A Grandstand Seat: The American Balloon Service in World War I

A GRANDSTAND SEAT

A spherical balloon at Ft. Omaha in 1917, probably from the rotogravure section of an Omaha newspaper. Courtesy of Grant family.

A GRANDSTAND SEAT The American Balloon Service in World War I Eileen F. Lebow

PRAEGER

Westport, Connecticut London

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lebow, Eileen F. A grandstand seat : the American Balloon Service in World War I / Eileen F. Lebow. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-275-96255-5 (alk. paper) 1. United States. Army. Balloon Section—History. 2. World War, 1914-1918—Aerial operations, American. I. Title. D570.65.L43 1998 940.54'1273—dc21 98-5240 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. Copyright © 1998 by Eileen F. Lebow All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent of the publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 98-5240 ISBN: 0-275-96255-5 First published in 1998 Praeger Publishers, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881 An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. Printed in the United States of America The paper used in this book complies with the Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National Information Standards Organization (Z39.48-1984). 10

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Frederic J. Grant Charles L. Hayward Craig S. Herbert and the members of the American Balloon Service

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Contents Acknowledgments

ix

Chapter

1

The Clock of Patriotism Strikes

1

Chapter

2

Battle Goes Skyward

7

Chapter

3

Learning the Ropes

15

Chapter

4

Goodbye Omaha

29

Chapter

5

The Americans Are Here!

37

Chapter

6

Where Do We Go from Here?

51

Chapter

7

Life in a Quiet Sector

61

Chapter

8

Annoying the Boche

77

Chapter

9

The Fighting Gets Real

89

Chapter 10

A Gypsy Life

99

Chapter 11

Time for Readjustment

113

Chapter 12

A Clockwork Operation

121

viii

CONTENTS

Chapter 13

Trying Stamina and Spirit

131

Chapter 14

Patience under Hardship

149

Chapter 15

Balloons Are Down!

165

Notes

173

Bibliography

189

Index

197 Photographic essay to follow page 98.

Acknowledgments Special thanks go to Mary Hager who presented me with her father's papers and suggested I write a book about the American balloon experience in World War I. Frederic Grant, like his fellow balloonists, wanted to see that story in print. His material, saved over a lifetime, led me to other sources—notably Craig Herbert, who served as Historian for the Balloon Veterans, and Charles Hayward of Portland, Oregon, who had an extensive collection of balloon material. Both men were generous in sharing information and answering questions. Ruth Hayward deserves a special thank you for her helpfulness. For advice and suggestions, I am grateful to Mitch Yockelson at the National Archives; the staff of the War College, Washington; Daniel Hary of Armee de L'Air Service Historique at Vincennes; the staff of the U.S. Army Military History Institute at Carlisle; August G. Blume of Charlottesville; the staff of the Imperial War Museum, London; John Moscato of Washington; Ann Haller of the Historical Society of Douglas County, Omaha; and the staff of the Air Force History Support Office, Boiling Air Force Base. George Chevalier of Zellwood, Florida, and Tom Richardson of Oxford, England, provided helpful leads. The staffs of the Manuscript and Map Divisions of the Library of Congress, the National Archives Photographic Section at College Park, and the Air and Space Museum, Washington, all lent their assistance. Critical comments from Liva Baker were most helpful. Morton Lebow deserves a special thank you for his unfailing support and assistance, no matter how tedious the task. Chapter opening quotations are taken from song lyrics dedicated to General Pershing found in the Manuscript Division of the Library of Congress and from a French cartoon of the early balloon period.

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1 The Clock of Patriotism Strikes Three cheers for President Wilson, Hip hip hoo-ray, Who sent the word to dear old France, The Yanks are on the way. —"Pershing It's Up to You," 1918 War came unbidden in August 1914, bringing with it an arsenal of deathdealing weapons. German military leaders had planned for the moment when the unsuspecting world would experience the results of German invention and industry enrolled, now, in the service of Mars. The invasion of Belgium, the first country on the receiving end of German invention, was quickly begun with no energy wasted on debates of right or wrong. Within days of a declaration of war German troops were marching into Belgium to strike at France through the back door. The city of Liege, protected by twelve forts, halted the steamroller in its tracks and suffered, thereby, the full effect of German military might. The city was taken easily enough by elite troops, but the forts ringing the city refused to surrender and succeeded in handing the invasion its first setback. Word was sent to bring up the monster artillery guns, 420s, especially designed and built to reduce any fortification daring to withstand an attack. Isolated from the rest of Belgium, the citizens of Liege were the first to see the "monsters," which resembled overfed slugs. At 18:30 on August 12, the shelling began, scattering dust, broken stone, and wood as a great cloud of smoke rose in the air. In addition, the immense Skoda 305s began a

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A GRANDSTAND SEAT

bombardment of the forts nearby, their targeting accomplished with observers "stationed in church towers and balloons." 1 The shelling went on for twenty-four hours before Fort Pontisse, battered beyond endurance, surrendered, followed in the days afterward by the remaining eleven forts as each was battered into submission. On August 16 the last fort was captured when a shell hit the magazine, demolishing the fort from within. The combination of siege guns and precise observation had opened the way for the German First Army to advance. Observation balloons, like hulking elephants lazing above the ground, became a familiar sight on the Western Front after their debut at Liege proved their usefulness in warfare and forced the French military establishment to hurriedly rethink the role of observation balloons, abandoned since 1911. Overnight, the first aerial service to be used in combat found itself drafted again.2 On April 2, 1917—America waited with mixed emotions for President Woodrow Wilson's speech to Congress marking the beginning of a new session, one that would prove historic. On college campuses, in country hamlets, on crowded city streets the concern was the same: With renewed submarine warfare threatening, would the President break his pledge to remain neutral and ask for a declaration of war against Germany? For two and a half years he had walked a fine line in spite of pleas from Britain and France. Diplomatic relations with Germany were severed in February, Ambassador Bernstarff dismissed, yet delay followed. Some said it was because of strong German-American opposition to entering the war, particularly in the American heartland. Others said that in spite of President Wilson's anti-German feelings, the delay was due partly to the man's aversion to warfare as a means of settling disputes and partly to his unwillingness to send American men to die in a dispute whose origin was totally foreign to them and that lacked widespread support. Then on a wet, cold night, the wondering ended. President Wilson read his speech before a packed chamber, attended by the members of both houses, the justices of the Supreme Court, and a gallery overflowing with diplomats, press, and anyone important enough to hold a ticket. Holding his manuscript in both hands as if for support, Wilson, without gestures or marked emotion, reviewed the sequence of events since the European conflict began as his audience listened in "a breathless silence so painfully intense that it seemed almost audible." 3 The tension broke with the President's statement that no longer could the United States endure German aggression at sea, that "right is more precious than peace," which brought the assembled listeners to their feet with loud cheers.4 The request for a resolution to declare that war existed between the United States and the German Imperial Government was almost an afterthought. Complete strangers overcome by emotion hugged and cheered all at once; the normally sedate justices shouted like school-

THE CLOCK OF PATRIOTISM STRIKES

3

boys. Pent-up emotion poured forth, while a bemused President watched. Now it was up to Congress to carry through. Four days later—after long, often emotional debate—both houses of Congress passed the resolution; a state of war existed between the United States and Germany. America had joined Britain, France, and Italy in war against Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Turkey. Six senators—three Republicans and three Democrats—had opposed the resolution, eighty-two supported it. In the House, fifty members opposed, including Jeanette Rankin who, delivering her maiden speech, declared, "I cannot vote for war. I vote 'no.' " 5 Nevertheless, patriotism carried the day, as 373 members voted "yea" in affirmation of Virginia Senator Swanson's statement, "The clock of patriotism now strikes." Members like Senator Hitchcock of Nebraska, who had opposed American participation in the war for two and a half years, now backed the president "for the honor of the country and in the interests of humanity." 6 In Washington at 14th and H Streets, Senators LaFollette and Stone were hanged in effigy (they had voted against the resolution) in an excess of patriotism. The rapidity with which war had come to America found it almost totally unprepared. To be sure, General John J. Pershing had been leading American troops in Mexico against Pancho Villa in 1916 and 1917, warlike activity of a sort, but hardly the kind of war the country had just entered. The United States army ranked 17th, regarded by some as hardly more than "a home for old soldiers," 7 a perception that Wilson's administration had done little to change. Congress's declaration of war put in motion a course of action that would bring the United States to the front on the world stage. Planning went into high gear. Military and industry, caught napping, sought to make up for lost time as Americans slowly came to understand that the Allies would require massive aid to counteract the expected German advantage on the Western Front in the spring of 1918. The war had not gone well for the Allies in 1917. French and British efforts to mount an offensive against Germany had failed dismally, and Italy had suffered a devastating defeat by the Austrians, allies of the Germans. The French army, faced with widespread mutiny when it suffered yet another costly defeat, put General Petain in command, who succeeded in improving morale in the ranks. Americans, separated by an ocean and deliberately uninformed by Allied leaders, knew little of conditions among British and French troops who had endured almost three hellish years with huge loss of life. The first Americans on the scene in Europe soon realized that both countries, their armies close to collapse, were in need of immediate assistance. As a first step toward meeting that need, Wilson established the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) to serve overseas, its ranks to be filled by a draft, which he considered more democratic than using volunteers. On June 5, 1917, 10,000,000 men, twenty-one to thirty years of age, registered at

4

A GRANDSTAND SEAT

polling places. This was followed by a series of lotteries that called them up by number until the end of hostilities. By the end of 1917, 1,800,000 men were in training; the total would swell to 4,271,150 actively serving when the war ended. On college campuses there was a ferment of excitement. For months young men had discussed the possibility of war, hoping it would come, embarrassed by America's appearance of unwillingness to join combat against brutal inhumanity. Unlike college men of another time, these men champed at the bit, eager to join those American youths fighting for the Allied cause and thereby wipe clean the perceived stain on America's honor. At Yale, fueled by the London Graphic and stories of returning volunteers, the topical question was: What service should we join? The artillery was popular since groups had spent the previous summer training at Tobyhanna, followed closely by aviation, undoubtedly the quickest path to excitement and glory. Someone suggested the Balloon Service, raising hoots of laughter. Balloons belonged at county fairs as entertainment. They were sometimes flown by sportsmen, but the idea of being the "eyes of the war" stuck with nine Yale men, who, like young men all over the country—too impatient for the draft—volunteered with the Army Signal Corps for training in the Balloon Service.8 Nationwide there was a rush to enlist in the service of choice; the underage brought letters from a parent. The country threw itself into the war on a surge of patriotism. At Columbia University, twelve young men, their eagerness an uncontrollable itch, signed up with the Signal Corps to serve in the Balloon Corps when the Navy failed to make prompt use of them. Like young men elsewhere, they found the military unprepared for the avalanche that descended upon it. In due course men were sorted out, sent to camps still under construction to drill endlessly and practice the Manual of Arms, eventually receiving a proper uniform that identified them as genuine Army men. The Yale contingent, gathered in Washington, discovered there was no standard physical test for the Aviation Service of which balloons would be a part. For a full day they were put through "all sorts of freak stunts and examinations," the thinking being that balloonists, like aviators, needed to be fit, whatever that was. 9 Major Charles DeForest Chandler told the group to go home and wait for orders to report to Fort Omaha, Nebraska, which should come through in about a week. The Balloon Service, an entity on paper, lacked substance, and the War Department, charged with establishing its organization, was doing business as usual, not yet tuned to the pressure of wartime demands. The Yale men returned to New Haven, said their good-byes, and waited at home for their orders. After ten days and no orders, two of them, Frederic J. Grant and Maurice Smith, took matters into their own hands and went to Fort Omaha where a cordial Major Frank Lahm, post commander, admitted that he did not know what to do with them. There was no official

THE CLOCK OF PATRIOTISM STRIKES

5

word from the War Department, although, unofficially, he had heard from Major Chandler that orders were being written. He promised to wire Washington at once and gave them two passes to the Fort and all operations, which were good any time, day or night. Lahm escorted them to the balloon hangar (known as the shed) and introduced them to A. Leo Stevens, an experienced balloon pilot who was the instructor for all phases of balloon work. As excited as kids with a new toy, Grant and Smith climbed into the basket of a round free balloon tethered with rope and were let up ten feet for their first balloon flight. At once they were bitten; balloons were it, never mind the view of aviation cadets that balloons were "the suicide squad." 10 The Balloon Service, still feeling its way as an organization, was slow in working out a training course, following first the British use of balloons before adopting the French method when the Americans arrived in France. There were enough regular Army sergeants and young West Pointers around to initiate the cadets and the numerous volunteers at the Fort into the Army way of doing things, and boys from the small towns west of the Mississippi and the big cities, of the East "grew up fast."11 The tough tutelage began disarmingly enough: "You fellows have just joined the U.S. Army. I'm not going to be hard boiled; I'm going to teach you how to be a soldier—shoulders back, suck in that stomach!" 12 The days were long and physically demanding, and brooding over all was a huge Drachen balloon, looking like a beached whale—an awesome sight to young men from the farm or city.

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2

Battle Goes Skyward By Gar, we will take Gibraltar, in de air-balloon. —French Cartoon, 1784 The hoots of laughter at the mention of a balloon service were undeserved. Almost as soon as the Montgolfier brothers' first hot-air balloon went aloft in 1783, followed shortly by the flight of Jean Francois Pilatre de Rozier— the first man to go up and demonstrate the practicality of balloons—men began to speculate on their potential for military use. Andre-Giroud de Villette, a passenger with Rozier two days after his initial flight, immediately grasped that potential. From that moment I was convinced that this apparatus, at little cost, could be made very useful to an army for discovering the position of its enemy, its movements, its advances, its dispositions, and that this information could be conveyed by a system of signals, to the troops looking after the apparatus.1 Benjamin Franklin, an interested observer of the early flights in France, was quick to figure that five thousand balloons each carrying two men would cost less than five ships on the line and "could descend in many places and do an infinite amount of damage before a force could be brought together to repel them." 2 Even before the French had gone skyward, English ballooning experiments had prompted Thomas Gray in 1737 to consider the possibility of aeronautical developments in verse: The time will come when thou shall't lift thine eyes To watch a long-drawn battle in the skies;

8

A GRANDSTAND SEAT While aged peasants, too amazed for words, Stare at the flying fleet of wondrous birds.3

A treatise on the military use of balloons, published in November 1783, recommended balloons for reconnaissance and as command posts, but "to the British people in general balloons were a bit of a joke." 4 In 1784 the number of successful flights over France prompted a cartoon drawing of a French aeronaut, blowing soap bubbles and declaiming: O by Gar, dis is de grand invention! . . . We will declare de war against our enemie; we will make these English quake, by Gar. We will inspect their camp, we will intercept their fleet, and we will fire their dockyards, and by Gar, we will take Gibraltar, in de air-balloon.5 Actually, it was ten years before the French used balloons in wartime in their struggle with England, Prussia, and Austria, which saw the Corps des Aerostieres (balloon handlers) debut March 29, 1794, as the first military balloon corps, with the L'Entreprenant, the first military balloon. Hurried to the fortress at Maubeuge following its trial flight, the balloon carried Jean Marie Joseph Coutelle aloft to report on the Austrian and Netherlands armies surrounding the city. Its appearance had a demoralizing effect on the enemy troops, one that was repeated again when the balloon was moved to Charleroi. Reportedly, upon seeing it rise in the air, the Austrian garrison promptly surrendered. The next day Coutelle ascended with General Morlot as observer to direct the movements of the French troops at the battle of Fleurus, resulting in the Austrians' defeat. The balloon corps remained in service until 1799 when it was disbanded at Napoleon's direction, because he believed that making hydrogen was too difficult for an army designed to be extremely mobile. His lapse in military awareness leaves historians to debate whether the battle of Waterloo might have ended differently if Napoleon had received accurate information on the enemy's position from the corps. Although balloons were used sporadically in military actions in Algeria and the revolution of 1848, enjoying a brief revival during the Italian Campaign in 1859, the corps was not organized again until the Franco-Prussian War when both sides used balloons. The Prussians devised a special balloon musket with a barrel that swung vertically and horizontally on top of a horse-drawn carriage, its sole purpose being to shoot down the otherwise impervious French balloons. Elsewhere, the nations of Europe experimented with the new invention with mixed success. As early as 1784 James Tytler, hailed as "Britain's first aeronaut," ascended to a height of 350 feet in a hot-air balloon near King's Park in Edinburgh to travel half a mile.6 Two more efforts proved no more successful, and Tytler, his resources used up, turned to writing. Vicenzo

BATTLE GOES SKYWARD

9

Lunardi had better fortune when on September 15 his first flight from London of thirteen miles won him instant fame. Another winning performer, known throughout Britain and Europe, was Andre Garnerin—a Frenchman who specialized in jumping from balloons with parachutes of his own design. After one ascension carrying a pretty young woman, he was forbidden from making further air voyages with a member of the opposite sex. The police considered it improper and immoral. Charles Green, a serious enthusiast, used coal gas in balloons because it was cheaper, inflation was faster, and the gas was less affected by temperature changes. His first ascent in 1821 was part of the celebrations for George IV's coronation. There was great public excitement surrounding balloons with an increase in their use for scientific observation and courier service. The English considered several plans over the years to use balloons for bombing, but caution and the resistance of the established military branches managed to squelch them. Only after the American Civil War had demonstrated the usefulness of balloons for observation did the English move to military use. A balloon factory was established at Woolwich in 1878 under the Corps of Royal Engineers, followed by a balloon school the next year at Chatham. On the continent and elsewhere, there were fitful starts in military use of balloons. The Russian army reportedly used captive balloons at Sebastopol in the Crimea War; the Austrians used a balloon to bomb Venice in 1849; the Japanese used observation balloons at Port Arthur; the English Balloon Section did "yeoman service" in the Boer War, introducing manlifting kites for observation. 7 But the balloon was still considered a novelty, even though its military potential had been ably demonstrated. Traditional military thinking, slow to adopt new ideas, remained skeptical of its worth as a valid military auxiliary. In America, word of the Montgolfier brothers' invention prompted a series of experiments at the College of William and Mary as early as 1784 and 1786, using coal gas and hydrogen to inflate balloons. But the honor for the first American ascension belongs to Jean-Pierre Blanchard, the French aeronaut, who ascended at Philadelphia in January of 1793. Blanchard had considerable experience in ballooning: He had introduced it in Germany, made the first Channel crossing from Dover to France in 1785, and had a total of forty-four ascensions before arriving in America. His flight was a great success with the crowds who watched, but he failed to make his expenses, a not uncommon experience among aeronauts. Following Blanchard, ballooning was taken up by a variety of individuals who were equally as keen on ballooning as improving their finances. Promoters offered tickets for a balloon appearance; the most expensive permitted a close look at the man and his equipment, but the public quickly realized that a fine view could be had from the nearest rooftop or hillside.

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A GRANDSTAND SEAT

Before the Civil War, ballooning was a popular source of entertainment, a predictable event at most county fairs and city events, including the inauguration of President James Buchanan in 1857. The public enthusiasm evident in the growing number of balloon ascensions prompted an editorial in the Philadelphia Ledger of October 5, 1859, hailing "The Day of Balloons." 8 To catch the public's attention, aeronauts resorted to a number of daring acts having more the flavor of show biz than scientific pursuit: descending from a balloon with a parachute (a risky maneuver when failure meant certain death), going up mounted on a horse, the poor animal standing on a platform below the balloon, and on one occasion sending up a passenger tied on the back of an alligator. In another bold first, a "Professor" Wilson was accompanied by "a beautiful young lady," inspiring a local newspaperman to speculate that the ladies could ascend "by filling their crinolines with smoke—that is all they lack of being angels." 9 Carl Myers was one of many balloon developers in the 1870s. With his wife, Mary Hawley, Myers built and flew the new hydrogen balloons on a five-acre balloon farm in Herkimer County, New York. Mary Myers followed her husband into the air as "Carlotta the Lady Aeronaut," appearing at fairs and resorts for ten years, which proved "financially very remunerative." 10 Together they maintained a chemical laboratory, a printing press, and shops for carpentry, machines, and producing gas; in addition, they made balloons for meteorologic study and the Spanish-American War. The first American recommendations to use balloons militarily were made during the Seminole War in Florida in 1840 and the Mexican War in 1848. In both instances the plans were imaginative, might have been tactically effective, but were never used. Serious aeronauts like Thaddeus Lowe, the Aliens, Samuel King, John Wise, John La Mountain, William Paullin, Charles Cevor, and Richard Wells were active in the years before the Civil War in advancing balloon science and extending the length of balloon flights, undeterred by the public's image of the balloon as entertainment. When war was declared in 1861, James Allen, bringing his two balloons, was the first balloonist to enlist with the Union Army followed by Wise, La Mountain, and Thaddeus Lowe, a staunch believer in the military usefulness of balloons, who was placed in charge of the Union balloon effort. He had a difficult time in spite of having demonstrated to President Lincoln the usefulness of balloons for collecting and telegraphing information on the enemy to the appropriate commanders. Unfortunately, the indifference of the established services, the organizational red tape, the prima donna attitude of the aeronauts, and particularly the frequent change in military command all contributed to Lowe's resignation in disgust after two years. The Balloon Corps languished after his departure, and by the end of June 1863 it ceased to be an operating unit.

BATTLE GOES SKYWARD

11

Technically the balloon operation was a success. Equipment was of the best materials available and well made; the mobile hydrogen generators could produce enough gas to inflate a thirty-two thousand-cubic-foot balloon in about three hours. Lowe devised three ways of communicating with army commanders on the ground using signals, dropped messages, and the telegraph. His observations proved valuable, especially when commanders were told the exact whereabouts of enemy forces. Following the Union defeat at Bull Run, he was able to calm a jittery Washington, fearful of an attack, by reporting the position of the Confederate Army, information that spared Union commanders from "unnecessarily calling troops to supposedly threatened points in the defenses."11 Confederate observers such as General E. P. Alexander, Chief of Ordnance on General Lee's staff, acknowledged later: I have never understood why the enemy abandoned the use of military balloons early in 1863, after having used them extensively up to that time. Even if the observers never saw anything, they would have been worth all they cost for the annoyance and delays they caused us in trying to keep our movement out of their sight.' 2

The Confederates, limited by chronic shortages of materials and money, used balloons less than the Union forces, who found them effective in the Peninsula Campaign at Fredricksburg and Chancellorsville. Alexander had observed during the siege of Richmond that a balloon was worth a great deal more than it cost, because its existence was a constant thorn in the flesh of the enemy. One Confederate aeronaut, John Randolph Bryan, successfully used a balloon "made of cotton cloth with tar . . . inflated with hot air" 13 to observe Union forces. It was primitive, but it worked. In any discussion of the military worth of balloons, two questions arise: What information did they supply? What use was made of that information? Air historian Tom Crouch observed that the Union army generals, ranging "from the overcautious to the incompetent" seldom made use of information given them from balloons. In 1863 Washington Roebling, son of the builder of the Brooklyn Bridge, observing in a balloon, was the first to discover that General Lee was moving toward Pennsylvania and Gettysburg. 14 The command ignored his news. John Wise had a succinct reply to complaints of balloon incompetence before Bull Run: "The balloon part . . . was about as good as the fighting part." 15 By the end of the Civil War, in spite of their short existence, the military usefulness of balloons was on record. The British had taken note of this and established a Balloon Section, which performed splendidly in the summer maneuvers of 1889. Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin, an interested observer of Union balloons during the Civil War, built a series of successful airships at the end of the century, his inspiration drawn from that early

12

A GRANDSTAND SEAT

enthusiasm. The French, who had pioneered the military use of balloons, turned to more peaceful endeavors—to reach the North Pole by balloon and designs for an airship that could travel horizontally from point to point independent of the wind. The result was long cigar-shaped ships, called dirigibles, powered first by steam, then electric motors (a major breakthrough), and eventually by gasoline driven engines, which gave greater power and speed and promised mastery of the air. In the years following the Franco-Prussian War, rivalry between France and Germany heightened in the race to build dirigibles with greater load capability and speed. Germany forged ahead with the emergence of the Zeppelin, a giant of a ship nearly 420 feet long and 39 feet in diameter, named for its builder, that pointed the way to faster and more dependable airships. By 1912, German-built airships were carrying passengers around Germany, even to Denmark, with astonishing success. The dirigible's ability to carry heavy weights was not lost on some English and French military planners, who urged the building of airships to keep up with the fleet being assembled in Germany. Balloons, meanwhile, enjoyed renewed popular interest as a sport. Men of means built balloons and competed against each other for distance, sponsored by Aero Clubs in Europe. The first Gordon Bennett Race in 1906 saw sixteen balloons from seven countries competing for the silver trophy donated by James Gordon Bennett, the New York publisher. The United States, with the team of Frank P. Lahm and Henry Hersey, won the trophy that initiated the international competition that lasted through twenty-six races between 1906 and 1938, until war, succeeded by national rivalries and the Cold War mentality, ended it. Thanks to the races, ballooning remained alive when the heavier-than-air machines came on the scene. European observers of the Russo-Japanese war had seen the importance of concealed gun positions for defense, particularly the effectiveness of machine guns, and studied ways to locate them from some kind of aerial post. Two German officers, Major August von Parseval and Captain Bartsch von Sigsfeld, found a solution: the Drachenballon (Dragon Balloon in German), a tethered balloon, elongated in shape with a narrower, half-circular balloon behind and a tail with cups attached for stability. The design was a real advance over the widely used spherical balloons whose unsteadiness made observation difficult in even the slightest wind. The Drachen could work at an altitude of one to two thousand meters in winds up to 40 mph (65 km/hr). In 1915 the appearance of numerous Drachens on the front quickly won them the nickname "sausage" among the Allies, their shape a reminder of a favorite German food.16 The success of the Drachen prompted a series of endeavors by French aeronauts—Captain Lenoir was one, Captain Albert Caquot another—to improve on the German model, which performed better than any the French had. Beginning in 1915, Caquot designed a succession of sausage-

BATTLE GOES SKYWARD

13

shaped models with one vertical and two horizontal fins spaced 120 degrees apart, which gave greater stability and allowed the balloon to work at higher wind speeds with two or three observers. From 1916 on, the French could claim confidently, "Notre superiority en aerostation sur l'ennemi est assuree," 17 a claim the traditional military units could not make. Fickle nature intervened, however, and the Germans, thanks to a freak storm on May 15, 1916, that snapped French balloons free and sent them into enemy territory, soon had Caquot-designed balloons in service. The last two years of the war, the Caquot balloon was in universal use. The United States, aside from plans to use balloons in the SpanishAmerican War, had done little with them militarily since the Civil War. One balloon reached Cuba and appeared briefly at San Juan Hill, but its condition, already affected by the warm, sticky climate, rapidly deteriorated under fire, and it was deflated. To its credit in so brief a career, it had provided valuable information on the position of the Spanish fleet. In Washington, military planners assigned balloons and aeroplanes to the Signal Corps along with newfangled things like telephones and telegraphs, assuming that their role would be one of communication. When dirigibles became prominent in Europe, interest revived in aerial ships and the Signal Corps established an experimental plant at Fort Omaha, Nebraska, in 1907, complete with a plant to generate hydrogen and a large steel hangar. By 1909 the experiment was given up—a familiar pattern in the early days—as interest switched to aeroplanes. The Fort, except for annual Signal Corps training classes, slumbered again until late 1916, when events in Europe prompted Brigadier General George Squier, head of the Signal Corps, to place Captain Charles DeForest Chandler, an Army aeroplane and balloon pilot, in charge of forming a balloon corps at Omaha. Little was accomplished before war was declared, aside from sending a skeleton company of Signal Corps men to Omaha to rehabilitate the Fort, at which point a few regular Army officers with aviation experience and enlisted personnel joined them. Equipment was minimal: a few spherical balloons left over from Signal Corps training, the hydrogen plant built in 1909, and one badly worn German sausage balloon—hardly the material for developing military ballooning expertise.

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3

Learning the Ropes My back is sore, my feet are flat, I soon will need a crutch, A 'Hike' for ten or twenty miles they hardly think is much. —"We Never Did that Before," 1918

Fort Omaha—the young men who came there remembered years later that "the large brick barracks, beautiful shade trees surrounding the square parade grounds with the officers' quarters on the terraced hill was a beautiful sight," especially so after a long, tiring train ride.1 From all parts of the country they came, swelling the fort's numbers. The Yale group numbered nine men, among them Frederic Grant; the Columbia University group, including Charles Hayward, had twelve men; a large group of volunteers came from St. Louis, their initial balloon training sponsored by Albert B. Lambert, Aero Club member and avid aeronautics enthusiast; altogether sixty strong, they made up the first cadet class of officer observers. Craig Herbert, a sixteen-year-old volunteer, had joined with his mother's permission and was part of the large contingent from Fort Slocum, New York, that volunteered for Balloon Service to escape from Slocum. Charles M. Anderson joined looking for a "great experience and was not disappointed." Clifford Barrans wanted "to stop Germans from taking France and possibly the United States later." Otto E. Anstrom, a farmer, didn't like the Kaiser and joined when "someone dared me to enlist." Matthew R. Scully, moved by patriotism, quit his $200/month job to earn $15/month

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in the army and "never regreted [sic] the change." 2 All volunteers, they came from the West and Midwest to fill the enlisted men's ranks. Fort Omaha, a sprawling expanse of rolling grassland of some eightyodd acres, had experienced a varied existence from its founding in 1868 as a military reservation, including several name changes before becoming Fort Omaha in 1878. Its design was typical of military forts of its day: a large rectangular parade ground bordered by graceful trees with solid brick barracks, North and South; a Headquarters Building and Guard House by the gate; a canteen and hospital of brick; the hangar and other sheds; and a dignified row of brick officers' houses, the grandest being the commander's, described as having "seen more brass than it has plumbing." 3 It gave a sense of safety and permanence just four and a half miles from downtown Omaha. Strategically located where the Missouri River met the railroad on its way west, the Fort had pulsated with activity in its early days. Supplies were transferred from boats to railroad cars and forwarded to cavalry units fighting in the west while infantry troops trained for Indian fighting in the rolling prairies to the west. There were frequent visitors of rank who came to see something of the Wild West, among them former President and Mrs. Grant, President and Mrs. Hayes, and Grand Duke Alexis, brother of the Czar of Russia, who was entertained by General Sherman on a buffalo hunt. One military ball, an essential feature of an important visit, listed Buffalo Bill Cody and George A. Custer among the guests. In 1896 the Fort's first life ended. Its military depot role no longer needed, the post was abandoned and remained unoccupied until 1905. It was revived as a military post only when the Sherman heirs threatened to reclaim some forty acres leased to the government without cost as long as a military post was maintained there. To fulfill the stipulations of the original contract, Fort Omaha became a school for noncommissioned officers of the Army Signal Corps to learn telephony, electricity, radio, telegraphy, and maintenance for Signal Corps stations in Alaska, the United States, and the Philippine Islands. As part of this school, the Balloon Plant was completed early in 1909, under Captain Chandler's command. The equipment was meager: a few spherical balloons made by Goodyear Rubber Company, both captive and free, and the German Drachen purchased for use in the Spanish-American War but never used. Officers of the Corps from Fort Leavenworth learned balloon handling and made flights in the training classes held every May. A dirigible program, approved in 1908, stemming from European developments in airships, had prompted the construction of a steel hangar and gas plant to house America's first aircraft, "Dirigible No. 1," which arrived in 1909, flown by Lieutenants Foulois, Bamberger, and Winters. One hundred feet long, twenty-two feet in diameter, and holding five thousand cubic feet of hydrogen, the cigar-shaped ship powered by a Glenn

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Curtiss motor was the creation of Thomas Baldwin, veteran balloonist and parachute jumper. An open runway ninety feet long suspended beneath the balloon controlled the ship: To ascend, the crew walked to the rear of the runway; to descend, they went forward to the nose. Unfortunately Dirigible No. 1 had several mishaps, and spherical balloons replaced it in the program. The steel hangar, a soaring structure two hundred by eighty-five feet with a seventy-five-foot ceiling and twin rolling doors, built to house the airship, cost $35,755; the electric hydrogen generator with a capacity of three thousand cubic feet per hour, a storage tank for fifty thousand cubic feet of gas, and a motor-driven compressor for filling steel cylinders were a bargain $36,276. The choice of Fort Omaha as a balloon school was made in Washington without consultation with Captain Chandler. Experienced balloonists could have informed the Signal Corps that it was a poor choice—"too small and balloon operations were to be conducted on a parade ground surrounded by tall trees that were hazardous." 4 They might have added that Omaha endured weather extremes, summer and winter, with strong winds and tornadoes, conditions most inhospitable for balloon training. Although ballooning was the primary activity at the Fort, in 1910 several prominent aviators—Glenn Curtiss, Bud Mars, Eugene Ely, and J. D. McCurdy among them—used it as a flying base. At that time it was not unusual to see balloons and airplanes sharing the sky over the city. Abruptly, all activity ended in October 1913. The Army, more interested in the new heavier-than-air ships, eliminated funds for Fort Omaha, and again it was abandoned, its equipment sent to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, for use there. When the Fort was designated a Balloon School in November 1916, Leo Stevens, a veteran civilian balloonist, was named Chief Instructor and came on board in January 1917. There was little to do until men—the first volunteer enlisted men from the West and Midwest—arrived in April, followed a month later by a contingent from Fort Slocum, and specific orders from Washington came through to shape the Army's newest unit. In May 1917 Captain Chandler was ordered to Washington to become Chief Balloon Officer of the Army under Signal Corps wings, and the command of the Fort was given to a Coast Artillery captain, Hugh McElgin, on temporary duty at the Balloon School. Two provisional companies of ninety men each were set up, and the balance of the enlisted men were attached to what was called the First Balloon School Squadron. On paper it looked like an organization, but it had little substance. On May 24, 1917, Major Frank P. Lahm, an internationally known balloon pilot, was appointed commanding officer of Fort Omaha, and tentatively an organization began to take shape. Unfortunately Lahm was injured in a riding accident in June, which removed him from the active scene. By mid-July he was given a choice of taking sick leave or going to Europe to investigate

18

A GRANDSTAND SEAT

balloon practice among the Allies. Fortunately he chose the latter, because his report on balloon practice at the front helped coordinate balloon training in the United States with the realities of war, training the first classes at Fort Omaha missed. In Lahm's place, Major Henry B. Hersey, who had flown with Lahm to win the first Gordon Bennett Balloon Race in 1906, became head of the Balloon School. He was a good choice, ably suited both by temperament and professional training in meteorology to lead a balloon school. His own ballooning experience was a plus. The first enlisted men at Omaha were introduced promptly to the rigors of Army life, to a routine that lasted until balloon instruction was begun. Reveille was at 0500, the copper cannon boomed its greeting to the day, and the flag went up, followed by roll call, a duty the three West Point officers shared. Next the men "spread out as skirmishers and marched across the parade ground to pick up cigarette butts and other odds and ends" until breakfast, while one detail hauled the officers' garbage to the dump. 5 After breakfast, the men marched to the shed and walked out the old Honeywell balloon, which they pretended to inflate on the ground cloth used to protect the balloon's surface, unfolding it, inflating it, and folding it repeatedly. Infantry drill and Manual of Arms using wooden sticks filled more hours, along with those two dependables of Army life, kitchen police and guard duty. It was a regimen where calisthenics was a welcome change. At the end of the day, new enlistees collapsed thankfully on their bunks in the North or South Barracks, home to the first arrivals. Even then, rest was elusive. In North Barracks, the men were kept on their toes by Captain Prentice's unannounced inspections. Standing at attention, not daring to smile, they watched while the captain "would check the window sill with a hanky for dust!" 6 The arrival of the large contingent of easterners caused eight-man tents to blossom on the parade ground to house them. For many, their entire time at Fort Omaha would be spent in a tent, an experience few forgot. Within months, as more troops arrived, construction began on ten onestory wooden buildings behind South Barracks to house cadets and enlisted men, half and half. Cadets and enlisted men shared the introductory experience together, but even as newcomers, rank had its privileges. The cadets, studying to be observers, were carried on the Army payrolls as sergeants, received more pay (sixteen dollars a month plus six dollars for clothing and laundry) and a larger food allowance than enlisted men, and sported a band of white pique on their hat to indicate their higher status. Enlisted men did their own laundry, discovering in the process that strong laundry soap bleached khaki to an off-white resembling the pants of cavalry officers for whom, with puttees in place, they were frequently mistaken by National Guard men who respectfully saluted, producing laughs all around.

