In 2007, US Navy SEAL Mike Day incredibly survived being shot 27 times by al-Qaeda militants in various parts of his body and was also hit by a grenade.
Despite these severe injuries, he was able to defeat all four attackers and walked away without help after waking up. For this he got a Silver Star & Purple Heart.
After serving in the Navy for 21 years, Day retired in 2010. He dedicated his post-service life to supporting veterans through his work with Wounded Warriors. Mike Day passed away in March 2023.
American self-propelled artillery in World War II transformed how the United States Army delivered firepower on the battlefield. These tracked vehicles combined mobility with devastating howitzers and guns, keeping pace with advancing armor divisions in ways towed artillery never could. From the M7 Priest’s 105mm howitzer to the massive M43’s 8-inch gun, these weapons shaped combat operations across North Africa, Europe, and the Pacific.
An M7 Priest supports American soldiers advancing on Japanese positions during combat on Leyte Island. Image: NARA
The story starts with improvisation. When Germany blitzed through France in 1940, American planners saw they needed artillery that could move fast and hit hard. Self-propelled guns became essential for supporting mobile warfare. The U.S. entered the war in late 1941 with almost nothing in this category, forcing engineers to mount existing artillery pieces on whatever chassis they had available.
T19 Howitzer Motor Carriage
The T19 Howitzer Motor Carriage represents the first American attempt at fielding self-propelled artillery during the Second World War. Engineers adapted the 75mm M2A1 gun and mounted it on the M3 halftrack chassis. This quick solution entered service in 1941, but the vehicle soon showed its limitations.
Shown here is an T19 howitzer motor carriage. Based on the M3 half-track, it offered reasonable speed though lacked the mobility needed to follow tanks across varied terrain. Image: NARA
The weapon system featured an open-topped fighting compartment with limited armor protection, and the crew operated the howitzer from the vehicle’s rear platform. Development began in 1941, and the vehicle entered production in 1942, representing one of the early American attempts to create mobile artillery support for its increasingly mechanized forces.
In combat, the T19 saw limited use by U.S. forces during World War II. While approximately 300 units were produced, the design had significant limitations that reduced its battlefield effectiveness. The half-track chassis provided insufficient stability for the powerful 105mm howitzer, leading to accuracy issues during firing, and the open-top design left the crew vulnerable to enemy fire and artillery fragments. The vehicle’s armor protection was minimal, suitable only for deflecting small arms fire and shrapnel. These drawbacks led to the T19 being gradually superseded by more capable self-propelled artillery designs.
The M7 Priest: Backbone of American Mobile Artillery
The 105mm Howitzer Motor Carriage M7 changed everything. Known as the Priest due to its pulpit-like machine gun ring, this vehicle became the most numerous and important self-propelled artillery platform in U.S. Army service during the war.
An M7 Priest engages in direct fire support against a Japanese strong point in the Philippines. Image: NARA
Development began in June 1941, six months before Pearl Harbor. Army observers in Europe recognized that self-propelled artillery needed proper armor and full tracks, not the halftrack compromises. They selected the M3 Lee tank chassis as the foundation. The M3’s proven drivetrain, when combined with the reliable 105mm M2A1 howitzer, created a vehicle that could survive combat while delivering accurate fire.
The M7 entered combat with the British in mid-1942. The British and Canadians eventually developed their own Sexton self-propelled gun, using the 25-pounder on an M4 chassis to address ammunition compatibility issues.
An M7 Priest crew in action with the 1st Armored Division in Italy during August 1944. Image: NARA
Americans used them in combat first during Operation Torch, and then through the rest of the war on every front. A B1 variant used the M4 Sherman chassis instead of the M3 Lee, as the Sherman became the standard American tank. Crews loved the M7 in all varieties. The vehicle had good mobility and an effective gun that put rounds on targets up to seven miles away. It could also defend itself against tanks, earning the nickname “tank killer” in some popular press.
The Army deployed four self-propelled Priests per battery, with three firing batteries per battalion when assigned to infantry. When assigned to armored units, each battery was assigned six Priests.
An American M7 Priest rolls through the streets of Roccastrada, Italy, on June 24, 1944. Image: NARA
The M7’s open crew compartment was both an advantage and a vulnerability. It enabled better observation and faster loading because crews weren’t confined to a cramped turret. But it left them exposed to snipers and artillery airbursts. The vehicle carried a .50 caliber Browning M2HB machine gun on that distinctive pulpit mount for anti-aircraft defense.
