June and we had marched nearly Thirty miles along the river following a trail that seemed to grow larger and fresher as we advanced. Emerging from a heavy growth of timber into an opening the command went into camp in one of the most beautiful spots that we had yet seen. On our right rose a high and for a short distance almost perpendicular Bluff. Between that and the river some two or three hundred [sic] away, were great masses of Wild Rose bushes in full bloom, with here and there a tree to add to the park like effect. It was easy to see how the river came by its name, Rosebud, fringed as it was with fragrent [sic] Rose bushes and low willows; it was just such a place for a camp that Custer was in the habit of selecting, when possible, a spot of great beauty, It has ever seemed to me most fitting that what was to be the last camp for so many should be such a beautiful place.

The horses having been fed and rubbed down the men prepared their frugal supper, a cup of hot coffee and a few hardtack, the fires were then put out and most of the men spreading down their piece of Shelter tent and Blanket a few yards in rear of their horses, lay down as they supposed for a nights rest. My troop was quite near to Custer’s Headquarters which consisted of a single A tent close up to the high bluff and facing the river. Before the tent he sat for a long time alone, and apparently in deep thought. I was lying on my side a short distance away, facing him. Was it my fancy, or the gathering twglight, [sic] that made me think that he looked very sad, an expression I had never seen on his face before, were his thoughts far away, back to Fort Lincoln where he had left a most beloved wife, and was he feeling a premonition of what was to happen the morrow.”

William Othneil Taylor was a private in Company A and survived the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Born in Canandaigua, New York his previous occupation was cutler. He enlisted on January 17, 1872 at age 21 in Troy, New York. He had hazel eyes, brown hair, fair complexion, and was 5’5 3/4” tall. Discharged upon expiration of service on January 17, 1877 at Ft. Rice, D.T. as a soldier of poor character.

The “Boy’s of ‘76” left a lasting legacy on the history of America’s westward expansion helping to shape the American experience. Little appreciated by their fellow countrymen—underpaid, under-trained, and often ill equipped—they proudly followed the guidon, enforcing the policies of the United States, and soon faded into history. Today, 125 years later, they continue to capture our imagination. They will forever ride into both history and legend behind their colorful commander, Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer; onward to the Little Big Horn in Garry Owen and glory.

 

JOHN A. DOERNER is chief historian at the Little Big Horn Battlefield National Monument.

Categories
Allies Hard Nosed Folks Both Good & Bad Leadership of the highest kind Soldiering The Green Machine Useful Shit War Well I thought it was neat!

For all the Folks who wonder why we Lost in Nam – Some interesting thoughts to ponder upon