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For those in tents, there were few comforts, but unknowingly they were being seasoned for life overseas. Meals were served in mess kits and eaten sitting on the ground—mess hall came later when new construction began. Men quickly learned, "You can eat fast when it's cold." 7 Summer in a tent was bearable, but changing seasons made life uncomfortable. In spite of the pyramid-shaped Sibley stove in each tent, nights with a stiff wind off the prairie were cold for men used to sleeping indoors. Smoke was carried out of the tent through a heavy metal pipe from the stove, but fire was a constant danger. With no mattress on the canvas folding cots, "the frost came up from the ground," and men resorted to walking up and down to keep the blood circulating.8 Others went to bed fully clothed, glad of the warmth, unless an unannounced inspection forced them to disrobe. In Craig Herbert's tent, six of the eight men went to the hospital for colds. To make matters worse, when it rained, the downward slope of the ground under the row of tents ensured a steady stream of water through each one. Inhabitants at the lowest point could brag, they had an indoor swimming pool. After much complaining, the tents were moved to a dryer location across from officers' row, considered a great improvement by the men. They were drier, and they could keep an eye on the officers' hired girls. The lucky inhabitants of the barracks gloated over their good fortune to the newcomers and, not content with that, conducted their own initiation into Army life. Many of them, because they were first on the scene, were made noncommissioned officers, from which exalted position they ordered the new men around, assigned the various details needed for orderly camp life, and "didn't do a tap of work from then on." 9 It was a rude introduction to the Army caste system. Months later, the overnight transformation of former tent mates into officers—first names forgotten—was another shock. The daily routine became more balloon conscious. Inflated balloons were marched to an ascension point from their hangar, a tricky maneuver that required special effort to keep thirty-eight men moving in precise steps together, raised to the call "ease off!," then hauled down and marched back to the shed. Rope splicing, tying knots—particularly square knots—and rigging the balloon and basket correctly were tedious work for inexperienced fingers. Repair and maintenance of the balloons filled more hours. Parachute packing, with newspaper placed carefully between each fold, could not be practiced too often as realization came that life or death would depend on such meticulousness. As the Balloon Section in Washington gathered more information about balloon use in France, the enlisted men were introduced to other specialties: field phones, Morse Code with a wig-wag system, first aid, and mechanical repairs. And always, there was pick-and-shovel work as men learned to dig balloon beds, build streets and gutters for an expanding fort, and construct

20

A GRANDSTAND SEAT

a series of trenches, connected by telephone lines, to train observers in pinpointing exact locations. The arrival of new balloons, the Upson Kites designed by Ralph Upson and manufactured by Goodyear Rubber Company, signaled new handling techniques. The Upsons were captive balloons, attached by a steel cable to a motorized winch designed at Omaha for raising and lowering the bag; they were used exclusively for training purposes, although Leo Stevens flew one to see how it behaved. His comment: not well. Overseas, the French Caquot, Type R, was the balloon of choice, but Fort Omaha did not see one until the first classes were almost finished with their training. The ground crews learned to untie sandbags in unison from the stakes that held the balloon to the ground just enough to float it to an ascension site where the basket was attached. With the cable fastened and with bags off, the balloon was eased up to allow the steel cable to be wound on the winch. Once the winch took over, ropes were dropped on all sides and the handlers promptly stepped back to avoid getting tangled in them and taken aloft. Leo Stevens in spite of years of experience was carried up thirty feet on one occasion before the handlers on the ground could reverse the upward movement of the balloon and get him safely down. The increased activity as groups practiced their skills was finding the parade ground a tight fit. The Hydrogen Plant required special training, its volatile product careful attention. Familiarity could breed overconfidence and carelessness. Production was simple enough: An electric current was shot through water, separating hydrogen and oxygen, and the hydrogen was piped off into cylinders about four feet long. New trainees were warned repeatedly of the explosive nature of the gas: "If valves are inspected while the balloon is inflated, never touch them until first having touched the fabric of the balloon. . . . Static discharges from persons touching metal parts without first grounding themselves have caused the explosion and loss of balloons." 10 In spite of such warnings, one accident at the Fort in May 1918 killed Privates Vincent Beall and John Davis who were removing "rotten gas," a mixture of air and hydrogen, from the tail of an old balloon in the canvas hangar. The procedure called for the nose valve to be tied open, and "the bag rolled up like a tube of toothpaste." 11 Static electricity from the men's woolen uniform rubbing against the balloon caused a spark, the balloon exploded, the two men were burned to death, and twenty-two others were injured. Immediately the call went out, "Everybody from Company 14 report," which was the only way to find out who was missing.12 By mid-June the cadets in observer training had begun their Army life as sergeants under the temporary command of Lieutenant John Jouett, a former football athlete at West Point, who put them through the paces of calisthenics and infantry drill before introducing them to balloons. The first morning, at the end of a strenuous workout, Jouett ordered the men to

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circle the road bordering the parade ground at a run, perhaps three-fourths of a mile. Unwittingly, he picked a former Yale half-miler, Bill Crehore, whose record was two minutes flat, to lead the group. With long, smooth strides he set off. Behind him, one by one, the cadets dropped out, unable to keep up the pace. Calisthenics continued daily, but that was the last time the session ended with a run around the parade ground. That same month, under Hersey's command, a regular schedule of instruction began. Every day, weather permitting, licensed pilots took several cadets on training flights in the free balloons; the anchored kite balloons made hourly ascensions with a pilot and one cadet to teach the fundamentals of observation. Strips of canvas, stretched along the ground about five miles from the fort, simulated trenches until the real thing was built. At intervals, a smoke bomb would be exploded near them to give the effect of shell fire. The cadet reported by phone what he saw during his ascension, and his reports were checked against the record sent in from the men stationed at the cloth strips. Sometimes a truck train was made up and driven at a distance for the cadets to practice reporting. Cadets who weren't flying performed regulation infantry drill, followed by classes in maintenance and repair of balloons and equipment. As future officers, it was important they know the correct procedures to check on the handlers' work. Late in the afternoon, all cadets who were not flying met with Major Hersey to discuss a variety of subjects ranging from Army regulations to meteorology and the fine points of piloting a free balloon under different weather conditions. The first emphasis in cadet training was on free ballooning, reflecting the British view that observers should know how to pilot a balloon if it got loose. Later, with input from the front, the emphasis in training changed to reflect the French view that free ballooning was not important, conditioned largely by the fact that the prevailing winds blew toward Germany and the French believed an observer should get a loose balloon down if possible or jump. Trained men were more valuable than balloons. By 1918, Americans had dropped the free ballooning requirement, which speeded up the training course for observers. The change reflected the increased prominence of the observer's role in military action following the first Battle of the Marne when the war devolved into trench war, what military writers describe as a war of position. The French realized belatedly that, contrary to the general belief of their military, the effectiveness of their artillery was not absolute, that balloons could do more than defend fortified positions.13 From tragic experience, French and British military commands learned that German observers could pinpoint opposing batteries and concentrations of men as targets as well as provide valuable information on enemy positions and movements. The all-seeing observer, from his height behind the front line, passed on data by telephone of any change from the regular routine that might indicate a

22

A GRANDSTAND SEAT

new operation about to begin. Details as trivial as extra cars on a train, a convoy moving toward the front, or clouds of dust rising in the distance warned of possible enemy action and alerted headquarters to respond. Once an action began, the observer became the eyes for the artillery, identifying the position of enemy batteries, assisting with adjusting fire on targets, reporting on the success of the shoot, and, when war became one of movement, reporting on the position of the infantry. How to train men for such duty? What kind of men should they be? The first was easier to answer than the second. The British, with their long attachment to horses, had this thought on observers: "The requirements are the same as for horsemanship—good hands, a good head, steady nerves, and judgment." Another authority wrote that good observers "are rather more rare than good Pilots, and it is remarkable that the Observer is much more conscious of strain than the Pilot." 14 Bernard Oliver, an observer in the Royal Flying Corps, recounted an incident showing the effect of that strain. Oliver had a slight stammer when young that returned under stress; his CO had a very bad stammer. In the balloon one day, an urgent call for a map reference on a German gun firing on a British gun site was quickly identified, but the stricken CO, telephone in hand, "could not say a word." In his despair, he handed the telephone to Oliver, only to find that he, too, "was speechless."15 Common sense would dictate that neither man belonged in the balloon, certainly not together, but the British service could not be choosy. The French, reflecting a different temperament, believed other qualities were essential for an observer: good physical condition, especially good eyesight; the ability to orient oneself quickly and read the firing map, as important as eyesight; sufficient education to become an officer; a firm belief in one's ability to carry out the work, coupled with nerves of steel to endure the most tragic situations. In short, beaucoup de sang froid?6 The perfect combination blended nervelessness with the special eye of an artist rather than a military man, imagination tempered by discipline— "a volunteer—and a little bit crazy"—a combination of love of flying with sufficient fatalism to keep one cool when the rest of the neighborhood was hot. 17 Americans in 1917 had given little thought to what qualities made a good observer; the service was too new, and necessity dictated taking any ablebodied man within reach, typically a volunteer in the early months of the war. A memo from now Colonel Chandler, head of the Balloon Section, Air Service, was the closest Americans came to analysis: "A good observer is a sort of human periscope who transmits all the things he sees without trying to interpret." Not only must he be absolutely trustworthy, he should "have no nerves." 18 In the first months of the war, the balloon service received a number of men whose first choice was aviation, but because of shortages of training schools and airplanes, they were sent to balloons,

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where most of them served happily. As the demand for observers increased in 1918, artillery officers frequently were ordered to balloon service to train as observers, but though they perhaps gained new respect for observers, many of them were not at ease aloft. On September 12, 1917, almost three months after the first classes began at Omaha, General Pershing wired Washington: KITE BALLOON SITUATION ON FRENCH FRONT VERY SERIOUS. FIFTY COMPANIES URGENTLY NEEDED. FRENCH REQUESTED YOU LAST JUNE TO SUPPLY FIFTY COMPANIES. UNDERSTOOD YOU WOULD DO SO . . . URGE YOU INCREASE CAPACITY YOUR SCHOOL AND INCREASE EFFORT TURN OUT STUDENTS RAPIDLY.1 y It was an impossible order, given the newness of the service, the lack of effective organization, and the shortage of instructors with military experience. Observers were easier to supply than the noncommissioned officers and specialists who manned the telephones, repaired balloons, were skilled with ropes, and operated the winch. Many more of them were needed to supply a company than observers, and the instructors to train men in these specialties were few in number, the majority of them overseas. Lack of proper equipment caused further delay. The French had developed excellent equipment for ballooning, but instead of adopting their designs immediately, American manufacturers wasted time and money on less practical ideas, primarily because no American officers in Washington knew the first thing about balloons or their use on the front lines. Major Lahm's report would help rectify the situation, but American production of Caquot-R balloons was delayed. The sixty cadets in the first Omaha class were oblivious to these problems, so absorbed were they in learning about and flying balloons. The first free balloon ride, undertaken soon after training began, was pure joy. Frederic Grant went up with Yale classmate, Bill Crehore, and Lieutenant Jouett as pilot. Grant's job was reading the instruments and keeping a five-minute record of altitude and position. There was a good wind that morning, and the balloon rose quickly, caught by a current, barely clearing the shed and the trees behind it. Much to the cadets' surprise, there was no sense of motion, no feeling of breeze, as the balloon moved with the wind. It was a strange sensation of being part of outer space, detached from the world slipping by below. Very quickly the balloon was at four thousand feet, moving southeast over Omaha at a speed of forty-five to fifty miles per hour. "We struck several whirlpools and peculiar currents, but Lieut. Jouett either dropped out sand and raised us or opened the valve and let us know |what he was doing]. We fell 550 feet in one minute, according to my calculations and yet we were absolutely unable to tell the difference except by the instruments." 20

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A GRANDSTAND SEAT

With the supply of sand going rapidly and the balloon well into Missouri, Lieutenant Jouett decided to land. Balloon and basket dropped down to about one thousand feet with an eye on a field where men and mules were working. Fortunately the balloon sailed over their heads, shot up over a road, was beaten down by a gust of wind, striking a telegraph pole, where it hung on the wires for six seconds—to the cadets it seemed six years— before being carried by the wind to the ground. The collapsed balloon, caught by the wind, billowed out like a parachute to drag the basket and its passengers for one hundred yards before the gust died out and the basket was at rest. Grant observed: "A landing like ours is very unusual, as most of them are very tame affairs, almost like lying down on a feather bed." 21 Once down, the balloon had to be carefully rolled, the large metal valve on top of the balloon removed, and all equipment stowed in the basket with a cover laced over the top. A helpful farmer appeared in a truck and offered to drive the group to the next town, which was on a railroad line. The equipment was expressed for delivery to the Fort, and the travelers were home again by eight o'clock that night. The flight had lasted one hour, thirty-nine minutes; the distance was eighty-two miles. For the two cadets, it was an extraordinary beginning with six more flights to go for licensing, including one night flight and a solo. The next day Grant was assigned to a tethered kite for his first ascension, a very different experience from free flying. A moderate but gusty wind intensified the impression that kite ballooning was like sailing—a strong wind gives "the side roll of a ship and the up and down motion peculiar to a balloon." Grant found it exhilarating but admitted that "every time a gust hits the balloon you imagine it is coming to pieces."22 In spite of this worry, Grant practiced using the telephone to relay information from the observer, Captain Vaughn, to the ground crew in a simulation of reporting with smoke bombs placed near canvas strips, representing trenches. The balloon reports were compared with those of the crew near the canvas to determine accuracy. Not unlike conditions on the front, there was considerable mist, which hampered the balloon's work. On the last day of June four cadets with a newly licensed officer as pilot set off to try for a distance record in a free balloon. The breeze was steady, and they were carried east into Iowa some 280 miles before landing. As they climbed out of the basket, they were met by a group of farmers with rifles and shotguns, who were sure they had a German Zeppelin surrounded. No amount of talking convinced them of the group's identity. The five prisoners were handed over to National Guard officers from a nearby camp, who thought it a huge joke to have five "Regulars" as prisoners and promptly released them. Shortly after July 4, a new group of cadets arrived, raising the total number to eighty-six. The new arrivals were put into a second class for training and saw little of the earlier cadets except after duty. At the same

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time, Sergeant Major Hill of the British Balloon Service arrived to assist with training, primarily instructing the men who would service and repair the balloons at the front. He was most willing to talk with the cadets and answer questions. A major experienced in balloon work at the front was reported on his way to Omaha but was detained in Washington to advise there. On July 9 Grant was notified he would be part of the crew on a night flight, another first, with Lieutenant Frank Goodale as pilot. Goodale, like Leo Stevens, was a professional balloonist, recently commissioned by the Army. Shortly before midnight, with an unusual westerly wind, the balloon rose high above Omaha, which formed a fascinating pattern of lights below. Gradually, the lights of one city receded and the glow of another rose in the distance; the wind had shifted to the southwest, and Lincoln was ahead. Dropping more ballast, the balloon rose higher; the night became colder as the flight continued steadily southwest for the next two hours. Dawn came early from the balloon's height, another "magnificent" first for the cadets. With the first light, Goodale opened the valve to let gas out, causing the balloon to drop very low. He explained that the sun would expand the remaining gas and the balloon would rise rapidly unless its height was carefully controlled by the drag rope, an unusually long thick rope fastened to the side of the basket which dragged on the ground at low levels. Its end was bound into a point to keep it from catching in trees or other objects; its use helped keep the balloon at a constant height. More rope on the ground relieved the balloon of that weight—the same effect as throwing ballast out—and the balloon would rise slightly; conversely, if the balloon edged upward, part of the rope left the ground and its added weight stopped the balloon's rise. The balloon, balanced by its rope, traveled for another half hour, when a farmhouse loomed up below. The crew threw out ballast and hauled up the rope—but not fast enough. It hit the farm house with a resounding thud. Almost immediately, "people of all ages came running out, most of them in night clothes." The balloonists shouted and waved, but Grant remarked later, "I would hardly say that their response was friendly."23 Shortly after, with the sun fully up, the cadets watched the balloon rise as the gas expanded from the heat, it was time to land—this time, a gentle set-down in an oat field. While the Lieutenant went in search of transportation, the crew packed up the balloon and its equipment—and caught a quick nap. By the end of July the scarcity of balloons, coupled with an increased number of cadets, necessitated sending some of the first class to St. Louis for further free ballooning instruction to hasten their licensing as pilots. (Later classes went to San Antonio where Colonel Lambert from St. Louis trained pilots at $1,000 a head.) On their return they were expected to help

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A GRANDSTAND SEAT

instruct the new men at Omaha. The school at St. Louis, the former St. Louis Aeronautical Society plant, was staffed by civilian balloonists Cap Honeywell and Paul McCullough. The field, about an hour from the city by streetcar, had once been an amusement park. There was a kitchen of sorts where a large woman known only as "Cookie" prepared meals, but otherwise the cadets did the work. They slept on cots in the former dance pavilion, did the dish washing, sweeping and cleaning, in addition to repairing and inflating the balloons. The equipment was different: Balloons used the city's coal gas, which lacked the buoyancy of hydrogen and had a strong odor; the bags were a different quality, a much heavier cotton coated with a pliant varnish to make them gas proof. The "America," which had flown in a Gordon Bennett Race before the war, was among them, but it was damaged beyond repair on a night flight to Terre Haute, Indiana, and Cap Honeywell ordered it burned. Its destruction played in the local newspapers as "the burning to avoid letting out secrets." 24 Because balloons were scarce, they went up, returned, were inspected and sent off again often in the same day. It was a busy schedule, but within a matter of weeks, the cadets had made the required flights, plus a solo, and were duly licensed as free balloon pilots by Aero Club of America. They were confident they could "handle any balloon after this." 25 Charles Hayward and Robert Keefe shared that sentiment, following their free balloon flight on a sultry July morning. Planning to return the balloon quickly for another flight, all was in order as the twenty-five thousand cubic foot balloon rose into the air from St. Louis and languidly moved eastward. Dropping small pieces of newspaper overboard, the cadets could check air movement in different strata. Over East St. Louis the balloon stalled, and the cadets, with little sand left, decided to head down. Spotting a field just north of a railroad yard, they threw the drag rope over to lessen downward and horizontal speed, the rope threatening to catch between two railroad cars in the yard below. In a frantic effort to lighten the load, shoes, leggings, jackets, empty sand bags, all went overboard, and the drag rope lifted to carry them over the train. Valving again to release gas, the basket hit hard and bounced, facing the Illinois Traction Company's high-speed electric line to Chicago. Hayward and Keefe grabbed the rip cord and hung on, then felt the basket stop against the near rail. Looking up, they saw the bag draped over the trolley wire and a three-wire high-tension line, squeezed together with wires flashing. The cadets cleared the basket, ran crosswind along the track bed and heard a loud "poof" with a flash of heat at their backs. Turning to look, black smoke was rising from the balloon, but the wires had stopped flashing. The cadets hauled the basket off the track as a group of young Negro boys came running up, who, for twenty-five cents an item, were glad to

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retrieve the cadets' belongings. Cadets carried small sums of money as a matter of course to repay people who helped recover equipment. Looking about, the cadets saw that the burning balloon fabric had set fire to the grassy field. Flames were moving toward a row of little houses some two hundred yards away. Donning shoes and leggings again, the cadets used their jackets to beat the burning grass, yanking off fence boards already ablaze, as the local firemen with back tanks and brooms came to the rescue. The police, next on the scene, escorted the cadets to the fire station where they called for a pickup and learned that the city was in the middle of a serious race riot. Their choice of a landing spot, in spite of wire and track hazards, was a lucky one—there were few people.26 After that experience, the cadets knew: Hell, yes, they could fly anything! Back at Fort Omaha again, they found more men and more officers, among them Major Donald R. Hannay of the British Balloon Service and Captain Max Fleischmann, American big-game hunter, polo player, aviator, and balloon enthusiast, who was installed in one of the better houses on Officers' Row. Hannay brought a Caquot, Type M, with him for instruction; officers and men had their first look at the drudge horse of balloons, already superseded in Europe by the Type R Caquot. Cadet Grant was named acting First Sergeant of his class, in charge of the daily drill and calisthenics. Guard duty was divided among the noncommissioned officers; unlucky fellows drew Saturday-Sunday for twentyfour-hour duty, but no enlisted man thought that this was hardship. Hardship was KP! In addition to their regular classes on observation and balloon maneuvering problems at the front taught by the Major, the noncoms were each assigned a squad from the enlisted men at the Fort for drill practice. On one occasion, wrong commands issued by inexperienced noncoms tangled the whole maneuver. The enlisted men enjoyed the spectacle, but Lieutenant Jouett, a consummate drill master, watched in speechless amazement. When the drill ended, the future officers received a blistering dressing down from Jouett to the delight of the ranks. Humor added spice and kept the men going. One company, after a long hike, was told by their commanding officer to take one step forward if they felt they had had enough. All but one did so. Said the curious officer to the lone standee, "Can you go a few more miles?" "No, Sir!" was the reply. "I'm too tired to take the extra step." Among the eight hundred new recruits from Kelly Field—many too heavy to be pilots—was one disenchanted fellow who, when asked by Sergeant Zuber, a tough old-timer, if he had any preference between assistant cook or KP answered: "If he had his druthers, he'd rather be an ex-service man." 27 Enlisted men still fell for an innocent inquiry from a top sergeant: "Who would like to do paper work? Step forward." Whereupon the gullible volunteers were handed sticks with points to clean up the grounds. One time it was, "Who would like to work with machines? Step forward." They

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A GRANDSTAND SEAT

were given lawn mowers to tidy the parade ground. Another time it was, "Anyone here know shorthand? Step forward one pace." The unsuspecting volunteers were told to report to the kitchen—"That's where we are shorthanded." 28 As the months passed, the old hands ignored such questions, waiting for the newer soldiers to respond. Guard duty could be an unlikely source of amusement, especially if the guards were zealous in their duty. Stationed at the Main Gate, the Hydrogen Plant, and along Officers' Row (late returnees from town could take a chance at getting into the Fort by going the long way around through Florence Field), with nothing more than a wooden stick as a weapon, the guards sometimes relieved monotony by stopping officers as they went from the gate to their home. On one occasion, an overzealous guard shouted, "Halt! Who goes there?" The officer answered, and the guard ordered, "Dismount Captain So-and-so and advance to be recognized!" Satisfied with the identification, "Halt, Go ahead" sent the officer on his way. For some reason the officer left his home almost immediately and was challenged again. This time, the captain, quite annoyed, muttered under his breath, "Gee-zus Christ!" The guard heard and snapped, "Advance Jesus Christ to be recognized!"29 As the captain was one of the officious West Pointers, the entire Fort heard the story by breakfast.

4

Goodbye Omaha You know it takes a little long to get things going right. —"We Are On Our Way to France," 1918 In early September, Washington ordered the organization of two balloon squadrons of four companies each. The First Balloon Squadron, commanded by Captain Harry Vaughn, was assigned only one company, however, with three cadets from the Yale group. On September 22, the First Squadron with now Major Vaughn left for Fort Sill, Oklahoma, with orders to start another balloon school there. The rumor factory at Omaha had the company going overseas, much to the disappointment of those left behind. Formation of the Second Balloon Squadron was announced on September 12, commanded by Major John Paegelow and comprised of four companies, A, B, C, and D. They would be the first to go overseas. Company B, commanded by Captain Fleischmann, had Lieutenant Jouett as senior and four cadets as "acting officers," assuming the duties of company officers, until they received their commissions. Frederic Grant, designated technical officer in charge of balloon and gas maintenance, thanks to honors in chemistry at Yale, spent as much time as possible at the gas plant. Captain Fleischmann held regular meetings at night to discuss company affairs, emphasizing he intended to make B the finest balloon company in the Army. Toward that end, the officers were told to pick enlisted men for the company who would be an asset to the unit. Very quickly the complement of ninety was chosen; the rest went on a reserve list. Later, when the captain

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A GRANDSTAND SEAT

announced that he wanted only men willing to go overseas, eighteen men dropped out; the reserves were all added. One result of the reorganization was that some companies moved into the new wooden barracks. After six months in a tent, it was heaven: heat, light, bathroom, dining room, metal cots, mattresses, sheets, pillows, shelves, hangers—the comforts were legion to former tenters. Best of all was the mess. Captain Fleischmann had signed up the best chef in Omaha and made him Mess Sergeant. "Every meal was a banquet," grey pudding a thing of the past!1 The pace quickened at the Fort. Company offices were opened and staffed, and routines and administrative procedures established for each. Fleischmann advised his officers to get clothes and equipment ready to move on short notice; a flurry of shopping and fittings followed as uniforms, bed rolls, warm blankets, and foot lockers began to fill the space in quarters. Charles Hayward, one of the Columbia group, was appointed Supply Officer for Company D, then for the entire squadron. His duties took him into Omaha five and a half days a week to buy supplies and equipment—some of it of special design like the rolling cook stoves—sign contracts, and arrange for deliveries. The rumble of his motorcycle sidecar, driven by Pat Haynes, became a familiar sound as he gathered a multimillion dollar equipment complement for the squadron that included everything: "chutes, tools, guns, puttees, shirts, ammunition, the works." 2 His special pride was the five rolling kitchens with Core motors that served hot food from a flat steel table with slots to hold the huge cooking pots; heat came from a fire built under the steel top. It was a military axiom: Warm food made for happy soldiers. In addition to their special duties, the new officers continued drilling practice and flying the Upson kites with their three umbrella-shaped cups hanging in a row at the rear like the tail of a kite, to steady the balloon. Frederic Grant even as a novice speculated, "The tailcups are great clumsy things that might pull off and leave the balloon out of balance." 3 He was right. On October 9 Grant and Stuart Kellogg were up in the Company B kite balloon. A brisk wind put considerable tension on the cable holding the balloon as the balloon's nose pointed into the wind. The observers, binoculars in hand, were reporting simulated shell fire north of Florence Field when the tail section of the balloon took off and fluttered to earth. Grant remembered Kellogg's calm comment, "Fred, our tail cups are gone." For a moment the balloon rode nicely. Kellogg described what happened next in a letter to his sister: Just then the wind caught the balloon on the top and the nose straight down. The basket hit the balloon a wallop, and then down we started—and we certainly did fall. We were swinging all around and bumping into the balloon so hard that it

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was a wonder to me that we didn't go clean through it. Of course the basket was all tangled up in the rigging, and all that we could do was to crouch down in the basket and hang on. We swung up underneath some telephone wires, and on the back swing the wind caught us again, and up we went a couple of hundred feet. We were lucky enough to have another gentle landing, and this time the men who were there grabbed our ropes and held us down. It was quite a ride, and neither of us got any more than a mild shaking up. I wouldn't have missed it for anything.4

Captain Fleischmann, speaking with the press, declared, "It was nothing— just a thrill for the boys." To the ground crew, the observers' safe return was nothing short of a miracle, which they chalked up to "the company's Guardian Angel.'" Very soon, the old kites would be abandoned in favor of the Caquot, Type R, the design of Albert Caquot of the French Balloon Corps, the first of which reached Omaha October 22. The Goodyear Rubber Company, using Caquot's drawings, produced and sold copies to the French and British in 1918 that were used for training. The gas bag was ninety-two feet long (the German "Drachen" was sixty-five feet); its diameter at the widest was twenty-six feet; its capacity was 32,200 cubic feet with a gross lift of 2,600 pounds, lift enough for a basket, two observers, and their equipment or for two baskets with one observer each. The French sent a winch designed by Caquot with the Type R: an eleven-ton four-wheel drive truck with solid tires, powered by an eighty-five-horsepower Dion Bouton engine, with four thousand feet of Vk-inch steel cable on a drum and a super clutch, which allowed the operator to play the balloon with his feet the way a flyfisherman uses his reel and lessening, thereby, the air movement of the balloon. The Caquot's fabric was double-ply cotton, approximately 140 threads to the inch both ways, the two layers of cloth cemented together with rubber and placed so that the weave of one was diagonal to the weave of the other. This added to the cloth's strength and enabled it to resist considerable pressure when made up into a bag. To rubberize the cloth it was run through a spreading machine thirty to thirty-five times to apply a coating that was a flawless, thin rubber film. Next, the outside surface was painted with a colored rubber compound, which did three things: waterproofed the fabric, gave protective coloring to the balloon while it was in the air, and absorbed the actinic rays of the sun that are "so fatal to the life of rubber." Sometimes the rubber film was colored to withstand heat and ultraviolet rays, giving protection to the rubber and preventing gas expansion from too much heat. (An existing sample of fabric is dark grey on one side, almost black on the other; the weave is tight. Another piece is multicolored—grey, purple, black, green.) In order to produce such fabric, American production had to be redesigned; new machines were built

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A GRANDSTAND SEAT

to hold a wider cloth, and valuable time was lost. By the end of the war, cloth was being produced for ten balloons a day, an expansion in the industry "amounting to 3,000 per cent in 19 months." 6 What made the Caquot different was the placement of the ballonette (air chamber), the lower of the two chambers of a balloon. It was forward, along the bottom, inside the balloon bag and separated from the gas chamber by a diaphragm of rubberized cloth, slightly below a median line from the balloon's nose to its tail. When the gas envelope was fully inflated, the diaphragm rested on the underbody of the gas envelope and the ballonette was airless. As the balloon went up, air filled the ballonette through an opening (the scoop) under the nose of the balloon and pushed the diaphragm up; when hauling down, or in cold weather, when gas contracts, the ballonette compensated for any loss of gas from the envelope because of outside air pressure. It automatically helped keep the balloon bag's shape. Because gas expands in higher altitudes, a safety valve placed at the top of the envelope opened before the danger point to prevent bursting. Conversely, at anchor on the ground, the gas chamber would slowly lose gas, as no fabric is airtight, and become flabby, a dangerous condition for the observers in the basket. The new placement of the ballonette overcame this tendency, increased stability, lessened tension on the cable, and let the balloon ride almost horizontally in the air. On a calm day, "if no air is driven into the ballonette, there is no danger of a flabby balloon anyhow, and hence no need for the air chamber." Lobes of rubberized fabric, placed equidistant around the circumference of the rear third of the balloon acted as rudders, filling with air on a windy day to lend stability; if calm, the two upper lobes "hung loosely, resembling elephant ears." 7 To the troops below, the nickname "elephant" came naturally, but in spite of its ungainly appearance, it was marvelous to handle. Fall found the observers practicing dropping propaganda leaflets from the basket, and in preparation for France they were introduced to parachutes. Packing a chute had been part of the training routine for some time, but there had been no jumps. Leo Stevens had ordered six chutes from a company in New Jersey for testing with sandbags, but each one proved defective, splitting at the seams after opening and dropping the bags in a rush. Other designs were tried with little more success. Most of the chutes became fouled and "zipped to earth like meteors," the chute unopened. 8 In October a French silk chute arrived and proved totally trustworthy in tests. When the war began, balloon observers worked without parachutes. It was only after the death of Marechal des Logis Roze on October 14, 1915, that French military authorities decreed the use of parachutes. The Marechal, working above Jonchery in Champagne, was attacked by a German airplane that dove suddenly out of the clouds, firing at the balloon, which caught fire and dropped swiftly to the ground—its observer burned to death. This tragic incident awakened officialdom to the need to protect

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valuable observers. Parachutes had been part of French Army equipment since 1912, but the inertia of the bureaucracy was to blame for this lapse.9 The first parachute jump in the American Army was made by Lieutenant Goodale on October 19 before an audience that included former President William H. Taft and prominent Omahans. "Taft Thrilled By Aviator's Daring," trilled the Omaha Bee the following day. Reportedly Taft said that he would like to do the same himself if the folks at home would not object. Goodale, on his first jump, experienced no trouble as he leaped from a balloon 1,500 feet above the ground and came down in a good open spot. Later, when General Leonard Wood arrived for an inspection, Cadet John Richardson made a jump in the General's honor, the first by an officer candidate, and the rush was on. Charles Hayward was the second cadet to jump. Not to be outdone, Col. Hersey went up the next morning, his balloon soon lost in the clouds with only the cable visible. Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and seconds later the Colonel appeared drifting down under a billowing parachute. Hersey explained afterwards, he couldn't ask anyone to do something he wasn't willing to do himself, an attitude that endeared him to all ranks. The townspeople were amused and mystified by such activities at the Fort. On one occasion, a streetcar conductor visiting the Fort saw a cable stretching into the sky, where it disappeared into a cloud. Amazed by the sight, he remarked to a couple of the soldiers, "They are certainly doing wonderful things now. There they have got a steel rod not more than half an inch thick sticking straight up into the sky. I suppose they use electricity to keep it up." 1 0 Training quickened at the Fort. The construction of a seventy-foot tower enabled Colonel Hersey to train more cadets in observation; a new hydrogen plant was begun that would double the production of gas; the ground crews worked strenuously every day as new canvas hangars were erected at the southwest corner of the parade ground, then at the new training area at Florence Field west of the Fort. As a training lesson, Company B pioneered the first field trip, complete with rolling kitchen. A balloon bed eighty feet long, ten to twelve feet deep, was dug as the crews wielded picks and shovels approximating conditions at the front. The comforts of the barracks were gone; dinner was eaten in mess kits; washing was done in a basin; eight-man tents housed the company; latrines and a dump were set up; telephone lines were strung from a command post to the balloon and the chart room. A fleet of Packard trucks carried the hydrogen cylinders needed to inflate a balloon and the manifold to connect cylinders with a balloon. Full-pack hikes were ordered to build stamina; trenches were dug around the Florence Field hangar; maneuvering practice left hands skinned and sore from pulling the ropes. Feet and hands were inspected, and blisters were treated with zinc oxide to teach the importance of healthy feet to a moving

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A GRANDSTAND SEAT

army. The gas detail practiced with a "nurse balloon," which stored extra gas for inflating a balloon. With shoes off to avoid the danger of hobnails causing an electric spark, and with more experience, the men could push against the side of the inflating balloon and tell when it was sufficiently full. Daily flights were made, even if weather conditions were not right. Company D lost control of an Upson that headed for Iowa, but now Major Fleischmann, the resourceful sportsman, chased it by car and shot it down with his elephant gun near Spring Valley, Iowa. As training accelerated in anticipation of shipping out, the men were readied in another way. A series of lectures warned them of the perils of lewd women. When Major Fleischmann gave the lecture, the men had a hard time to keep from laughing—he lisped. Not content to lecture, he brought "protection by the gross," urging everyone to help themselves to the product—bashful men could ask for an envelope. Within days, the officers' children were running around the Fort "trailing Caquot shaped, hydrogen-filled white balloons on a string." 11 Early in their Omaha training, a silent movie portraying the benefits of keeping pure was shown. As the hero resisted one temptation, then another, and still another—all scantily clad—the audience supplied comments progressively more raucous and boisterous. The officers' families seated in the balcony must have complained; thereafter, movies reverted to cowboys and Indians fare. The quickened pace with its accompanying spate of rumors had the ranks on edge. Those who had passes relieved tension by socializing in Omaha. At first, the townspeople had not been overly friendly toward the Army men filling the city streets, and when a girl got "in trouble," a newspaper article warned mothers to keep their daughters away from Fort Omaha. Fighting mad, some of the men had marched down 16th Street to the paper's office, demanding a retraction of the article, which was printed three days later on the back page. Attitudes of Omahans changed quickly, however, once the draft began and people realized that the soldiers might be the boys from the next block. In fact, a year later, the shoe was on the other foot. T. H. Weirich, superintendent of the Omaha board of public welfare, observed: "The younger girls flirt and tempt the soldiers. . . . [Ajlmost without exception the girls have made the first advances." 12 Unknowingly, Omaha had ushered in the age of the "Vamp." The cadets never had trouble relaxing in pleasant surroundings. As future officers, they were desirable escorts for the young ladies of Omaha; the doors of local society were always open. The country club welcomed the newcomers, there were frequent dances at Carter Lake, and the local clubs entertained regularly—enlisted men and cadets alike. Twenty dollar "Smilage Books," to keep the men out of trouble, could be redeemed at movies and entertainment places. The city's two burlesque theaters were popular.

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The same girls performed first at one theater, then the other, while a movie played at the first. The night before Prohibition took effect was memorable. Soldiers found themselves "grabbed into one saloon after another" by friendly townsmen. Yes sir, Omaha was "very hospitable." 13 Now when the Second Squadron with its four companies was ready to ship out, Omaha felt a real sense of loss. Almost without knowing it, city and Fort had become entwined. News of the squadron's imminent departure meant that Thanksgiving dinners would have fewer guests and the Syracuse-Nebraska football game in Lincoln would have fewer spectators. The Red Cross canteen would be minus the help of Mrs. Fleischmann three days a week, who, with local ladies, staffed the canteen from 0500 until the "last sandbagger had finished his field detail." The canteen was "the social center, the life and joy of the post," its popularity due as much to the young ladies as to the food.14 As the squadron prepared to leave, the Omaha Bee reported that Major Paegelow was presented with a purse of money, the surplus from the expenses of running the canteen to buy "extras" for the boys when they arrived overseas, the amount to be divided equally between the mess funds of the companies. Overseas, there was no further mention of this fund. Undoubtedly, the Headquarters Company ate especially well. Orders were handed down to get rid of all surplus clothing, the leather leggings so like officers' gear were forbidden, fatigue suits were thrown out. Company equipment was packed in crates along with kitchen supplies, tools, tires, vehicles, and motorcycles to be readily available in France. The men, in tents again to toughen them, played football between ascensions to keep fit and took on double duties when the newly formed 3rd and 4th Balloon Squadrons broke out with measles and were quarantined in their barracks. The company picture was taken in front of South Barracks and Major Fleischmann stunned the ranks by announcing that he wanted only "volunteers" to go with him to France. Twelve men opted out, their place taken by the reserve list volunteers. The CO read the men the Articles of War—taking pictures or keeping a diary was forbidden—and warned again of the pitfalls of pleasure. Passes to town were issued every other night; there was a rush to say goodbye to friends. Then on the night of November 26, 1917, the guards at the gate refused to honor passes— "the 2nd Balloon Squadron wasn't allowed out." 15 They knew what that meant. Frantic packing ensued that night; everything had to be ready to move by morning. The long wait, the flood of rumors, the unease of not knowing what was to come were over.