The weapons system continued to see action in the Korean War, where it proved just as valuable supporting mobile operations against North Korean and Chinese forces. Several Allied countries received M7s postwar, with the West German Bundeswehr using them into the early 1960s.
M8 Howitzer Motor Carriage
The 75mm Howitzer Motor Carriage M8 filled a different tactical niche. With a crew of four, it mounted a 75mm M2/M3 howitzer on an M5 light tank chassis. Adopted in 1942, it provided fire support specifically for armored cavalry reconnaissance squadrons that needed lighter, faster artillery support.
An American M8 howitzer motor carriage moves through the railway station at Übach-Palenberg, Germany, in October of 1944. Image: NARA
The M8 featured an open-top turret that gave the crew better situational awareness during fast-moving reconnaissance missions. A .50 caliber machine gun mounted at the rear provided secondary armament for close defense.
What made the M8 different was its role. It accompanied reconnaissance units, providing on-call fire support when cavalry scouts ran into trouble. Often, it was used for direct fire support against strongpoints and pillboxes. The M5 light tank chassis kept weight down and speed up, essential for keeping pace with fast-moving reconnaissance operations.
American M8 self-propelled artillery crosses a stream under a blown-out bridge in the Vaiano area of Italy on June 8, 1944. Image: NARA
Production totaled 1,778 vehicles by war’s end. It wasn’t glamorous and didn’t pack the punch of heavier self-propelled artillery, but it did exactly what cavalry commanders needed — reliable, mobile fire support that could go where the action was.
M12 Gun Motor Carriage
The M12 Gun Motor Carriage has one of the stranger stories in American self-propelled artillery. It adapted the French 155mm GPF gun to motorized use, mounting it on an M3 medium tank chassis. Engineers moved the engine forward and fitted the powerful gun to the rear. A spade like a bulldozer blade at the rear sank into the ground for stability while firing.
A crew firing the M12 gun motor carriage in France, 1944. This American self-propelled artillery used a 155mm gun. Image NARA
An even 100 were completed by early 1943. Then they sat in storage, seemingly waiting for the European Campaign that would not kick off until June, 1944. Seventy-four M12s were dug out of storage and shipped to units preparing for D-Day. They proved valuable as medium artillery support for fast-moving armor during the breakout from Normandy and the drive across France.
The M12 had a maximum range of 21,982 yards with a crew of six. It fired the same 155mm ammunition as towed guns, making supply easier. The vehicle was accompanied by an M30 cargo carrier converted from an M12 chassis that hauled ammunition and supplies. This two-vehicle team could operate semi-independently, carrying enough ammunition for extended fire missions.
Cpl. Edward Douglas places fuses in the noses of 155mm shells for M12 self-propelled artillery of the 3rd Armored Division near Ottré, Belgium. Image: NARA
The 155mm gun gave the M12 serious reach. It could engage targets that towed guns couldn’t touch quickly enough, especially during fluid mobile operations. When American armor punched through German lines, the M12s could keep up and provide fire support without the delays of limbering and moving towed artillery.
Late-War Heavy Artillery: M40, M41, and M43
As the war progressed, the Army developed even heavier self-propelled artillery pieces. These vehicles came too late to see significant World War II service but established designs that proved valuable in Korea.
The 155mm Gun Motor Carriage M40 was adopted in February 1945. It mounted either a 155mm Gun M1A1 or M2 on the rear deck of a modified M4 medium tank chassis. With a crew of eight, it achieved an impressive range of 25,722 yards, firing 95-pound projectiles. The M40 used a different mounting than the M12, incorporating lessons learned from combat experience.
It is believed that a single M40 was used in the European Theater prior to the war’s end. More would see use during the Korean War.
The M41 Howitzer Motor Carriage came in June 1945. It mounted the 155mm Howitzer M1 on the rear of an open M24 Chaffee light tank chassis. This was a howitzer rather than a gun, meaning a shorter barrel, lower muzzle velocity, and a higher trajectory. Maximum range reached 16,360 yards. Only 85 were accepted by the Army before production ended. The gun is not believed to have entered any theater of combat in World War II, though it did see action in the Korean War.