Why America Is Losing Its Wars

William Slim

William Slim

Daniel N. White.  Introduction by William Astore.
Unbeknownst to most Americans, the U.S. military has embraced special forces (SEALs, Green Berets, and the like) and has been deploying them globally to at least eighty different countries.  There’s an allure to special forces and the special ops community captured in the country’s admiration of SEAL Team 6 and Hollywood productions like Act of Valor
Yet some of history’s finest military leaders haven’t been as enamored of special forces as Hollywood and the American public.  Count William Slim among their ranks.  Slim was a British field marshal who rescued Britain from certain defeat in Burma during World War II, a man deeply respected within military circles for his leadership and wisdom. 
Slim, as Dan White shows, has a lot to teach the US military about the danger of placing too much faith in special ops, especially when larger political and strategic purposes are misguided or lacking.  W.J. Astore
Why America Is Losing Its Wars
Daniel N. White
There are two big reasons why the US military continues to lose its wars.  The first is an uncritical embrace of special forces; the second is a complete lack of clear and achievable political and military objectives.  Both reasons are best exposed through the writings of one of the great military leaders of the 20th (or any other) century: Field Marshal Viscount William Slim.
Let’s take the first point first.  Currently, the US military is undergoing an unprecedented boom in special forces manpower.  Special forces now number a stupendous 63,000 (with expansion plans to 72,000) when the US Army numbers only 546,000.  This push to create a huge special forces establishment and to make it the apex of the US military’s operational forces has gone largely unnoticed and uncommented on.  And that’s a shame, since it’s perilous both for our military and our country.
In this conclusion I’m supported by Field Marshal Slim.  Slim led the Imperial British forces in Burma, a composite army of more than a dozen nationalities, from defeat in 1942 to an overwhelming victory in 1945.
Americans celebrate our defeats of the Japanese in World War II, but our battles—tough as they were—were against Japanese forces outnumbered and cut off from supply and reinforcement on Pacific island battles.
Slim inflicted the largest defeat ever in the history of the Japanese military, and did it on an open battlefield with no great superiority in men and materiel with a defeated army he personally rebuilt and retrained.
Slim’s thoughtful critique of special ops, based on hard-won military experience, is worth quoting at length:
Special forces, according to Slim, “formations, trained, equipped, and mentally adjusted for one kind of operation only, were wasteful.  They did not give, militarily, a worthwhile return for the resources in men, material, and time that they absorbed.”
“To begin with, they were usually formed by attracting the best men from normal units by better conditions, promise of excitement, and not a little propaganda.
Even on the rare occasions when normal units were converted into special ones without the option of volunteering, the same process went on in reverse.  Men thought to be below the standards set or over an arbitrary age limit were weeded out to less favored corps.
The result of these methods was undoubtedly to lower the quality of the rest of the Army, especially of the infantry, not only by skimming the cream off it, but by encouraging the idea that certain of the normal operations of war were so difficult that only specially equipped corps d’elite could be expected to undertake them.”
“Armies do not win wars by means of a few bodies of super-soldiers but by the average quality of their standard units.  Anything, whatever short cuts to victory it may promise, which thus weakens the Army spirit is dangerous.
Commanders who have used these special forces have found, as we did in Burma, that they have another grave disadvantage—they can be employed actively for only restricted periods.
Then they demand to be taken out of the battle to recuperate, while normal formations are expected to have no such limits to their employment.  In Burma, the time spent in action with the enemy by special forces was only a fraction of that endured by the normal divisions.”
“The rush to form special forces arose from confused thinking on what were, or were not, normal operations of war…The level of initiative, individual training, and weapon skill required in, say, a commando, is admirable; what is not admirable is that it should be confined to a few small units.
Any well trained infantry battalion should be able to do what a commando can do; in the Fourteenth Army they could and did.  The cult of special forces is as sensible as to form a Royal Corps of Tree Climbers and say that no soldier who does not wear its green hat with a bunch of oak leaves stuck in it should be expected to climb a tree.”
Let’s recap.  We have the US military, the Army in particular, embarked on an unprecedented explosion of special forces within its ranks.
One of the great military leaders of the 20th century says that special forces are expensive in resources and generally don’t deliver on what they promise.  This doesn’t look good.