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5

The Americans Are Here! We'll shed no tears for we have no fears We're off for Germany —"Marching Through Germany," 1917 On the afternoon of November 27 the four Second Balloon Squadron companies were inspected by Colonel Hersey, then, each man carrying a full load, they boarded the trolley for downtown. At 16th and Howard Streets, they formed up and marched behind a band from Fort Crook to the Great Western Railroad Station. The streets were thronged with cheering spectators, intent on giving the first squadron from the Fort to actually go to France a royal send-off. There were plenty of tears—the boys had made many good friends—but the marchers, excited to be going at last, showed that they had learned a thing or two in the months of drill and stepped along smartly under the approving eyes of their commanding officers. At the station, last minute messages and kisses were exchanged, the "Squads Right" command was given and ignored, "the companies seemed fully one-half girls," and it was necessary for "the sergeant to get a little hard-boiled" before the 364 men, 23 officers, and 2 flying cadets were all on board. 1 At 1630, the train was ready to roll. The enlisted men rode in twelve wooden day coaches, three men to a section; the officers had two Pullmans and a baggage and freight car completed the train. By morning, already three hours behind schedule because the freight car overheated at speeds greater than thirty miles an hour, a record slow trip appeared in the making. Fortunately, Major Paegelow suggested changing the damaged freight for another baggage car. The switch

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was made, the barracks bags quickly reloaded, and the train's speed improved. The following day, November 29, the train reached Detroit, and the cars crossed on a large ferry to Windsor, Canada. That stop was notable for the officers' purchase of Sam Browne belts, regulation for overseas with the American Expeditionary Forces but forbidden in the United States. The train continued across Canada to Niagara, entered the United States again and proceeded to Buffalo, where the officers had arranged for Thanksgiving dinner at the Statler Hotel during a fourhour stopover. There was considerable haggling to determine who would stay with the companies. The men didn't have that problem. Dinner was a box lunch eaten on board. Early on the morning of November 30 the train arrived at Jersey City, the end of the line. The men unloaded and boarded the ferry across to New York, where an electric tram carried them to Garden City, Long Island. Birge Clark, commanding Company C, was astonished when one of his men was met at the ferry by friends who presented him with twenty-five dollars. No one on board the train knew where they were going, but somehow "the friends knew the company had left Omaha and was due at this time." 2 Clark surmised that one of the train crew, who knew the train's route, passed the information along. Security was still a new concept. Arriving at Garden City, the squadron was assigned to the aviation camp at Mineola to wait for transportation overseas. The men considered reliable were allowed passes over the weekend; practically all went out. One officer from the squadron remained on duty, while the rest had overnight passes as long as they reported by the following noon in case orders had come. Almost a week went by. The officers visited family and friends, went to the theater, enjoyed good meals—it was a fine war. The men, with less money to spend, stayed near the camp unless home was nearby. During the waiting time, the men were put to work digging trenches, doing repairs around the camp—it was pick-and-shovel time again. The officers shopped for a year's supply of toilet articles and clothing, using a suggested list of essentials supplied by camp Headquarters, priced at five hundred dollars. Later, they wondered how such an erroneous idea started, especially when weight was an important consideration for an army hauling its supplies by ship across an ocean. Each enlisted man was allowed his barracks bag and his pack; the allotment for officers was larger: one standard army trunk, a bedroll, and personal hand baggage. Before leaving Omaha, all trunks and bed rolls had weight and cubic content in feet painted on them to emphasize weight consciousness. One squadron en route to Mineola was blessed with an overzealous commanding officer, who weighed every bedroll in the baggage car and pitched out any over twenty-five pounds into the passing landscape. The Second Squadron officers, for the most part, ignored Major Paegelow's

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scolding about weight, having observed that his bark was worse than his bite—and his gear was noticeably heavier than theirs. On the morning of December 7, orders finally arrived to depart by train sometime during the day. The activity was frantic: Passenger lists in six copies were checked; equipment was examined; everyone had a medical inspection (two men had venereal disease and were transferred out of their company). Close to ten o'clock that night, the companies were marched over "interminable switches and railroad tracks" and lined up in formation in the train yard, when a passing train separated them, half on either side of the train. The scene then turned into a Marx Brothers comedy. The Major turned to face the officers standing in formation with him and roared abuse at the officers on the far side of the track, as if to divide the blame. Just then another train whistled its approach, and in his excitement Paegelow crossed the tracks and found himself separated from both formations. Fortunately, said Birge Clark, one of the officers watching, the train was a long one "and gave him time to cool off."3 As soon as it passed, Paegelow marched the missing companies around until the entire squadron was between two tracks, where they waited until their train arrived. It was not worth the wait. The coaches for the men were ancient—several had broken window glass and no lights. To make matters worse, the steam pipes were frozen, leaving everyone uncomfortably cold. By evening of the next day, the train had gone only as far as New Haven, Connecticut, where the squadron was marched to Yale University for exercise, giving former students a chance to show off their handsome officer's uniforms. At New London, the train was repaired for seven and a half hours before crossing into Massachusetts in a blizzard. On December 9 the train reached Portland, Maine, and stopped for two hours, allowing the men to wash up and get hot chocolate at the YMCA. One man had German measles, another pleurisy. At Bangor the Red Cross was a welcome sight at the station, handing out sandwiches, cookies, coffee, and all kinds of knit articles that went on immediately. Helmets, mufflers, pulse warmers, sweaters, mittens, socks—they were "a God-send and greatly appreciated by the freezing Enlisted Men." 4 If the men found it tough going, the train did also. Two locomotives were hitched on to get it through heavy snow. Two GI cans of drinking water placed on each platform splashed over, coating the surface with a sheet of ice, making movement between cars impossible. Through a long, cold night, the train chugged to its destination in Canada, St. John, New Brunswick, where a cold, grey day saw the Balloon Squadron and an Aero Squadron loaded on board the Tunisian. The ship, a Canadian Royal Mail Packet, was reborn after a sinking in the Mediterranean Sea. The logistical planners had learned quickly that it was cheaper

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and faster to raise sunken ships than to build new ones. Getting sufficient transportation for the men and supplies needed in Europe would be a major priority for the Americans, who had to rely on the British for substantial help. American shipping, like other aspects of the war effort, was illprepared to handle the job. Loading, under British regulations, was an experience for the Americans. Troops went aboard according to the rank of their commanding officer. As a further complication, they distinguished more ranks than Americans— sergeants, sergeants major, and sergeants first-class, all of whom were assigned staterooms only slightly less desirable than those of officers. Corporals and enlisted men were ranked the same—at the bottom of the heap. When boarding began, the CO and first sergeant for each company stood by as the English embarkation officer called out names and handed each man a slip of paper with the number of his bunk, whereupon he marched up the gangplank to the depths below. By late afternoon all was ready, and the ship steamed out of the harbor, the land dropping away quickly. The morning of December 12, the Tunisian entered Halifax harbor to find a city devastated by an explosion three days earlier of twenty-six thousand tons of explosives, when two ships collided in the harbor. Damage and loss of life were widespread, hidden beneath a blanket of snow. Rescue parties were still searching for bodies as awestruck Americans gazed at the wreckage and forgave their poke of a train, for it possibly saved their lives. The stop at Halifax allowed mail to go ashore. Company officers had their first experience with censorship, with lonesome men who filled pages with details that could not pass, and wondered how long the stop would last. What would happen with the letters was far from certain. One source said they would be held until the troops landed in France; another claimed they would go off at once. For three days, the ship remained at anchor, so crowded that men had to be brought on deck in groups for fresh air. News of the outside world came from a few newspapers brought by rowboat each day. The men, with little to occupy their minds, groused about the obvious drawbacks of their vessel—the rust hastily covered with paint, the six inches of water in the bow of the ship that sloshed back and forth with the ship's roll, the packed bunks and low overhead beams, the stale air below deck—and concluded after the first meal that it would not be a pleasure trip. The food served to the enlisted men was bad, really bad by all accounts. Complaints to the ship's doctor had little effect. He tasted some of the smelly, green meat, spat it out promptly, but insisted it was all right for the men to eat. Questioned by a company officer, he explained that "the meat was all right medically"; he hadn't swallowed it "because he was not hungry." 5 This explanation did little to convince the men that the food was edible. Their dispositions were hardly improved on learning that afternoon

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tea was served to officers and sergeants. Everyone knew that sergeants were already too big for their britches. In addition to "sparse, bland and almost meatless" meals, there was further aggravation from a 2nd Lieutenant with one of the Aero Squadrons, a ninety-day wonder much impressed with his new status. He appeared at every meal and bellowed "Attention! What do you do when you see an Officer coming?," which required everyone to stop eating and stand until he passed. With each passing day as the feeling toward him intensified, the men realized the wisdom behind the empty holsters they carried. There might have been one less officer at the end of the voyage.6 The wait at Halifax enabled the ship to organize lifeboat drills. Each boat was assigned to an officer who checked heads against a list from the ship's bursar, which matched men with their company commander as much as possible. The boats, made of cork and theoretically unsinkable, held anywhere from thirty to forty men, depending on their size. Regular drill included practice with the oars, an exercise most of the men tried for the first time with limited proficiency. When the signal to "Abandon ship" sounded, the entire ship rushed to the appointed lifeboats, the list was checked, and the count of heads reported to the bridge. The crew of the Tunisian, old hands at lowering the boats, prided themselves on being able to get a boat into the water in one minute, thirty seconds. Once the Tunisian was in open sea, the sound of the alarm gave many of the men goose bumps—was it practice or the real thing? Major Fleischmann lectured daily on "the proper etiquette to assume when one was drowning for his country." There was some cheer in learning that privates went over the side first, then up through the ranks, officers last. Fleischmann assured the men that he would be "the very last to go down," when one irreverent soul shouted, "Like Hell you will, Major. If the boat goes down, I'll be standing on your head and I'll be the last to go down." 7 Equally important for survival at sea were the life preservers everyone was required to wear. The first morning out, officers appeared in the dining room without them only to be sent to their room to get them. Colonel Rubottom, the ranking officer on board ship, laid down the law: Life preservers were to be worn at all times by all personnel; failure to do so carried severe disciplinary action. The preservers were clumsy affairs of canvascovered rows of cork blocks, suspended from the shoulders by two straps and tied in front. They were hot, smelly, bulky, and thoroughly uncomfortable, especially when seated, when an additional three inches in girth were added, front and back. At night, officers could remove them to sleep, but kept them within reach. Enlisted men didn't have that luxury; sleeping was pure hell. When the first AEF contingent, led by General Pershing with young Cap-

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tain George S. Patton Jr. among its members, sailed for Europe in June 1917, the entire group wore civilian clothes on board ship. The reasoning was that if the ship was torpedoed, the Germans would be less likely to shell lifeboats if they saw no uniforms. Once inside the U-Boat zone, like those who came after, everyone slept in clothes, ready for a quick exit. Even men with steady nerves—Patton was one—readily admitted that the arrival of the destroyer escort was most reassuring. Their presence, in an emergency, reduced the chance of lifeboats being fired upon, a comforting thought in the dark hours of the night. On December 15 at half past three in the afternoon the Tunisian lifted anchor and headed for the open sea to form a convoy with seven other ships, all camouflaged. Four of the convoy were troopships, three were smaller freighters, one of them a mystery ship that aroused considerable speculation—it was an armed cruiser, a disguised warship, certainly the fastest ship in the convoy. Once land was left behind, the ships formed a line behind a lead ship, proceeding at a good rate. Two days out, a zigzag routine varied the convoy's course, the lead ship suddenly swinging out to form an S, followed by the ships behind. These diversionary tactics to make the ships a more difficult target were practiced past Greenland and Iceland. On the seventh day as the convoy neared Ireland, submarine watch began. Twenty men were stationed around the ship during the daylight hours, in addition to the crew on duty at the forward gun, with orders to report anything in the water, even boxes or barrels. Reportedly, German submarines used empty barrels to hide their periscopes. Within a half hour of their posting, the new sentries reported periscopes on the horizon at distances of four or five miles, a physical impossibility. The procedure was immediately changed. Instead of giving a general alarm, suspicious objects would be reported first to the nearest ship's officer or sailor. Wartime restrictions forbade throwing anything overboard or lights at night; no smoking was permitted on deck; no portholes were to be uncovered—which aggravated the already poor air aboard ship. Those able to get on deck enjoyed fresh air. The rest of the ship put up with stale, tobacco-filled air and worse below the waterline, where ventilators failed to freshen the air. In the early days of the voyage, colds were endemic everywhere, partly because of the fetid air. The doctors, as sick as the rest of the ship, were unable to help matters. Officers doing daily inspection in accordance with Major Paegelow's instructions found the smells and putrid air in the hole hard going. It was the one time seasickness threatened. For those of higher rank, the voyage was not entirely unpleasant. There were entertainments, usually by casual groups, endless bridge and poker games (the Colonel forbade using money, but the players settled up privately afterwards), and French lessons for the interested; and the food, though not gourmet quality, was better than what the enlisted men ate at

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their two meals a day. There was plenty of time to read and discuss what lay ahead. Ian Hay's The First Hundred Thousand, a memoir by a member of the first of Kitchener's British Army to train and go overseas, was popular reading and provided plenty of material for discussion. Hay's real name was Bleith; his story, published in 1916, chronicled the first fifteen months of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. The book, uniquely "rich in graphic human detail," was a primer for young men going overseas, leaving no doubt about the rigors ahead.8 Relations were barely correct between the men and the English crew, whose first greeting was "You Bloody Yanks are coming over after the war's all over!"—and went downhill from there.9 As the ship neared the Gulf Stream and the climate warmed, relations remained chilled as meals served consisted of "bitter marmalade, a bit of tripe and smoked fish," barely enough to keep body and soul together.10 When one man fainted at boat drill from lack of food, his officer, Frederic Grant, reported to his superiors that the cooks were holding back the best food to sell to soldiers with money. Protests to the captain had little effect; tidbits continued to go to those who could pay. Grant tried to placate the men in his company, "You will get so much worse before this mix up is over." 11 Officers found the food "heavy" and "tiresome," the meat strong by American taste. Landfall could not come too soon.12 On December 24 the convoy, surrounded by eight destroyers that had joined the convoy during the night, skirted the coast of Ireland most of the day then separated, the Tunisian and one other moving through the Irish Sea toward the River Mersey. The men wrote letters home, trying a variety of stratagems to indicate where they were without success. As excitement mounted, those still fighting an occasional urge to throw up awaited deliverance. For men and officers, terra firma was the best of Christmas gifts. Early on the morning of December 25 the ship entered the Port of Liverpool and eased its way toward a berth. With the first light, the men crowded the deck, shouting themselves hoarse, while the officers made final inspections and detailed men to handle the unloading and checking of squadron baggage. The day was long and monotonous, the land near yet unreachable because, war or no war, the British did not work on Christmas Day. There was one consolation: After ten days the hated life preservers came off and were stowed away. Debarking was complicated by the presence of the Leviathan, the former German liner Vaterland now manned and armed by the American Navy, which had settled in the mud at the pier assigned to the Tunisian. The rumor circulating among the officers was that the British had underestimated the amount of clearance the ship required, so there it sat, waiting for a high tide to move out. There were smiles all around among the Army men—the Navy had goofed.

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Christmas dinner for the men was the last straw—a "tiny smoked herring, bread and a small dried up apple." 13 The men rioted, broke into the meat lockers, cut steaks, and cooked them in metal mess kits over fires made around the ship. Reportedly, a cook was tossed into the river, but there were no repercussions, because the officers were apparently ashore for the evening and very likely thought the men properly avenged. All hands in the Balloon Squadron were up the next morning at 0400, had breakfasted by 0500, and waited for the lighters to come alongside to take men and baggage ashore. Major Paegelow scrapped the usual British routine to speed up the work. Each man was told to pick up a barrack bag from the mound of luggage, carry it to the waiting train, then return and bring back the trunks and baggage of the officers. The whole procedure was done in two trips rather than the half a day the British allotted. The watching Brits, surprised to see the men coming and going in broken formation, were positive the Americans would never get back on the train that day. Their amazement grew as the men removed all the luggage, formed companies again, and boarded the train in less than half an hour. 14 Such a procedure would be unheard of in an English company; at least half of the men would have scattered about the city. What they did not realize was that the squadron had spent many months together, they were well drilled, and the company was family. The last thing they wanted was to be separated from it. Boarded, with luggage stowed, the train was underway by mid-morning. The men found its appearance amusing; the small engine, pulling tiny coaches, reminded them of an amusement park. Through the neat, green countryside, devoid of any signs of war, the train chugged along and reached Southampton after dark. Detraining, the squadron marched nearly two miles through snow to a rest billet, watched by town locals, whose catcalls were not overly friendly. At the camp the men were assigned twelve to a tent and spent the night trying to sleep on a cold, wooden floor. Officers made out slightly better—they were issued two blankets and slept on cots in a long, corrugated iron shed. For officers, there was minimal food—strong cheese, bread, hash, and beer; the men did without. Morning found everyone cold, stiff, and hungry, but strong tea and hardtack had a restorative effect. The men quickly discovered the tea was for soaking the hardtack, otherwise the hardtack was inedible. The men were free to explore the camp, but the town was off limits. Besides the Balloon Squadron, the camp had English soldiers and American infantry, all waiting for transport to France. A few exchanges made it apparent that the English were bone-tired and weary of fighting. Their advice to the new arrivals was, "Get a light wound, either deliberately or self-inflicted, and get sent back as wounded." 15 The Americans only vaguely understood that such talk was the result of three years of grinding war; they considered it defeatist. Some officers, fearing its contagious effect, insisted that American

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soldiers be kept away from their English counterparts, an argument that would continue at the highest levels and strengthen the determination to keep American troops under American command. Companies were formed up in the afternoon and marched down to the pier for the crossing to Le Havre. The baggage was all there, but would follow on another boat because every inch of the boat was needed for manpower. In addition to the Balloon Squadron, an Aero Squadron and an infantry regiment of the 41st Division from Washington, Oregon, and Idaho were all on board. There was barely standing room below deck. Bunks and sleep were impossible, but a portable field range brought on board, thanks to Charles Hayward's planning and his awareness of the importance of meals to soldiers, enabled hot food to be readied for the squadron. The commanding infantry officer, Col. Rubottom, miffed that provision for his men had been overlooked, pulled rank and ordered that the infantry be allowed to use the range when the squadron had finished. There was the usual delay before departure, but shortly after 2030, the boat moved out into the harbor, canvas deck coverings flapping in the wind, part of a flotilla assembled to make the dash for France. For four hours, engine throbbing, the boat plied its way across the Channel, as men swayed with the ship's roll, tried to sleep standing or sitting, or fought bouts of seasickness. Added to the physical discomfort was the worry that if torpedoed, very few men would survive; the lifeboats were inadequate, and the canvas siding covering the upper deck had sealed that space. Officers had a modicum of comfort in staterooms with bunks, but they slept fully clothed until about 0430, when it was time to feed the men and prepare for landing at Le Havre. By early light, companies disembarked and regrouped on the dock, where a dignified, gray-bearded gentleman in frock coat, high hat, and official sash greeted the Americans as saviors of France. The brief ceremony finished, the companies shouldered full packs and moved off through town, singing "Over There." Had they known, they would have saved their breath for the hike ahead—five miles, uphill, to another British rest camp. The men were learning that rest camp was a complete misnomer. The camp, a guarded enclosure with British sentries patrolling 170 steps a minute outside the wire fence, was divided into two corrals, one filled with mutinous African labor troops, the other with the Americans. Men and officers alike found it anything but restful, especially the attitude of the British who seemed determined to show the Americans "how unpleasant this war can be." 16 German prisoners and African troops had occupied the camp previously; maintenance had not been a priority. Horse troughs held the water supply, which froze quickly if not used; a cold wind blew steadily; heat was nonexistent; a shortage of tents put eight men with bags in one tent so that no one could lie straight out. Officers were assigned three to a tent, but the camp CO said that officers usually found billets

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(rooms) in nearby houses or the town hotel. One officer stayed with each company, the rest headed for the hotel. "A big feather bed, hot and cold water and a regular meal" was pure bliss.17 A trolley run by women conductors connected the camp area to Le Havre. The Americans learned quickly that women had replaced men in all areas of French life, except in the services. Enlisted men were not allowed in the town, but officers were free to explore and practice their high school or college French. They were amazed to discover American toilet articles for sale—there was no apparent shortage. Ignoring regulations, some curious lower ranks took off to sample the high life waiting at every corner in town and returned the next morning in an open barouche, very drunk. The penalty: three months' hard labor on kitchen patrol. Others, content to visit the local bistro across from the gate, found warmth for the outer and inner man—for many, a first introduction to the warming qualities of cognac. Time seemed at a standstill while the troops awaited the next development. The officers tried to maintain discipline with inspection and drill, but the camp was too cramped for the usual military activities. Keeping warm was the priority in temperatures below freezing. The men learned from English sergeants how to turn five-gallon oil cans into braziers, which they filled with "acquired" coal and used in the tents for warmth. Everything was fine until a general inspection of the four companies with the English major and his adjutant in tow revealed the braziers. Immediately, the major announced that the braziers must go. The danger of fire was too great; and should that happen, a Board of Inquiry would be necessary, "an insufferable bore." The American officers nodded, promised to look into it, and told the men to make as many stoves as possible.18 For once, Major Paegelow agreed with his officers. Within a very short time, the COs had concluded that the British sergeants were insufferable in their treatment of the men and seemed determined that the Americans should make up as quickly as possible for all the bad times they had missed. The officers running the camp were not much better. Uncharitable as it might seem, the company officers agreed there was a good bit of truth to the theory that officers found wanting at the front were sent to run "rest camps." 19 Rations were British—meat and bread similar to American allowances— but minus the dried fruits, rice, and sugar the Americans were used to, plus a canned soup containing "all the essentials of a hearty meal" that tasted like "dirty and obnoxious dish water full of grease." 20 To the men, it was a total loss. Fortunately, the canteen provided something more palatable. The officers could eat at a small inn near the camp; the menu, although limited, offered cafe au lait, chocolate, and omelettes made with fresh eggs. Americans, delighted to discover they could order something in French, held up two or more fingers to indicate how many eggs they wanted. Ome-

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lettes, available when little else was, quickly became the food of choice with all ranks. Major Paegelow consulted with Colonel Chandler at American Headquarters, and by January 1 of the new year, orders were ready for the four balloon companies. Companies A and D were going with Major Paegelow to Camp de Souge Artillery School west of Bordeaux; Company B under Major Fleischmann to Camp Coetquidan in Brittany; Company C, judged most able to get along by itself by Major Fleischmann, to Cuperly-surMarne to build a Balloon School. With the squadron's dispersal, all the one hundred and one details of moving a company by rail in a foreign country came into play, as the extended family prepared to separate. If the suddenness was a shock, departure was a welcome relief from the biting cold, the miserable accommodations at the camp, and the unfriendly attitude of its staff. The general feeling was "anywhere would be better." On New Year's Day, three companies—A, D, and B—marched five miles down to Le Havre, where the young girls of the town were giving the customary kiss to anyone calling "Bonne Annee." Greetings flew back and forth, and if accents were poor, their intent was clearly understood. These pleasantries wiped out much of the disagreeableness that had gone before, and waiting for a train passed most agreeably. In time, a train made up of forty and eight box cars (capacity forty men or eight horses) pulled into the station for companies A and D. The men boarded, and the train was soon out of sight. Company B under Major Fleischmann, at his request, traveled in comfort: third class coaches for the men, heated by long metal pans filled with hot water, placed under the feet, which were changed at each stop; first class coaches for the officers—of course. Although Camp Coetquidan was not far from Le Havre, the train took a curious shunting course for three days, the men eating and sleeping on hard wooden seats, to travel 120 miles. They would learn this was not unusual for French train travel. Tracks were changed sometimes by hand, sometimes by horse; each time baggage would fly out of the overhead racks. To the Americans, the train was a curious toy with its small engine and freight cars, the coaches divided in compartments, the running boards outside for the crew, which proved useful in other ways as there was no plumbing. Travel rations and whatever was offered at a stop kept the men nourished. Their excitement at traveling through France was infectious. They whistled and yelled "at every girl we saw, from ten to one hundred." 21 Finally, the train arrived at Guer in Brittany. The men detrained and slogged through ankle-deep mud to Camp Coetquidan, an artillery training center, where they were assigned to stone and cement "Napoleon Barracks," dating from the time of the Emperor who had established the camp. The officers were nowhere in sight, their coaches having been separated

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from the rest of the train at one of the many stops. They arrived sometime later to find the men nominally settled. Company scuttlebutt theorized they had detoured through Paris, but French railroads were hard-pressed to meet the demands made on them and many a mix-up occurred. Company C under Birge Clark left the rest camp near Le Havre on January 3, barely escaping three weeks quarantine when two men came down with measles. Lieutenant Clark did some fast explaining, which convinced the medical officer there was no danger to the rest of the company. The two men were left behind to recuperate, and the company—eighty-nine men strong—marched to the station with full pack and travel rations for ten days. The train was put together by an American quartermaster captain, who dispersed Clark's company, the last to board because of his low rank, from one end of the train to the other sandwiched in with infantry, artillery, and a small detachment of engineers, all going to different locations. Baggage was in a separate freight car, guarded by a few men. It was a CO's nightmare! To compound the situation, a disagreement between French officials and the American captain about travel orders led to a shouting match among the French railroad men, which delayed departure for another half hour. Finally, with nothing settled, the whistle blew, and the tram moved. At the first stop, cars were detached and the train reorganized to try to collect the balloon company together, as cars were shunted this way and that all over the train yard. The men were no closer together; in fact eight of them were left in a passenger car on a side track where they were found and placed in a compartment vacated by some of the engineering detachment. The first time a train official looked at Lieutenant Clark's feuille de route (the ticket for the men, officers, equipment, and baggage), there was a problem because the men were not together. Clark was unable to explain in French to the official, and the official spoke no English. Fortunately a major with limited English was found who resolved the situation, but the men remained scattered. About two o'clock in the afternoon, the train stopped, this time near a soldiers' canteen, selling hot coffee. Clark lined the men up and ordered ninety cups of coffee, hoping to warm them up because lunch had been cold corned beef and crackers. The astonished Frenchman handed out drinks as fast as possible, but with the first taste many men spat it out. Strong coffee was one thing, but this was laced with rum. Clark learned that the men could be as temperamental as children; they would do without rather than drink something they did not like. More stops followed, the train was split up, more cars were added, then it went on its way. About ten o'clock at night, the train stopped again, this time near Paris, where the cars were divided in different directions, seemingly without rhyme or reason. Clark, in an effort to keep an eye on his cars so as not to lose his men, spent the night walking up and down along the tracks.

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Toward morning, a new crew came on and began assembling the train, again with much arguing over cars. The infantry men were switched off and departed; the artillery officers remained with the balloon troops, minus their baggage, which had gone with the infantry. It was the kind of happening for which the French coined the phrase, C'est la guerrel The evening of January 5, Company C reached its destination, Chalons sur Marne, where to everyone's delight there was a canteen run by "Les dames americaines"—the American Red Cross—offering chocolate, soup, and crackers. A request for ninety tickets to buy food for the company had a surprising effect; the young woman said that "in two years no one ever bought more than two tickets before" and burst into tears—the Americans had come!22 Indeed they had, but now that they were there, no one seemed to know what to do with them. They were the only Americans in the area. Colonel Lahm, anticipating the company's bewilderment and its lack of knowledge of French, hurried up from AEF headquarters in Chaumont to give some guidance: The company was to set up a Balloon School; everyone should learn French as quickly as possible to take instruction in the French method of balloon handling. Seven months' work at Omaha was scrapped. For the next three months the company built roads and thirty-six buildings and improved the site on the main road from Chalons to Suippes for the school, all the while under bombardment from the Germans whose line was only seven miles away. At the end of that time, staff at Headquarters AEF realized the impracticality of the site at Cuperly and moved the company to the artillery center at Valdahon near the Swiss border, where they finally hoisted a balloon and went about the business of a balloon company. The Cuperly episode, a waste of time and energy, was another indication of a service still lacking direction. At the beginning of this misadventure, Lieutenant Clark was initiated into the complexities of doing business in France, a funny, frustrating experience. The company needed rations after their trip, but they lacked transportation. Clark turned to the French for help, going from office to office until he found a major who tried to help but knew no English. Finally, he asked brokenly, "You speak German?" Clark's interpreter did, better than French; then things were fine. The Americans need only sign a requisition for a truck, and the U.S. government would pay. Wrote Clark, "So we made out a requisition in English on a French form and talked about it in German." 23 The two companies that went to Camp de Souge had the least difficulty in the squadron. De Souge was an established French school for artillery. Housing and equipment were in place, and there was an operating organization. Best of all, the French maintained huge warehouses on the Gironde River near Bordeaux where anything needed by the Americans was available. It was a comfortable feeling to be close to the source of materiel, to

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have a Fiat winch truck, which doubled as a delivery truck, issued to each company. Lieutenant Hayward, supply officer for the squadron, spent his days driving from warehouse to warehouse, picking up equipment, signing invoices, written in English on French forms, then forwarded to the American Quartermaster in Bordeaux to reimburse the suppliers. The French, meticulous record keepers, were most obliging and helpful, noting each transaction to ensure payment in full. Hayward's high school French, bolstered by a dictionary and "a lot of handwaving," was sufficient for a job that kept two enlisted men typing full-time to handle a mountain of paperwork. At Omaha, Hayward had been responsible for two and a half million dollars worth of material. He never saw the figures for his two months' work at de Souge, but he estimates they were "thousands of dollars." 24 Headquarters AEF, which had eagerly awaited the arrival of the first balloon companies, suddenly found them on the doorstep to the surprise of the Air Service, which, uninformed of their impending arrival, seemed uncertain what to do with them. Balloon observers had proved their worth to the Allies, but American military men were skeptical, an attitude that the French and British before them had shared. The French gave up balloon units in 1911, convinced that in any military situation their seventy-five guns were invincible. Then they encountered the German Drachens in 1914. Their appearance enabled heavy artillery to obtain excellent firing results, and the French, realizing their error, quickly established balloon units, placing ten companies capable of handling thirty balloons in service by October 1914. In 1918 they were still begging for more balloon companies; obviously, balloons were useful, but how was not yet clear to some American planners. The British, like the French, had a change of attitude when the importance of balloons in assisting artillery fire became apparent. An apathetic operation that had given way to the enthusiasm for heavier-than-air machines was revitalized, and production was begun to fill the need at the front. When, in 1915, the war became stationary and trenches made a tidy division of the battle landscape, balloons were an integral part of that scene, their presence high above the ground marking the front lines. Consultation with French counterparts determined that a period of training was necessary and the training should be French. With this understanding, Companies A, B, and D were dispatched to French artillery centers to join American artillery units already in training for instruction in working with battery units.

6

Where Do We Go from Here? Whenever you were needed, you have shown Yankee skill. —"Oh, Ye Yankee Boys 'Twas Up To You," 1919 The balloon companies weighed their new surroundings; the food was funny, people talked funny; life was very different from what they had known in Omaha. For young men raring to do their part to lick the Huns, it was a necessary but trying time. The companies had arrived in France without equipment, so little could be done until they were supplied with a balloon and the paraphernalia that went with it. The equipment so carefully packed in Omaha was never seen again. Fortunately, before the squadron left Omaha, Colonel Lahm, acting for the Line of Communication (the supply section for the Air Service), had made an agreement with the French to fully supply the first eight balloon companies to reach France. When war was declared in the spring of 1917, the Boiling Commission was sent to Europe by the War Department in Washington to see what war materials were needed and how best to coordinate America's effort with the Allies. The enormity of supplying an army across three thousand miles of water with a total of seven troopships and six cargo ships—the size of the American fleet on July 1, 1917—demanded alternative solutions. General Pershing, aware of the seriousness of the situation, had confided to Captain Patton that in the week ending June 23, 1917, four hundred thousand tons of shipping had been sunk by German U-boats. Unless it was stopped, "we would never get over 500,000 men to France," much

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less the equipment they needed.1 As much as practicable, European sources of supply would be used to save valuable ship space for transporting troops and their support units. The question was, Could the English and French, the main suppliers, meet the needs of the Americans? Both countries had endured huge losses in the past three years, were psychologically weakened after a disappointing offensive in 1917, and were straining to supply their own needs. The French, worn as they were, were eager to provide the Americans with needed material but lacked the ability. General Pershing cabled Washington in July 1917: "The French have practically no material available so that both material and labor must come from the U.S." The original agreement between Boiling and the French government to supply American troops was signed in August 1917. Four months later, the French were telling Boiling that they were unable to carry out the agreement because they "need material for themselves and the expected Spring operations." 2 The crux of the matter was a dire shortage of manpower at every level of industry even with thousands of women in the labor force. The Americans for their part would try to supply manpower in sufficient numbers to prepare for the expected offensive in 1918, particularly mechanics and chauffeurs to relieve Frenchmen for aircraft production without dislocating production at home. Brigadier General Foulois, who headed the Air Service from November 1917 to May 1918, pointed out to Washington that these workers didn't need military training; "send them in civilian clothes." Scheduled for a November sailing, the transport of three thousand mechanics was delayed until December because it was hard to find suitable men "without interfering with truck production in the United States." 3 At GHQ in Chaumont, the commander in chief drafted a cablegram, dated October 2 1 , 1917, requesting, along with increased aviation squadrons and companies of specialized personnel, balloon companies at the rate of eight per month beginning in January—eight companies had been requested earlier for October. Each company should consist of "eight officers and two hundred soldiers. One hundred of the soldiers in each company should be specialists. The remaining one hundred need have military training only." 4 It was an unrealistic order that ignored the realities at home: the shortages of equipment for training, the limited schools for training airmen and balloonists, and the struggle to gain priority shipping space. Apparently, General Pershing believed that keeping the pressure on the General Staff in Washington, which he found singularly unresponsive, would produce results. He knew that the French and British would happily absorb American manpower into their ranks, but he did not intend to be a recruiting agency for either country. American soldiers would serve under American command. The early agreements with France, including that to supply the four bal-

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loon companies, were viewed with skepticism by those who came from Washington in November 1917 to reorganize the Air Service. The agreements had one purpose: "to get an Air Service functioning and ready to participate in operations at the front by April, 1918." 5 The niceties of military administration were not a concern; in fact, they could be a hindrance. In his history of the Air Service in 1918, Brigadier General Harry Toulmin observed that matters of supply were "basically business procedures, not military procedures," and the paperwork involved should move quickly between those at the front and their supply counterparts at the base areas in the simplest way possible. Military channels should handle strictly military matters. 6 Still, streamlining supply methods would remain a challenge. The geographical factors involved in equipping the companies were immense. Home base was three thousand miles away, and transportation was largely on foreign ships. Once ashore in France, land and railroad transportation, cable, telegraph, and telephone communication were controlled by men who had little or no knowledge of English. The Americans had to create their own postal and telegraph systems as well as a partial new railway system to connect the Atlantic seaports with the supply centers that serviced units at the front, sometimes hundreds of kilometers away, trying, meanwhile, to adhere to the military principle that "traffic should move forward and backward, but never across the lines of communication." 7 (Like the rivers of France, the railroads ran from the Zone of Advance toward the sea and the major ports.) In determining where to place supply depots and training centers, decisions were needlessly complicated by this consideration, and valuable time was lost shuttling trains back and forth to reach a nearby destination. Adding further difficulty to supply problems was the fact that Air Service units were scattered about France without direct contact with each other. Their development was often haphazard and only as good as the commanding officer in charge, who might be more concerned about position and rank than team spirit and have no clear concept of an organization. In early 1918 there were two headquarters for the service, at Tours and at Paris, near technical supply and headquarter services for the French, plus a headquarters in London for British negotiations. Schools at Issoudun and Clermont-Ferrand trained aviators, and de Souge and Coetquidan trained the Balloon Service. A depot at Orly near Paris and the unfinished plant at Romorantin were in charge of supply. Various sections of the service— Personnel, Balloons, Radio, Cable, and Photography—were at Tours; Supply, Production, Engineering, Liaison, and Armament were at Paris; and the General Staff, which had the final say in all military matters, was at Chaumont, some 150 miles to the east. Just getting the necessary signatures on a requisition, a cable, or an order could take a week going through channels. If the service failed to work as a team, it was small wonder! Brigadier General Mason M. Patrick came on board as Chief of Air

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Service in May 1918, replacing Brigadier General Benjamin Foulois, who had replaced Brigadier General William L. Kenly. Patrick found that there was no well-defined plan or estimate of the number of men, of material, aeroplanes, aeroplane motors, and observation balloons needed for military purposes. He reorganized the service staff to end what a disgruntled Pershing described as the "running around in circles" that characterized the efforts under Patrick's two predecessors, where much work was done without any idea of how it fit in with what other people were doing. In the future, plans were to be drawn up with an eye to what could be delivered realistically by July 1919. 8 At Coetquidan, such matters of policy and supply were beyond the province of Company B. With no balloon at hand, there was little to do for the first week, one that proved dismally rainy and added several inches to the depth of mud already present. The enlisted men were quartered in a threestory stone barracks dating from Napoleon's time—a happier situation than the artillery men of the 26th and 42nd Divisions training at the camp, who were housed in old tarpaper French barracks with duckboards for maneuvering the mud floors. The barracks boasted one small electric light of low wattage, hung from the ceiling, powered by an Army truck outside. For heating, there was a small stove that, contrary to orders that forbade cutting trees, the men kept supplied with wood when no one was looking. The latrines, known as "holey places," featured foot treads for the feet, a model still popular throughout France. They were cleaned and cared for by German prisoners who performed their duties with little supervision. An attempt was made to maintain military routine, but the camp was experiencing a meningitis epidemic, and that plus the nonstop rain had a dampening effect on everyone, which the frequent playing of the Funeral March and the parading of flag-draped coffins did little to enliven. As a precautionary measure, the company's drinking water was heavily chlorinated, a precaution the French thought unnecessary—who would drink water? The chemical had a dramatic effect on the men's intestinal tract, prompting frequent sprints down the three flights of barracks stairs, through the mud, to the latrine. Many didn't quite make it, and the resulting mess in the building earned the company penalties from their CO. It was not an auspicious beginning.9 Adding to the general gloom was the suspension of all social activities during the epidemic—no movies, no visits to the YMCA, no nothing. Letter writing was something the men could do, however, and they did it with a vengeance. Lieutenant Grant, the company censor, to stave off boredom counted the "I love you"s against the "Do you love me?"s. They were about even.10 Coetquidan was not so bad for the officers. They were quartered in portable wooden shacks, heated by tin stoves that burned "a thimbleful of coal" and as much wood as could be purloined from nearby forests, a risky

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venture that was strictly forbidden by French rules. Baths were unheard of. Americans constantly amazed the French by their demand for them and their ingenuity in procuring them. Lieutenant Grant wrote: "An American galvanized pail sprang into being," the work of "some mysterious genie." 11 The problem was getting water to fill it. That required a two-block walk to the kitchen with a fast step on the return to keep the water hot, a tricky maneuver with the mudscape at Coetquidan. For the enlisted men, a weekly scrub was a welcome event. Food was almost luxurious, Grant reported. As the officer in charge of guarding the balloon once it arrived, he shared one end of a waterproof shanty, separated from the men by a thin partition, where they cooked their own mess. A meal might serve up hot biscuits with syrup, pot roast of beef, roast potatoes, beans, flapjacks, and other savories, while the rest of the company looked on enviously, knowing it was three miles back to camp to eat "slum"—a kind of stew or soup, made with whatever was at hand, that became the butt of much humor. One recipe from the 13th Balloon Company cook, Sergeant Finnegan, was the hands-down favorite: 1 G. I. can of dirty mess kit water 1 pair salvaged hobnails 3 O.D. shirts (dirty) Vi pair worn socks 1 pair greasy "blues" a generous pinch of Cootie Powder 1 potato sack Stir all together slowly over a low fire for several hours, or days.{1