An instructor shows students the working parts of an M41 howitzer motor carriage at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Image: NARA
The 8-inch Howitzer Motor Carriage M43 represented the heaviest American self-propelled artillery. Adopted in June 1945 with limited production of just 48 vehicles, it incorporated an 8-inch Howitzer M1 or M2 barrel with a maximum range of 18,515 yards, firing 200-pound shells. This was serious firepower.
The M43 was mounted on an M4 medium tank chassis with a crew of eight. The 8-inch howitzer had been a standard heavy artillery piece in towed form, and putting it on tracks gave the Army mobile heavy fire support capability. A single M43 entered combat in World War II. More would serve in the Korean War.
These late-war vehicles — the M40, M41, and M43 — saw limited World War II service simply because they arrived so late. But they proved their worth in Korea, where mobile artillery supporting rapid advances and withdrawals was essential.
Legacy of American SPA
Many American self-propelled artillery pieces continued service well beyond World War II. The Korean War saw extensive use of M7 Priests, M40s, and M43s. These vehicles proved just as valuable supporting mobile operations on the Korean peninsula as they had in Europe. The ability to keep pace with advancing or retreating forces remained essential.
The lessons learned from World War II self-propelled artillery shaped Cold War doctrine. The emphasis on mobility, the use of proven chassis for rapid development, and the understanding that numerical superiority could compensate for individual technical shortcomings.
American self-propelled artillery in World War II represented a pragmatic response to the tactical challenges of mechanized warfare. These vehicles weren’t perfect. They used open turrets, leaving crews exposed. Early designs like the M3 were basically compromises. But they got the job done. They kept pace with advancing armor, delivered devastating firepower, and helped American forces win the war.
The Lincoln County War wasn’t a war in any traditional sense. It was a vicious, drawn-out power struggle in southeastern New Mexico Territory that ran from 1878 to 1881, driven by greed, political corruption, and personal vendettas. It turned ranchers into gunmen, merchants into targets, and a teenage drifter named Henry McCarty into the legend we know as Billy the Kid.
More people have heard of Billy than have heard of the actual causes of the conflict, which is a shame. The Lincoln County War is one of the best examples of how the Old West actually worked — and how it fell apart. The firearms these men carried shaped every ambush, every last stand, and every street fight from Lincoln to Blazer’s Mills.
Public domain, circa 1879-1880. The only authenticated photograph of Billy the Kid.
The House: Murphy, Dolan, and the Root Cause
To understand the Lincoln County War, you have to understand The House. Lawrence G. Murphy and James J. Dolan, both Irish immigrants, operated a general store in Lincoln known locally as “The House.” It wasn’t just a store — it was the economic and political engine of Lincoln County.
Murphy and Dolan controlled the lucrative government beef contracts that supplied Fort Stanton and the Mescalero Apache reservation. They extended credit to local ranchers at punishing terms. They had the county sheriff, William Brady, firmly in their pocket. As a result, if you wanted to do business in Lincoln County, you went through The House, or you didn’t do business at all.
Murphy was the senior partner, but by the mid-1870s his health was failing — he was drinking heavily and suffering from what was likely cancer. Dolan, younger and more aggressive, was increasingly running the operation. Their methods were simple: political patronage, economic coercion, and when necessary, violence. It was a system that worked as long as nobody challenged it.
The Challengers: Tunstall, McSween, and Chisum
The challenge came from three very different men. John Henry Tunstall was a 24-year-old Englishman from London who’d come to New Mexico Territory with his family’s money and ambitions of building a cattle empire. Alexander McSween was a Canadian-born lawyer who’d initially done legal work for The House but had broken with Murphy and Dolan over a financial dispute. Meanwhile, John Chisum was the biggest cattle rancher in the region, running tens of thousands of head across a territory the size of some eastern states.
In 1877, Tunstall opened a competing general store in Lincoln and, together with McSween, established a bank. This was a direct challenge to The House’s monopoly. Dolan and Murphy responded with legal harassment, filing lawsuits and getting court orders to seize Tunstall’s property.
Tunstall, for his part, wasn’t particularly diplomatic about the situation. He openly announced his intention to break The House’s grip on Lincoln County commerce. Poking that particular bear was going to have consequences.
The Murder That Started It All
On February 18, 1878, a posse led by William Morton — operating under a court order to seize Tunstall’s cattle and horses — caught up with Tunstall on the road to Lincoln. Tunstall was riding with several of his ranch hands, including Billy the Kid, Dick Brewer, John Middleton, and Fred Waite. As the posse approached, the ranch hands scattered into the hills. Tunstall, apparently believing he could resolve the situation peacefully, stayed on the road.