It looks worse when you consider that this explosion of special forces has coincided with two military defeats against what charitably must be called third rate opponents in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Slim provides additional reasons why our military’s excessive reliance on special forces contributed to these defeats:
“The question of control of these clandestine bodies is not without its pitfalls.  In the last war among the allies, cloak-and-dagger organizations multiplied until to commanders in the field—at least in my theater—they became an embarrassment.
The trouble was that each was controlled from some distant headquarters of its own, and such was the secrecy and mutual suspicion in which they operated that they sometimes acted in close proximity to our troops without the knowledge of any commander in the field, with a complete lack of coordination among themselves, and in dangerous ignorance of local tactical developments.
It was not until the activities of all clandestine bodies operating in or near our troops were coordinated and where necessary controlled, through a senior officer on the staff of the commander on the area, that confusion, ineffectiveness, and lost opportunities were avoided.”
Special forces, with their unique and often secretive lines of command, generate severe operational problems in the field, a problem which the US military has experienced in its own, most recent, wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Slim’s critique supports the notion that the US military’s recent rush to special forces has contributed to its defeats of late.  The question is why this rush to special forces occurred.   The major reason is our confused thinking about war.  Any war as incoherent and objectiveless as a global war on “terror” must inevitably spawn confused thinking about what normal military operations are in such a war.
The US military simply has no coherent military or political objective for these wars.  I’ve written elsewhere about this, see HERE and HERE.
For the US military, confused thinking at the higher echelons provided special forces enthusiasts with their chance to expand beyond all necessity because they claimed (falsely) to have all the answers for the current uncharted seas we were sailing. They had a plan when others didn’t, and that’s a large part of the rush to special forces—no firm hand was on the tiller.
Here again we should turn to Slim, because he brings to the fore the dire consequence of fighting without coherent objectives:
“For the poor showing we made during the first phase of  the war in Burma, the Retreat, there may have been few excuses, but there were many causes, some of them beyond the control of local commanders.
Of these causes, one affected all our efforts and contributed much to turning our defeat into disaster—the failure, after the fall of Rangoon, to give the forces in the field a clear strategic object for the campaign….
Yet a realistic assessment of possibilities there and a firm, clear directive would have made a great deal of difference to us and to the way we fought.  Burma was not the first, nor was it to be the last, campaign that had been launched on no very clear realization of its political or military objects.  A study of such campaigns points emphatically to the almost inevitable disaster that must follow.  (Italics mine)   Commanders in the field, in fairness to them and their troops, must be clear and definitely told what is the object they are locally to attain.”
Future discussions of why the US has been defeated in its two most recent wars should use these words of Slim as the starting point for any explanation of US failure.  The US military’s rush to special forces is a contributing factor to our current military defeats, but the lead cause is as painfully obvious as it is almost completely ignored: the total lack of clear and coherent political and military objectives for our wars.
The US military’s mania for special forces bothers no one in Washington’s political circles, let alone within the Pentagon.  But from what Slim has taught us, it’s all going to end badly.  Just how badly depends on our future military adventures.
We will certainly have a less effective military because of our special forces mania.  In peacetime that’s regrettable but not fatal.  But come wartime we will ask too much of our special forces and they will fail.  Meanwhile, the regular military, weakened by years of special forces mania, may fail as well.  It’s a sure-fire recipe for defeat.
Unlike Slim, the US military—weakened by structural faults driven by special forces mania and befuddled by a lack of clear and achievable objectives—won’t be able to turn defeat into victory.
Daniel N. White has lived in Austin, Texas, for a lot longer than he originally planned to.  He reads a lot more than we are supposed to, particularly about topics that we really aren’t supposed to worry about.  He works blue-collar for a living–you can be honest doing that–but is somewhat fed up with it right now.  He will gladly respond to all comments that aren’t too insulting or dumb.  He can be reached at Louis_14_le_roi_soleil@hotmail.com.