Slum was a surefire hit for the entertainers traveling the front, bringing an immediate response in improvised verses sung with gusto. Company food remained unsatisfactory for a time: rice and molasses with black coffee for breakfast, and "most anything" for dinner and supper. The men soon followed the example of the artillery ranks and hiked to nearby villages to buy meals at a reasonable price.13 Officers frequented an inn in a former chateau that offered omelets, chicken, and other civilized dainties for a price. Omelettes, a change from the regular diet, were popular with officers and men, as were the Vin sisters, Vin Rouge and Vin Blanc, two staples of the French troops but forbidden for Americans who promptly found ways of working around the rule. For the Bretons, the presence of perpetually hungry, thirsty Americans was a chance to earn real money instead of the paper currency printed locally. The second week at Coetquidan things improved. Mail from home, a

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great morale booster, arrived on January 11. Thanks to the efforts of Lieutenant Charles Hayward at Camp de Souge, a French Caquot balloon was delivered complete with winch, gas cylinders, parachutes, boots and two fur-lined flying suits, telephone equipment and switchboard, balloon phones, and phones for the ground crew. Most importantly, French balloon personnel accompanied the equipment to instruct the Americans in its proper use. The officer in charge, Lieutenant Georges Sebille, sent by the French high command, had served with the Balloon Service since 1914. He had experience on several fronts, had survived being shot down near Verdun, and— especially important for Americans—he spoke fluent English. Lieutenant Hayward had done his job well with the French liaison people in Bordeaux who supplied the three working balloon companies. (Company C, building a balloon school under Lt. Clark, was not yet doing the work of a balloon company.) The groundwork had been laid earlier in a meeting between the inspector of balloon materiel, Commandant Bois, and Lieutenant Ternynck, commanding the 84th Balloon Company, who determined the cost of outfitting a balloon company for one year, including wear and tear, to be 575,000 francs, approximately $115,000 dollars. This sum would be reimbursed to the French government for "placing a Balloon Company at the disposal of the American Army." 14 Factored into the cost were hydrogen, gasoline, oil and other ingredients, spare parts to maintain vehicles (tires, etc.), mechanical supplies, material for ropes and cables, telephone material, office supplies, and munitions. The French were thorough in their accounting. The first order of business for Company B now that equipment was in hand was to prepare a balloon field with a proper bed. Lieutenant Grant, after scouting the area, chose a likely site—out came the picks and shovels. The work proved hard with French tools the men considered primitive: The pick was a kind of tomahawk; the shovel, a small affair, was quite useless for moving large amounts of dirt; axes and wheelbarrows were equally poor. The company wondered how the French had stood off the Germans as long as they had. A further hindrance was the daily presence of a young French girl along the route to the field, who called out to the men in hopes of luring some of them from their duty. When arrested, she explained that she was only doing a "patriotic service for the brave Americans, who were fighting for her beloved France." 15 Such sentiment was irresistible. She was released, but told to desist. The field location was about three miles from the camp in a swampy valley, where with much hard work a cinder-filled bed was constructed, complete with windbreak, a turntable, and a road for moving the balloon to an ascension site. Next, a light wooden shack to house soldiers and an officer was erected, because the balloon must be guarded at all times. One section of the shack contained the telephone and switchboard and served

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as office and living quarters for the officer in charge, Lieutenant Grant. The other section was a bunk house for the guards and balloon riggers who rotated duty, four hours on and eight hours off. A small shed was built for the mess because the field was too far to bring meals in daily. Grant purposely chose a good cook from among the guards for the mess. There was a small creek with clear spring water nearby. Boiling was required, but having a supply so close was convenient. As soon as the shack was ready, the equipment was moved to the field and Grant and the guards settled in. Lieutenant Sebille was billeted at a former chateau, now an inn, run by a woman "who seemed to be French but claimed to have lived a number of years in San Francisco." 16 Sebille had doubts about her, suspected she might be a German spy, and was very circumspect in his conversation, unlike some of the American officers who talked "shop" and troop movements freely at dinner, unused to the need for secrecy. January 22 was a red letter day—the balloon was spread out, inspected carefully, and inflated from the gas tubes. That night, it lay in its new bed, ready for an early morning ascension. The next day the entire company and some curious artillery officers came to the field to see the first test of the balloon. Using sandbags to simulate observers, despite a low ceiling, the balloon was eased off, the cable drum on the winch working perfectly. On the second trial, Sebille and Grant climbed into the basket, threw out the sandbags, and rose through a layer of clouds at 1,500 feet into bright sunlight. The winch was halted, then the balloon pulled down about twenty feet until the basket seemed to rest on top of the clouds, "like a small boat on a huge ocean," a sight that never ceased to thrill the veteran Lieutenant Sebille.17 The balloon descended, everything worked perfectly—training could begin. Sebille then took up the company officers, one by one, on short trips. The company settled into a routine. On clear days, the company arrived at the field about 0800. Grant and his crew in the shack had breakfasted and finished chores around the balloon. (Breakfast was very good: hot biscuits or flapjacks with ham or bacon. Grant had found a supplier nearby for eggs.) A trial flight was made, usually with Grant in the basket, to make sure there were no glitches before Sebille and the company officers arrived for instruction flights. Already, two new officers had joined the group. Using their knowledge of perspective from classes at Omaha, the observers practiced identifying and mapping objectives. The French method computed everything mathematically before a mark was made on a drawing; the American method, which was graphic, used a compass and T-square. Objectives were identified by coordinates on a map as they would be at the front; liaison with the artillery was emphasized. The artillery trainees stationed at Coetquidan were learning the intricacies of the French 75, a marvelous gun held in high esteem by the French for its recoil and counterrecoil system. Its wonderful stability during fire

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after the first shot allowed for great speed in firing and made it ideal for active warfare. But the limitations of the gun were apparent very quickly in 1914 when faced with German heavy artillery firing at ranges of more than eight thousand yards. French artillery could not respond effectively. Immediate improvements in gun design were necessary to reach enemy artillery at greater ranges; artillery practice was redesigned for considerably longer ranges than in the past. With heavier guns a part of the battle scene, their concealment became equally important—men, animals, and material had to be hidden. The French had a saying— "A battery seen is a battery lost"—and they went to great lengths to camouflage artillery installations.18 At Coetquidan a large firing range leased by the United States government was cleared of inhabitants, their homes left as targets for the gun batteries who fired on them as if they were occupied by enemy troops. It was a realistic gun practice as huge shells blew up roads, bridges, and buildings. The telephone detail practiced laying miles of wires, dug trenches to protect them, and studied the essentials of communication in war. Firing at night was added later with the aid of observation balloons and aeroplanes. Daytime targets were set, and observers regulated fire for the batteries of the 102nd and 103rd Field Artillery Regiments of the 26th Division, each unit learning from the exchange. In early February they were working with the 149th and 150th Field Artillery Regiments of the 42nd Division, assisting artillery shots on designated targets, as well as practicing general surveillance. Under Sebille's tutelage, the Americans learned how to use sounding balloons to plot wind velocity and wind direction at different altitudes, and how to use the telephone and an anemometer to take a wind reading— each tic corresponded to the passing of ten meters of wind through the instrument. These observations—not required drill—were interesting, and the company usually did them each morning. They learned to use the tension meter for measuring tension on the balloon cable in kilograms and how to care for its moving parts, oiling them when necessary for easy gliding. The company wore new gear as they performed—steel helmets, required at all times on duty. From the air, the observers joked, the ground below was "a field of mushrooms." 19 Life was bearable again. The YMCA ban was lifted; there were American movies, including Hazards of Helen, episode 6, "The Dead Chain," and a Sidney Drew comedy, Playing Dead. A stag dance provided entertainment for the company—first prize was a box of figs and a bar of chocolate. On Sundays there was baseball with an artillery team. The company was issued Colt 45's layered in several inches of what looked like axle grease (probably Cosmoline). Cleaning to ready them for the holsters carried from Fort Omaha required several evenings of thorough rubbing. Lieutenant Sebille, although pleased with the progress of the ground

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crew, complained to Lieutenant Grant that the company was not properly manned for duty at the front. The company lacked machine gunners and vigiles ("vigees" to the company), men trained to spot aeroplanes at a distance to determine whether they were friend or foe and alert the balloon officer and observers. The French regarded these specialists as essential for the safety of the men in the balloon. Otherwise, Sebille was satisfied with the company's handling of the balloon; he thought the winch operator one of the best he had seen in his years of ballooning. In early February, Sebille reported favorably to the French high command, who conferred with the American Air Service, on the readiness of his charges and departed. The company was inspected by Colonel Chandler, Colonel Parker, director of the School of Artillery Instructors, and a number of artillery officers in charge of batteries for the 26th and 42nd Division Field Artillery, who were interested in how a balloon operated. All tests were passed, and the company was approved for duty at the front. While the company awaited orders, instruction, reconnaissance, and regulation of artillery fire continued daily, in spite of storms and poor visibility. The ground crew complained that they were running an elevator service for every officer in France. Then on February 18, barely four weeks after first flying their balloon, orders came for a change of station. The company would move to the Toul Sector to relieve a French balloon company. In preparation for moving to the front, observers practiced dropping parachutes with sandbags. They would soon be needed. Barracks bags were packed, equipment stowed. On February 23 the company marched to Guer, the nearest rail head, singing the song soon heard all over France, "Where Do We Go from Here, Boys?": Paddy Mack drove a hack up and down Broadway Pat had one expression and he'd use it every day Any time he'd grab a fare to take them for a ride Paddy jumped upon the seat, cracked the whip and cried: Where do we go from here, boys, Where do we go from here? Anywhere from Harlem to a Jersey City pier; When Pat would spot a pretty girl, he'd whisper in her ear,— Oh joy, Oh boy, Where do we go from here? First of all, at the call, when the war began Pat enlisted in the army as a fighting man When the drills began, they'd walk a hundred miles a day Tho the rest got tired, Paddy always used to say: Where do we go from here boys, Where do we go from here? Slip a pill to Kaiser Bill and make him shed a tear And when we see the enemy we'll shoot him in the rear. Oh joy, Oh boy, Where do we go from here?20

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Life in a Quiet Sector Ye men who do and dare . . . 'mong bursting shells resounding through the air. —"Our Boys Are in the Trenches," 1918 At Guer, the loading process began. The balloon equipment, cook stove, water tank, chart room, winch, and tender were hoisted and secured onto flat cars in spite of the muddled orders of new officers. The now experienced privates knew that "Hey, you!" was not an appropriate form of address; regulations specified that soldiers be addressed by their rank, always. As the men had come to expect, officers traveled first class, the men, third—but no matter. They were glad to see the last of Brittany and its fathomless mud. Their joy was complete when a detested top sergeant was left behind because of stomach trouble, not to be seen again until just before the Armistice, when he appeared asking for his old job and was sent packing. The trip to their new location was a three-day ordeal for the company. Food was iron rations, consisting of two cans of corned beef, six boxes of hard bread, a quart canteen of water, and candles—carried by each man. The train had no water closet. Calls of nature compelled men to hang onto the running board of the coach car—a cold, dangerous, and embarrassing procedure. As the train wound its way across France with frequent stops, the men attached empty passenger cars from various train yards, which enabled them to stretch out in some comfort. On the second day, for exercise, the company was marched to Versailles from a nearby station, but

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the famous palace, the mecca for so many tourists, was shrouded in sandbags. Hot coffee and sandwiches handed out by French Red Cross women at a Paris suburban station brought smiles and cheers of appreciation. All that the company saw of fabled Paris was a glimpse from the window of the train. One impression gained by the company as the train made its way east, shouts of "vive les americainsl" ringing in their ears, was confirmed by Major Lahm as he traveled about France: "American troops putting in large store depots, railroad tracks, switches, etc. . . . We are going into this war on no mean scale."1 On the third day, the company reached Toul, their jump-off place in Lorraine. The front was due north. Much thought had been given to choosing the sector that would be exclusively American. The French would not tolerate another country's force guarding the roads to Paris, roughly the central section of the line, and the area north along the Channel coast was too congested for bringing in troops in the numbers needed to help the Allied cause. But southward, there were potentially good ports capable of receiving large numbers of troops, and from there, railroad transportation could carry them and their supplies to the northeast area facing Metz. This area was considered by American tacticians to be vital to the Germans; a successful offensive there with millions of Americans might undo the enemy without interfering too much with the French lines of communication. Toward this goal the American command readied itself: to take possesion on the right of the front line, the French holding the center, while the British covered the Channel ports on the left. Colonel William Mitchell, surveying the area before Pershing's arrival in 1917, described it as a "nasty part of the front around Verdun and Lorraine" where the French have made "practically no headway." The importance of the area to the German armies was obvious, its topography north of Verdun was a natural funnel beginning at Trebe and ending at Coblenz. The terrain had "great defensive strength—good if green troops are attacked." 2 An advocate of offensive air strikes, Mitchell saw the potential for attack through that funnel into Germany. With the buildup of American troops, a few thousand at first, later hundreds of thousands, Toul became essentially American as all activities were gradually taken over from the French. "Hardly a French soldier or officer to be seen in the streets, whereas four months ago the Americans were stared at as newcomers." 3 They built and ran narrow gauge railroads and the supply dumps they serviced; American MPs worked every crossroad in the rear. To the north beyond the town, along the southern side of the St. Mihiel Salient, Americans began to replace the French in the trenches as part of the development of the sector for an American Army, a plan that went awry when the 1918 German offensive began. General Pershing never accepted the idea of trench warfare, arguing in-

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stead that the only way to win a war was to drill soldiers thoroughly in the use of "the rifle and the tactics of open warfare." 4 The French, who trained the first American units on the line, explained tactical objectives and performed various exercises, treating the Americans as spectators. Pershing would have none of it. He insisted that commanding officers work out problems for themselves instead of merely observing; training should focus on tactics of security and information, patrolling, advance and rear guards, protection of flanks and rear. He accepted mixing American troops with the French for training but balked at placing American units in French divisions for service, insisting that language differences, different military methods, and different "national characteristics would seriously hinder complete cooperation necessary in combat." 5 For their part, the French, who were eager to employ American troops, scored the state of instruction in the United States in January 1918 as not brilliant in spite of the efforts made in the past eight months to improve it. Their solution was eventually adopted: place a regiment of infantry plus one or two groups of artillery with a French division for at least one full month for training before they regrouped into American divisions.6 General Pershing and General Petain worked out arrangements personally. Convincing the Allies was a hard sell, as the Americans quickly discovered. The French and British were primarily interested in strengthening their diminished armies and resisted American ideas to climb out of the trenches and force the offensive. To compound matters, the French and British governments did not work entirely in harmony; their efforts, often separate and distinct, reminded Pershing of Napoleon's observation that "it was not difficult to beat a coalition." 7 Certainly, the logical French mind was very tenacious and held the idee fixe that American soldiers should go into the trenches. Ironically, the Germans resolved this argument on the conduct of the war when they launched their spring offensive in 1918. Released from their train captivity at dawn, Company B unloaded equipment, assembled for moving, and suddenly found themselves witnesses to an aerial fight. The French railmen dove for cover, the new arrivals stood looking skyward where two aeroplanes fired and lunged at each other, bullets whistling and falling in the railyard. Holy moley, it was real! Then, realizing their vulnerability, the company scattered for cover. The company was met by Captain William O. Butler of the 6th Field Artillery, a West Point graduate, who had been sent to the 91st French Balloon Company for training as an observer. He had just been made a captain, outranking Lieutenant McFarland, the company CO, and assumed command on orders from Colonel Mitchell. Butler, a strict disciplinarian, knew little about operating or maintaining a balloon and informed Lieutenant Grant that Grant was to be responsible for all such matters as Maneuvering Officer. This was not unusual in the early days of the Air Service. Commanding officers of balloon companies were sometimes totally unin-

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formed about the operation of the unit but gung-ho on military discipline, the spit-and-polish drill viewed by most companies as a nuisance that took time from their primary business, maintaining and operating a balloon. Butler took the company in hand and guided them through the city into the deserted countryside, the trucks moving along kilometer after kilometer over a narrow macadam road into a wooded area the newcomers soon learned was part of the extensive Foret de La Reine. More kilometers, then a shout went up: Attention au ballonl Almost hidden by the woods, nestling in the snow and mud, was a Caquot balloon. The company was about to join the war. Their mission: relieve the 91st French Balloon Company and work with the artillery of the American 1st Division, training on the front under French command. The location was Bois de Rehanne, the time nearly 1100, February 26, 1918.* The company's arrival followed the schedule outlined by FrenchAmerican planners. Balloon companies arriving from the United States first went to an artillery camp to learn French balloon operating techniques and coordinate them with artillery. The ground crew learned more efficient handling; observers practiced a variety of map problems using perspective, targeted an objective not visible from the basket, and were introduced to the importance of liaison between the services, the need to consult on planned firing and the results. When these skills were honed, the company was sent to a quiet sector of the front for final battle training to bring the unit up to its highest point of efficiency. Observers must first of all familiarize themselves with the country surrounding them; every trench, abri (dugout), hill, shell hole, gun emplacement, or concrete machine gun placement must be as familiar as the back of one's hand. The next two days were spent getting acquainted with the new camp, whose official name was L'Ermitage. At the end of winter, the area was one vast mud hole, the trenches that housed the infantry awash in a foot or more of water. The surrounding wood of Menil la Tour, christened "Minnie la Tour" by the company, gave excellent protection to the balloon from wind and enemy observation. The latter very quickly became an important element of life with the Germans entrenched on hills to the north, dominated by Mont Sec, which offered a clear view of the sector below. Movement had to be camouflaged or made at night—crossroads and open fields were certain targets. The men were housed a kilometer north of the balloon bed in wooden buildings recently vacated by the French, while the officers moved into twoman bungalows in the woods belonging to their French counterparts, equipped with bomb-proof dugouts. In an emergency, the men used a shelter trench at the edge of the woods, running north-south instead of eastwest. A well-aimed shell would roll through it "like a bowling ball." 9 By any standards, the barracks were "crummy," but cleanliness was not a French military requirement. Floors were mud with duckboards for walk-

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ing, greased paper covered the windows, tar paper covered the roof, and filth and rats were everywhere. Bunks at right angles to the aisle slanted downward from head to foot and were covered with dirty rags. To make matters worse, the interior reeked of wine, cheese, tobacco, and burning wood. Empty wine bottles hung from wires strung over the aisles; at night, the rats ran back and forth, making a grand clatter. Well-aimed shoes and helmets had little effect on the rats but created havoc on the next row of sleepers. In an attempt to sanitize the barracks, it was given the carbolic acid treatment, which became routine whenever balloonists took over a new location. In short order, the CO ordered the old bunks demolished, and replaced by new double-deck bunks made of two-by-fours and chicken wire, the standard model in France. During winter months, when rain and winter slush seeped in, if a man missed the duckboard, "he was a goner." 10 Even so, balloon companies, like artillery batteries, were better off than the infantrymen who went into trenches where, during the winter, water was often a foot or more deep. Trench foot was endemic in spite of regular medical inspections, which was one reason troops were relieved from the trenches regularly. Healthy feet were essential for an army. Housing for the company's officers was not uncomfortable. The French insisted that they were guests, but the Americans contributed to run the mess (the French cooks stayed on), an elaborate affair by American standards. Breakfast before ascending was coffee for the French, Americans ate something heartier. Lunch at eleven o'clock for the officers not on duty was substantial: hors d'oeuvres, meat, vegetables, and salad, with cheese and coffee to finish. Dinner at night was another meal, served this time with liquors and brandy. The mess, reflecting the French attention to food, was an eye-opener, far superior to anything American. The 91st Company was overdue for relief, but English-speaking officers and a crew of French specialists offered to stay and help the new company, considered by the French to be undermanned and lacking machine gunners and sky watchers, two essential specialists. It was a generous gesture, greatly appreciated by the Americans. The officers went up with American observers or stayed in the chart room to instruct on "how" and "what" the observer should transmit to the artillery battery, what to report to headquarters. The practice at Coetquidan had been useful, but artillery and balloon were both learning. At the front, the nearness of the enemy lent greater urgency; the problems were no longer theoretical. The care and responsibility for the French balloon was in the hands of a warrant officer, called an adjutant. Adjutant Royer of the 91st was so thorough and efficient that Lieutenant Grant learned a great deal about balloon maneuvering "even though he did not speak any English at all." 11 The company was introduced to the "spider," an emergency maneuver used when a balloon was burning that required the men to clamp a pulley onto the balloon cable, then, in unison, pull the cable with the burning balloon

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attached crosswind to protect an observer parachuting down. The maneuver required split-second action by the handlers, each man instinctively grabbing his assigned rope and moving on numbered count, at right angle, from the roadway into the field. To the anxious observer, the movement was miniscule, but it was enough to shield him from a fiery death. 12 March 1 a new balloon was rigged and inflated to replace the weary French balloon. That same day, a newspaper article by Thomas M. Johnson of the New York Evening Sun, "with the American army in France," hailed Company B as the first Air Service unit to reach the American front: "The gas bag has beaten wings in race for the honor." 13 The company, forever proud that they were first, went about work as usual. The gas cylinders from the depot at Toul were positioned carefully, because one "spark of static electricity, with a resulting explosion, was the hydrogen-filled balloon's greatest enemy." 14 Four buckets of sand were kept at hand during the operation in case of fire. Under the watchful eyes of the French, the rigger squads, wearing canvas shoes, arranged the balloon on two ground cloths, nose into the wind, traced its shape on the cloths, and placed camping stakes, which, with sandbags attached to the cross feet, would hold the balloon down as it filled with gas. The men took positions at each stake, a corporal with two designated men on each side shifted sandbags as the balloon filled. In a strong wind, the reserve squads lent a hand to hold the elephantine bag in place. Gas cylinders and balloon were connected by manifolds and filling sleeves, care being taken not to aspirate air when shifting from one cylinder to the next, the inflation continuous until the twelve were used. Empties were marked with white chalk, the hexagon cap and top screwed on by driver No. 2 of the squad. While the balloon was filling, the rigger sergeant and four men inspected the fabric and ropes, checked the sandbags, assisted by the men on the ground cloth, who, on order, eased off the camping ropes, keeping the balloon on the cloth. When it was nearly inflated, the maneuvering officer decreased the flow of gas to inspect the valve action. It should open before pressure was too great; too early or too late required an adjustment on the valve cord. If a flight was to be made, the handling ropes were rigged, the basket with its equipment attached. If not, the balloon was walked to its bed by the assembled squads to await the next flight. The next three days were stormy; there were no ascensions. Instead, the men studied aeroplane spotting, concentrating on the distinct shapes of Allied and enemy aeroplanes and on the arrangement of squads for each duty. Handling the balloon was done by the Maneuvering Detail, consisting of forty-four men commanded by a sergeant 1st Class with a sergeant as assistant. The men were divided into four squads of ten men each and one corporal. Two squads were stationed on each side of the balloon, odd numbers on the right, even numbers on the left, each man assigned to a handling rope, which he always held while the balloon was being maneu-

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vered. Concentration and precision of movement were as essential as for a high-wire circus act. The Rigger Detail, numbering eleven men, was responsible for the maintenance of the balloon, the basket, and the parachutes. Among them were experts on ropes, fabric repair, and packing parachutes. A corporal was responsible for seeing that the basket was always ready with specified equipment: instruments, sandbags, and map cases. The Gas Detail with a sergeant in charge inflated the balloon each night, replacing the gas lost during a day's flight. Theirs was the task of receiving and caring for the gas cylinders: There must be no exposure to the direct rays of the sun or heat; storage should be in a well-ventilated room to prevent hydrogen from accumulating in case of a faulty valve or a ruptured safety; metal tools must never be used to open or close a cylinder's valve. One that cannot be opened by hand should be returned to the station where it was last filled. There were more instructions. When a cylinder is completely empty, the valve is closed to prevent air getting in. If the pressure in the cylinder rises above 2,500 to 3,000 pounds per square inch, the safety on the cylinder valve will rupture, sometimes causing a fire on the issuing tube. There is no danger as long as other filled cylinders are not too close. Always, clean all parts before connecting them to a hydrogen cylinder; friction from dirt and dust have been known to ignite hydrogen. Above all, no smoking, open fires, or lights within 150 feet of either the balloon or the manifold; keep cylinders 75 feet from the balloon. Care must be taken that the inflation tube does not twist or kink—both can cause pressure to build in the tube and rupture it. Telephones were in charge of a squad of twelve, whose work was crucial if the balloon was to be useful to the Army. A master-signal-electrician commanded; he had a sergeant 1st Class as assistant. These two men with six privates spent most of their time stringing lines and keeping them in repair, a full-time job during shelling when one or more lines might be broken. The French were amazed by the ease with which American telephone linesmen went up poles using American tools. French tools, delicate like their picks and shovels, made stringing a line a slower process. A member of the Telephone Detail was always in the chart room, the command center for the balloon; another was on the winch with an open phone to the observer in the basket. The man selected for this duty should "be cool and level headed"—he was the link between the observer and the maneuvering officer, who decided when to order "Jump!" 15 Two privates in the detail manned a big reel of wire near the winch, which enabled them to move their lines with the winch and keep communication open if shelling made a move necessary. The winch, essential for operating the balloon, was an eleven-ton, fourwheel-drive truck manned by two skilled operators. One drove the truck,

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the other ran the motor for the large reel located on the back to which the balloon cable was attached. A man was stationed at the crank of each motor to ensure a minimum of delay in an emergency. If, as sometimes happened, the winch was the target of enemy fire in a stable sector, it moved at once to one of two positions chosen in advance, usually a kilometer away, and shuttled back and forth between the two as long as there was shelling. In a forward position, the only recourse was to keep moving during shelling, using an auxiliary reel of wire that allowed the winch to move to new cover yet keep in touch with the basket. The tender, a smaller truck, carried two machine guns, two lookouts who stayed with the winch, ammunition, tools, and supplies. The rest of the company walked or could "spread out and proceed to a previously appointed place of safety, usually the new winch position." 16 Maneuvering officers and observers under fire usually relied on personal judgment, made keener by experience, to determine the right action regardless of what the manual recommended. The company lacked two details, machine gunners and sky watchers, which had to be organized to train with their French counterparts. Sky watchers, "vigees" to the company, started from scratch. Unfortunately, there was little aeroplane activity in the Toul sector and little opportunity to practice identifying different aeroplanes. Sergeant Stanley Burnham, in charge of the sky watchers, became so interested in the task that he developed a simple method of recognizing types of planes in the sky that was used by other balloon commands to train men. His system developed from observing that an aeroplane high in the sky showed only one silhouette to the man on the ground, head on or sidewise; no two types of planes presented the same silhouette in either position of flight. Pictures of different planes were studied, their features classified and drawn on a chart the way an observer would see them. On German aeroplanes the upper wing was usually wider than the lower one, while on most allied aeroplanes the upper and lower wings were the same. The upper wing on German machines was often deeper than the lower; distinctive wing tips alerted the "vigee" to the approach of a Fokker, Spad, Nieuport, or Pfalz. The shape of the elevator and rudder were helpful in identifying approaching aircraft, and the sound of the motor was another clue to its identity. The Mercedes Motor used on all German machines had a peculiar throb that once heard was not forgotten. No Allied motor had a similar sound. The squad consisted of two corporals and twelve privates, divided into two reliefs, serving ideally an hour at a turn, but circumstances often dictated a longer one. Depending on the terrain, the six men were stationed around the winch like a six pointed star, the posts numbered one through six, the same man always serving at the same post wherever the company went. There were two reasons for this: Spotters with experience were used to seeing an aeroplane in a certain section of the sky, in a particular light, and became more expert in picking up distant aeroplanes; also, their eyes

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seemed to tire less. This last was a major consideration, because the strain on a long summer day was terrific. Men chosen for this detail needed four qualities in c o m m o n : good eyesight, interest in the work, quick wits, and above-average intelligence. The importance of their choice could not be overemphasized. They held the lives of officers and men in their hands. As for the Machine Gun Detail, the company was up a creek. They had no guns except one the French had left. Captain Butler called and wrote to Toul asking for personnel and machine guns with little success. The French specialists lectured the men on the use of the weapon, its role in protecting a balloon, and their duties in the new detail. An overcast day, when the balloon was grounded, gave the men assigned as spotters and gunners a chance to practice. Lieutenant Grant took them to the Toul airport, manned by the French, where gunners practiced on the Hotchkiss guns on the range and worked with the special sighting device for firing on aircraft. Gunners had to learn to shoot ahead of the aeroplane, not directly at it. Spotters attended class to learn the mechanical details of Allied aeroplanes. Both Spads and Nieuports were flying from Toul; in fact, their presence kept enemy planes from getting too close to the company's balloon. At the airport, Grant struck up a conversation with a young flyer, Dinsmore Ely, w h o flew in the Lafayette Corps attached to the French Escadrille, discovered they had mutual friends and invited him to visit at L'Ermitage. Ely accompanied Grant on an early morning balloon ascension, M a r c h 2 6 , and left this account in a letter to his father: As we approached in the morning dusk many men hustled to muffled commands. Then the balloon moved out into the open and upward until the men clinging to the west side ropes formed a circle around the basket. We were put into belts and fastened to our parachutes before getting into the basket. Then at command to ascend the basket left the ground. Soon we were at 2000 feet and the woods and machines and human forms were lost in the ground haze still clinging to the hollows. With all the flying I have done I had never hung in the air nor had I ever realized the air was so empty and so still. The stillness of the mountains is broken by its echo. There are splashes in the stillness of the sea, but in a balloon the air doesn't even breathe. My companion spoke into his telephone in low tones to test the wires. He showed me the map and then pointed out the enemy lines. Suddenly there was a flicker of fires in the Western horizon, like fire flies. Afterwards came distant booms. The German firing started and for a time an artillery duel lasted, then finally ceased. An appalling silence surrounded us again. Then we descended to let the regular observers get in action. It was a wonderful experience.17 This was the last letter Ely wrote. Days later, his Spad crashed near Villacoublay; he never regained consciousness. C o m p a n y B, because it was the only American balloon group on the front, had a number of important visitors. Major Paegelow, now head of

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balloons for the recently organized First Army Corps, insisted on going up the afternoon of March 18. That same day, Colonel Chandler and Lieutenant Berard of the French Air Service, an invaluable aide to the American Air Service, inspected the company and ordered a night ascension at 2115. Visibility was mediocre; night flights were not yet regular routine. The following day, Major Lahm inspected, and after observing several flights, he went up at 1540 with Lieutenant Sedgwick. Shortly after, a caravan of limousines approached, raising quite a dust cloud, which was usually enough to get the attention of the German gunners. The caravan pulled up near the winch, and a short man in dark clothes and a black derby stepped from the second car. Easily recognizable, he was Newton D. Baker, Secretary of War. With him was Brigadier General James Harbord, Chief of Staff for the AEF, and an assortment of generals and colonels, including Colonel William Mitchell, head of Air Service on the front. Only Pershing and Foulois were missing from the top brass. The Secretary telephoned his compliments to the observers, the balloon was brought down to show Secretary Baker how it was maneuvered, and Lahm and Sedgwick stepped out and saluted. The company figured Lahm had known something. The regular observers climbed into the basket, the balloon returned to work, and the caravan departed, while the officers mused, "Wouldn't the German guns have spread 'Kultur' over us if they had known who made the dust?" 18 Actually, the company's early days on the front were relatively quiet— that is why they were there. The sector was used to train new troops or rest units from service elsewhere. The French and the Germans seemingly had an unwritten agreement: Don't bother us, we won't bother you. On Sundays, by mutual consent, the war stopped. Both armies took advantage of the respite to do laundry (reportedly they shared the same water holes), visit nearby villages, or—if American—hang out at the YMCA canteen. If the quiet in the midst of war seemed a contradiction, it was readily enjoyed by all. Those with transportation and money headed for Nancy and the Stanislas Restaurant to wine and dine. Lieutenant Hayward, now stationed at Toul to build a supply depot for the Air Service, was one who enjoyed the day off from duty and joined the aviators usually there, following the old wisdom—"eat, drink, and be merry." The restaurant was known over a wide area; a trip in any direction usually was cause for a stop in Nancy. 19 March was iffy weather, often stormy with considerable early morning mist or fog and poor visibility. On good days, the balloon went up and down several times, allowing different observers to gain experience and learn the territory. There was work every minute in the air. The new men learned that liaison with artillery batteries was essential. The observer had to know when fire began, know the target of the firing, and report the result of fire; he had to know what method of fire was planned—single or salvo; the type of shell—contact, deep penetration, or shrapnel—and the

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kind of fuse; the time of flight; and the number of rounds. If advance planning was not practicable, details were arranged by phone using coded figures for the coordinates on the firing maps in case the enemy was listening. Liaison was never as thorough between balloons and artillery as it ought to have been, especially in the early months. Both units had to learn what the other could and could not do—knowledge that came slowly for the Americans, whose experience with balloons and other units was brand new. Company C, when assigned to the Artillery School at Valdahon, discovered that the American artillery brigade training with the French was not interested in working with the balloon until the last week of the course—hardly time enough for either unit to learn to mesh their action.20 The observer's role as it evolved in the early months of the war was to act as the eyes for artillery gunners, who rarely saw their targets but laid fire where they were told. Part of an observer's preparation, before gun regulation began, was to estimate distances visually on his map between objects near, beyond, in front of, to the right of, and to the left of the target, noting them for reference when firing started. Maps were extremely important because they held information updated from observation, intelligence reports, and aerial photos. Each company received three sets of four maps, scaled from 1 to 5,000 to 1 to 50,000, which showed German installations back to their third line.21 Two special French trains traveled the front every three or four months to supply new maps containing the latest information. His map study finished, the observer made phone contact, watches were synchronized; each unit reported, "Ready." Regulation was usually for the French 75mm gun or the 155mm gun, which had greater distance. The emergence of heavy artillery as a determining factor in warfare was one of the surprises of the war. The French Army, confident of their strength "in the lightness of its guns," had relied on their 75mm, which was mobile, "quicker firing, more accurate," before discovering their error when the nature of the war changed.22 When the battery reported "gun fired," or when the observer heard the first gun, he started his tenth-second stopwatch and looked toward the target from his "climbing or diving and rotating basket." Knowing when the shell would burst, he would locate where it hit and report in meters, for example, "80 over, 15 right." 23 The gun was then reset for those distances, the shot fired, and the field of fire gradually narrowed toward the target. To determine the provisional range of the target, the shots were varied, one long and one short, to bracket the target. If more than one gun was fired, the average location of the bursts was reported. The observer informed the battery on results: "So many observed, so many short." 24 Important targets were verified by an Observation Squadron photograph to confirm destruction. Photographs by the flying observers were invaluable

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in determining results of the targets regulated upon and questionable ones. Liaison with the air squadrons, once they were established, proved efficient and harmonious. The balloon had time to note defiladed (hidden) areas, which the aeroplane could examine from overhead with photographs. The intelligence section of every balloon company kept files of such photos to help the observer spot his objectives more clearly, especially those that were difficult to see from the balloon. Aeroplanes frequently helped a battery register on an enemy target, then turned the shoot over to a balloon to finish the rest of it more effectively. The decision whether to use an aeroplane or a balloon for a particular mission was based on what was needed and on which unit could serve to the best advantage. It was made by the Air Service commander of the army corps, following the Chief of Staff's outline. Much consultation went into the decision. The goal: how best to handle a job "to get the best results at the lowest cost and at the least risk." 25 If the target was hidden from the observer, a different technique was used for regulating. The observer sited upon a known and mutually visible witness point; the gun-pointer then sighted his gun from there toward the target according to his map. If the operation called for barrage firing by 75mm guns for an offensive, the observer had to know the time schedules, the breadth of the attack, and the goals. His observations on spacing in the curtain of fire and the time and location of infantry smoke-pot and flare signals were relayed immediately to Division, Corps, and Army as well as to the light artillery and infantry units involved. During an Army advance, the Telephone Detail worked overtime keeping the network going. In case of a major telephone line break, the company's three motorcyclists carried the information—"a really hazardous job" in an active sector.26 The observer kept a careful eye on the area assigned to the balloon when not adjusting for the artillery so that anything different, any change from the usual, was noteworthy. Gathering general information focused on enemy activities: the number of balloons flying, the number of aircraft; shelling of American positions, reporting the flash from the gun and the shellburst, its coordinates, and locality; the number of guns firing, their caliber, range, and objective, which enabled the American artillery to respond. Data accumulated from a variety of sources helped weigh enemy strengths and weaknesses, sensitive background material for the next operation. Reports on enemy aircraft helped estimate the amount of photographing and bombing being done and the results of aerial combats. Victory claims had to be substantiated by a witness; balloons, with their vantage view, were able to confirm many victories for the pursuit groups. In poor visibility, spotters on the ground, who followed the aerial antics closely, sometimes assisted—and cheered when their guys made a hit. Observers of all armies found the long hours suspended above the ground, often the object of shelling or aeroplane attacks, a lonely, grueling