He was wrong. Members of the posse — including Morton, Jesse Evans, and Tom Hill — shot Tunstall dead. He was struck by two rifle bullets, one in the chest and one in the head. The posse then shot Tunstall’s horse and placed the dead man’s hat under the horse’s head, apparently as a gesture of contempt. A federal investigator, Frank Warner Angel, later determined that Tunstall had been murdered in cold blood.
Tunstall’s murder lit the fuse. His cowhands and supporters, including Billy the Kid, formed a vigilante group called the Regulators, with Dick Brewer as their leader. They obtained deputizations from a sympathetic justice of the peace and set out to arrest Tunstall’s killers — though “arrest” was an optimistic term for what they had in mind.
The Regulators Strike Back
On March 6, 1878, the Regulators captured William Morton and Frank Baker, two men identified as participants in Tunstall’s murder. Both prisoners were killed while allegedly “attempting to escape” on March 9. Additionally, a Regulator named William McCloskey, suspected of being a Dolan spy, was also killed during the incident.
On April 1, 1878, the Regulators ambushed Sheriff William Brady and his deputies on the main street of Lincoln, firing from behind an adobe wall next to Tunstall’s store. Brady was hit by at least a dozen rounds and died in the street. Deputy George Hindman was also mortally wounded. Billy the Kid was later charged with Brady’s murder — one of the few legal consequences anyone faced during the entire Lincoln County War.
Three days later, on April 4, the Regulators killed Andrew “Buckshot” Roberts at Blazer’s Mills in a close-range gunfight that also cost Dick Brewer his life. Roberts, despite being gut-shot in the opening volley, barricaded himself in a building and fought for hours with a Springfield rifle, killing Brewer with a shot to the head. It was one of the most remarkable last stands in frontier history — a dying man who refused to quit.
Washington Intervenes
The bloodshed in Lincoln County eventually got Washington’s attention. The British government filed a formal complaint over Tunstall’s murder — he was, after all, a British subject killed under questionable legal authority. In response, President Rutherford B. Hayes dispatched a special investigator, Frank Warner Angel, whose report documented a pattern of corruption, murder, and abuse of legal process by the Dolan-Murphy faction.
In September 1878, territorial governor Samuel Axtell was replaced by Lew Wallace — yes, the same Lew Wallace who wrote Ben-Hur. Wallace arrived with instructions to restore order. He issued an amnesty proclamation and even met secretly with Billy the Kid in March 1879, reportedly offering the Kid a pardon in exchange for testimony against Dolan’s allies in the murder of Huston Chapman, a one-armed lawyer who’d been gunned down on the streets of Lincoln.
Billy held up his end and testified before a grand jury, but the pardon never materialized. Wallace had a novel to finish and a territory to govern, and keeping promises to a teenage outlaw apparently ranked low on his list.
The Lincoln County War reached its climax in the Five-Day Battle of Lincoln, fought from July 15 to July 19, 1878. Alexander McSween returned to Lincoln with approximately 41 supporters. He positioned about ten men in his own home and distributed the rest throughout the town, including at the Ellis store. Opposing them were Dolan’s forces, reinforced by a contingent of Seven Rivers cowboys and backed by Sheriff George Peppin.
For four days, the two sides exchanged fire across the town of Lincoln. Neither side could dislodge the other. Then, on the night of July 18-19, Dolan’s men set the McSween house on fire. As the flames spread room by room, the trapped Regulators had no choice but to attempt a breakout.
McSween tried to surrender. He was shot nine times and killed. At least four other Regulators died in the escape attempt. Bob Beckwith, a Dolan supporter, was also killed in the chaos — reportedly hit by friendly fire, though accounts vary. However, Billy the Kid and several other Regulators managed to slip through the Dolan lines in the darkness and escape into the hills.
The Five-Day Battle effectively ended the organized phase of the Lincoln County War, though the violence continued to sputter for years afterward. Billy the Kid continued his career of cattle rustling and gunfighting until Pat Garrett shot him dead at Fort Sumner on July 14, 1881. Lawrence Murphy died of cancer on October 20, 1878, just months after the battle. James Dolan was eventually indicted for Tunstall’s murder but acquitted; he later acquired Tunstall’s property and died on his ranch in 1898.