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A Victory! Hard Nosed Folks Both Good & Bad I am so grateful!! Leadership of the highest kind Manly Stuff Soldiering Stand & Deliver The Green Machine This great Nation & Its People War Well I thought it was neat!

A Great Story about the Rangers

They Didn’t Do It for Medals
 8th Ranger Company during the Korean War (courtesy of U.S. Army Heritage & Education Center in Carlisle, PA)
“Only you — only you! — could manage to get shot in the ass!”
The year was 1987. A group of middle-aged men sat under the umbrellas at the cheap fiberglass tables of the Holiday Inn in Columbus, Georgia not far from Fort Benning. They deserved a Ritz-Carlton, but this would have to do. The sign out in front of the hotel, the letters hanging somewhat askew, read:

WELCOME 8TH AIRBORNE RANGER COMPANY

The comment about taking an unfortunate enemy round in the gluteus maximus was an affectionate jab from one member of the company to another, and it was met with howls of protest and laughter.
“Son,” a grizzled old veteran said gripping my shoulder while the other men tried to interrupt him. “Hush! Hush!” he said to them in mock annoyance before turning back to me. “I mean it went in one cheek and came out of the other just as neatly as could be! No bone, just flesh!”

The index finger of his right hand poked one of his own cheeks while the thumb of his left hand moved up and out on the other side, indicating the bullet’s exit.
The conversation turned to a man with an even more unfortunate war wound.
“I tell ya, he thought his life with the ladies was over.” The other men listened expectantly for the ending of a story they knew well. “There was so much blood, we feared he had been gut shot! But, nooo!”
“No!” bellowed another, like a member of the choir in a good Pentecostal church.
The teller of the story continued: “So, I pull his pants down and guess what? It was just nicked!”
Again, howls of laughter.
My father finished the story: “We just told him he’d have a good story to tell when it came to explaining how he got that scar.”
Men wiped their eyes and guffawed.
This was a reunion of the 8th Airborne Ranger Company, or what remained of it. The end of the American spear in Korea 1950-51, they were the handpicked elite from all airborne and subsequent Ranger units. Not surprisingly, 8th Company had the highest qualification scores in the history of the Ranger Training Command (RTC).
Over the course of that weekend, the Ranger School at Fort Benning would honor them with a demonstration of modern Ranger skills and tactics. The latest generation of Rangers would rappel from helicopters, make a practice jump, and tour them around Benning, the place where 8th Company was born in 1950. And, not coincidentally, it was where I was born.
The men of 8th Company were much older now and not as lean as the men — boys, really — who appeared in the photos from 1950-51. Most carried extra weight around the middle, had the leathery skin that came with years of overexposure to the sun, and old tattoos that had purpled with age on biceps and calves that were not as hard and chiseled as they once were — but you didn’t try to tell them that. Like old athletes, they spoke with as much bravado as ever.
I had to smile. It had been my privilege to be raised in the company of such men. They could be profane and the jokes were always off-color. They were, to a man, hard-drinking and chain-smoking. They incessantly complained about the army and were fiercely proud of their part in it. Ornery and ready to fight each other, they were nonetheless ready to die for each other, too. Their vices were ever near the surface and yet, I cannot imagine where America would be without their kind.
I was 20 years old and sat silently watching and listening as I so often did when my father swapped war stories with other veterans. But this time it was different. These weren’t just any veterans; these were the men with whom he had shed blood. This would be his last reunion and it was important to him that I be there. As the son of an 8th Company Ranger, I was, like other sons, an honorary member of this very exclusive club and therefore allowed to participate on the periphery of their banter — and fetch them beer. Lots of beer. Ranger reunions were impossible without beer. And with middle-aged men, that meant frequent trips to the bathroom.
With my father away for a moment on just that sort of mission, one of his old buddies leaned in as if to tell me a secret:
“If any man was ever born to be a soldier, it was your father. Some men have an instinct for the battlefield, and he damn sure did. Absolutely the best shot I ever saw. Could hit flies at a hundred yards. And, man, he was fearless…”
My father, returning, rolled his eyes: “That’s bulls–t, Mike. I was as afraid as any man.”
He turned to me. “It’s as I’ve told you before, son, a man who is truly fearless will get you killed. There’s something wrong with him. His instincts don’t tell him to be afraid when he should be. You want a man on point who wants to stay alive just like you do and whose senses are telling him ‘something’s not right here’ when there’s reason to believe you’re walking into an ambush. Now Mike here, was a helluva point man…” This was all very typical. They extolled each other’s battlefield heroics, but not their own.
Graduates of the 1950 RTC should not be confused with the more than 10,000 military personnel who wear Ranger tabs today and who do not serve in Ranger units. This is no slight to those who wear them. But as any Ranger will tell you, there is a difference between passing the Ranger course and serving as a Ranger, especially today where the standards have been watered down for political reasons. These men were truly elite as indicated by the high washout rate and the fact that of the 500,000 soldiers of the United Nations serving in the Korean War, there were never more than 700 Rangers.
Just as my father indicated, I had heard stories like this before, this old battlefield wisdom. My whole life, in fact. More stories followed. More laughter, backslapping, and beer. Indeed, the cans in the center of the table began to pile up and lips became looser.
Those of us who have heard a lot of old war stories, the wives, the sons and daughters, learn to distinguish the authentic from the fictional. Because the men who did the real fighting as these men had — and I mean the really brutal, prolonged, on the ground stuff where the sight and smell of the dead forever sears memories — they don’t like to talk about the details. Not even with each other. The guy who talks casually about what he did in combat? You can bet that he’s either a fraud or that battle has unhinged him.
“When your dad came home from Korea,” my Uncle recently told me, “he had a chest full of ribbons. He was a hero. But he wouldn’t talk about it in anything but general terms.” And nor did the rest of 8th Company who had their share of ribbons, too. The stories they told on this reunion weekend were mostly amusing, but to the veteran listener of veterans’ stories, you knew that the humor masked a horror.
All of these men dealt with the psychological wounds of war whether they ever received a Purple Heart or not. My mother tells me that my father suffered from hideous nightmares to the day he died, a recurring one being that he had fallen into a thinly covered mass grave full of bodies in a state of decomposition. Though he fights to climb out over the bodies, the rotten flesh slides off the bones as he grips them and their flesh remained on him for days until he could bathe, a luxury not afforded to men behind enemy lines. Though he would never say, she thinks the nightmare reflected an actual occurrence. I wager all of these men had nightmares of war.
Years later, as he lay on his deathbed delirious from the heavy doses of morphine, he returned to the battlefield. I will never forget his words, a command shouted with urgency and authority: “Cover the left flank! Cover the left flank! Move! Move! Move!” The order was repeated along with something about laying down suppression fire. Whatever the battle he was in, he was reliving it and he was determined to hold the line. In that moment, I prayed that the Lord would take him. He was suffering the horror of war all over again.
The next afternoon, his chest, heaving and belabored for days, relaxed and the air left his lungs in one long sigh. My father was dead.
A few days later, I sat solemnly with my mother going through his things. It was a joyless task. Buried among his memorabilia we found a letter from a fellow member of 8th Ranger Company, Thomas Nicholson. It was an award of sorts, but deadly earnest, and, again, the humor here serves a purpose — it makes a terrifying memory more tolerable to recollect. It read:

During combat operations in the Republic of South Korea, Charles Taunton bravely, but unknowingly, earned life membership in The Noble & Ancient Order of the Combat Boot…. He deserves the acclaim and friendship of all who learn that he unselfishly, and with little regard for his own safety, went behind enemy lines to assist a fellow soldier. This act of courage, which epitomizes the U.S. Army tradition of ‘never leaving an injured or deceased soldier in enemy territory,’ is worthy of great praise. Be it therefore known that I, Thomas Nicholson, was the injured soldier he carried back to friendly lines, and that it is with everlasting gratitude that I certify the truth of this citation.

Napoleon said that “Men will fight long and hard for a bit of colored ribbon.” Some men perhaps. But I never got the impression that the men of 8th Company cared about such things. They valued, above all, the opinions of the other men in 8th Company. To have the respect of the man who fought to your right and to your left, well, that meant something. In an interview with NBC News many years later, radio operator E.C. Rivera spoke with great emotion about his fellow Rangers and other Korean War veterans: “Nobody gave a rat’s ass about us. Nobody cared. They [i.e., people in America] were very cold to us.”
On July 27, 2013, the surviving members of the 8th Airborne Ranger Company gathered at the Army Heritage and Education Center in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Led once again by their former captain, James Herbert, who was now a retired Brigadier General, the half dozen men sat with their wives and families. Before them stood Son Se-joo, the Consul General for the Republic of Korea, who had come to honor them:

In the face of overwhelming danger, your stories of valor and sacrifice saved our country and made it what it is today. As we pay tribute to you, I can confirm that the Korean War is not a ‘Forgotten War’ and that the victory is not a forgotten victory. The Korean people will never forget your sacrifice.

It was an honor long overdue, but too late for most. Coming as it did sixty years after the end of the war, most of the men of 8th Company were, by now, dead. Many had died on hills with no names, only numbers, in a country that was not their own, but in defense of principles they held dear. Others died later from wounds received in battle. And still more passed away as old men who fought in a war no one seemed to care about. Historian Thomas H. Taylor writes of 8th Ranger Company:

[Their] only tribute has been from their own post-war lives. Their collective lack of bitterness. Their forbearance from bitching about the lack of deserved recognition. This may be because they were mobilized but their nation was not. They went to war while their countrymen remained at peace. They fought, they bled, they won. Then they returned. Having given their all, they asked for nothing — and that’s just what they got.