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experience. The strains it produced caused men to suddenly develop nausea or rendered them incapable of climbing into the basket. Recruits from the infantry or the artillery found themselves echoing the sentiments of a German infantry officer who thought the balloon service would be better than life in the trenches: "I would sooner undergo a five days' bombardment than make another ascent!" 27 American observers seem to have fared better, perhaps because they often went up in pairs and the strain was shared—or they suffered in silence. Unlike the aviators, balloonists as a group did not write about their experience. Charles Hayward, who observed on the Toul front in July 1918 with the 4th Company (previously Company D), says he was too busy to be nervous, but after two weeks in the basket he had bouts of nausea that he could not explain. (A French aviation publicist, Jacques Mortane, had proposed in 1917 that a balloon observer "who parachuted five times be given the same recognition as an airman who downed five enemy planes," but nothing came of the proposal.28) Observers, generally, were a forgotten group when medals were handed out. During March, Company B was still short of manpower to operate effectively. The French were right—ninety-one men could not do the expected job. For example, "Dog-Robbers," better known as orderlies, who kept the officers neat and doubled as human sandbags if needed, were considered essential but were not counted on any official roster. One result of the visit by Secretary Baker and the AEF high command was the arrival on March 31 of fifty men from the newly arrived 6th Balloon Company. They were detailed as punishment for misbehavior to the astonishment of the company who considered frontline duty an honor. Captain Butler shaped them up quickly with drilling, KP, and guard duty, explaining when they looked unhappy that, unfortunately, the good jobs were already taken. Regarding themselves now as experienced Army men, the company continued to be amazed by the difference between their imaginings of the front and the reality. The hardships and dangers of war featured in popular magazine stories had not materialized. Lieutenant Grant, writing to his mother, noted that the Balloon Squadron Commander, Major Paegelow, was with the company "temporarily to enjoy the comforts of the front, which are really much greater than the American magazines would have the public believe. . . . We live in the midst of a peaceful woods with good macadam roads everywhere and later in the spring it will be like a summer resort." 29 Of course, the enemy was near, and the uncertainty of his next move created tension. The threat of spies was real; German trenches were only four or five kilometers distant; the possibility of a sudden raid made guard duty nerve-wracking; a twig cracking in the dark was enough to set off gunshots. Rumors of a big push were daily fare: A vast enemy force was moving from the Russian and Italian sectors (the Russians had withdrawn

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from the war and signed a peace agreement with Germany), forty-four divisions led by Germany's top generals, to deliver the knockout blow that would end the war. For once the rumors proved true. On March 21 the Germans attacked the British Army northwest of the American sector, and things looked bad as British and French armies retreated before the Germans' powerful thrust. Even Paris felt the effects of shelling as the Germans unleashed an enormous new gun especially designed to fire on the capital from a safe seventy-five miles away. The American Army now numbered more than one million men, but only four divisions were on the front—the 1st, 2nd, 26th, and 42nd; the rest, in training, were still green. There was one encouraging bit of news: On March 28, 1918, General Ferdinand Foch, chief of the French General Staff, was named commander in chief of the Allied armies on the Western Front. Finally, military operations would have a unified command. The Americans approved heartily. In the Toul sector, increased enemy shelling and surveillance helped the company decide that it was time to build an emergency bed further back in the woods. The Boche were hitting too close. (When they first arrived, the Americans thought that the German artillery opposite them were learners because their firing was so inaccurate.) On repeated days, enemy planes forced the balloon to descend but did not score a hit as the observers worked with the 6th and 7th Field Artillery close by. The effectiveness of their work was evident in increased German air activity by aeroplanes and balloons to counteract the guns' balloon-assisted accuracy. The ground crew discovered that antiaircraft guns aimed at enemy fighters could be more dangerous than the Boche, requiring quick repair of holes made by shell fragments. Gas masks were issued to the company; lectures and drills familiarized the men with them and the kinds of gas carried in shells with explosives or shrapnel. Phosgene, which smelled like new mown hay, killed immediately if breathed in large amounts. Smaller amounts could damage the lungs, causing a gradual drowning in the body's fluids—a slow, painful process that took eight to ten days. Phosgene was a favorite of the Germans—it was effective. Mustard gas, another favorite, appeared harmless at first, but its effects became evident four to twelve hours later and were severe: pain in the eyes with a kind of conjunctivitis that could blind a person in anywhere from three days to four weeks; irritated, blistered skin that healed slowly; food, water, clothing, or equipment absorbed the gas so that its power to harm remained. Its persistency in valleys, sunken roads, or shell holes even after two days of rain made it deadly. Worst of all, it attacked the lungs, causing pulmonary complications that usually resulted in pneumonia and death. The masks—the first were French, then later English models—took time to adjust to, but the threat of injury or death was a big incentive. The

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clamor of gas alarms—a cacophony of horn, klaxon, siren, or banging of metal stovepipes from each unit's signal of choice—aroused the men instantly to grab the mask. Repeated episodes especially at night tightened nerves and made men fidgety—the fear of the unseen presence was almost palpable. Artillery units had an additional concern—to protect their animals, who wore masks during an attack just like their two-legged friends. Relief took different forms: a cognac-inspired shoot-up of the shack roof at the balloon bed; a private's request to see "a regular" doctor rather than the one with the company; a masquerade visit to Toul, off limits for enlisted men. The first two incidents convinced the company that Captain Butler had a sense of humor. He investigated the first, then made the guard detail rebuild the roof and ignored the second instead of court-martialing a soldier for disrespect to an officer. The third incident he never knew about as the men had rented French poilu uniforms to sneak into the city, returning with tales that regaled the company. April came, and the 26th Division from New England replaced the 1st Division; the weather, a bit dryer, remained fickle. Long sessions on the good days made for tired crews. Days frequently started at four in the morning and lasted until midnight with snatches of sleep between shifts, but observers continued to improve skills in regulating artillery fire. The muddy trek, while half asleep, from barracks to balloon bed involved careful footwork; one slip meant a muddy mess, and worse language. Lessons continued for machine gunners and spotters on days of poor visibility. The assigned intelligence officer met with artillery commanders to work on liaison and future plans. More enemy balloons were appearing, bringing with them increased shelling. The Germans knew Americans were now on the line and began shelling every day at four o'clock in the afternoon in the mistaken belief that, like the British, it was tea time and the units would be caught napping. When the 26th Division artillery came on the line in April, they thought the Sunday quiet ridiculous and lobbed shells at the Germans to get on with winning the war. Credit for the first shot by an American organization in the AEF went to Battery C, 6th Field Artillery, which lit up the skies at 0605 as America's first shot of the war went thundering into German territory. Osborne de Varila wrote, "I was tingling from head to foot with the tensity of the moment," and when the commander ordered "Fire!," de Varila pulled the lanyard of the 75, sending eighteen pounds of shrapnel toward the enemy.30 Artillery officers, amused by the attitude of their men, who with the exuberance of kids at a school picnic wanted to get the war over, worried at the same time because they were oblivious to the danger near at hand. The sector was warming up. On clear days, the observers often could see twenty to thirty kilometers behind the German lines. On one of these occasions, the observer, an observant fellow, noticed that a cemetery on his map moved, sometimes belch-

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ing forth smoke and flame. Surely his eyes were overworked! He checked again, was convinced he was looking at a camouflaged battery, and alerted the artillery. A few well-delivered shots destroyed the "cemetery" overlooked by the French for four years.31 Clear nights brought the certainty of enemy bombing. With the first boom, everyone hurried to douse lights and grab helmets. The buildings shook; men burrowed into their blankets. The wonder was that sleep was possible after a ten- or fourteen-hour day with the balloon as long as the booms were distant. The sun was warmer, the weather hinted of spring, and the war would get hotter.

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Annoying the Boche With fire of fitness surging thru' our veins —"The Boys from the West," 1918

Since M a r c h , General Pershing had been agitating for organization of an American sector, manned by American troops, but General Petain objected, insisting that the troops were not ready. He would not risk the danger of an enemy attack that inexperienced troops might not resist, but he agreed that the 1st Division was well advanced in its training on the Toul sector, that the 26th and 4 2 n d Divisions would go into the line in April. As much as he wanted American troops to strengthen French divisions, he believed them still unready. The two generals continued to meet and discuss troop disposition; for the time being, Pershing acquiesced. T o meet the emergency caused by the German spring attack in March, he offered American troops, when ready, wherever they were needed. At Toul, the French instructors had rejoined their 91st Balloon Company taking with them their cooks, leaving the Americans to find replacements— not always happily—from among the company. " H a n d grenades," large balls of dough dropped into a GI can of boiling grease until brown on the outside, then smothered with molasses in a mess kit, was one concoction that proved as dangerous as the Germans. The men felt the effects for the next twelve hours, but found them irresistible and a welcome change from sow belly (bacon without meat) and dehydrated potatoes washed down by the "smelly brown w a t e r " that passed for coffee.1 To improve the food ration, General Order #34 from AEF Headquarters

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established a garden service as a branch of the Quartermaster Corps to plant vegetable gardens that spring in quiet sectors. Green vegetables and potatoes were especially recommended; land, seeds, tools, and information were furnished by the Quartermaster Corps. Besides supplying the troops with fresh vegetables, hopefully the gardens would save shipping space for more essential materials. 2 Balloonists missed this service. There is no mention of gardening in the Bois de Rehanne. General Order #42 dealt with complaints received at AEF Headquarters about the destruction of beehives. Soldiers were reminded that stealing honey could entail permanent loss of hives, which "seriously impairs a source of food supply" and for which it was impossible to repay the French people. 3 Along with cutting fuel wood without the permission of a French forest officer, it was a punishable offense. Balloonists as a group, less regimented than the infantry, took what they needed wherever they found it and didn't worry too much about the consequences. Other company shortcomings were genuine enough; sugar and other food ration items seldom reached them. The men were convinced that the cooks and depot supply people kept such items for personal use. During the winter months, rations had been increased for troops doing hard labor for eight hours or more, including meat, sugar, and other items, few of which reached Company B. Samuel Taylor Moore observed from his experience with the Balloon Service that the "company that selected its best thieves for the ration detail also ate best."4 No longer a curiosity, the balloon company had fewer visitors, but Major General Hunter Liggett, commander of the I Army Corps, formed on January 20, inspected the company with Colonel Mitchell. A German Albatross D-5 attacked the balloon while they were there, giving the machine gunners a chance to show their shooting skill to chase off the attacker before the balloon was damaged. The company discovered very shortly that the Austrian 88 gun, whose shell traveled at a low trajectory and wasn't heard until it hit, was an even greater menace than aeroplanes. These "whiz bangs," effective against balloons, were particularly scary to the ground crew. In the early years of the war, steel darts, grenades, and incendiary bombs were used to attack balloons, but incendiary ammunition, employed by both sides, was especially effective in destroying the gas bags. Captain Butler arranged a simulated parachute jump for Major General Liggett (observers never jumped except in emergency). Sandbags weighing 140 pounds were fastened to the side of the basket, and the balloon went up with a sergeant as passenger. At five hundred feet, the rope was cut, the sandbags fell away and crashed to earth barely twenty feet from the general. In his excitement the sergeant cut the wrong rope, and the parachute was not released. Butler was mortified, Liggett, mildly amused, noting later

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in his memoirs that he had no doubt that plenty of American soldiers would have been most happy to have seen him dead.5 As Petain had feared, the Germans made two probes against the American line in the first twelve days of April. In the first, on April 10 near Apremont, fierce hand-to-hand fighting between the 104th Infantry and the enemy ensued, the Americans refusing to give one inch. On the 12th a new attack forced French units on the line to withdraw, exposing the American flank before the 104th counterattacked and cleared out the enemy troops. The battles were a test of ability, a morale booster, but the enemy won the last round—a bombardment at night pulverized the trenches just as reinforcements arrived for relief. The infantry had its first bloody nose. On April 12 Balloon Company D, Second Squadron, joined the sector to the left of Company B at Lahaymeix, a short distance north of St. Mihiel, working with French and American artillery connected with the 2nd Division. On the 15th, Balloon Company A, Second Squadron, arrived on the Baccarat Sector, attached to the 67th Field Artillery Brigade of the 42nd Division, bringing to three the number of American balloon companies on the front. That same day, April 15, Company B telephoned the Toul Airdrome early in the morning to warn that two low-flying Boche planes were headed toward them and learned that the first American heavier-than-air unit had arrived, the 94th Aero Squadron. The Germans, whose intelligence system was extremely good, obviously knew of their arrival and wanted to have a look. When the alert came in, pilots Douglas Campbell and Alan Winslow went up in their machines and attacked the intruders. The first Albatross went down almost at once due to Winslow's exact firing, then both aeroplanes turned on the second, which went down in flames when Campbell hit the gasoline tank with a bullet. It was a successful beginning for the new squadron, thanks to Company B's alertness.6 April 20, after two exploratory actions, the Germans started a push through the American sector at Seicheprey, partly to see if an advance was possible, partly to test the ability of the defending Americans, whom they were determined to prove ineffectual fighters. The attack began at 0230 with intense bombardment and quantities of gas—tear, phosgene, and mustard—that made the woods lethal without masks. The weather was poor, but the company put the balloon up, hoping for a break in visibility that extended only to Seicheprey. Warned to be ready to move out quickly with all equipment, the company thought it easier to move a balloon in the air, towed by the winch, than to carry it along on the ground. The enemy bombardment continued all day, forcing the infantry back in many spots before it regrouped and counterattacked the next day. The balloon, held in readiness, made several ascensions on the 20th. It was forced down once by an enemy aeroplane—obviously the Germans did not want observers

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watching their activity—but weather was more of a damper on the balloon's usefulness. The next day was worse—"Sunny France" a misnomer—but the company remained on alert all day. The 26th Division, taken by surprise, fought tooth and nail to beat the Germans back. Part of Company B, the balloon grounded by dense fog, pitched in and carried much needed machine gun ammunition to the line. For two days and nights, ambulances raced back and forth competing with reinforcements going up to the line for space on roads too narrow for the traffic. The Americans suffered 669 casualties; the Germans reported six hundred casualties—the 26th Division estimate was double that figure. There were anxious looks all around until word came that the Boche had been repulsed. The Seicheprey attack followed a pattern commonplace in 1918, incorporating surprise, violence, rapid execution, and maneuverability to penetrate in depth. German artillery preparation was brief; the line remained normal while an intense bombardment, using "all calibers and all sorts of shells . . . simultaneously over a depth of from 4 to 5 kilometers," softened the line for the infantry assembled some two hundred to three hundred meters from the first lines to be taken. Infantry shock troops moved fast, rushing forward under cover of a rolling artillery barrage and minenwerfer (mortar) fire to take successive objectives, as other units mopped up and protected their flanks. Because frontal and flanking attacks went on at the same time, the German attack was particularly effective against thinly held positions. It failed when it ran up against "energetic troops, sufficiently numerous and suitably disposed in depth." 7 The Germans, reporting on the Seicheprey operation, judged the surprise complete, helped greatly by foggy weather during the attack. The gassing of the American artillery kept it in check and, as the attack continued, individual batteries identified by aviation units were hit by fire with gas shells or high explosives. The effect on enemy artillery, though not silencing it completely, "weakened its firing power considerably throughout the day, especially in the afternoon." German infantry units succeeded almost everywhere "in surprising the enemy before he could come out of his dugouts." Unable to withdraw because of the enemy's penetration, the American garrison had to stay and fight while waiting for reinforcements. The Germans believed the enemy had no knowledge of the operation, citing "the relief two hours before the attack of the American battalion in position at the point of penetration." Toting up the weaponry involved, 64 batteries, 108 trench mortars, and 22,000 gas shells were used.8 The Americans, caught napping, vowed it would not happen again. One casualty of the Seicheprey operation was the Salvation Army canvas hut, run by four young women—Stella Young, Gladys and Irene Mclntyre, and Myrtle Turkington—who worked in uniform, gas mask, and helmet. The hut brought a bit of cheer to the troops and reminded them of home

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with doughnuts and cocoa for ten centimes while listening to one of two records on the gramophone. "Just Another Little Drink Won't Do Us Any Harm" was the hands down favorite. The Germans dropped a six-inch shell in the doorway of the hut, putting it out of business and infuriating the balloon company, who rated it "the worst German atrocity." 9 Fortunately, the young ladies escaped without injury. Shelling became a daily routine; finishing an emergency bed was a must. The chosen site was the next crossroads to the rear, where the company cleared a part of the forest to conceal the balloon. When poor weather kept the balloon down for most of the next week, the company practiced maneuvers, crossing telephone lines, hauling down with the pulley on the tender, the swift action one-two when using the spider, while officers touched base with Division Command and the COs of Battery 480, Artillery Brigade Intelligence and Headquarters of 103rd Field Artillery. Gas mask drill had a new urgency since Seicheprey; guard duty was more vigilant, as units along the front tightened security with countersigns and check-words changed daily by the Post Command. In their free time, the men practiced needle arts, replacing buttons and mending tears, activities they said would make them "a wonderful wife for any girl back home." 10 They swapped experiences with the outfits near them, the 101st Machine Gun Battalion and the 101st Infantry of the 26th Division when they were not in the trenches. Many of the latter, Boston Irish, their dander up, carried shillelaghs wrapped with barbed wire on one shoulder, rifle on the other, itching to retaliate for the spiked clubs the Germans had used in a raid. Both sides raided frequently for practice, as well as for information.11 In the sector, enemy balloons were more in evidence—at St. Benoit, Beney, and Vigneulles—as April turned to May. A new one appeared at Laginau on May 2d. (Enemy balloons were named for the nearest town.) The bobbing balloons on either side of the front lines were a sure sign the sector was no longer "quiet." On May 3 the balloon sighted enemy aeroplanes at different times in the southwest, the east, and the north, searching for the batteries that were firing on German targets with the balloon's help. Batteries 421, 419, and 371 of the 103rd Field Artillery were active throughout the day. The following day, the balloon was up at 0710 keeping an eye on Beney and a new balloon near Etang du Montfaucon. Two adjustments were made with Batteries 420 and 408 in spite of enemy plane sightings before the balloon was hauled down and placed on its bed. At 1420, the balloon ascended to one thousand meters with visibility to the frontline trenches. The rest of the day was up and down, first because of rain, then poor visibility. The next several days were rainy with zero visibility. The company, settled into a routine, rebuilt the winch and tender road at the balloon field, dug new latrines, and did other chores around the camp, while the observ-

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ers did liaison with the 1st Battalion 102nd Field Artillery, Batteries 371, 372, 373, 376, and 377. On May 16 the company watched with interest as enemy balloon Beney broke away in the afternoon in a strong wind and traveled west out of sight at an estimated altitude of two thousand meters. Early May found Maneuvering Officer Grant posted to Artillery School at Saumur on the Loire to learn the fundamentals of artillery work. Disgruntled and unhappy at being removed from the front, he complained, "I came over here to fight the Boche, and no sooner do I make good on the Front than I am taken away and made to go to school like a 12 year old." 12 The three weeks spent there were a waste. Grant couldn't wait to return to his company where he felt his work was worthwhile. Another concern worried him—that he would be sent back as an observer. Grant readily admitted he had lost all desire to go up in a balloon. Whether it was the tumble he had at Omaha, or "being in the game so long," he no longer felt at ease when up. He explained to his mother, "The French say that about seven months of ballooning and an observer begins to lose his goat." 13 Grant had lost his. May 12 was Mother's Day. The entire Expeditionary Forces were encouraged to write to the mother "waiting and praying for them." All letters with "Mother's Letter" on the envelope would receive special priority handling, according to Headquarters. 14 This was surely the first and last time an army observed Mother's Day. Obviously the AEF was concerned about press stories of misconduct among the troops overseas. May 12 also saw the arrival of 37 enlisted men from the 8th Casual Detachment at Fort Omaha under Lieutenant Harold Dungan, bringing the company's total near the recommended 170 men. At the same time, a number of officers joined the company for training as observers; the Company Log listed many new names as the balloon did elevator service and kept track of increasing enemy balloons, but made few artillery adjustments. Introducing new observers meant starting from scratch—getting the feel of the basket, learning the landscape by heart, being able to translate it onto a map, and learning the telephone drill. The old balloon, showing wear and tear, was replaced by a new one and readied for action on May 22. Two good days of work with Batteries 421, 377, and 384 firing on known enemy installations were followed by rain and high wind before work was renewed on May 28 with Batteries 420 and 383. The firing, too close to vital enemy targets, was halted when a German plane forced the balloon down. Major Lahm and a colleague, Captain Joralemon, were on hand to see the company in action and took a short flight. In the evening, liaison, now routine with neighboring batteries, discussed the day's work and plans for the morrow. One bright spot in the month was the appearance of a YMCA entertainment troop featuring Elsie Janis, "the sweetheart of the AEF," beloved for her unstinting travels around France to entertain the troops. 15 (Miss

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Janis's fiance, British actor Basil Hallam, was killed in the early months of the war when he jumped from a balloon and his parachute failed to open.) Shows were impromptu affairs, using whatever staging was available: for the balloonists, the tops of four tables assembled together; once a real stage built by French-American troops; on the Toul sector, a boxing ring on a hillside looking toward the German lines. On that occasion, when an aeroplane came too close, American antiaircraft guns began to fire, causing Miss Janis to look up and ask, "was there any chance of her being killed, because she didn't want to be, as she had work to do tomorrow." Her delighted audience roared, "No, Keep on!" and the show went on.16 By all accounts, Janis, who wrote much of her own music and collected stories from the troops she met, was an uninhibited performer. The men loved her for her down-to-earth manner, her infectious humor. On one occasion, Janis began a story about American troops by observing that baths are important, so important that the French think the two best things Americans do are take baths and collect souvenirs. A group of Allied soldiers, discussing what different countries were fighting for, decided: England for the sea; France for Alsace-Lorraine; Italy for Trieste; America— for souvenirs. Janis went on to say that she hadn't met a doughboy who didn't have a German helmet. Her closing was lost in a roar of laughter: "It's nice to think there are so many German dead heads about." 17 General Pershing had a special performance one evening at Chaumont. For once the irrepressible Janis was scared stiff. Meeting him, she realized what it was that made all his men feel as they did about him. "They did not fear him, and they did not love him. . . . He is—their boss, and they are for him." Asked to sing for the general, who had missed her show earlier, Janis demurred, but she told a story "and the lid was off." She could have gone on forever, delighted with Pershing's hearty laugh. He toasted her at the end, "Elsie, when you first came to France someone said you were more valuable than a whole regiment—then someone raised it to a division, but I want to tell you that if you can give our men this sort of happiness you are worth an Army Corps." 18 Charles Hayward encountered Miss Janis and her mother, who traveled everywhere with her, in a restaurant in Toul. It was a small, crowded place with limited menu, limited seating, and dim lighting, but for Hayward the dinner was memorable for the company. The plat du jour may have been horse meat, but to Hayward "it was better than bifteck."A9 Near the front, Janis entertained the 2nd Division, where she learned a new version of "The Pay Roll," sung to the tune of "Glory, glory, hallelujah." The men belted out the words:

All we do is sign the pay roll, All we do is sign the pay roll,

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cent!

When they came to the last words, they realized ladies were present and the song "died away in a sort of moan." Elsie wasn't having that. Reminding them she was in the AEF, too, she started them again, and two thousand voices sang an uncensored rendition. 20 The balloonists and units of the 26th Division roared with laughter when she led them through countless verses of "Slum," a surefire hit, repeated in a litany, recounting the horrors of Army meals, all of which were cheerfully wished on the Kaiser. Any assembly of large crowds always ran the risk of attracting enemy notice, and the company complained when one show was halted by machines overhead. The next night fared better. In fact, later that night, an automobile pulled up near the balloon bed, and astonished guards were treated to the sight of Elsie Janis, who, accompanied by Colonel Mitchell and Major Paegelow, wanted to see a balloon. There was a party after the show; the visitors were in high spirits, according to Craig Herbert who had guard duty. Elsie summed up the American army in one observation: She had found every nationality, some of whom spoke little English, which made her wonder how they understood commands. One thing was obvious—"They did not need to be told to advance, and retreat is a word unknown." 21 In her travels around France, Janis discovered one song that wouldn't play: "There's a Long, Long Trail." It invariably brought men close to tears; she dropped it from her repertoire. Regular entertainment was provided under YMCA auspices when conditions allowed. Some divisions of the AEF had their own entertainment troops, notably the 77th Division. Comprised of many New Yorkers, it was rich in Broadway talent and put on regular shows for nearby units. The 1st Balloon Company had an orchestra; the 3rd, 14th, 43rd, and 44th Companies had their own bands. The break in routine, the chance to laugh and relax, was tonic. May ended in ceremonial fanfare: the French military establishment presented Captain Butler with the Croix de Guerre in recognition of his exemplary work commanding the first American balloon company at the front. Lieutenant Grant wrote to his mother, "We had a very impressive ceremony with the company all lined up, and the 'big guns' standing out in front and reading the citation." Grant didn't know what Butler had done that was exceptional; he figured that Butler received it "because he was commander of the first company on the front." 22 The French were more generous with decorations than the Americans were, believing them to be a good morale booster for the troops and, in Butler's case, a politic gesture to the Americans. In March, Sidney I. Howell of Company A, a classmate of Charles Hayward at Columbia University,

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had received the Croix de Guerre with Palm from the commanding general of the French 4th Army for jumping from a burning balloon while on duty with French Balloon Company 87. It was a first for the Americans. When the war ended, there was much grumbling among balloon officers and men that the American high command, unlike current policy, maintained a stringent standard for awards. The ceremony was Butler's farewell party. He left the company in June to serve at Air Service command; Lieutenant Allan McFarland, who had been with the company in Omaha, again assumed command. The company was issued their first Gold Service stripe for six months' overseas duty. They were old vets! Lieutenant Grant returned from Saumur, still mystified by his assignment there. He had turned down an opportunity to become an intelligence officer for the Air Service in his eagerness to get back to "the boys." During his absence, the company had gained fifteen new officers, who were being trained in observation work. The sector was noticeably more active: A new German "flying circus" group was reported opposite Company B with a corresponding buildup of Allied planes. Some nights, the artillery lit up the sky like the 4th of July. Along the sector, the increased activity was part of the German push elsewhere on the Paris-Metz road, which threatened to bring enemy troops within striking distance of Paris. The Company Log, beginning in June, included more information in its entries: how much gas was added to the balloon (it needed more when active, some days as many as thirty-one tubes); identification of artillery targets by coordinates and the effectiveness of the shots; train and motor activity, and smoke and signals observed behind enemy lines; and, of red letter importance, pay day. Recreation that night was routine: a crap game. On June 16 the Germans gave the sector a thorough shelling with 150mm shells. Company D, now just south of Raulecourt in front of Mont Sec, had annoyed the Boche, who retaliated with shrapnel aimed at the balloon and high explosives aimed at the winch. Shelling began just as the men were having breakfast in the field; food and men scattered in all directions. The balloon maneuvered for more than an hour to avoid bursting shells, before being hauled down and placed on its bed. Three minutes later, a shell landed fifteen feet from the nose of the balloon—"the first American balloon was destroyed at the front." 23 Down the line, Company B received similar treatment. Boche 150mm shells were aimed at the winch; the nearest shot two hundred meters away posed no danger, but before the third shell arrived, the company was off down the wooded road for a kilometer and a half, the balloon in tow, to bed it down. Earlier that day, the Germans had forced the balloon down at 0410 hoping to discourage it, but by noon, flying nearly a mile high, the balloon had done seven adjustments on different targets, including an enemy battery. By afternoon, the Germans had had enough and shelled the

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balloon. Fifty minutes later, in a spirited tit for tat, the balloon was operating and guiding the fire of Battery 413 on the winch position of the enemy balloon at Beney. Surveillance was reporting movement back of enemy lines that the Germans did not want observed. The company figured it was time to move the balloon to the new bed, fortuitously, as it turned out, for after a brief weather respite the old position was heavily shelled and gassed. (In June the Americans would feel the full effect of enemy balloon and artillery cooperation in the line near Chateau-Thierry. Brigadier General James Harbord, leading the Marine Brigade, discovered unhappily that German balloons up along the front meant that any activity or appearance of people "in sight of these balloons is followed within a very few minutes by shell fire.")24 The intensity of the shelling did little to soothe those members of the company down with trench fever, which had swept through the ranks with the same democratic style as the cootie that moved in on officers and enlisted men alike. The fever, described as acute and infectious, came back frequently before finally leaving. It was caused by a microorganism, Rickettsia quintana, carried by a louse, or cootie. Lieutenant Grant wrote to his mother that the sickness resembled malaria, except that it didn't last long, but, like malaria, it began with fever and chills and aching in every part of the body, followed by a sick headache, finishing up "with a sore chest and loss of voice." Grant began to feel better from the moment he got out of bed during the attack on the winch. As he wrote to his mother, "I guess all I needed was the excitement." 25 On June 25 Colonel Chandler and Major Paegelow visited the company and warned it to be ready to move on short notice. The Germans in their drive toward Paris had reached the Marne River. The French, supported by the 2nd Division and the Marines, were struggling to halt the advance, but reinforcements were needed. Operation plans called for moving the entire 26th Division, with its attached balloon company, to the Marne sector; Balloon Company D would replace Company B at L'Ermitage; Company A would join Company B on the Marne as soon as a replacement was ready for their position near Baccarat. When orders came June 27, plans for the move were in place. Lieutenant Grant decided to leave the balloon for the incoming Company D—this saved hydrogen—and move it back to its original bed, which was logistically more convenient. The company requisitioned a new balloon and hydrogen supply to take with them. Transportation Officer Lieutenant Koenig made sure the seven company trucks were in working order, determined which equipment and men went in each truck, and found space for needed repair parts. The men carried only what fit in a knapsack; everything else— uniforms, hip boots, fatigues, and personal items—went into barracks bags with the promise they would be returned later. Company D arrived during loading and supplied several trucks and their deflated balloon, a fair trade

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for an established camp. The company was fed, the mess equipment loaded, and the truck train pulled out, spaced one hundred feet apart. It was going to be a beautiful moonlit night—ideal for bombers. As the trucks passed through the West Gate of Toul, Lieutenant Koenig ordered headlights turned on, thinking that fifteen kilometers from the front was a safe distance. In less than a minute, the drone of motors was heard, followed swiftly by antiaircraft shells overhead, as bombs rained down. A chorus of shouts, "Put out the damn lights," came from all sides. Those not turned off were kicked out. The trucks passed out of range safely, but a searchlight battery near the road took a direct hit. Astonished men watched as "the whole shebang was going skyward." The company feeling was the Boche were saying "good riddance." 26

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9 The Fighting Gets Real 'Twas our Uncle Sammie, who cooked the Kaiser's goose, From somewhere near Paree, he turned his 'doughboys' loose!

—"Uncle Sam's Boys," 1918

The German spring offensive aimed to hit the British army in the center, roll it up toward the coast if successful, then turn on the French and destroy them. German Generals Erich Ludendorff and Paul von Hindenburg, reportedly, were prepared to expend a million or more men to accomplish this end. In exchange, they promised victory in four months, certainly by autumn. 1 Timing was vital. Victory must be secured before an increasing number of American soldiers, almost nine thousand a day, joined the battle. Their plan had significant success. Pressure from successive masses of German troops forced the British army to retreat, abandoning large numbers of valuable guns and ammunition to the Germans; the French, extended perilously thin to keep the Germans from exploiting the thirty-mile gap between the two armies, retreated before the onslaught, while the government debated a move to a safer location. The situation was critical. General Pershing put aside his plans for an American army under American commanders and offered General Foch the 1st and 2nd Divisions already seasoned on the front, an offer that was gratefully accepted. A third division, the American 3rd, was rushed into battle without frontline training, its machine gun units winning acclaim from French and American commanders for stopping the Germans at the Marne. Stars and Stripes, the

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American army newspaper, wrote that its job was easy since "that electric day in May when the breathless squads of the 7th Machine Gun Battalion jumped into the fighting." The staff hung on to the coattails of the doughboys and were "carried to glory." 2 In this period of duress, national temperaments revealed themselves. The British Commander, General Haig, grumbled to Pershing that the French should have foreseen the push toward Paris between Soissons and Reims that followed that against the British. Pershing noted in his diary that such criticism was remarkable "in view of the events that took place some two months ago on the British front." 3 The French complained that the British were getting more troops than they, that French armies had borne the brunt of the war and their exhausted soldiers needed rest. Their nagging persistence irritated the AEF commander, who confided to his diary: The French have a tendency to "lead us about too much by the hand" and "occupy themselves . . . with our affairs."4 When things looked bleakest, General Pershing met with General Petain, who rallied the French forces to break the enemy's momentum, to counterattack in the name of "the heroes of the Marne." He believed that if the French could hold until the end of June, they would be able to resume the offensive in July and victory would be achieved.5 His optimism was rare. General Foch, commander of the Allied forces, looked to 1919 as the decisive year when ever greater numbers of American troops would help turn the tide. American military strategy concurred: contain the enemy in 1918, and defeat him in 1919 with a massive display of power. Allied planning went ahead on that assumption. In Paris there was great unease. The German push north of Paris had brought bombardment and shelling in twenty-minute intervals from a monster gun built by the Krupp Works. Its sole purpose was to demoralize the people of the capital; there was no military importance involved. Harold Kramer observed its effect firsthand: "The remarkable gun . . . was startling the civilized world—and shaking the ground beneath my feet." Ten people were killed, a number wounded. It had the desired effect; the weak-souled whispered, "Make Peace." 6 General Foch, echoing President Clemenceau, had no such intention. Pressed by Pershing in June on what the French would do if the Germans captured Paris, Foch replied, "We shall go on with the war. . . . Above France is all the civilized world to save." Pershing, not a demonstrative man, barely refrained from jumping up to shake his hand and pledged to share the fight.7 A week later, Foch was again suggesting that American troops be used in July to relieve fatigued French soldiers, who ask, "Where are the Americans and what are they doing?" Seeing these splendid soldiers would put tired divisions on their feet and give them "envie de marcher" (the desire to march). He threw Pershing a token, declaring that he was

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anxious to see an American army operating as such by the side of the French as soon as possible.8 Pershing, a quick tempered man, showed admirable restraint in dealing with his Allied counterparts. The endless discussions were contrary to his nature, but he endured them, hoping to convince his listeners that American ideas on warfare could contribute to the Allied effort. Eight days before the French counterattack of July 18, which would employ American troops, Pershing found the French very vague on the details of placing American divisions. It seemed to him, the "Allies are doing all the waiting for the Germans to do the leading," a situation inimical to his thinking and his nature. 9 The second phase of the German thrust, aimed at the French to secure an east-west rail line toward Paris, had begun the end of May at the Chemin des Dames, surged across the Aisne River toward the Vesle River, and, meeting little resistance, moved rapidly to the Marne before hastily assembled troops were rushed to the area to reinforce crumbling French forces. The American troops summoned to the Chateau-Thierry area heard the dispirited comments of the French poilus, but weren't leaving without a fight. June saw the German thrust halted by thousands of young bodies thrown into battle, many of whom never returned. Their enthusiasm and disregard for danger amazed the Germans, who gave this appraisal of American performance at Belleau Wood: The Second American Division must be considered a very good one and may even perhaps be reckoned as a storm troop. The different attacks on the Belleau Woods were carried out with bravery and dash. The moral effect of our own gunfire can not seriously impede the advance of the American infantry. The Americans' nerves are not yet worn out.10 The assessment would prove accurate. The Marines alone used up four German divisions, losing in turn 670 killed and 3,721 wounded. The Germans would attempt one last desperate strike in July, but they would never move forward again. Their manpower would suffer a steady drain in killed, wounded, and missing, particularly among experienced officers, that ultimately affected the army's fighting ability. The discovery that American troops were hard fighters, often doing the unexpected, was demoralizing to the average German soldier, particularly when prolonged heavy bombardment behind the line prevented canteens from reaching the troops. The Americans, though inexperienced, were "still too fiery."11 As Company B, part of that inexperienced army, moved west on the night of June 27, the truck train encountered heavy traffic on the roads. Distraught refugees contended with advancing troops for space; the going was slow as young and old fled "the promoters of Hun Kultur." Young

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Americans, appalled by the sights, promised themselves, "every Hun who came within range of our rifles and guns would pay with full measure." 12 The ride was interminable until a halt for breakfast at 0600 allowed everyone to get down from the trucks. After a short rest, the trucks continued west all day to Sezanne, where the company spent the night in a small wood. Early on the 29th, the truck train was on the road to Courcelles, where tents were pitched and the company awaited orders to move to the front. Courcelles provided a brief respite before moving to Villierssur-Marne on the 30th, the final destination of the 125-mile trek. At Charly-sur-Marne, where one surviving bridge allowed advancing troops to cross to the north bank of the Marne, the trucks crept through streets clogged by fleeing French artillery and horses. Their evident fear was unsettling. Reportedly, the 2nd Division, with whom Company B would be working, had stopped the Germans. Why the panic? Had the situation changed since noon? By 1700 that afternoon, men and equipment were unloading at Villiers-sur-Marne, two kilometers north of the river behind Belleau, four kilometers from the front line. On July 1, the company was billeted in empty houses by squads, the equipment was unpacked, and the men reconnoitered their new position. Villiers-sur-Marne had been abandoned to Allied troops; the company would share the town with French troops already quartered there. A sloping hillside would make a safe spot for the balloon. The company went to work building a bed, while CO McFarland and Lieutenant Grant scouted the area for likely places and roads to maneuver the winch. On learning the company was going to raise a balloon near the village, the French muttered, "Finee village," [sic] with a pessimism ingrained after three years of war—the town would be shelled to get the balloon.13 Quarters were not luxurious, but they offered four walls and a roof, cold concrete floors, and gardens almost ripe with spring produce. Dinner one night was a banquet of fresh vegetables, "borrowed flour, sugar, wine and fruit." The Spotters agreed, it "was the best meal since leaving Ft. Omaha." 14 It made up for housing that was rustic and the fleas that moved in with the straw used for mattresses. Bathing was minimal. On days of poor visibility, if floating dead fish and German soldiers were not offputting, a dip in the river provided temporary relief from bites and grit, much to the amusement of the village girls. On July 2 the balloon was inflated with 144 tubes of gas and tested with ballast. The next day it was leaking badly, requiring a replacement from the neighboring French 44th Balloon Company, the only other balloon on the Marne, which was inflated and tested that afternoon. Visibility was too poor for observation, but liaison was established with G-2 (Intelligence), G-3 (Operations) of the 17th Field Artillery Division Headquarters, the 3rd Battalion, 17th F.A., and the Chief Signal Officer, 2nd Division. The company was ready to work.