The Guns of the Lincoln County War
The firearms carried during the Lincoln County War were the standard arms of the late 1870s frontier. Understanding what these men carried helps explain how the fighting unfolded — and why certain engagements played out the way they did.
Colt Single Action Army
The Colt Single Action Army — introduced in 1873 and chambered most commonly in .45 Colt — was the dominant revolver on the New Mexico frontier. By 1878, the Peacemaker (as it came to be known) was available from Colt in multiple barrel lengths, from the short-barreled “Sheriff’s Model” to the standard 7.5-inch cavalry length.
In 1878, Colt began offering the Single Action Army in .44-40 Winchester as the “Frontier Six-Shooter,” which allowed a man to carry one caliber of ammunition for both his revolver and his rifle. On a frontier where resupply was uncertain, that mattered enormously.
Winchester Model 1873
The Winchester Model 1873 was the lever-action rifle of the era. Chambered in .44-40 Winchester (and later .38-40 and .32-20), it was a fast-handling repeater that could be fed through a loading gate on the right side of the receiver. It held up to 15 rounds in its tubular magazine in the full-length rifle configuration. For more on Winchester’s history and how they dominated the frontier market, see our detailed company profile.
For men fighting at the ranges typical of Lincoln County — across a street, across a corral, from behind an adobe wall — the Winchester ’73 was an ideal weapon. It wasn’t a long-range precision arm, but in a close-quarters gunfight in a frontier town, rate of fire mattered more than ballistic performance at distance. Compare that to the broader role lever-action rifles played across the entire American West.
Colt Model 1877 “Thunderer” — Billy the Kid’s Sidearm
The Colt Model 1877 “Thunderer” deserves special mention because it was Billy the Kid’s known sidearm. The 1877 was Colt’s first double-action revolver. The “Thunderer” variant was chambered in .41 Long Colt, while the “Lightning” was in .38 Long Colt.
When Pat Garrett killed Billy the Kid at Fort Sumner in 1881, the outlaw’s pistol was examined and described as “a self-cocker, calibre .41” with “five cartridges and one shell in the chambers.” That’s a Thunderer with five live rounds and one spent case — a gun that had recently been fired, or at least loaded on an empty chamber for safety.
Springfield Model 1873 “Trapdoor”
The Springfield Model 1873 “Trapdoor“ also saw use in the Lincoln County War, particularly among participants with military connections. The single-shot .45-70 Government was the standard U.S. Army longarm of the period, and surplus or stolen examples were common on the frontier. At the fight at Blazer’s Mills, Buckshot Roberts used a Springfield rifle to devastating effect from a barricaded position.
Sharps Carbines and Frontier Logistics
Sharps carbines were also present in Lincoln County, though less common than the Winchester repeaters. The Sharps was a single-shot breechloader built for accuracy and power at longer range — a fundamentally different tool than the fast-cycling Winchester. Some participants carried Sharps .50-caliber carbines, surplus from the buffalo hunting trade and Indian Wars. For context on how Sharps rifles shaped other frontier battles, see our coverage of Billy Dixon’s legendary shot at Adobe Walls.
But the real story with firearms on the New Mexico frontier wasn’t which guns men carried — it was keeping them fed. Lincoln County in 1878 had no railroad and limited general stores. Ammunition had to be freighted in by wagon from Las Vegas, Santa Fe, or further.
A man carrying a Winchester in .44-40, a Colt in .45, and a Springfield in .45-70 needed three different cartridges, and running dry on any one of them turned an expensive weapon into a club. That logistical reality is a big part of why the .44-40 “Frontier Six-Shooter” pairing was so popular — cutting your ammunition needs from three calibers to two was a genuine tactical advantage when the nearest resupply point was a three-day ride.
Shotguns on the Frontier
Shotguns were present as well. Double-barreled shotguns loaded with buckshot were common frontier weapons, particularly useful for close-range fighting in and around buildings. During the Five-Day Battle, with men shooting from houses and stores at targets across narrow streets, a shotgun loaded with buckshot was arguably more practical than a rifle.
What It Actually Meant
The Lincoln County War wasn’t a simple tale of good guys and bad guys, though Hollywood has tried to make it one for over a century. Tunstall and McSween were challenging a corrupt monopoly, but their own methods weren’t always noble. The Regulators committed murders that were justified as law enforcement but looked a lot like revenge killings. Dolan’s faction was corrupt and violent, but they operated with the cover of legal authority for most of the conflict.