I would add to this that satisfaction for the men of 8th Airborne Ranger Company came from something much more important to them than ribbons or recognition. It is something that only those who have known the battlefield can fully appreciate, but that the rest of us can glimpse in the terrible and inspiring story behind Thomas Nicholson’s humorous letter.
According to the Ranger Hall of Fame at Fort Benning:

On the 22nd of April 1951, 350,000 CCF [Chinese Communist Forces] troops launched their largest offensive of the Korean War. The attack broke the 6th Republic of [South] Korea Division that retreated 21 miles, leaving the right flank of the U.S. 24th Infantry Division exposed. The Commanding General of the 24th Infantry Division sent the 90 men of the 8th Ranger Infantry Company into this void.

It was in that void, on Hill 628, a godforsaken, bleak mass, that Thomas Nicholson was shot up badly. Wounded and expecting to die as the battle raged around him, he sat propped against a tree, bleeding to death and holding a hand grenade. His plan was to pull the pin when the enemy that surrounded them drew near, thus killing himself and as many of the CCF as possible.
But that’s not what happened.
Instead, his fellow Rangers came for him just as they came for every other wounded or dead American on that hill. Calculating that the CCF who surrounded them would not expect them to abandon their fixed positions on 628 and attack, the Rangers closed ranks, formed a spearhead, put the wounded in the middle, and assaulted the side of the hill between them and a company of tanks in the valley below (see no. 2 on this list of most heroic acts of bravery). One platoon remained on the hill to provide cover fire as the other two platoons slammed into the unsuspecting Chinese. The effect was devastating. Writes Taylor: “As the Rangers approached, Chinese came out of their holes in a banzai attack. They were mowed down — nothing was going to stop 8th Company unless every man took a bullet.”
They carried him off of Hill 628 just as a U.S. Navy gull wing Corsair fighter bomber descended, banked, and hit the mountain with napalm. Ranger Robert Black recalled it years later: “A black canister fell from beneath the plane and a moment later a towering gout of flame erupted from behind the hill.” For over a mile the Rangers fought their way through CCF lines until they reached the tanks where their wounded could be evacuated.
Thomas Nicholson spent the next 18 months in hospitals. He never rejoined 8th Company, but he did live to become a husband and father. He also became a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. Thirty years after the war was over, he issued “citations” to the men responsible for his rescue. My guess is that this included every man who fought to get all of the dead and wounded — a third of 8th Company — off of Hill 628.
When my father spoke with pride of his war record, it was never with a medal in mind. It was not in the recollection of some heroic act or a promotion. And it wasn’t in the body count of enemy dead, a statistic of which he never spoke. If I may borrow a phrase from E.C. Rivera, my father “didn’t give a rat’s ass” about any of that. No, he took great pride in one simple fact: in the history of 8th Ranger Company, they never left a man behind be he wounded or dead. Never. And if I had to bet, I would wager that the rest of the men in this remarkable company felt the same way.
Perhaps that explains why his mind went back to a specific moment in battle as death, the enemy he could not escape, closed in on him. Even in dying, the men of the 8th Airborne Ranger Company maneuvered to protect:
“Cover the left flank! Cover the left flank! Move! Move! Move!
Larry Alex Taunton is an author, cultural commentator, and freelance columnist contributing to The American Spectator, USA Today, Fox News, First Things, the Atlantic, and CNN. You can subscribe to his blog at larryalextaunton.com.

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All About Guns The Green Machine

Ah I remember you well old Girl as I humped you around a lot back in the 1980's! a lot back in the Day!

 - Colt M16/ SP1, 5.56 mm NATO, With Sling and Bayonet, Semi version - Picture 1
Colt M16/ Sp1, 5.56 Mm NATO, With Sling And Bayonet, Semi Automatic Version in caliber 5.56mm NATO

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