The Aisne-Ma The Aisne-

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They were assigned to the 26th Division artillery, their old neighbors at L'Ermitage, but the 26th, whose orders were changed three times en route, had not arrived to relieve the 2nd Division, long overdue for a rest. The balloon bed was a short distance from the town, camouflaged as well as possible to hide it from the roving eyes of enemy aeroplanes. The weather was poor for observation—mist in early morning from the nearby river, followed by haze as the temperature warmed. Late in the afternoon of July 4, Lieutenants Patterson and Phelps went up, followed by Sedgwick and Taylor after 1800. Visibility was twelve kilometers, but hazy. Work began with Battery Walk 34 of the 17th Field Artillery, 2nd Division; 151 shots were made, 150 observed. The American holiday was a day of business as usual. The next day, it was almost midday before visibility allowed work, an adjustment with Battery Walk 33 to destroy a target. Liaison was made with 17th Field Artillery Headquarters, 2nd Battalion, 17th F.A., Balloon 44 (French), and Division Intelligence. Things were looking up. July 6 was a first. Visibility was poor in the morning, but the balloon was up at 1240 for surveillance, reporting heavy shelling at Vaux and fire in Bois de Rochets and a nearby farm, when a German Albatross D-3 attacked, its machine gun blazing. Within seconds, Lieutenants Sedgwick and Murphy jumped from three hundred meters. The balloon burst into flames, earning the dubious honor of being the first American balloon brought down on the Chateau-Thierry front. Prompt work by Grant and the crew attached the spider, and four squads ran to pick up the ropes as the sergeant signaled a move into the wind. The burning gas bag was pulled away from the descending parachutes in a matter of seconds, falling with a trail of dense black smoke into a wheat field. The crew ran to the burning remains and dragged the basket with its maps and equipment to safety. The German pilot tried to fire at the parachutes, but the machine gunners drove him away; the observers landed safely. A replacement balloon, obtained from the French Supply Depot, was inflated and in the air before ten o'clock that night for a trial flight. One parachute was scrapped because of bullet holes and tears from when it blew against a barbed wire fence, but the basket was usable. When the day's work ended, the officers had a healthy slug of cognac before falling on their cots. 15 The observers, whose training did not include practice jumping, were relieved to find themselves on the ground—the uprush of air in the nose that made it "quiver like a rabbit with the sniffles," the watery eyes, merely transitory discomforts. Unbelievably, falling was exhilarating, even pleasurable.1^ The balloon's destruction prompted Colonel William Mitchell to insist to Major Paegelow, now commander of the Balloon Wing, 1st Army Corps, that each balloon company be supplied with two balloons behind the one on the line, plus two more at hand in the interior if at all possible. Coming events demanded that a minimum of time be lost replacing a downed bal-

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loon. One observer, Lieutenant Harold Dungan, was so aware of the importance of time that when nature called, he warned the ground crew to stand off while he relieved himself over the side of the basket, saving a lot of extra hauling. The men loved him. The next several days weather was poor, the wind sometimes registering twenty meters per second. The company did maintenance work and established liaison with artillery batteries, Division Intelligence, 1st Army Headquarters, and French Balloon 44. Personnel changes sent observers and squad members to special training at the Balloon School at de Souge. On July 12 the company was officially designated the 2nd Balloon Company of the 1st Balloon Wing, 1st Army Corps. The other companies of the Wing were 1st (A Company), 3rd (C Company), and 4th (D Company). The American army organization was expanding to accommodate the surge of troops in France. July 14 was an occasion for French-American camaraderie. The French 44th Balloon group invited some of the company for a party that night, feasting on rabbit, chicken, and champagne. It was a spirited night for the Americans who, protected from strong beverages by AEF regulations, had a rollicking good time, singing endless verses of "Mademoiselle from Armentieres" in a mix of English-French, firing Colt pistols in the air, oblivious of the shells streaking through the night sky toward the bridge at Charly. On July 15 the balloon was in the air at 0601, when the Germans initiated one last effort to open the road to Paris, hoping to catch the French asleep after Bastille Day. There was many a throbbing head, to be sure, but the Allied armies were ready. Surveillance had indicated abnormal enemy troop movements and concentrations in the days before in spite of German regimental orders to keep soldiers hidden, avoid unnecessary movement by troops, even hide latrines under trees. Prisoners taken on raids had revealed that a drive was expected on the 15th. Headquarters Command 1st Army Corps needed information on what was happening, but low clouds at 0600 limited visibility. The dominating feature of the landscape was Hill 204 in the French right sector from which the Germans fired easily on the town of Vaux, saturating it and the surrounding area along the river with gas and shells in an attempt to cross the Marne with ferries and pontoon bridges. The stalled German drive had created a triangular-shaped salient—the left base ran roughly from Soissons to Chateau-Thierry, the right base from Chateau-Thierry eastward to southwest of Reims. The objective was to gain the south bank of the Marne in strength, then push through the opening Surmelin Valley toward Paris, disrupting essential war industries located nearby, and the French would be finished. In the air again at 0915, observers could see five kilometers beyond the lines. Three enemy balloons were up in the northeast as 2nd Balloon began adjusting for Battery Walk A-32 and A-31 of the 26th Division on targets

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near the Bois de Bouresches, west of La Gonetrie Farm, in preparation for an infantry attack. Heavy smoke was reported by early afternoon in Etrepilly and Vincelles behind the German line. Lieutenant Glenn Phelps watched his handiwork with satisfaction. " T h e great pleasure in balloon observation is seeing directly down in front of one a desired target being blown to pieces shot by shot; batteries which were 'blinking' before have ceased; houses which were sheltering machine guns or ammunition, after what appears to be a volcanic eruption filling the sky with sticks, chunks, dust, dirt and debris has cleared, are no longer t h e r e . " The accuracy of American artillery left woods looking like " a n old bean patch with the poles left standing." 1 7 By 1430 the Boche had had enough. An aeroplane appeared in the northeast and fired at the balloon. The observers jumped safely, and the balloon did not burn. Lieutenants Phelps and Patterson explained they heard bullets hitting the balloon and jumped without waiting for the order from Grant, the Maneuvering Officer. Sure enough, there were antiaircraft shell holes in several places. They were quickly patched, fresh gas put in, the parachutes repacked, and the observers were up again. For Glenn Phelps, that jump was his first—he would earn a Distinguished Service Cross (DSC) for jumping more times than any other American observer. It had not been easy. In the moments before he let go of the edge of the basket, he felt like someone clinging to a twenty-story building, a b o u t to drop like a rock to the sidewalk below, until stopped " b y something resembling a pneumatic cushion." He was frightened, hesitant, and time was fleeing. He describes what happened next: I drew in all the breath I could, grasped the parachute rope with one hand, closed my eyes and let go. It was then too late to worry and, besides, I didn't have time. I remember nothing but the sudden feeling of the breath being pressed out of me and a rude jerking about. I gazed up and looked over my head and to my great relief there above me was the big white silky parachute fully inflated! The trip down was peaceful except for the perplexing and ever-changing problem of just where the wind was going to carry me to a landing place, whether in trees, open ground, grape arbor, or barbed wire entanglements. . . . I barely missed them by swinging my body in wide oscillations. The wind was carrying me along quite swiftly and the moment my heels touched ground I clipped my ropes, turned twice heels overhead down the hillside and landed right side up, staring into the facefs] of a dozen Marines who had brought an ambulance to rush me to the hospital. 18 In half an hour, Phelps and his partner, Lieutenant Patterson, were swinging in the air again. By 1545 the observers were aiding Battery Walk K-36 and K-35 to lay fire on road junctions behind the German line, watched by six enemy balloons floating in a line through Chateau-Thierry. At 1902, firing began on an enemy battery, followed immediately by the appearance of five Spad aeroplanes in V formation, apparently headed for

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home. Grant assured the observers they were French, then in the next instant the lead aeroplane dove at the balloon, spitting bullets, followed by the rest of the group. Grant yelled to the observers on the phone to jump, waved at the gunners to start shooting, and ordered the winch forward to clear the burning balloon from the parachutes' path. There was no time for the spider and ropes. The observers, landing safely though with greatly reduced faith in the security of a balloon, encountered general confusion on the ground. They had greeted the planes with broad waves, assuming they were a protective American squad, and couldn't fathom the sudden attack. The new balloon had no insignia on it; perhaps the flyers thought it was German. The French said that the Spads were captured and piloted by the Germans. Whatever the case, the 2nd Company notified Air Service, AEF: In the future they would fire on all aeroplanes approaching the balloon, whether friend or foe. (Lieutenant Grant checked reports of burned balloons in Paris some weeks later and discovered that a famous French ace with thirty-two victories claimed a burned balloon on that date in that sector. The ace was killed in the August drive, and Grant saw no sense in disgracing the unfortunate flyer.19) The balloon was no great loss, it staggered in the slightest wind. Replacing it meant another evening spent examining every rope, crawling through the deflated balloon looking for holes or weak places, very much "like sticking your head under the bed clothes and wandering around. ''20

Grant had found a classmate in a nearby artillery battery and arranged to pick him up in a car for dinner. Driving along, he heard his name called from a group by the road and discovered two more classmates from Yale, both officers in the Marine Corps who were just coming out of a month on the front line. They had been through hell and looked it—"living on one cold meal a day, hadn't had their clothes off for all that time [37 days]." Grant took them to the nearest division supply depot to get much needed chow, struck by the working of chance in a war.21 Along the sector, American troops of the 42nd and 26th National Guard Divisions had held their ground unflinchingly during the German attack. The 3rd Division on the south bank of the Marne repelled a large German infantry force trying to cross with artillery support and smoke screens. Two infantry units, the 30th and the 38th, won military fame for preventing the Germans on their front from crossing, the 38th fighting the enemy on both flanks. Firing in three directions, the troops threw "two German divisions into complete confusion, capturing six hundred prisoners." 22 It was the kind of fighting American troops were trained for, the kind their leaders believed would win the war. Two days later, the German attack on the Marne front was finished. War-weary French soldiers witnessing the turn of events were suddenly renewed as if "by the magic transfusion of blood" and filled once more with confidence.23

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10th Balloon Co. about to be airborne near Pont-a-Mousson on the Moselle River, after the Armistice. The winch is to the right with the balloon cable attached. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, courtesy of Charles Hayward.

Elsie Janis ready to perform for the troops in Bois de Rehanne, May, 1918. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, National Archives.

10th Co. Balloon at Jezainville, St. Mihiel sector, showing the rain skirt used to protect the Italian hemp rigging and prevent its disintegration from moisture. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, courtesy of Charles Hayward.

3rd Balloon Co. balloon being brought down near Malancourt, Meuse-Argonne, October 1, 1918. Note the scoop at front which lets in air to help balance the balloon. U. S. Army Signal Corps photo, National Archives.

5th Balloon Co. balloon burning on October 23, 1918, near Chatel-Chehery, Meuse-Argonne. U. S. Army Signal Corps photo, courtesy of Charles Hayward.

An American balloon burns near Montfaucon in the Meuse-Argonne. The dugouts in the foreground house artillery units. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, National Archives.

A balloon explosion at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, April 2, 1918, caught in this photo from the St. Louis Post Dispatch. Courtesy of Charles Hayward.

A balloon is walked from its bed in the Bois de Rehanne—a no smoking area—to its ascension point as an Army photographer gets ready to shoot. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, courtesy of Charles Hayward.

4th Balloon Co. balloon ascending near Dravegny, Marne sector, August 15, 1918. The ground crew holds 60 ft. ropes to steady the balloon as the winch releases the cable to send the balloon up. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, courtesy of Charles Hayward.

2nd Balloon Co. preparing to bring the balloon down, July 8, 1918. The ground crew waits to grab the ropes and steady the balloon's descent as the winch winds in the cable. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, National Archives.

A dummy observer used by the Germans to lure aeroplanes near enough for a hit by anti-aircraft or to damage enemy aircraft when explosives in the dummy blow up. National Archives photo.

Officers of the 13th Balloon Co. sit for their picture in front of former German quarters in November, 1918. Charles Hayward, Company C O . (seated front, center), had adjusted artillery fire on the camp the previous July. Courtesy of Charles Hayward.

A balloon observer in his "Grandstand Seat" checks his map. The all important parachute hangs on the right of the basket, under the drawing board. Air Service, U.S. Army photo, courtesy of Charles Hayward.

A British observer leaping for his life is caught by a photographer in another basket. Two baskets on the same balloon were not uncommon. Histoire Illustree de la Guerre Aerienne 1914-1918, reproduced by the Library of Congress Photograph Section.

A "vigee" (aeroplane spotter) sits atop a tree stump to get a better view. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, National Archives.

Officers of the 2nd Balloon Co. are photographed with their French instructors. Lt. Grant is seated on the left in a raccoon coat. Lt. Glenn Phelps, who would win the Distinguished Service Cross and the Croix de Guerre for jumping five times from a burning balloon, is seated on the right. Lt. Sebille (French Army) is in the center. Courtesy of the Frederic J. Grant family.

The 2nd Balloon Co. crew, inflating the balloon from hydrogen tubes near Montreuil, the Marne sector, July 8, 1918. National Archives.

The balloon of the 2nd Balloon Co. on its bed with camouflaged screen near Montreuil, the Marne sector, July 7, 1918. National Archives.

Two observers suit up. The basket, a tight fit for two men and equipment, carries two parachutes to which the men are attached. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, courtesy of Charles Hayward.

308th Army engineers repair a road under the watchful eye of an American balloon. French artillery units are scattered about the fields near Bethincourt, Meuse-Argonne, October 5, 1918. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, National Archives.

The 69th Co. balloon is fastened in its bed with camouflage near Mandres-aux-Tours, September 9, 1918. U.S. Army Signal Corps photo, courtesy of Charles Hayward.

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10 A Gypsy Life We've got the Huns upon the run, With hand grenades and all our guns. —"Pershing's Army Song," 1918 On July 16, 2nd Balloon, with a new gas bag inflated that morning, was working at 1520 under the watchful eyes of four enemy balloons to the right of Chateau-Thierry. Division artillery focused on targets near the Chateau at Belleau and a battery north of Etrepilly. Outbuildings of the Chateau were in smoke, the destruction almost total. Les Rochets Farm was next. Behind German lines, it housed a command post and battery. Both targets were apparently hit as smoke billowed skyward, reducing visibility. Shelling continued at Vaux, reducing it to ruins. Enemy batteries were identified at five positions, the flash from their firing a giveaway in the growing dusk—information that was immediately given to artillery commanders Colonel Battles and Major Williams before the balloon was bedded at 2125. Dinner that night was enlivened by the observers' report of great activity behind the French-American lines; artillery and supplies seemed to be moving toward the front. At Command Headquarters, I Army Corps, Major General Hunter Liggett in conjunction with the French High Command was preparing for a counterattack, dependent on the resources available following the German attack. Real preparations began on the 16th for the offensive of July 18. Troops scrambled to get into line (the 2nd Division traveled without sleep two nights, short of rations, water, and medics), without the noise that usually gave their movements away. Artillery, barely in position, fired by

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map locations when the 1st and 2nd American Divisions and the French Moroccan Division, moved against the Germans in a line running south of Soissons toward Chateau-Thierry. The Moroccans, rumored to collect heads from their captives, were recognized shock troops who leaped to the attack and took no quarter. It was a tribute to the Americans that they were chosen to lead first. The reality was, as newcomers to the fight, they had not lost their nerve. Casualties proved high: The 2nd Division lost some four thousand dead, wounded, or missing, before being withdrawn to rest on the second day; the 1st, seven thousand casualties. Both Divisions lost high percentages of field officers, not quickly replaced. But the entrenchments of the German pivot were taken to a depth of eleven kilometers, yielding sixty-eight guns, quantities of other materiel, and 3,500 prisoners in four days and nights of heavy fighting. American military commanders wondered what Ludendorff had in mind, holding his front so lightly, without backup reserves. German war diaries complained that the enemy used their method of operation—a deep outpost area in front, a concentration of artillery and infantry in the rear zone—and achieved "a complete strategic defensive victory" with tanks preceding the infantry for protection. German defense troops were spooked temporarily by the appearance of the tanks, until their artillery found the tanks' range and fired on the iron monsters with deadly success, exposing the American infantry to subsequent heavy losses. The Germans later confessed that the development of the tank as an offensive weapon of warfare was "not fully realized or respected by us," a lapse that would be rectified twenty-one years later.1 Even so, the tactical surprise was complete. Colonel Mitchell, reconnoitering the battle area on the 18th and 19th from the air, was convinced by movement throughout the salient that the Germans were about to withdraw. In the following days, fires in various locations behind the German line seemed to confirm that impression. For their part, the Germans were mystified when the Allies failed to exploit the success of the first assault, which could have gone through the front on the 18th and 19th, because the Germans, outnumbered a hundred to one, had failed to recognize the numerical strength of the forces in front of them. Crown Prince Wilhelm ordered, "There can be no thought of a retirement... by the elements now engaged. These elements must hold." By the 20th, the German 7th Army led by the Crown Prince had solidified the front, the crisis had passed for the moment, but 9th Army Headquarters informed the Crown Prince that troops urgently needed relief.2 Colonel Mitchell was especially pleased with the balloon work, noting that "while the troops on the ground did not know much about using them, Paegelow always had them ready and always up with the troops." Most importantly, "We got a great deal of information from them" at a time when American aeroplanes were outnumbered by the Germans. 3 Brigadier

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General Mason Patrick, on the job as Chief of Air Service for two months, acknowledged the American aviation situation was poor, leaving balloon companies to scan the skies wondering, Where are our planes? The Germans seemed to be everywhere. Mitchell, concerned about the lack of antiaircraft guns for the Balloon Companies on the front (the 1st had joined the 2nd on July 19 on their left) and the aggressiveness of enemy aeroplanes, told Major Paegelow two guns were not enough protection, he must get more wherever he could. The next day, to his surprise, Mitchell counted thirty-two machine guns around a company balloon, enough for a terrific barrage. Mitchell noted appreciatively, "They were German Maxims, really better guns than we have, with corrector sights for anti-aircraft fire. Old Paegelow had found a machine gun depot and, pulling rank, had immediately appropriated all that he could possibly carry away." Mitchell wrote approvingly, "These are the kind of men to have on the front."4 On July 19 and 20 the 2nd Balloon Company was adjusting as soon as visibility allowed, first on designated targets behind German lines, then at 1037 a troop barrage in the valley north of Bouresches as the infantry pushed east. A barrage has several purposes: One is defensive to protect the infantry against an advancing enemy; the second, a rolling barrage, is laid down in front of the infantry, which moves forward as the fire advances. A third, the box barrage, is used offensively to encircle a target in four walls of shell fire, followed by intensive firing with explosive shrapnel and gas, making escape impossible. When enemy batteries were located, they received this treatment, as did exposed American batteries; which is why camouflage and the choice of battery position were prime preoccupations for the artillery. Balloon companies, like artillery units, had the same need to hide from the enemy. Where to place a balloon bed called for expertise and imagination. News of the Allied attack was hard to get. A man who knew Morse code stayed on the wireless receiver. Apparently the drive was succeeding. Many prisoners were reported, but no news on losses. Artillery fire was continual; the possibility of a quick move was imminent. At dusk on the 20th, enemy batteries were located east of Petret Farm, their continuing existence only a matter of hours until American shelling hit them. The following day, the first wave of the infantry occupied the north-south main road between Chateau-Thierry and Soissons, the N 37, and the 2nd Company maneuvered the balloon forward on back roads, through wheat fields, to an advanced ascension point some 3,500 yards to the northeast. From that point, observers ticked off shelling at various towns and villages as the infantry moved eastward—Bois de Rois west of N 37, Epieds, Coincy and Brecy, Chouy and Billy—providing First Corps Command Headquarters with needed information. Before putting the balloon to bed for the night, observers noted American artillery laying down fire east of N 37 on the

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main roads connecting Armentieres, Le Charme, Grisolles, and Vichel, softening up German resistance for the infantry. The artillery's constant firing behind German lines was playing havoc with bringing up reserves and supplies. O n July 2 2 , 2nd company advanced to La Gonetrie Farm, about five miles as the crow flies from Villiers-sur-Marne, the balloon attached to the winch so that only the thin cable needed clearance. Details went ahead to cut overhanging branches or lower telephone lines as needed. Careful planning had the telephone and chart room equipment stowed on one truck, the hydrogen cylinders on another. The men carried only w h a t they needed; duffle bags and officers' trunk lockers went on another truck. It was the beginning of a gypsy existence, one that artillery and balloons would share as they followed the infantry northeast to close the salient. Cannoneers had a chance to see firsthand the work of their shells. The sight was sobering: The magnificent Paris-Metz Highway was ruined. Hardly a spot was visible that had not been blown up by our shells or by mines exploded by the Germans as they retreated. The once tall, stately poplars, that lined the road, were now nothing but naked, ugly stumps. . . . Stretched out all over the ground were grim, silent figures, who had given their lives and who would never again see God's daylight and breathe the pure air of Peace.5 G e r m a n , French, American—they lay joined in death. Some of the sights were ghastly as the speed of the advance did not allow for cleansing the scene. W a r m summer heat had hastened the onset of decay; bodies were dark gray, a match for the enemy's gray uniforms; the air filled with a sickeningly sweet stench. Coming upon the devastation at La Gonetrie Farm, the balloon company for the first time saw war's terrible toll. Scattered about the grounds of the stone farm buildings, which had served as German command headquarters, were the bodies of Prussian G u a r d s , the best of the Kaiser's Army, in death a hideous sight. Maggots and flies contested over their prone prey w h o seemed monstrous beings from another planet, metal helmets still in place, eyes wide and staring. The company, forced to clean the area before raising their pup tents, used shell craters as temporary graves. The contrast between the farm comp o u n d , reeking of death, and the fertile countryside ripe with stocks of cattle and fowl, overgrown vegetable gardens, and fields of wheat left the men stunned by war's reality. In the midst of plenty, the company ate their small blue cans of French issue " M o n k e y M e a t " (a stringy beef with a strong odor) and hoped that supplies would reach them soon. A makeshift kitchen was set up at a nearby stream, until the discovery of the body of a submerged German

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soldier necessitated a move farther upstream. Looking back on their months in the Toul Sector, when they thought they were fighting a war, the company realized how comfortable it had been, how unlike the present operation. The 1st Balloon Company, newly attached to the 1st Army Corps, admitted later that they had hated to leave their orderly life in comfortable barracks with good food. Second company had decided to try a courier service using motorcycle riders because stringing telephone wires in the general confusion was impossible. Batteries the balloon had worked with were contacted—a job in itself. They readily agreed to try using couriers for reports on location of targets and the success of their fire. The area command post was located; messengers would also go there. The observers could see German troop movements and other activity—information that was vital for command headquarters—as well as the location of American troops and the signals they were sending. The service was adequate during the emergency, the couriers constantly on the move, but the officers agreed it "could never replace the excellent telephone connections we had always had before."6 With but scant pause, the balloon was working on the 22nd at 1240, having traveled fifty feet in the air to its ascension point, which enabled a quick start. The company had moved the day before to a higher campsite, one with fewer bodies. Visibility was good, and there was much activity: heavy shelling on targets around Epieds, intense fighting along the railroad running east from Nanteuil, unusually heavy traffic into Beuvardes on the road from the north. Crossroads carrying traffic were targeted, north and south of Beuvardes, southwest of Fere-en-Tardenois, including a small railroad running from Beuvardes to installations in the Bois de Beuvardes and enemy installations in the Foret de Fere. Six enemy batteries were identified as daylight faded, their locations forwarded to battery commands by courier for targeting. German planes had menaced the balloon twice, including five Fokkers with the red noses of the Richthofen squadron, but intense fire by the machine gunners and nearby French antiaircraft guns kept them away. Deprived ol their quarry, the Fokkers turned and attacked the nearest French balloon, shooting at the observer as he glided to earth. The gentlemen's war in the air had turned ugly. At 2050 the balloon was brought down for the night, the usual liaison with Army Corps Intelligence, Division Intelligence, and Division Artillery ending the day's work. The next day was rainy, the following day just slightly better, when orders came to move forward to Picardie Farm, which entailed circling Chateau-Thierry for twenty kilometers with the balloon riding at about three hundred feet. The regular artillery batteries were out of touch because the balloon was very close to the infantry lines. By 1210 the observer noted shelling and smoke in Fere-en-Tardenois, two shell bursts in Beuvardes before an approaching storm brought the balloon down. In late afternoon,

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visibility was two kilometers beyond Epieds and misty, not good for surveillance. Early on the morning of the 25th, the balloon was attached to the winch and maneuvered forward for four hours toward Epieds to a clearing east of Trugny, in the Bois de Trugny, following the infantry as it moved through Trugny, Epieds, and Courpoil. The gypsy life was in full swing—no baggage, Monkey Meat and hardtack meals, water in scant rations (the Germans poisoned cisterns and wells as they withdrew; streams were polluted) with the brackish taste of its iron container. With luck, a bit of vin rouge would make it palatable. The weather had changed. Rain transformed dirt roads into the sticky clay of Brittany and turned transportation into a nightmare. The lumbering Delahaye trucks belonging to the company frequently had to be pulled through mud now mid-calf deep. The call, "Delahaye Drill," brought groans and curses as the men lined up, fifty to a long rope, to free a floundering truck. At other times, they performed the same service for artillery limbers, when their mule power failed or they had slipped off the road. 7 Everywhere, when units advanced, it was a chaotic, nerve-racking experience as trucks, guns, men, and miscellaneous vehicles elbowed each other on roads not meant for such traffic. The company tried to avoid villages— they were certain targets. On the 26th, there were lingering low clouds. The balloon observed briefly in the afternoon, before a storm forced it down. The artillery fared slightly better. Battery A, 103rd F.A. was in position north of Courpoil in sight of two enemy balloons that directed shelling on it from 2200 on the 25th to 0500 on the 26th. Two men were wounded, but the battery executed a harassing schedule on Sergy, nearby crossroads, and a counterbattery. Battery E concentrated on machine-gun nests that had stalled the infantry, German infantry concentrations, and tanks; Battery C fired on the woods near Croix Rouge Farm, the roads about Fresnes and the Chateau, and farms in the sector. Counterbattery work and harassing fire were routine. A heavy bombardment of enemy positions had been planned for the 26th to be followed by renewed attack, but was canceled when the enemy withdrew. Instead, pursuit was the order, and batteries were on the road at noon to a position near La Grange Marie Farm to support the infantry of the 42nd Division, brought up to relieve the 26th Division. On the 27th, the balloon was rained out, the company bedded down as well as possible. Shelling by German guns on the road intended for the balloon's advance continued for hours, the tempo increasing as the hours lengthened, then gas shells fell nearby. The damp air held the gas to the ground; gas masks were the only protection. The discomforts of rain, irregular meals, long hours in damp clothes, and exposure to gas were taking their toll. Bodies rebelled—a number of the company came down with dysentery and nausea from gas. Luckily the kitchen detail had the foresight

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to catch rainwater in some pots, the one remedy that could be offered to the sick. All were warned to keep their masks on at all times. The next day, C O McFarland and Lt. Grant went forward to look for the position of the infantry without much luck, but they found a spot on high ground where the company would be drier and less exposed to gas in another attack. The balloon moved with the company to the new camp, but there was no break in the rainfall. As food supplies were low, two trucks were sent to the nearest supply depot with food lists. Grant requested condensed milk, jam, tinned meat, and two or three bottles of red wine. When the trucks returned, the company ate well for the first time in days. The road beside the camp joined a main road about a kilometer away, but shell holes made it impossible to use. Those of the company w h o were not too sick filled the worst holes and repaired a small bridge the company would have to cross when it advanced. The company waited until the following day to move forward. Although still rainy, the shelling at night had been less, an indication the German artillery was pulling back. Late in the day, the balloon moved forward with part of the company to a wooded area just south of Beuvardes, leaving the sick at the old camp. As usual, Grant had gone ahead to pick out a good spot to bed the balloon, but this time a Major General was there first, w h o announced he would not "have one of those d ned balloons a r o u n d . " 8 There was no arguing with a Major General. Another camp was scouted and made under continuing enemy fire. The telephone men found an artillery central and strung a line; the balloon would be ready to work when the weather cleared. Dead tired troops slept oblivious of the noise through the night from enemy shells booming a strange kind of lullaby. Gas shells kept all on edge. O n the 29th, in spite of shelling, the balloon was up with one observer— t w o were not necessary for mere observation. Poor visibility made locating German batteries impossible. Between the weather and establishing liaison with a new division, little was done. An enemy plane dropped a b o m b on an ammunition d u m p about half a mile away; the explosion was felt by the observer some four thousand feet in the air. At dusk, a German bomber suddenly flew out of a cloud barely one hundred feet above the balloon. Fortunately, the bag had been hauled down part way or the aeroplane would have hit the cable. The pilot, probably as surprised as the company, kept on course to the rear. That night, gas and heavy shelling made sleep difficult. The enemy was trying desperately to halt the advance. The next day was more of the same. The weather continued poor on the 31st, but the balloon was up, trying to operate in a low ceiling. For once, there was little danger from enemy patrols. In the afternoon, a Cadillac drove up and stopped near the winch. Several men with the wings of the American Air Service stepped out, led

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by Captain Kenneth Marr of the 94th Pursuit Squadron. Among them was Walter Avery, who thanked the company for sending in confirmation of his downing of German ace Captain Udet the week before. Marr explained the purpose of the visit. He had learned at Air Service Headquarters that the 2nd Balloon, longest on the front, had survived many attacks from enemy aeroplanes. Could Grant describe what tactics were used by the enemy when attacking a balloon? Grant took a stick and drew a crude sketch of a balloon, the basket and winch below it, then explained: An experienced pilot dives at the balloon, guns firing, in a line between the sun and the balloon, at an angle that sends bullets into the balloon (trying to hit the rear part of the balloon first), toward the basket with the observers, and toward the winch with its crew. In pulling out of the dive, the cone of fire sweeps the length of the balloon. If the fire from the machine guns and antiaircraft cannon on the ground is heavy enough, it can force the pilot to keep his distance, dodging fire, so that he cannot maintain the angle of the dive. When a patrol attacks, only one aeroplane fires at the balloon, the others cover the ground crew and the gunners. 9 Actually, German pilots employed several methods of attack, depending upon circumstances. Some used a long glide, engine throttled down, under cover of mist or clouds, to angle near the balloon before firing and pulling away, although keen lookouts were alerted when the sound of the engine stopped and the aeroplane was not visible. In the horizontal approach, the aeroplane came at the balloon on the side, at the same level, firing when two hundred or three hundred meters away, then making a sharp turn, hitting the envelope along the length of its side. Another maneuver to get near the balloon without causing suspicion was to wait for an antiaircraft shell burst near the aeroplane, then tailspin or sideslip as if hit and fall in a steep dive toward the balloon, before straightening and firing when close enough. One ruse when the balloon was being hauled down was to fly directly toward the balloon, make a forty-five degree turn, as if giving up, to halt the descent of the balloon, and go a short distance before turning again for the balloon.10 These maneuvers worked best on high-flying balloons. The Americans, unlike the British and French who flew higher, flew at one thousand to one thousand five hundred meters, lower in poor weather, to be near protective fire. The first balloon attack occurred well into the war in May 1916 on the Verdun front. A French Nieuport, armed with rockets mounted on the struts of the wings, came within twenty-five meters of a German balloon and fired the rockets into the balloon. The balloon exploded, killing the observer, who had not bothered to take his parachute with him. The death toll was high along the front that day, remembered Karl Kuster, a German balloon observer. For every balloon destroyed, an observer died, because no one thought balloons would be targets for aeroplanes. The French used this method of attack for about six months. If crude, "it was effective."11

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When synchronized machine guns were developed, balloon busting became more sophisticated. The Germans counted a destroyed balloon as one and a half times an aeroplane because of the danger involved. American aviator Bert Hall described that danger in his account of balloon busting. Designated the attack aeroplane, Hall was to dive on the balloon while one aeroplane gave protection above, another below the balloon. Balloon protection was heavy, "a positive hailstorm of steel—and those goddamned pom-poms!" (The British called them "flaming pineapples," the Americans, "flaming onions." They were fat shells coated with phosphorous that burned fiercely on explosion.) Flying at 150 miles an hour, Hall was uncertain when to fire as the balloon loomed near. He tried one burst, but it was too far away. "Finally, I let him have it, and then pulled off; gently at first, but even so, it jerked my neck enough to break it off. One Boche had stepped over the side. But one remained and, by God, he was shooting at me with a light machine gun of some kind or other." That had never happened before; Hall was stunned. Just then the protection pilot below swooped up with his gun blazing, and that was the end of the balloon. Later that day in a reprise, a second balloon was targeted. This time, Hall, flying the lower protection, had no clear picture of what happened except that the balloon went up in flames. "One Archie burst came so close to me that I did a complete barrel, and after that I thought mostly about getting back to the field." Hall survived the heavy ground fire, but he noted in his diary entry, "the wooden portions of the wings and fuselage are a total write-off." For the time being, pilot and ship were finished.12 August 1 brought a welcome change in the weather; aeroplane patrols would be up along with the balloons. No. 2 Balloon was up early, followed by that of the French and 1st Companies, for an up-and-down elevator day, until the middle of the afternoon. Tanks were reported three hundred meters southeast of les Bons Hommes Farm, and an adjustment on a target on the southwest corner of les Bons Hommes Farm was begun, watched by an enemy balloon over le Four a Verre. Predictably, both No. 1 Balloon and No. 2 Balloon were attacked by two Fokkers, but machine-gun fire drove them off, earning 1st Company credit for shooting down an enemy aeroplane. Shells, possibly gas, were bursting in Fere-en-Tardenois; the battle was moving through Sergy, which had been pounded, to the north bank of the Ourcq River. Before pulling down the balloon that night, three German Rumpler aeroplanes appeared, headed toward the balloon. The company had been told that they were used for reconnaissance, and was not especially alarmed, although the machine gunners and French antiaircraft guns began to fire. Suddenly, bombs were falling too close for comfort although they were probably meant for a battery of heavy guns several hundred meters away. No one had taken shelter, but the company's good luck held.