What the Lincoln County War really illustrated was the fragility of law and order in a territory where political power, economic control, and legal authority were all concentrated in the same hands. When that system was challenged, there was no neutral institution capable of resolving the dispute peacefully. The result was three years of bloodshed in a county that had maybe 2,000 residents.
That’s what happens when the law and the monopoly are the same thing. Today, Lincoln, New Mexico, still stands as a State Historic Site where you can walk the same streets and see the firing positions for yourself.
Further Reading
If the Lincoln County War grabbed your attention, these books go deeper than any article can. Robert Utley’s High Noon in Lincoln is the definitive academic history of the conflict — meticulously sourced and fair to all sides. His Billy the Kid: A Short and Violent Life is the best biography of McCarty/Bonney, cutting through a century of myth to get at the documented record.
Frederick Nolan’s The Lincoln County War: A Documentary History compiles primary sources — letters, court documents, depositions — that let you read what actually happened in the participants’ own words. His The West of Billy the Kid is a photographic companion piece with over 250 images, many published for the first time, that puts faces and places to the names in the story.
For a more narrative approach, Mark Lee Gardner’s To Hell on a Fast Horse reads like a thriller while sticking to the historical record — it’s the first dual biography of Billy the Kid and Pat Garrett, and Robert Utley himself called it “superb narrative history.” Michael Wallis’s Billy the Kid: The Endless Ride takes a revisionist angle, exploring why the Kid became one of America’s most enduring folk figures.
For broader context on the firearms and conflicts of the American frontier, our articles on Jesse James’s weapons, Annie Oakley, and Sam Bass cover other key figures of the same era and the guns they relied on.
General George S. Patton acknowledges the cheers of the welcoming crowds in Los Angeles, California, during his visit on June 9, 1945. Image: NARA
I met the man in my medical clinic. He was skinny and old. He looked like everybody’s grandfather. His right forearm was a mass of scars. I naturally inquired where he had acquired those.
A lifetime ago this small quiet man was a member of the 5th Ranger Battalion huddled down inside a British-crewed LCA (Landing Craft Assault) boat churning toward Omaha Beach in the first wave. Have you seen Saving Private Ryan? Yeah, he really did that.
The man obviously survived the invasion as well as the hellish slog through the bocage country that followed. He lost two toes at the Battle of the Bulge and fought through the Hurtgen Forest. Along the way, he met General George Patton twice.
Patton spent a year at Virginia Military Institute before transferring to the United States Military Academy (West Point). He had to repeat his freshman year due to poor academic performance.
My friend said that Patton had an odd high-pitched voice that seemed incongruous with his alpha male persona. He told me that the man was as profane and flamboyant in person as the movie made him out to be. At one point my buddy was standing outside of a tent that had recently played host to a command briefing orchestrated by General Eisenhower. All the major players were there, to include Patton, Bradley, and Montgomery. As the meeting concluded, Patton and another General walked past. They were engaged in an animated discussion about what they had just heard, oblivious to their surroundings.
My friend related that he heard Patton say, “Ike doesn’t know how to fight a damn war! We need to hit ‘em in the flanks, and we need to pound them down until they don’t have any fight left in ‘em.”
George Patton was a born soldier and competitor. He competed in the 1912 Olympics in the pentathlon.
Back then, being a general obviously did not require quite as much political sensitivity as might be the case nowadays. Patton would not make it past captain in today’s army. However, my buddy’s first-person observations help put meat on the bones of the historical figure that was arguably America’s most audacious General.
Origin Story
George Smith Patton, Jr. was born in Los Angeles in 1885. He had a younger sister, Nita, who was, for a time, engaged to marry John J. “Blackjack” Pershing. When he was young, Patton had great difficulty learning to read and write. He had to repeat a year at West Point when he was unable to pass mathematics. However, the young officer had other latent skills that made him an exceptionally capable combat leader.
Lt. George S. Patton served as the personal aide to Gen. John J. “Blackjack” Pershing during the Pancho Villa Expedition in Mexico. Image: NARA
In addition to a diagnosable excess of ego, Patton was terrified he might miss out on war. He called in every favor he could find and was eventually assigned as Pershing’s aide during the 1916 Punitive Expedition to fight Pancho Villa. That was where he first saw the elephant.