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On August 3, in continuing rain, the company was ordered forward. They crawled along the highway about fifteen kilometers to just north of Fere-en-Tardenois to a small wood near a former German trench. It was another scene of death, sickening stench, and souvenirs. (Lieutenant Grant reported to his mother later that he was too sickened by the stench to collect souvenirs.) Abandoned German equipment was everywhere; the company added three machine guns with ammunition to its weaponry. There was good news elsewhere: The 4th and 32nd Divisions were driving toward the Vesle River, with the recently arrived 4th Balloon Company part of the drive. The balloon was bedded temporarily to be ready to move the following day, when camp was made on an old estate, Le Cruaux, near CheryChartreuve on the road to Fismes on the south bank of the Vesle River. The Germans had used the chateau's tower—its walls twenty feet thick— as an observation post. Even though the landscape around it had the wellplowed look that accompanied extensive shelling, the tower bore few marks from guns. Traffic on this move included countless ambulances going to the rear with wounded soldiers from the front. For the moment, the Germans had stopped retreating and were entrenched. Bodies of American dead scattered on the landscape around Le Cruaux showed the cruel toll from machinegun nests dug into the hillside. The former German salient between Soissons and Reims was almost closed, but German troops were not leaving without a fight. American infantry units lost many men before clearing the area and moving through. Commanding officers observed that all units of the corps endured the most trying conditions "so long as they knew we were advancing." 13 August 6, was a good working day—visibility was improved despite the rain. Observers Dungan and Smith adjusted for Battery F, 148th C.A. on target La Croix la Motte, alerting the command post to traffic on the crossroads north of the Vesle River and Fismes and new camouflage in a field slightly north of La Croix la Motte. Battery E began firing on a nearby enemy battery, the observers adjusting fire until enemy planes sighted in the north made the balloon descend. Three separate squadrons of Fokkers were identified during the day, all with distinctive markings. Again, 1st Company lost a balloon, its observer making a safe jump. Before the 2nd balloon was tucked away for the night, two enemy balloons went up on the left, hoping to target artillery batteries. That night there was another gas shelling; the company was surfeited with it, but clearing weather in the night blew the gas away. The continued shelling with gas made life difficult. Masks were worn sometimes for twelve hours or more at a stretch. The uncertainty of encountering it added to its fearfulness. Craig Herbert, gassed during the advance, was sent to Bazoilles-sur-Meuse where Base Hospital No. 46 from

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Portland, Oregon, had just opened. It was so new that medical supplies had not arrived; meals consisted of baked beans for several days. After a week of bed rest, Herbert went to a rest camp where he resumed light duties, teaching Negro troops bayonet drill and grenade throwing, about which he knew very little. The grenades were especially tricky, the explosive cap on the top was set off by striking it on one's helmet. Following the BANG, soldiers learned to throw it quickly; the time before explosion was about two seconds. Very shortly, the camp personnel officer was ready to transfer Herbert back to duty. Insisting "you're nuts," there was no such thing as a balloon company, he proposed sending Herbert to a tank corps. Herbert had heard enough about incinerated tanks to know he wanted no part of that and went AWOL. Catching a freight train, he crossed the countryside, spotted a Fiat truck at a station that, luckily, belonged to a balloon company and hitched a ride back to his company. 14 The personnel officer was typical of many in the AEF to whom Air Service meant aeroplanes—certainly, they enjoyed the big play in the news. Balloons were the unknown players even within the army. The following day, the balloon kept watch on the scene before it. Visibility was poor, but the work on the previous day had been too effective. At 1630, twelve Fokkers approached the balloon. One Fokker burned the balloon, two fired at the observers as they descended, the rest fired at the ground crew in repeated dives. Everyone with a gun was shooting up at the red noses, a group led by Hermann Goering that always meant trouble. Observers Phelps and Montgomery were safe in spite of being dragged into barbed wire by their parachutes. As if that wasn't enough commotion for one day, smoke from the burning balloon drew enemy high-explosive shells on the area. The winch was moved, and the company took cover. It would be another long night, procuring, inspecting, and inflating a replacement balloon, but by daylight, it was ready. Earlier that day, an enemy patrol had attacked the nearby French balloon, which unveiled the new basket parachute—a huge parachute that allowed the basket with the observers to drop when opened. As 2nd Company watched, the basket was let loose and parachuted safely to the ground. The Germans, interested in the new development, kept flying over the French location, presumably to take pictures, although they could not have been very informative. The patrols kept 2nd Balloon going up and down and interrupted its work. The next two days were fairly uneventful. The new balloon was tried; visibility was poor; the weather produced intermittent storms. The company, suffering renewed dysentery and gas exposure, stayed on its feet, because no man "would admit he was sick enough to skip duty." 15 At night on August 9, the company moved to a better location, ahead of most of the Allied artillery and close to the infantry. McFarland, company com-

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mander, was being ordered to Headquarters to be relieved by Lieutenant Koenig, formerly Transportation Officer. Grant, to his dismay, was told to expect orders soon removing him from the company, already hard pressed for observers, most of whom were half sick, with frayed nerves, and very tired. On August 10, haze kept the front lines invisible, and the balloon came down shortly after 0800 unable to work. An hour later, now Lt. Colonel Paegelow arrived in a dither. Enemy artillery was raising hell with Allied artillery and interfering with the infantry's advance. Paegelow, who was born in Berlin, roared in his thick German accent, "Gott tarn it Mac—vat for iss da palloon? I'm gettin' Hell from Corps!" Immediately, McFarland called, "Fall out for ascension—balloon maneuvering detail!"—and the war was on. 16 Lieutenant Harold Dungan took the basket up and settled down to work at 600 meters, locating positions of active enemy batteries (normally batteries did not fire when they could be spotted). The coordinates of the batteries determined, Dungan adjusted first for a battery of GPFs (French heavy guns) belonging to the 61st Coast Artillery, then for a second battery when three Fokkers appeared eight miles to the northeast. There was a pause. Nothing happened in the sky, but from the ground came a loud explosion as a shell burst in a field 250 yards from the winch. Dungan could see men scrambling for cover, while Paegelow leaped into his Cadillac and before the second shell landed was five hundred yards down the road to the rear. A few days later, when the company learned that Paegelow had been awarded the Distinguished Service Medal, the conclusion was that "the 'Old Man' had won the honor for saving the Cadillac." 17 Balloon and artillery continued targeting the crossroads north of Fismes and two enemy batteries in Ravine Marion, one with three pieces. The Corps Counterbattery Officer was notified, and at 1625, Dungan noted that Battery B, 56th C.A. was "on target" for the second battery, "Center of impact." 18 Fifteen minutes later, six Fokkers dropped down from the north to attack the balloon whose work was proving too effective. Observer Dungan jumped safely, and the balloon descended for inspection. Repairs of the holes caused by machine-gun fire were swiftly made, then the balloon was up again, this time with improved visibility. Two more enemy batteries were targeted before fading light ended the day. At 2030, Observer Dungan noted, shells were bursting five hundred meters short of the winch position as Austrian 88s opened fire. Balloon and winch were hurried to safer ground while the earth heaved on either side. No one was injured, but it would be another gas mask night. Grant had a curious adventure during the day. He was detailed to show Mr. Ruhl of Collier's Weekly the balloon at work and the surrounding area for a story he was doing. Ruhl wanted a look at the Germans from a hill in the distance. Grant agreed to take him, and they passed through a small

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village damaged from shelling, to the hillside from where they looked down on the Vesle River and, across it, on hastily made entrenchments and machine-gun emplacements. The two men lay in the sunshine watching the view below, the quiet marked only by the chirping of insects, the peacefulness of the scene a contradiction to the battle nearby. On their return through the village, they were told to take cover in a large covered trench behind the churchyard wall already occupied by a few soldiers and a medical officer. Immediately high-explosive shells hit the village. The officer yelled to Grant and Ruhl that this happened at exactly the same time every day and would last exactly fifteen minutes. When the gas alarm sounded, masks went on as mustard and tear gas rained down. To the visitors' amazement, in exactly fifteen minutes, the shelling stopped, whereupon the two hurried back to camp. Ruhl had seen enough and, after quick goodbyes, departed in a motorcycle sidecar.19 On the 11th, the company put the bag up, but visibility was five kilometers, and Fismes was veiled behind clouds and mist. Later, there was slight improvement—clouds were intermittent. Late in the afternoon, the observer reported ammunition exploding, which, with earlier reports of black smoke and flames in Bozoche, pointed to another German withdrawal across the Vesle River. On August 12, the company was ordered to withdraw to Courcelles, south of the Marne for rest and repairs. It was about time. The entire company had been suffering from dysentery as a result of the wet weather, lack of warm meals, and millions of flies. The French had taught the men to wrap their stomachs with yards of flannel cloth to keep the body warm, but it hadn't helped. A proper camp with regular hot meals would be just what the doctor ordered—and sleep, uninterrupted sleep on a cot. The American effort was a small part of the battle to close the salient. The French, invigorated by the newcomers' enthusiasm, bore the major part of the operation, which continued until October, long after the Americans were withdrawn to begin operations to the east. America's green troops, too ignorant to be afraid, had gained valuable experience and had proven to their Allies they could perform against the best the Germans had.

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11

Time for Readjustment Safety lies in fighting to crush the Kaiser's game. —"We Are Coming, Papa Joffre," 1918 Rest camp—the French called it repos—came none too soon for the 2nd Balloon Company. Along with the entire I Corps, they were relieved and pulled back to Courcelles, a small town about twenty kilometers south of Chateau-Thierry. Bone weary, men and officers slept twelve to fourteen hours before coming to. Filthy clothes were shed. The men stepped into the delousing shack, and free of bugs for the first time in weeks or months, donned clean uniforms. Hair, toes, feet, all received attention after what seemed an eternity of neglect. Meals were warm, and the grub more varied. It was even possible to buy food in town. Inevitably, there was drilling and tightening of discipline—neither was missed on the advance—as inspections and military regulations reminded the troops, if they had forgotten, that they were part of the United States Army. It was a time of readjustment everywhere. General Foch had agreed on July 22 to the establishment of the Toul Sector for an American Army under American commanders. The I Army Corps, established July 14 with Major General Hunter Liggett commanding, incorporated in its Air Service Wing the Balloon Wing Company, the 1st and 2nd Balloon Companies, and five seasoned divisions. These would become the First Army, followed, as training permitted, by the Second and Third Armies. General Pershing issued orders on August 20 to all corps and division commanders that

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French interference in training and schooling matters would no longer be permitted; all authority in these matters should be American. Pershing's insistence reflected American General Staff thinking: The tactics and technique of the Allies were unsuited to "American characteristics or the American mission in this war." The French infantry lacked aggressiveness and discipline, the British infantry lacked initiative and resource. Both armies interfered with American training efforts, pulling down what Americans built up. The resulting friction meant "lost motion, and much valuable time wasted." A memo to the General Staff, written in July, declared: "Berlin cannot be taken by the French or the British Armies or by both of them. It can only be taken by a thoroughly trained, entirely homogeneous American Army, in which the sense of initiative and self reliance upon the part of all officers and men has been developed to the very highest degree." 1 To bolster the strength of the nascent army, Pershing had written to Foch requesting three divisions back from the British (the 33rd, 78th, and 80th), offering in their place two others, the 27th and 30th. Haig complained he would have to reduce his line by eighteen thousand yards in order to perform as Foch had requested, but this time he had to accept the trade with Pershing's assurance that he would not leave him in an embarrassing position. The impetus of the war had changed. The Germans were no longer regarded as invincible; tough, disciplined fighters, yes, but not unbeatable. The Allies had effectively crushed the last enemy offensive, reducing "him entirely to the defensive."2 Pershing would have his army. Looking to the men who would make it up, he advised Washington on August 19 that the next draft should set the age limit at 20, rather than 18 as Washington proposed. He was convinced that men younger than 20 could not stand the hardships in France, and "I think it is not wise for many other reasons to call them before that age." 3 Undoubtedly, he was concerned about temptations of the flesh, the resulting confusion from exposure to a different culture and customs for youths away from home for the first time. Always sensitive to criticism at home of troop behavior, Pershing regularly reminded commanders to hold their men to standards of behavior by exhortation, or, if necessary, the threat of punishment. Washington disregarded Pershing's advice. Assessments of American performance in the Chateau-Thierry Sector were forwarded to AEF Headquarters for study. Major John H. Jouett, soon to become Commander, Balloon Wing, IV Army Corps, had visited the 1st and 2nd Balloon Companies during their advance to see how they performed and what improvements, if any, were needed. Generally, he found their work excellent, based on quickness in advancing and readiness to work when the artillery was ready. Frequently, they had preceded the artillery into the line and were waiting to establish contact. To maintain liaison, each company had an Intelligence Officer whose

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duty it was to report three times a day to G-2 (Intelligence Section) of its assigned division and attend the nightly conference of corps G-2. Companies were kept informed on conditions at the front, especially road conditions that would affect the advance of the balloon. Liaison was more difficult when advancing, making contact with the G-2 sections or the artillery batteries a real challenge. Corps headquarters was usually too far in the rear, communication too uncertain, for information to be dependable. But the balloon assigned to a division could provide information to division command and artillery that was current, thanks to its telephone connections and, in emergency, its couriers. The Chateau-Thierry experience indicated that there was room for improvement. When advancing, the companies used different approaches with equally satisfactory results. First Company sent some of the trucks ahead to put the camp in order, allowing more time to care for the balloon on its arrival. Second Company moved the truck train with the balloon. First Company traveled with its winch ahead of the tender on which three machine guns were mounted, because in heavy traffic the tender often moved too far ahead of the winch. Second company had tender first, winch second, and the trucks following.4 Both companies tried to avoid national highways; they were crowded and usually bordered with trees that made problems for the balloon. The lesser roads, though less crowded, were in poorer state, often requiring quick repairs. Heavy woods were avoided; in strong wind, they were a hindrance to the balloon and limited the machine gunners' field of view. Both companies had traveled in daylight with the balloon flying at 100 to 150 meters, 250 meters the absolute maximum because of obstacles and wind pressure, a break with French teaching that recommended moving at night. Neither company had a balloon damaged during an advance; the detail for the maneuvering ropes rode on the winch and the tender to be at the ready if a problem arose. First company had a forge and found it indispensable; 2nd company had none and got along very well. The companies differed on placement of lookouts. First stationed its detail with the machine-gun crews at some distance from the winch. Second kept the lookouts positioned around the winch, near the maneuvering officer, to be of assistance to him. Jouett suggested a compromise: Place the best lookouts with the maneuvering officer, the others with the machinegun crews. He avoided making a hard-and-fast decision, preferring to give the commanding officer some leeway in such matters. Experience was proving that the manuals issued by Headquarters did not allow for the unpredictable on the front. The success of balloon companies was largely due to individual perceptions and responses in a variety of situations. While the different units of I Corps and parts of III Corps were recreating, their commander in chief issued a general order congratulating them for their courage and tenacity:

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You came to the battlefield at the crucial hour of the Allied cause. For almost four years the most formidable army the world had as yet seen had pressed its invasion of France, and stood threatening its capital. At no time had that army been more powerful or menacing than when, on July 15, it struck again to destroy in one great battle the brave men opposed to it and to enforce its brutal will upon the world and civilization. Three days later, in conjunction with our Allies, you counterattacked. . . . You have shown that American initiative and energy are as firm for the test of war as for the pursuits of peace. You have justly won the unstinted praise of our Allies and the eternal gratitude of our countrymen. We have paid for our success in the lives of many of our brave comrades. We shall cherish their memory always and claim for our history and literature their bravery, achievement and sacrifice.5 Pershing had no need to tell the troops there had been fifty thousand casualties. All units had seen for themselves the dead and wounded. Assembled in formation to hear the order, the troops stood very tall. General Joseph Degoutte, commanding the 6th Army (French), under which the Americans had served, added his congratulations: These young divisions who saw fire for the first time, have shown themselves worthy of the old War traditions of the regular army. They have had the same burning desire to fight the boche, the same discipline which sees that the order given by their commander is always executed, whatever the difficulties to be overcome and the sacrifices to be suffered. . . . I am proud to have commanded such troops. 6 As part of the general assessment on performance, Colonel Chandler notified the commanding officers of all balloon companies in August to notify his office of any accident or difficulty with a balloon that caused a delay of more than half an hour in its operation. They were to explain in detail w h a t happened and recommend changes in design or methods of operation that would prevent a similar occurrence in the future. Chandler's office would then distribute appropriate instructions to other company commanders; hopefully, by "such attention to details and team w o r k the efficiency of the Balloon Service in general will be increased." 7 First Army Balloon C o m m a n d e r Paegelow filed a report on August 6 summarizing the Balloon Service to date, the number of companies in France (twenty-two—three companies were about to move to the front to join the eight on duty), and the condition of their equipment. Fourteen companies in training lacked the authorized allowance of motor transportation, otherwise the companies were supplied with essential equipment. American-made balloons were delivered to French and British services, leaving eighty-nine for American use. 8 Paegelow also sent a memo to all balloon group commanders, a new classification resulting from the organization of the First Army, with sug-

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gestions from Lt. Colonel Lahm on improving the service during operations. Liaison with the units of the chain of command was the key to success. Group commanders should visit personally the various headquarters for corps, division, corps artillery, divisional artillery, and particularly the artillery battalion Post Command (PC) with which the balloons were to work. Balloons should adjust on all targets they can see that artillery observers cannot; aeroplanes should take all targets the balloons cannot see. When a mission fails, the group commander must investigate and eliminate all avoidable causes; he must see that company commanders do the same. The group commander's duties stressed keeping in close touch with his company commanders, making sure that they have prepared for an advance by checking the routes they will use. He is responsible for informing commanders on the supply of extra balloons and gas and for sending an extra balloon to each company in an advance as soon as it has reached its operating position. If a balloon is burned, he must order a replacement balloon with gas for the company from the nearest supply source and notify the company and the Commander Army Balloons. Especially important, before an advance, he must see that each company is attached to a particular unit, preferably an artillery battalion, so that it is given a position in the line of march near enough to the unit to begin work on arriving at its new position. At all times, he must keep the Commander Army Balloons informed on the location of the companies in his group. 9 Lahm's suggestions anticipated the American troops' next operation, the St. Mihiel Salient. They represented the ideal—operations rarely were that smooth in practice. The artillery units of the 103rd Field Artillery had pulled back to Courcelles for rest. Like the balloonists, they were in need of sleep, clothes, warm food, and attention to bodies taxed by days and nights of toil. In addition, horses and equipment needed care: Bridles were checked, brass polished, animals curried and fed, guns inspected for signs of wear, animals harnessed for riding drill. Officers wrote reports for Headquarters, pointing out problems and offering suggestions. Colonel P. D. Glassford, Commanding the 103rd, reviewed the regiment's work and offered comments. Casualties were limited to the commanding officer of Battery E and six enlisted men, all killed by a shell. Working first with the 26th Division, then the 42nd, artillery found liaison with the infantry less than effective. Information from the infantry was usually inaccurate, uncertain, and often too late to be of value for artillery use. Locations of machine-gun nests and other targets were seldom forthcoming, because the infantry did not make efficient use of the battle map. Glassford was careful to point out that liaison with the infantry of his own division (the 26th) was far superior to other units supported, which shows the importance of the personal factor that Paegelow stressed.

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Aeroplanes did nothing for the 103rd, and the balloon was too busy working for Corps Artillery to give more than one adjustment, which greatly handicapped the regiment's effectiveness.10 Information was provided mainly from the 103rd's own resources, its artillery brigade, and the infantry it supported. There were no intelligence reports from division, almost nothing from aeroplanes, and reports from Corps were inaccurate and twenty-four hours late. Battle maps, the guiding light for artillery, were few in number. On the positive side, Glassford could report that the supply of ammunition was highly efficient, even with expenditure of forty-four thousand rounds. Caissons carried a reserve supply of twenty-four rounds per gun, but to save the horses, resupply was made from the various dumps and former positions with trucks from the 101st Ammunition Train. Describing them as a hindrance in an advance, Glassford recommended replacing the caissons at once with one-and-a-half- or two-ton trucks. Particularly, he commended the entire regiment for its spirit and zeal—"little short of marvelous"—in the most difficult and tiring situations.11 Always interested in what the enemy was using, artillery of the 42nd Division, on its way back from the front, came across an abandoned gun position just west of Fere-en-Tardenois that until recently had housed one of the enormous guns used to shell Paris. The large rectangular platform was a wonder of plates, angles, channels, I-beams, and concrete, the whole of it rotating on ninety-six steel balls eight inches in diameter. Standing in a clearing, the trees around the gun were strung with grass-covered wire netting, which shielded the pit from observation, but was removed to fire the gun. The track into the woods held wooden boxes full of freshly cut saplings between the ties to camouflage the track. To mislead aerial observers, a dummy position about three-quarters of a mile away was left uncovered for observers to photograph and artillery to shoot at, while the real position was perfectly safe. The amazed cannoneers figured that the shell weighed 264 pounds; that when fired, it took ninety seconds to reach its maximum altitude of twentyfour miles before beginning to drop; and that in 186 seconds the shell had traveled 74.5 miles to Paris. The gun, one of three used by the Germans, had been moved to a position at Beaumont; only its enormous base, shelters, and quarters for the crew remained. Until the Armistice, Paris continued under harassing fire from the monster guns.12 The 17th Field Artillery regiment had a four-week program outlined during rest camp that read like a full course of instruction. The men did settingup exercises and foot drill; they had instruction on military courtesy (the proper method of saluting; proper conduct in camp, at drill, around billets or in public; with special emphasis on neat personal appearance) and care of personal equipment. Drivers were lectured on the care and training of horses and the proper fitting of harnesses, to remind the men that horses

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were scarce and needed the very best of care to get the maximum work from them for the maximum length of time.13 Cannoneers and gun squads had short, brisk drills to sharpen performance; reserve squads were organized and instructed like the regulars in firing from the map for position warfare and open warfare, and practiced using gas masks. Camouflage, repair of guns, reconnaissance, and occupation of positions were part of the instruction, along with field problems. Reports were submitted weekly on the hours devoted to subject matter. 14 The one duty the artillery companies were relieved of temporarily was hauling ammunition, which was cause for rejoicing.15 At Headquarters, AEF, the American Army was preparing for its first battle under American command. General Pershing had discussed with Marshal Foch and General Petain the transfer of his Headquarters to the St. Mihiel sector where he proposed to clear the Germans from the salient, long a threat for a possible push into Allied territory. Both men assured Pershing that they would do everything possible to furnish whatever the First Army might need. (During the spring emergency, only infantry and machine gun troops were shipped to France, leaving the Americans short of essential material.) The go ahead for the operation was given on August 10. The Americans had one month to make plans, concentrate the army, and prepare the corps. Pershing established Advanced Headquarters at Ligny-en-Barrois, a village about twenty-five miles southwest of the town of St. Mihiel on August 29. American troops, scattered all over France, had to be brought to the sector of operation as quickly as possible by rail, truck, or marching, and it had to be done at night to prevent observation and guard the element of surprise. Because of the St. Mihiel salient's size and shape, two systems of supply would be needed to supply the troops on each side of an inverted triangle, the apex at the town of St. Mihiel, the two sides running north-south and east from the town. The thoroughness of preparation was impressive given the lack of much necessary equipment: Forty-five miles of standard-gauge and 250 miles of light railways were built, also a two hundred-foot bridge at Griscourt and fifteen miles of road with 100,000 tons of road rock; water points were installed, supplemented by rail and truck trains, to provide 1,200,000 gallons of water a day. Hospital beds and evacuation trains for casualties were organized, nineteen railheads set up to supply daily rations, clothes and equipment, in addition to 40,000 tons of ammunition placed in dumps. A telephone net with thirty-eight circuits connected Ligny-enBarrois with Corps, Artillery, Air Service, and Supply, plus a radio net and carrier pigeon service in reserve.16 To lead the enemy astray, Pershing sent the VI American Corps to Belfort with orders to prepare plans for an offensive through Mulhausen to begin September 8 under Pershing's command. Seven divisions would take part,

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but it was all a ruse to distract the Germans and attract troops away from the St. Mihiel salient. The battle plan called for simultaneous attacks against the two sides of the salient, the southern side taking the main blow. The French would provide a holding attack from the apex of the salient. More than twentyfive miles wide and fifteen miles deep, the area combined woods, rolling hills, small villages, creeks, and the Rupt de Mad River. The Germans, established in the area for three years, had fortified and protected their installations. Machine guns and barbed wire would be plentiful.

12

A Clockwork Operation When Pershing's band plays Dixieland in Berlin, Germany, the Huns will holler Kamarad when they hear that melody. —"When Pershing's Band Plays Dixieland," 1918 The thunder of artillery at one o'clock on the morning of September 12, "a wonderful barrage, lasting throughout the remainder of the night and into the day," came as no surprise.1 What was a surprise was the lack of enemy response; artillery had been pulled back the night before. The weather was stormy, the wind hazardous, visibility poor. To mislead the Germans, a message to delay operations because of weather went out over the radio, but all units were ordered GO. The ruse worked. A number of German troops, unaware of the attack, were caught in their dugouts waiting for the preparatory shelling to stop. Second Company, waiting in position since August 28, was keyed up and ready. Their orders were to position the balloon within a thousand meters of the German frontline trenches to be in position to observe for corps when the infantry went over the top. Their mission was strictly for intelligence, there would be no adjusting. The nearness to the enemy unhinged the men, who spent their last hours before moving up writing letters home, certain it would be their last. When it was time to maneuver the gasbag forward, a heavy storm raged, which with darkness, the overhead wires in villages, and incredible traffic congestion made forward movement a battle with the elements—exhausting, physically and mentally. Roads that existed on maps became quagmires

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from the weight of passing vehicles as horse-drawn wagons and caissons, trucks, and foot soldiers struggled to keep upright and moving. Signs nailed to trees beforehand, "Balloon Road—No Overhead Wires," failed to make passage easier. When the artillery opened up, it was a sight to behold. The horizon lit up with a sheet of white light. Thousands of guns packed hub to hub— from 75mm to huge 320mm including French railroad guns manned by American crews—roared in the wet dark, the sound deafening to gunners and their neighbors. Shells exploded on the trenched flatlands of the Woevre Plain, and beyond the salient toward Metz and ringed Mont Sec—a magnificent sight to cannoneers. Huge quantities of gas were lobbed at the German stronghold that had dominated the area for four years. Balloon companies and other units who had served under its watchful eye cheered— Dead Man's Corner was no more! At H hour, light artillery put up a rolling barrage ahead of attacking infantry while other batteries poured harassing fire on roads and villages. German observers, astonished by the quantities of ammunition expended during the four-hour bombardment (one million rounds), felt in their bones a foreboding—such material support must carry the day.2 Troops on the south side attacked at 0500 preceded by tanks and engineers armed with wire cutters to clear the way. Objectives were reached quickly in spite of weather; enemy resistance was weak. Troops on the west slope attacked at 0800, moving down off the heights through woods strung with barbed wire, and threaded their way around concrete gun positions to the rain-drenched plain below under a rolling barrage that allowed an advance of one hundred meters in four minutes. The terrain, pockmarked with shell holes, tested men's nerves to move quickly; one ear listened for incoming shells or machine guns. Balloons ordered up at dawn tried to comply, but weather conditions were poor. Traffic congestion kept some companies from reaching their position until after the battle began, proving once again Robert Burns's observation that the best laid plans "gang aft agley." Road congestion would continue to plague operations, slowing the delivery of ammunition to batteries and food to troops who had outdistanced supply centers. The fighting was a marvel of speed. Thanks to keen preparation, engineers cut through wire entanglements or threw wire matting across wire and trenches that made crossing easy. (In trial runs, teams of engineers cleared a ten-foot passage that allowed a platoon of fifty men in field equipment to march through in double time in three minutes, eight seconds.3) Tanks leading the way found eight-foot deep trenches, ten to twelve feet wide, navigable in spite of their size, thanks to the engineers' work. Breaking through enemy lines to the rear, they went to work cutting telephone and telegraph communications, leaving the German army command unable to send orders or learn what was happening. American troops advanced so

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rapidly that counterattacks could not be ordered quickly enough to influence the battle. Within an hour of H hour, prisoners were being rounded up and marched to the rear, some put to work mending roads. Their numbers grew through the day, most of them glad to be finished with fighting. That night, the railroad out of the salient was cut, ending the pullback of German troops. Some, primarily machine gunners covering troop withdrawal, put up resistance, but sixteen thousand men of all ranks surrendered. On the afternoon of the 12th, balloons along the front could check on infantry progress when visibility improved briefly. Second Company's balloon went up at 1855, reporting that the only enemy balloon in sight was burned at 1915. Shortly after, the balloon descended for a routine night: liaison with 5th Division Headquarters, replenishing the gasbag with nine tubes of gas. Ninth Balloon Company raised their balloon at 0450 in a high wind that broke telephone connections, forcing the balloon down at 0540. By 0700 the balloon was up again, reporting on enemy troops and artillery when an enemy aeroplane attacked. The machine gunners chased it away, and the balloon continued regulating fire on Mont Sec until poor visibility forced it down at 0850. By 1400 the company was on the move with IV Army Corps to Xivray. Fifth Balloon Company, corps balloon for the I Army Corps, was at work before daylight under difficult conditions, but after four hours gave in to the weather and pulled the balloon down. Work was impossible in gale force winds. Eighth Company, assigned to the V Army Corps, moved into position at Amblonville Farm and put the balloon up at 0550, reporting considerable aerial activity. Allied aeroplanes were bombing enemy centers behind the lines as far as Metz. The 11th Balloon company was up at 0605, its mission to adjust for Army artillery firing on enemy batteries and machine-gun nests. Before weather closed in, several successful firings were made. When the artillery moved forward, the 11th accompanied them. The 42nd Balloon Company with the I Army Corps on the extreme right of the line had a torn rudder from high wind on the 12th but was able to make daily ascensions once that was repaired. The 82nd Division, holding down the extreme right flank in front of the company, made no appreciable advance, neither did the 90th Division to its left, which meant the company remained in the same position at Ville-au-Val, an exception to most balloon companies. The 10th Company balloon, ascending in heavy wind, was destroyed by a nose dive into trees that threw both observers out of the basket. Lieutenant Likens was unhurt, but a broken leg and sprained back sent Lieutenant David Boyd back to the United States. With a new balloon, the company inched its way to near Essey where it was shelled by an enemy battery of 105s. The 43rd Company, in line near the 10th, raced to keep up with the infantry, operating when they could. First Company, stalled by heavy rain

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until the 13th, then hurried to catch up with the troops only to have its balloon attacked and burned on September 15th. The German flier was shot down by the company machine gunners.4 Third Company fought the wind on the 12th for about five hours before Birge Clark, company commander, hauled the balloon down. It was "a wild thing to control" with every man except machine gunners holding the ropes. Orders to move meant a struggle, requiring all sixty maneuvering men on the ropes with sandbags as the wind rolled the giant bag perilously near the trees. In desperation, Clark sent the crew across open fields for a mile and a half, while the winch went around on the road to a meeting place. Road traffic, a disorganized jumble of swearing, anxious men and nervous beasts, inched along in two narrow rows toward Seicheprey, the advance route for the whole 42nd Division. Every time a gap appeared, it was quickly filled by vehicles maneuvering to get around a stalled truck or gun that blocked oncoming traffic. The Major in charge of MPs was in a terrible state, threatening "a few general courtmartials of truck drivers and hanging them at crossroads" to make "the American Army truck driver realize that he had to obey traffic rules." 5 Clark quickly discovered that communications were nonexistent because heavy wind and rain had undone those telephone lines that survived ground traffic. Glimmers of news filtered through; the drive was going well in spite of the glitches in supply and communication. The infantry had surged forward so quickly that artillery had to get moving to give support. Where the guns went, balloons must follow. Accordingly, 3rd Company maneuvered close to Essey and settled into a rather unorthodox balloon position, bare of trees, on a hillside in a former German 77 battery—one gun remained. The small road leading to the position was a plus; the balloon could be moved up or down easily. Telephone lines went out at once, and by afternoon curious French civilians visited the camp. Clark wrote in his diary: "They were excited and hysterically glad to see the men, but since they talk no English and none of the men around were able to talk French, we couldn't learn much about the Germans." 6 During the night of September 12, the 26th Division surged forward under orders to link up at Vigneulles with the 1st Division. Pushing across swampy ground, their artillery stalled by impassable roads, the 102nd Infantry with its machine gun battalion followed by the 101st cleaned up Hattonchatel and moved into Vigneulles about 0230 on the 13th, having effectively cut off enemy passage on roads crossing the Grande Tranchee de Calonne. (Vigneulles, a German supply center for the salient, boasted a large swimming pool built during the four-year occupation.) Some thirty minutes later, contact was made with scouts of the 1st Division entering the town from the south. In less than twenty-four hours, the pincers had closed on the salient. American troops were bombed briefly by their own aeroplanes, who were unaware that the 26th Division was there. The op-

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eration now became one of extension, pushing the enemy back, mopping up enemy remnants, establishing the line on the high ground beyond Thiaucourt, one of two places in the salient where the enemy offered real resistance. Some fifty thousand troops launched a counterattack to control the town, but it was broken up by I Corps troops. The following day, weather was only slightly improved. Balloon companies assigned to units on the move packed and moved forward, inching their way along slippery roads choked with vehicles. Others still in position reported on activity in their sector. Lt. Colonel Paegelow's report covering September 13-14, Balloon Wing V Army Corps, indicated that balloons in the sector were working normally: Enemy infantry activity was reported with map locations; enemy artillery identified by calibre and position, enemy batteries spotted, their positions given to command; enemy aeroplanes reported, their location and condition; train activity identified; also explosions, fires, and locations with continuous smoke. Balloons 6, 7, and 8 did yeoman work supplying fifty-two entries on the report; balloon 12 had a single entry. 7 The identification of possible targets was a boon to corps artillery, whose cardinal tenet was: To hit a target, you have to know where it is. On the 13th, General Pershing went to St. Mihiel with General Petain where crowds of liberated French turned out to greet them. Pershing wrote in his diary, "This is my birthday and a very happy one." The original inhabitants had numbered 7,000, but after four years of German occupation, their number was down to 2,500. The town was spared the fate of many others, it was not bombarded during the attack. On the 12th, the Germans had rounded up all males sixteen to forty-five years of age and marched them out of town, but they were freed the next day when the Americans captured their German detail.8 Delighted Frenchmen learned of Allied victories for the first time as France celebrated the return of two hundred square miles of territory. Pershing observed in his memoirs that the boost in morale from the victory filled American troops with unlimited confidence—they would need it shortly—and encouraged the tired Allies. The spoils were impressive—nearly sixteen thousand prisoners, 443 guns, large stores of material and supplies—with fewer than seven thousand American casualties. The once invincible enemy was beatable.9 Congratulations poured into AEF Headquarters. President Wilson cabled: "The boys have done what we expected of them and done it in a way we most admire. . . . Please convey to all concerned my grateful and affectionate thanks." Marshal Foch wrote: "The American First Army, under your command, on this first day has won a magnificent victory by a maneuver as skillfully prepared as it was valiantly executed;" General Haig added his praise: "All ranks of the British Armies in France welcome with unbounded admiration and pleasure the victory which has attended the initial offensive of the great American Army under your personal com-

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mand. I beg you to accept and to convey to all ranks my best congratulations and those of all ranks of the British under my command." 10 From the commander-in-chief down, the ranks were jubilant. With the objectives of the operation achieved, American Army units reinforced new positions, pulled back to regroup, and reported on their unit's action. Reams of paper descended on the chain of command. Balloons were no different. Reports went to Corps Balloon Office and Army Balloon Office from units assigned to corps or army artillery. Telephonic reports were made by army artillery balloons to army artillery headquarters, to army intelligence service and G-2 of the corps in the sector where the army balloon worked. Each corps balloon office had submitted a consolidated report daily to G-2 and G-3 of the corps and to the Commander Army Balloons, whose office in turn distributed memoranda of the information to the Chief of Staff, Information Officer and Operations Officer at Air Service Headquarters. Casualties and losses were tallied. Enemy planes had destroyed balloons of the 1st, 2nd, and 5th Balloon Companies in the first two days of the operation; 9th Company's balloon was hit by enemy artillery fire, deflating the gasbag. The distinction of most unusual occurrence was contested by Balloon No. 12 and Balloon No. 2. No. 12's cable snapped in high wind on the 12th carrying Lieutenants Roland S. Tait and George W. Hinman into German territory where they were imprisoned until two weeks after the Armistice. No. 2 Balloon's cable was hit by an American Salmson aeroplane, wrecking the machine and killing the pilot and observer with only slight damage to the cable. The balloon was flying at an altitude of 700 meters when the Salmson collided at 325 meters, just below the warning cone on the cable, in mid-morning. It was a unique accident, one that was never repeated. The 6th Balloon Company successfully floated eight propaganda balloons over German lines on September 17. Supplied by the French, the ninefoot balloons made of chemically treated paper carried six hundred sheets designed to encourage German soldiers to give up fighting. The leaflets were attached in bunches to hangers on a fuse. As the fuse burned, the bunches of paper fell free and papered the trenches. The French had used this device many times to reach enemy soldiers, but for the Americans it was a first in a planned campaign to undermine German resolve.11 Fourth Army Corps reporting on the operations of its balloon companies during the period September 12-17 found their work "very creditable." Personnel were hard working, sometimes days and nights in succession to make up for a shortage of observers and maneuvering officers. Information from balloons as the line was being established was particularly valuable because Sound and Flash Ranging Stations, which usually indicated the infantry's location, were not operating. Corps command and G-2 were in constant liaison with balloons. There were problems to be sure, notably

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road congestion due to the sector's three main roads converging at Essey, through which all traffic had to move.12 Lt. Colonel Paegelow, Commander Army Balloons, First Army, reporting on the operation of Allied balloons in the salient, noted that balloons advanced an aggregate of 202 kilometers, figured by direct line from their original position. The experience gained in the operation led him to recommend that all balloons be assigned directly to corps rather than to army artillery. Information from front lines had to be acted upon at once; corps was more intimately in touch with balloons than Army headquarters, which frequently took as much as an hour to secure a connection through main centrals. Balloons should be connected by a direct line to the central of the sector to facilitate immediate use of their information. As the all-seeing eye in the sky, Paegelow urged that balloons should report everything to one central balloon group office that would then send the information where it would be of most value—army artillery, corps artillery, G-2 of the army, or G-2 of the corps. As for adjusting fire, Paegelow argued that the present designation of army balloons as distinct from corps balloons worked against good performance. Army balloons idled because army artillery wasn't firing should not be compelled to reach into another sector to regulate army artillery at an exaggerated angle for both balloon and battery. Paegelow was a practical man. Balloons in a corps area should be distributed territorially, not tactically; should be identified with a sector, not a command. A balloon should see everything directly in front of it, and no more; should regulate for everything directly behind it, and no more. "Thus will efficiency and harmony of activity be augmented." 13 Major-General Clarence Edwards, 26th Division Commander, reviewing the St. Mihiel experience, agreed with Paegelow that information needed to reach rear echelons from the front line more expeditiously. His solution: establish a forward intelligence center near the front with direct wire connections to brigades and G-2, using runners in emergency. Old information was useless. Similarly, Posts of Command should be placed as near the front as practical for prompt response to changing situations. 14 (Edwards ignored warnings from superiors to refrain from risking his neck at the front.) There was general agreement among artillery: Balloons were preferred to any other means of observation. Division commanders, once they became familiar with balloons, requested they be assigned to them. The immediacy of telephone connection was the determining factor. An experienced observer could regulate six to twelve batteries at once, connected by telephone, or flying continuously, a balloon could keep division and corps informed on the tactical situation. Aeroplanes lacked that ability: Gas was finite; radio telephone was much less reliable than the balloon's telephone circuit.15

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Major Jouett, before becoming Balloon Wing Commander, Second Army, reported on balloon operations to date. He deplored the lack of liaison with the aeroplane service, arguing that both units should increase their surveillance capability by sharing information. He could recall only one meeting between pilots and observers where the topics were the best way to attack balloons, the best way to evade aeroplane attack, and the effectiveness of different types of protective fire from the ground. According to Jouett, this was all wrong. Balloons should regulate artillery on targets visible from the balloon, but aeroplanes should handle those beyond the balloon's line of vision. In stationary sectors, meetings and discussions between Corps Air Service and Balloon Commanders were essential to assign duties and functions that enabled each unit to do the maximum amount of work and do it well. During the recent offensive, balloon companies grouped together in corps lacked practice in working together as a group because, Jouett noted, there had been no offensive "on any great scale on the Allied side" that would teach such lessons. Noting that the French gave courses at their balloon school for group commanders, he recommended that Americans do the same. The service would be improved by studying problems that might arise during an offensive beforehand instead of waiting to encounter them in the operation. Group commanders should form telephone centrals with lines to each company to maintain uninterrupted communication while duties are discussed and assigned, and checks should be made on work accomplished. Once an operation begins and the first objectives are gained, balloon companies tend to lose communication with Group Commanders because companies must keep up with their assigned combat units. Short distances are no problem, but an advance each day makes keeping in touch with the rear difficult. Jouett found it helpful to cut into a test box on the trunk line between Corps Staff and its forward PC (permission was given by Corps Signal Officer) where as Group Commander he set up a PC as centrally located as possible to his balloon companies, manned at all times by an officer. Rather than have companies run lines to this point, Jouett was kept informed by runners carrying pencil memoranda on the operations during the preceding half hour. It worked in periods when shelling, bad weather, or traffic made running lines impractical. Jouett urged Group Commanders to visit each company in the group, giving advice and help as needed, making sure that a good adjutant was on the scene at Balloon Group Headquarters. Jouett observed that Group Commanders had been out of their offices for twenty-four to thirty-six hours with no noticeable effect on operations. Above all else, commanders should do all in their power to provide companies with the needed equipment for absolute mobility. Otherwise, a balloon company loses "its