Like most young men, 2LT Patton was full of fire and vinegar. Once he arrived in theater he found a place filled with danger and intrigue. Mexican bandits were everywhere, and American soldiers had to be forever on their guard. As a result, when the young officer hit a local watering hole with his mates all wearing civilian clothes, he stuffed his M1911 pistol in his belt, just in case.
Patton already exhibited some exceptional skill at arms. He held the title “Master of the Sword” based upon his facility with a cavalry saber and was an Olympian who placed fifth in the 1912 pentathlon. Had he been given credit for two rounds that likely passed through the same hole while firing his .38-caliber Colt target revolver he would have taken gold. However, once he got lubricated at the bar, something untoward occurred and his M1911 accidentally discharged.
Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, Jr. pins the Silver Star on Pvt. Ernest A. Jenkins for his actions in Chateaudun, France on August 16-17, 1944. Patton’s famed revolver is clearly visible. Image: NARA
No one was hurt, but the young man soured on John Browning’s esteemed hogleg. As a result, he sent off for a Single Action Army revolver for which he paid $50. He later had the gun fitted with ivory grips and extensively engraved. He carried the weapon with an empty chamber under the hammer and used it to kill a pair of Mexican bandits. I saw the gun on display in the Patton Museum when I was kid, replete with the appropriate notches in the grips.
Serious War
Patton followed Pershing to Europe for World War I where he developed a keen interest in the burgeoning science of tanks. He toured the French Renault plant where the FT tanks were being produced and received a block of instruction on their operation. When the first 10 tanks were presented to the US Army, Patton personally backed seven of them off the train. He was the only soldier in the US Army with any tank-driving experience.
Lt. Col. George S. Patton, Jr., poses for a photograph in France in 1918 in front of a Renault FT light tank. Patton would help “write the book” on armored warfare. Image: U.S. Army
Patton led the first US armored forces into combat at Saint Mihiel in 1918, often walking in front of the vehicles under fire to guide their drivers. In the heat of battle, he struck an American soldier over the head with a shovel to motivate him to dig and later admitted that he may have killed the man. A gunshot wound to the pelvis took him out of the rest of the war.
The Big Time
World War II was without precedent in human history. In 1939, there were 174,000 troops in the US Army. At its apogee during the height of the war, that number reached 8 million. Such explosive expansion offered unprecedented opportunities for advancement. George Patton rode that wave.
Gen. Bernard Law Montgomery shakes hands with Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, Jr. at the Palermo airport, Sicily, on July 28, 1943. Image: Lt. Brin/NARA
Patton’s military service in WWII has been exhaustively documented elsewhere, but here’s an overview. He served in North Africa and subsequently commanded the Seventh Army during Operation Husky, the Allied invasion of Sicily. The controversy surrounding Patton’s slapping of a soldier suffering from battle fatigue circled the globe. Additionally, Patton was implicated for his part in the infamous Biscari massacre wherein American troops shot Axis prisoners claiming the flamboyant General had directed them to do so during a motivational speech. However, an investigation by the Inspector General of the War Department cleared Patton of any wrongdoing in the matter.
Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, Commanding the U.S. Third Army, prepares to go aloft on August 26, 1944 to inspect the progress of his forces from the air. Image: Van Maanen/NARA
Nevertheless, Patton was placed in command of the “Phantom Army” based in the UK and intended to draw German attention away from the D-Day landings.
Radio commentators chat with Gen. Patton in Hershfeld, Germany on April 19, 1945. The end of the European Theater was less than three weeks away. Image: NARA
Once Patton was unleashed upon the continent, his reputation as a fire-breather veritably exploded. Patton led his Third Army on a hell-for-leather charge across France and then helped break the back of the German assault during the Battle of the Bulge. By the end of the war, Patton was a four-star General and a legend in the eyes of the American people. He famously died in an auto accident at age 60 on 21 December 1945. Controversy orbits around the details to that event to this very day.
Faithful friend to the end, Willie, Gen. Patton’s pet bull terrier mourns the passing of his owner in this January 1946 photograph. Image: NARA
Ruminations
General George Patton was a visionary commander who thrived in the radical space of the war. Audacious, bold, and utterly addicted to war, Patton was a natural combat leader. Though his lack of political sensitivity nearly scuppered his career on numerous occasions, he was nonetheless one of the most effective military officers the United States has ever produced.
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In 2007, US Navy SEAL Mike Day incredibly survived being shot 27 times by al-Qaeda militants in various parts of his body and was also hit by a grenade.