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greatest assets in an advance, that is, to be a good forward observation post in a minimum of time." 16 As the fighting eased, Americans had a chance to look around the area they had taken. Mont Sec was a revelation: Tunnel entrances led into the hill; massive concrete works stretched up to its summit; neat bungalows painted in gay colors and furnished with the comforts of home, even to lace curtains, lined the village below, which boasted a concrete bandstand for the enjoyment of "Kultur even in this out of the way place." The dead were everywhere—horses, dogs, field mice, men. American gas shelling left the butte "as silent and lifeless as a vault in a cemetery."17 More shocking were the prisoners being marched past: boys no more than fourteen years wearing the emblem of the guards, a sorry bedraggled lot; others older but still no more than kids, looking thin and woe-begone. Suddenly, Americans saw the enemy with new eyes. If these prisoners were typical of Germany's manpower, then Germany was about finished. A big, "bouncing young army, armed to the teeth and the teeth themselves glistening in a supremely confident grin" was poised to finish off the enemy.18 Hunter Liggett, Commanding General, First Army, agreed. German morale had sustained a mortal blow. The German enlisted man might continue to fight with the fury of a cornered rat, "but the odds are on the cat." 19

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13 Trying Stamina and Spirit When Fritizie found we were on his trail, His courage fast began to fail. —"We Got By, We're Ace High," 1919 The ease with which the St. Mihiel salient was closed had a Hollywood touch. Its reporting had the same quality: a "serene, unchecked advance, the infantry waves mounting and disappearing over crest after crest, their ranks unbroken, their jaunty trot unslackened."1 Infantry going over the top behind a barrage sang loudly: "Where Do We Go from Here, Boys?"2 Nothing to it! The quick success despite miserable weather and horrendous traffic congestion left the AEF feeling it could do anything. If there were grumbles about the decision to halt at Thiaucourt instead of pushing to Metz, reality reasoned it was the right choice with a new operation about to begin. Tomorrow Berlin! Cooler heads reviewing the operation commended the development of the First Army as an effective weapon for vital fighting, the precision of the operation, the ability of American troops to attack defenses strengthened by the Germans for four years, although seasoned units regarded St. Mihiel merely as a successful maneuver. Reluctantly, the St. Mihiel front was "permitted to stabilize."3 The forests in France were a surprise to many Americans whose geography study of France conjured up rolling countryside, tall trees along major roadways, but nothing one would call a forest. Then came the Argonne. Shakespeare, had he written of it, would have no fun-loving sprites and fairy folk there. Monsters, demons, and darker-natured beings were better

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suited, a place dangerous in the extreme when machine guns hid beneath branches, behind brush-covered rocks, or on tree platforms concealed in the up curve of a ravine. The next American operation encompassed the area between the Meuse River on the east and the Argonne Forest on the west, part of a combined thrust with the French Fourth Army attacking west of the Argonne, joining British and French forces already fighting to the north. The Meuse-Argonne was strategically important to the Germans as a fortified buffer to protect the railway connecting Metz-Sedan-Mezieres, a vital east-west system for supply and troop movements, one of but two systems available to them. Foch and Pershing reasoned that cutting this southern line before the enemy could withdraw his forces from the occupied areas to the northwest meant "the ruin of his armies in France and Belgium would be complete." 4 For four years, the Germans had strengthened the area unaffected by French efforts to reclaim it in 1917. In 1916 the Germans had tried to take Verdun without success and contented themselves with building a defensive system in depth, enhanced by a "no man's land" of complete devastation. Any move toward the critical rail center at Sedan had to pass through a series of fortified positions beginning with an east-west line through the height of Vauquois; then from Montfaucon to the Argonne, the KriemhildeStellung or Hindenburg Line stretched along the Cunel heights to Grandpre; the Freya Stellung, yet another ridge, ran east-west through the Bois de Barricourt with numerous strong points between. More than twenty kilometers deep, opposition would be stiff. The topography of the landscape aided the defenders. East of the Meuse, the heights overlooked the river and lowlands to the west, providing splendid artillery defense to the German left flank while firing on attacking troops. To the west, the heavily fortified Argonne Forest, standing on a plateau about 100 meters above the valley, protected the right flank and subjected incoming forces to a deadly cross fire. Years of forest growth enmeshed with German wire and steel made it impregnable. Any plan to take the forest head-on was suicidal; flanking each side, pinching the enemy out, was feasible. Between the two borders, the elevation of Montfaucon, 342 meters above sea level, provided excellent observation and artillery positions. (The German Crown Prince is said to have watched the attack on Verdun from there in 1916.) The heights to the north, heavily wooded, bristling with machine guns, would hold at all costs to defend a position of extreme importance to the Germans. Preparations for the operation known as the Meuse-Argonne Battle— actually, it was a series of battles over many weeks from September 26 to November 11—began in early September following General Pershing's meeting with Marshal Foch and General Petain. Foch, anxious to move since the dramatic turn of events in July and August, ordered attacks all along the line from Verdun to the sea "to catch the enemy as ill prepared

The Meuse-Argonne Sector

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as possible." 5 Accordingly, troops were withdrawn from the St. Mihiel front as soon as possible and moved by night to the west as other troops and artillery assembled near the Argonne front. It was an extraordinary accomplishment to get the First Army into position when only three roads led to the front. One was designated a motor highway, the other two were for foot soldiers and animal-drawn vehicles. At times carefully designed plans were scrapped when complications demanded spur-of-the-moment changes. Credit for masterminding the whole operation went to Colonel George C. Marshall, Jr., who performed brilliantly.6 While American troops assembled west of Verdun, French troops remained in position on the line to screen their presence and prevent the Germans from anticipating an attack. (The French Second Army moved out when the attack began, adding to the traffic congestion.) Again, the strategists floated a ruse between the Meuse River and Luneville to the east to hide American intentions so that Pershing could report "the actual attack was a tactical surprise." 7 But the Germans suspected something. Headquarters, AEF, cabled Washington on September 25, reporting increased harassing fire and artillery activity on the whole front: "Enemy air reconnaissance very active." 8 American troops hidden in the woods dodged the shelling, thankful for French dugouts; they knew the artillery could not respond. The Germans, disturbed by new British and French attacks in the northwest a week earlier, expected an action soon, but they weren't sure where. Taken by surprise, their initial artillery response was light. There were ten divisions on the German line and ten in reserve from Fresnes-en-Woevre to the Argonne Forest when the artillery began firing three hours before H hour. At 0530, September 26, the fire changed to a rolling barrage, and the infantry jumped off. The American First Army from right to left incorporated: III Corps, 33rd, 80th, and 4th Divisions in line, 3rd Division in reserve; V Corps, 79th, 37th, and 91st Divisions in line, 32nd in reserve; I Corps, 35th, 28th, and 77th Divisions in line, 92nd in reserve; in army reserve were 1st, 29th, and 82nd Divisions in rear of III, V, and I Corps, respectively. The French 5th Cavalry Division, also in reserve, waited for the right moment to charge—it never came. After the initial surprise, the enemy reorganized before the cavalry, traveling on chaotic roads, could reach the front. The opportunity was gone; the 5th Cavalry was out of the fight. Not everything went according to plan in the scramble to be ready. An exasperated Capt. George Patton, writing to his wife before leading his tanks into battle, confided that one hundred thousand gallons of gas had arrived in tank cars without a pump, "Now we can't get it out except by dippers!!!" 9 His tanks would have a phenomenal effect on German soldiers. Reporting to the Reichstag on October 2, Generals von Hindenburg and Luden-

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dorff stated there was "no longer any prospect of forcing the enemy to sue for peace." Two factors had influenced their decision—tanks and the matter of reserves. The sudden appearance from smoke clouds of large masses of tanks left "our men completely unnerved." Breaking through German front lines to clear a way for the infantry, the tanks caused local panic when they reached rear lines, "which entirely upset our battle control." Eventually, German antitank guns and artillery located the tanks and put many of them out of commission, but the damage had been done. The Germans lost enormous numbers as prisoners, reducing the army's strength and using up reserves faster than expected. German industry, concentrating on other weapons, failed to supply tanks in large numbers. 10 Thirteen American balloon companies and two French companies had assembled behind the line, ready for service. First Corps was assigned 1st and 2nd Companies with 5th Company in reserve; III Corps had 4th and 9th Companies with 3rd and 42nd Companies in reserve; V Corps had 6th, 7th, 8th, and 12th Companies; army artillery had 11th, 43rd, and the French 39th and 93rd Companies. The speed of the concentration, twelve hours, was a record as balloons in the sector increased from one to thirteen along with four hundred tubes of hydrogen to keep them aloft. Accomplished in a single night, unknown to the Germans, the movements contributed to the attack's surprise. It was a triumph for balloon transportation, which was chronically short of vehicles and relied on the French for assistance. On September 26, American artillery unleashed a short, violent shelling on the German lines, followed by the infantry's advance spearheaded by tanks. At 0715 2nd Company's newly inflated balloon was in the air along with balloons of I and V Corps. Reporting regularly to command center, 2nd Company—its mission surveillance—noted shelling in its sector at Aubreville and Hill 289 and heavy smoke rising from Montfaucon—a hit on an ammunition dump—and the town of Baulny. Visibility was sixteen kilometers for surveillance and twelve kilometers for adjustment. From all indications the attack was going well; intermediate positions had been taken by 0730. Antiaircraft was feeble, two German balloons north of Verdun were burned, opposition was light. Artillery fire was proving effective on advance positions; dense smoke was reported rising from Chatel, Dun-sur-Meuse, Apremont, and south of Fleville by afternoon. At 1418 the company log noted that a Fokker D-7 with orange band around the fuselage attacked and burned two balloons, the third and fourth on the right belonging to V Corps. The fourth balloon was burned first, followed by the third balloon. Two parachutes were observed from the fourth, but only one parachute from the third. The log noted, "Observer from the second balloon burned, apparently burned by burning balloon." 11 The observer, Lt. Cleo J. Ross of the 8th Company, seemed to hesitate after Lt. Hudnut had jumped, and when he followed, he was too late.

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On the ground, stalled in a gigantic traffic jam, artillery units moving up saw what thousands of soldiers along the American front witnessed: "The burning sausage was dropping about twice as fast as the parachute and squarely above it." Not content with his handiwork, the Boche aviator swooped past the balloon and fired again at the helpless observer whose doom was seconds above him. A hundred thousand throats roared "a massed curse that would have silenced a barrage." Then the burning bag hit the parachute and "a blackened meteor crashed down into the woods." 12 The watching troops had one more reason for fighting the war. Ross, having fallen nearly a thousand meters, died instantly. His body was taken to an ambulance, then to the 315th Field Hospital at Blericourt where he was buried the next day, attended by four of his fellow observers. He was the only American observer to die on active duty, for which he received the Distinguished Service Cross posthumously. In his honor, the Air Service named a balloon training school in Arcadia, California, after him. At the same time as the 8th Company, the 3rd, 4th, 7th, 9th, and 11th Company balloons were also attacked, the German air service doing its mightiest to prevent American balloons from seeing and assisting operations. Third Company was adjusting on a bridge used by German artillery when it was burned. The two balloons burned in the attacks had to be replaced; the rest were inspected and went up again as soon as possible. By the end of the first day, the information coming in allowed a favorable assessment, but General Pershing, following the progress of the battle at his headquarters at Souilly, was not pleased by the performance of the 37th, 35th and 28th Divisions. The 37th and 35th were in their first battle, as were three other divisions. Allowances were made for their newness, for staff that did not work "particularly well,"—a failing in green troops—but by far the overriding problem was the roads across No Man's Land. Roads were nonexistent after years of shelling and wTeather; rain turned shell holes into oozing craters that defied efforts to cross them with wooden planking; recent shelling with gas added to the hazard. By afternoon, columns of artillery, ammunition, and supplies struggled to get over "hastily made roads which were narrow and bad." Notwithstanding the logistics, orders were given "for the units to organize and resume the attack the next day." 13 The weather conspired—the 27th was not balloon weather. Road repairs and the crush of traffic—between ten and eleven thousand vehicles passed a checkpoint on the Neuvilly-Varennes road in twenty-four hours—made the going slow.14 Troops had iron rations for two days, 250 rounds of rifle ammunition, and a quart canteen of water sans wine (veterans knew that wine turned a man's stomach) to last until supplies came up. Artillery, essential for an attack, had difficulty moving up and was short of ammunition. The result was dramatic: On the 26th, 37,033 rounds were fired; on the following day, 1,090; on the 28th, 2,624. 15 Calls from beleaguered

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infantry for guns and ammunition brought with them a realization that "none of the doughboys up Front would be needing the rations in the trucks that were sloughing about in the mud" unless action was taken. Vehicles carrying food gave way to artillery and ammunition. 16 By nightfall along the front, the attack had slowed; the Germans rushed veteran troops to the front. Balloon companies grounded by fog dug in for protection from German shells, moved forward closer to their working units, or relayed telephone messages between army units. Ninth Company, moving up to Cumieres, was attacked at Marre while the bag rode above a low-hanging cloud. The winch maneuvered the balloon so skillfully that the aeroplane was led into the fog, where the pilot lost his bearings, momentarily unaware of altitude, and crashed into wire entanglements, killing him and destroying the machine. Arriving at their position, a hill called Le Mort Homme (Dead Man's Hill), the company was overwhelmed by "the vast amount of dugouts, the system of trenches, and barbed wire entanglements . . . the huge craters and holes measuring from twenty to fifty feet across." Allied and enemy aeroplanes littered the hillside in all directions, graves with "the bodies of combatants of 1914 were now reopened." 17 The cost in human life on this one site was appalling. Elsewhere, the 43rd Balloon, working with First Army Artillery near Ivoiry, reported at 1200: "Infantry can't take Montfaucon at present, need more artillery preparation. Will fire as soon as visibility permits." 18 German machine guns, hidden on platforms in the trees on the south side of the hill, picked off advancing ranks with ease, halting attackers in their tracks. General Pershing, on the line to Major General Joseph Kuhn, Commanding, 79th Division, delivered "energetic instructions" that Montfaucon should be taken by "one means or another." Troops on either side had already advanced. They encircled the hill on orders, and shortly after, Montfaucon was taken. 19 Pershing, keenly concerned that his army make progress, faulted officers who did not push their troops. Weather was beyond his control; but his officers would perform—or be relieved. At the end of the second day, he wrote in his diary, "On the whole I am not very much pleased with the progress made, though it should not be called unsatisfactory." 20 It was just the beginning. Balloon Wing, V Army Corps reported at 1923 on the 27th that the line had inched forward, artillery was in position to launch an attack that night, and no enemy troops had been seen forming for a counterattack. Elsewhere, the enemy offered determined resistance, progress was minimal, and casualties began to mount. The following morning, I Army Corps reported that most balloons were advancing, their exact locations uncertain. Second Balloon Company had advanced toward Varennes and had the bag up at 0745 with good visibility. Reporting shelling south of Baulny and Sommerance and heavy smoke

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near the southwest corner of Bois le Bouleaux, the balloon was attacked by seven Fokkers at 0848. Observer Moe jumped and landed safely. Minutes before, 1st Balloon, positioned nearby, had been attacked and burned, but its observer landed safely. Second company cheered when one Fokker was brought down by machine-gun fire and the rest were chased by eight Spads that appeared as if on cue. The balloon was brought down, examined for defects and ascended again at 0955. Shortly after, rising wind and poor visibility ended its work for the day at 1040. Elsewhere, balloons had mixed success. Third Corps had three balloons up for part of the day, one was advancing. First Company and 6th Company balloons were attacked, the latter burned. Neither of the Army Balloons, 43rd and 39th-French, was up. Fifth Corps was advancing, a monumental job for its balloons, entailing crossing mine-blasted roads and trenches encased in tangled wire. Communication, life's blood in a war, broke down; V Corps had no telephone reports. Things were in a state of flux; men wandering back from the front were leaderless; enemy resistance was stronger with three fresh divisions in the line. American troops were stalled in several places by machine guns, shelling, and counterattacks. Green troops, unused to the reality of battle, gave way under shelling and machine gunning; others held on stubbornly. Colonel William Mitchell (never shy about offering criticism), assessing the beginning operation, blamed the inefficiency of V Corps staff for the traffic congestion, the worst he had seen on a European battlefield. Nothing moved for three days until engineers could build roads in critical spots to move traffic. Combat was disorganized: "Infantry attacking alone in one place; a separate combat a little way off; further on no fighting. Artillery was firing at nothing and infantry waiting to occupy ground which is empty of enemy. Then suddenly, up against machine guns—many casualties—a new army, not seasoned."21 British commanders would never have begun an operation without first detailing supply and transportation lines, delaying if necessary until they were satisfactory. But American commanders had rushed into the operation believing that they could make it work in spite of limited roads. Commanding officers assessing the results of the first few days realized this new operation would be nothing like St. Mihiel. Second Company had its troubles on the 29th. Part of the truck train was tied up in I Corps traffic, and the bag had been bedded in an open field where it had to be held down all night to keep it from blowing away during a storm. Drenched and hungry—rations were stuck in congestion— the company waited until night to move the balloon forward, only to retreat the next day to its previous position with the bag deflated when high wind made maneuvering impossible. In spite of these problems, liaison was maintained with Air Service Headquarters, Balloon Wing Headquarters and 35th Division Headquarters now stationed in Varennes. Third Company, positioned near Malancourt on the 29th, had inflated

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a new balloon to replace the one burned on the 26th, established an advance central line, and occupied itself waiting for artillery to advance. Company life was as organized as wartime conditions allowed: Rations were drawn for two days, sleeping quarters were dug underground to protect against shelling, latrines were dug, new hydrogen tubes were drawn, and telephone lines extended. Commanding Officer Birge Clark, ran an orderly company. When weather permitted, the balloon was up observing and by October 3 was adjusting for artillery morning and late afternoon. It was Clark who observed that American fighter pilots tended to prowl the skies in the morning, retire for lunch at midday like their French compatriots, then resume the fight again in the late afternoon. A civilized routine, to be sure, but one that left the aggressive German pilots enjoying free reign for hours during the day and balloon companies and infantry wondering where their supporting air cover was. 22 When its balloon was attacked, 4th Company was forced to return to its starting position because enemy guns had a clear shot at its new bed at Le Claire Farm. As III Corps Balloon, it worked with corps artillery and performed special missions—stringing and maintaining a line of communication for the Group Commander was one. Seventh Balloon Company, mired down near Avocourt, waited for clear weather to fly its balloon, getting a taste of the life to come—leaky dugouts, and no mess. Like other companies, they pitched in to help the engineers improve the roads. Sixth Company, following the 79th Division in V Army Corps, enjoyed a good start, adjusting fire on concrete machine-gun positions and relaying information during the beginning of the drive. During bad weather on the 27th it moved forward so that on the 28th the balloon was ready to adjust fire on enemy positions. Good work always attracted German attention—this time, a lone Fokker that attacked and burned the balloon. The trip to Ippecourt, thirty kilometers distant, for a new balloon and hydrogen took two days, something of an achievement considering "the impassable traffic and mud." 23 The first four days were sobering for troops who had routed the Germans in less than forty-eight hours at St. Mihiel. Second Company knew things were tough up ahead; the stragglers passing through told tales of desperate fighting and loss. Hungry and cold, these men were looking for familiar faces and something hot to put in an empty belly. That accomplished, they returned without complaint to the front. Third Company kept coffee simmering in twenty-gallon GI cans all night to have it hot and strong—there was no milk or sugar—for those in need. Trucks and ambulances carried the severely wounded; those able to walk joined the parade moving to the rear. Unfortunately, chaotic roads added to the death toll; men died when the ride to the hospital was too long.24 On October 1, 2nd Company joyfully greeted the arrival of winter underwear, overcoats, new wrap leggings, and FOOD! A warm meal had a

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miraculous effect on flagging spirits. The balloon was inflated, and liaison with the 130th Field Artillery was established. Things were looking up in spite of the nightly visit from aeroplanes that machine gunned the camp's position. The news filtered down that the 35th Division was all but wiped out, leaving a gap in the line the enemy could have surged through had he but known. Luckily he didn't. The line was strengthened when the veteran 1st Division replaced the battered 35th, the 32nd relieved the 37th, and the 3rd Division relieved the 79th. Breathing more easily, the 2nd Balloon Company scrapped plans to torch its equipment for a quick withdrawal. A captured German order from General von Gallwitz, commanding the army group that included the Third and Fifth Armies opposing the Americans, partially explains the ferocity of the German defense. Dated September 30, the order declared that the Allied attack aimed at forcing a decision was "to avert a crisis among their own forces." The heroic loss of German blood had stemmed the tide for the time being. The effort now was to inflict "ever increasing losses on the enemy. . . . Every strong position must be most tenaciously defended and the most extensive use of our weapons must be made. . . . The denser the advancing masses, the more they are hampered in an advance and the greater the losses caused by the fire of the defenders." Everyone was called to "defend our beloved Fatherland to his last breath." 25 Unlike St. Mihiel, "Jerry" wasn't giving territory away, he was selling dear. A cable from AEF Headquarters to Washington, October 1, tallied one hundred enemy aeroplanes and twenty-one balloons shot down since the beginning of the operation. Lieutenant Frank Luke, Jr., flying with the 27th Pursuit Squadron, the second ranking U.S. ace credited with eighteen victories and a record three enemy balloons burned in one day, accounted for a number of those wins. Free spirited, independent, frequently in trouble with superiors, Luke had embarked on a campaign against enemy balloons in the first days of the Meuse-Argonne operation. On the 29th, he dropped a message to the 7th Balloon Company saying he was going to get three more balloons—keep an eye open. Luke got his balloons, cheered by American balloonists along the front. That same day, he was forced down near the town of Murvaux, and, refusing to surrender, he drew his .45 against German infantrymen. He was shot immediately, his body thrown into a farm wagon to be buried later by local villagers. His fourteen balloons and six aeroplanes downed in eighteen days won him the affection of American balloonists, for whom he was "America's Ace of Aces," and a posthumous DSC.26 His dash and vigor, admired by General Pershing and the American public, were qualities that made the fly-boys the darlings of the press. Balloonists felt they had lost a good friend when Luke died. On October 2, with weather slightly improved, 2nd Company moved forward to Vauquois hill and made liaison with Balloon Wing Headquar-

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ters and the 130th Field Artillery. The following day the bag was up at 1209 with fair visibility. Two adjustments were made to eliminate batteries that threatened forward movement in a new assault ordered for the 4th. Heavy traffic on the crossroads south of St. Juvin was reported with map coordinates to the artillery for special attention. On the 4th, visibility was zero. The day was spent conferring with the French to the west, 1st Division G-3, 1st Artillery Brigade, and 5th Field Artillery Headquarters. Sixth Balloon Company positioned southeast of Montfaucon had its balloon burned on the 3rd, but quick-witted machine gunners retaliated by shooting down the Fokker and capturing the pilot. Again, a truck went to Ippecourt for a balloon and hydrogen. On the 4th, a second aeroplane "flying the bright colors of an ace" came over low. The machine gunners were primed and brought down their second victim in as many days. Later that day, an observation aircraft came within range of the company's barrage, "nose-dived, righted, then volplaned to earth with both observer and pilot dead." 27 This time, credit for the hit went to antiaircraft batteries. Even so, the company glowed with pleasure when Brigadier General Mitchell's office (Mitchell was promoted in October) issued two general orders hailing the 6th's achievement, unmatched by any other company. At AEF Headquarters, reviewing the first days of battle, Pershing changed attack procedure to stop divisions using four regiments in the line. Instead, he ordered that the units be deployed two in line, each with a regiment behind to give more driving power and better control of the consecutive waves. Also, he assigned successive objectives to "allow the green troops to reform now and then before continuing the advance." 28 Manpower, arriving steadily for combat use, lacked seasoning under battle conditions. Pershing hoped the changes would correct some of the failings noted thus far. On October 4, the order was forward. On the ground the infantry attacked with supporting gas and artillery fire. Thermite gas proved especially successful in silencing enemy machine guns. West of the Argonne, the fire was overwhelming in the Blanc Mont area, followed by renewed assaults along the entire front. German observers, facing fresh units just moved into the line, found the combat intensity greater than the previous days and, on the 5th, acknowledged that a withdrawal had been ordered. The hostile advance was repulsed with considerable enemy losses, "but the enemy continued a breakthrough at different points." 29 The going would get tougher for the Germans. The 15th Bavarian Division reported on the 4th that it was no longer fit for combat with all of its elements. Regiments had scarcely one hundred men; artillery was 50 percent of strength, and pioneers (engineers) the same. Ammunition was short; butter replaced oil; urine, water. By the 8th, conditions along the front were critical for troops used to regular relief and orderly supply. Increasing numbers of casualties were making evacuation of the wounded

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from the front lines difficult, vital equipment was short or spent, communication with artillery was failing, pointing to American artillery success in disrupting circulation behind the lines. Doughboys, slogging through waterfilled trenches, mine fields, and wire barricades, resisting the onset of flu symptoms, might have marched with a lighter step had they known. Instead, the grind went on. On the 5th, 2nd Company was working with the 5th Field Artillery, controlling fire on Landres-St. Georges. The scene ahead through variable clouds revealed heavy smoke near the railroad station in St. Juvin, shelling at La Grange Farm and its woods, more heavy smoke in Bois Money and intense shelling of Bois Apremont, with heavy machine-gun fire on crossroads behind the German line. Also two enemy batteries were in action, and an enemy balloon up at Sommerance—the sector was active. Decreasing visibility brought the balloon down before it could finish adjusting on a second target. Liaison with 1st Division Headquarters and Headquarters, First Army, compared information and plotted the next day's work. Balloon companies attempting to move as the line advanced found themselves in precarious positions, squeezed between the front line some five and one-half kilometers ahead and the river to the east where enemy artillery ensconced on the heights had a clear shot at the valley below. Enemy aeroplanes attacked daily to halt American artillery fire that was proving too effective on strategic points along the front. Eleventh Company shared the glory when I Corps Commander complimented the battery it had assisted for its accurate fire on machine-gun nests on a hill south of Brieulles: "the most effective fire within the corps during the offensive."30 Troops worked their way up the banks of the Aire River to the right of the Argonne by slow stages. The first three days, the penetration averaged seven miles, but the next eleven days amounted to barely two more miles. But artillery kept pounding, and trench mortars aimed their deadly charges at enemy trenches and gun nests, forcing enemy troops to run toward American rifles or die; relentlessly the infantry attacked, licked its wounds, regrouped, and attacked again. Balloons, limited by infantry movement, waited to advance, protecting their elephantine bags as well as possible. When they failed, it meant a sightless day for the army. Though Air Service aeroplanes were increasing in number, their chief mission was to fight enemy aeroplanes or bomb strategic German positions. Observation and collecting information were lesser goals. On October 6, one observer, enjoying good visibility, had the sweep of the Meuse-Argonne spread before him. On his left was the Argonne, rugged and thick with trees, obscuring anything on the ground; Cunel was five miles to the northwest, Le Mort Homme was three miles to the rear, and Verdun, twelve miles to the southeast. Spotting an enemy battery in the woods behind Cunel, he alerted a battery of the 148th Field Artillery, giving the location, and firing began on the target.

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"No. 1 on the way" shouted the battery CO as a clerk counted off the thirty seconds required before a shell reaches target, this to save the observer's eyes before hit time. The firing continued under the observer's guidance: a series of rapid shots, four short, two over, then twelve shots, seven over and five short, followed by twelve more, and the enemy battery had stopped firing. Its actual destruction was not seen but "no living thing or machine could have survived this fire."31 The day is off to a good start, but an enemy aviator zeros in on the balloon to stop its work. A solid barrage from antiaircraft guns and machine guns chase the attacker off, and the balloon rises higher to take advantage of increased visibility. The panorama of battle includes an American balloon burned on the right and an ambulance struck by shell fire; while up front, attacking infantry is ordered to withdraw from advance positions south of Brieulles, and a smoke screen is put down for their protection. Meanwhile, the balloon, after conferring with its battery, directs shelling on the machine-gun nests on the ridge and watches with satisfaction as one by one they are demolished. The balloon's work attracts another Fokker, determined to end its artillery adjusting, and the observer jumps when bullets strike the basket. The drop toward earth is uneventful, a second Fokker flees when the gunners open fire, and the observer is soon aloft to finish the job on the pill boxes. Just as daylight is going, a third aeroplane, shooting a continuous string of incendiary bullets, swoops down on the balloon. The observer jumps, and this time the balloon burns, falling directly toward the open parachute. The ground crew leaps into action, fastens the spider to the cable of the burning balloon and hauls it away from the chute. Best of all, the observer lives to tell the tale. The toll on his nerves is not known. Americans writing of their experiences stress action, seldom mentioning the negative aspects of the service other than occasional motion sickness. Ground crew members were aware, however, that observers became tense, short-tempered, with repeated exposure to attacks. Pat Barker, describing the experiences of a British doctor in a mental hospital, writes that balloon observers broke down more severely due to their helplessness to avoid attack or defend themselves against it and "showed the highest incidence of breakdown of any service. Even including infantry officers."32 Her book, a fiction work, is corroborated by Alan Morris's history of British balloonists, which noted that "aviation medicine reckoned that the average man's nerve was undermined by two parachute escapes." 33 Samuel Taylor Moore, CO of the 7th Balloon Company, agreed that generally when an observer had been shot down three times, he was kept on ground duty "long enough to relieve his memory of those nerve-racking experiences." The reason was that an observer of several attacks "reported fewer observations than an observer whose nervous system had been less

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tried." The veteran of attacks could not keep his eyes trained on the ground—unconsciously he was scanning the skies for enemy aeroplanes. 3 4 Herbert B. M a w , Chaplain of the 89th Division, was offered a ride in the basket when he visited a friend in a balloon company near Metz, a sector considered relatively quiet. Suited up with telephone attached, M a w was enjoying watching his friend direct artillery fire on a target. At first, the shots were wide, then gradually, on target, when, as luck would have it, a crisp order " j u m p " came over the telephone. M a w had been instructed briefly on the particulars of jumping, but he never expected to do it. My friend said, "You get out that side and I'll get out this," and he went and left me in that balloon all alone. Well of course I know, I had received a little instruction before I went up, so I climbed over the side and hung onto the basket and closed my eyes and asked the Lord—I never prayed more strongly in my life than I did then, and I let go. That was the most terrifying experience I ever had in my life, just the falling terror of the drop. 35 Fortunately for M a w , it was a one-time experience, unlike observers w h o faced the prospect of repeated jumps. By early October, the French Fourth Army to the left of the American sector was stalemated in front of Blanc M o n t after its initial success. M a r shal Foch asked General Pershing for aid; reluctantly he gave the 2nd Division to the French, and on October 3 the attack was resumed. With the aid of the 2nd Division and tanks, the French Fourth Army in a "brilliant maneuver against heavy machine gun resistance" captured the dominating German positions on the Medeah Farm, Blanc M o n t Ridge, opening up the sector n o r t h w a r d to St. Etienne. 3 6 The 36th Division replaced the 2nd on October 9 and continued pursuing the enemy until it reached the Aisne River on the 13th, where it maintained its line on the south bank until relieved by the French at the end of the month. At the same time as the renewed French attack, American forces east of the Argonne pushed determinedly north to clear the Argonne, which would lend support to the French. Advancing along the Aire River, an attack to the west was initiated to strike the enemy's rear in the Argonne, leaving him no alternative but withdrawal. The day-to-day fighting was fierce, V Corps broke through at a vital point to storm the Hindenburg Line and take Romagne and half of Bois de Romagne, but "desperate resistance" halted the 4 2 n d Division under Douglas MacArthur south of St. Georges and Landres-et-St. Georges. By mid-October, t w o American divisions had joined the French XVII Corps in an attack east of the Meuse to take the heights from Beaumont to Brabant-sur-Meuse, while the 64th Brigade of the 32nd Division captured Cote Dame Marie, the dominant feature of the Romagne heights. American forces now held "the enemy's strongest fortified position on that front and flanked his line on the Aisne and on the

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Heights of the Meuse." 37 The Germans had to retake those positions or retire from their lines to the north as American heavy artillery were now within range of his rail communications. Slowly the vise was closing. The contrast between St. Mihiel's quick success and the slow, difficult advance in the Meuse-Argonne left the armchair generals grumbling. In Paris there were open questions of Pershing's tactics and ability and broad hints that someone else should take over the leadership of the battle. With his insistence on pressuring the Germans to the limit, Marshal Foch may have been responsible inadvertently for some of the criticism. The British and French operations in northern France and Belgium were going well. The enemy was being forced to make one orderly withdrawal, then another. The one disappointing spot on the battle map was the Meuse-Argonne. Georges Clemenceau, Premier of France, complained to Foch that the Americans were marking time and suggested a change in command. Earlier, on October 7, the French Military Advisory Mission had presented a critical report to the War Department in Washington on American troops in France from May to August, citing their substitution of enthusiasm for common sense, their enthusiasm for attacking without sufficient planning, their dislike of entrenching themselves (which can prevent useless loss of life), and the weaknesses in the American supply system. If such criticism had been leveled at the French, they would have considered it an affront.38 Fortunately for Pershing, Foch was well aware of the difficulties of terrain and enemy resistance, made more complicated by inexperienced staffs—the kind of crisis which "all improvised armies suffer"—but he recognized and valued Pershing's dedication to the operation. Americans, with 54,158 losses from September 26 to October 20 "for very small gains," were in the battle until its conclusion.39 Second Balloon Company, working continually with the 1st Division, controlled fire successively on enemy batteries and Landres-et-St. Georges, where the infantry faced an aggressive defense. Infantry positions, marked by shelling and barrages to the north and heavy smoke rising from ammunition dumps burning near St. Juvin, were reported to Headquarters. The company log reflects the day-to-day grit of the advance as enemy balloons, stretched across the line opposite the Americans like so many elephants waiting to charge, watched and directed artillery activity. Sometimes when the breaking point seemed near, balloon crews found solace in a touch of home—the round, powdery surface of a doughnut served up by valiant YMCA ladies in a small town on the way north. "More American than the Star-Spangled Banner . . . a thousand associations are called up by it." The first bite recalls other times, with the second bite, steps quicken. Its unexpected appearance changes "the whole atmosphere of a lonely journey." 40 The French soldier found solace in wine, Americans found it in the kind of food that came from Mom's or Grandma's kitchen.

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Keen artillery fire was a constant menace. The 12th C o m p a n y in reserve for the V Corps moved near Cheppy only to have the balloon shelled and finally burned on the ground by two direct hits. The balloon's loss was bad, but even worse, the Germans shelled the company's kitchen one morning as the company lined up for pancakes. " O n e shell killed a mule nearby, and the next spattered much all over the camp. The third hit a pile of canned 'weenie' in the kitchen, and we hit the dirt for dugouts, old trenches and w o o d s , during the shelling." 4 1 A citation from Major Jouett of Corps Balloons hardly made up for the lost pancakes. O n October 13 the 2nd Company made liaison with the 82nd Division and troops at the front were relieved, but the balloon company maneuvered forward. Infantry came and went, but a shortage of balloon companies (none had arrived since July) allowed little relief for those at the front. Rain, cold, and inadequate food supplies combined with exposure to the elements made life unpleasant in the extreme. Field mice chewed up anything in sight, including underwear bundled into a pillow. Added to these discomforts, night bombing disrupted sleep and threatened a flaming disaster when missiles seemed to be personally directed at the company. Anyone venturing a complaint met a standard reply: " A w , pipe d o w n — d o you w a n t to live forever?" 4 2 Shelling inspired a new nickname for the C O — "Skipper," because he seemed to skip out whenever there was heavy shelling. Koenig had been a fearless observer in the air, realizing probably that enemy guns weren't that good at shelling balloons, but, on the ground, shelling disturbed him. Consolation for the discomforts endured lay in the long lines of German prisoners marching to the rear, a slowdown in the shelling that signaled a German pullback and a momentary respite, the appearance of more Allied aeroplanes, and the surprising news that Bulgaria, then Austria, had given up. Sopwith rotary motors, humming a sweet lullaby, were heard at night going after German bombers; the 2nd Company flew four markers on the balloon cable to warn increasing aircraft away. A citation, the mark of a job well done, came from the 1st Division Chief of Staff, J. H. Greely: Commanding General, 1st Division, directs me to express to you his appreciation and the appreciation of the Division for the services rendered by your organization during the operations participated in by this Division between the Meuse and Argonne from September 29, to October 11, inclusive. The energy and alertness of your organization, which enabled the frequent identification of artillery targets, were of great value to the Division.43 In mid-October, the Second Army, under Brigadier General Robert Bullard, was formed to incorporate increasing m a n p o w e r and extend the American position to the east. Brigadier General Hunter Liggett assumed

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command of the First Army on the 16th, taking over from General Pershing who became Commanding General of the Armies. There was a lull while Liggett regrouped and strengthened his corps for two weeks in an effort to learn from past mistakes and "encourage the fighting spirit of the army for the impending attack on the enemy's main positions." Soldiers at the front had been sorely tried by intense, difficult fighting with a general letdown of morale in officers and the ranks. Casualties and the AWOL, estimated as high as one hundred thousand, had so reduced divisions that replacements were drawn from four combat divisions and three depot divisions to fill in units at the front. Under Liggett, there was a general tightening up; MPs and patrols scoured the woods and dugouts; "thousands of strays and hideaways poured in." 44 The army gathered itself for the final punch. Enemy aerial activity in the final weeks of October hectored balloons along the front under the menacing eye of German balloons, eager to score a hit on their counterparts. Shelling and bomb attacks were frequent, Fokkers machine gunned installations, and three balloons were burned on October 23. The violence leveled at balloon companies was a measure of their worth to the army. Their intelligence reporting, their spotting of targets for artillery fire, and their ability to guide fire on those targets for their destruction made them a formidable arm of the First Army. The highest accolade came from the Germans, who told Lt. Colonel Harold Geiger, Assistant Air Attache in Germany after the war, that among "all branches of American troops in the AEF, the observation-balloon service was regarded as the most efficient and effective."45 In the last days of October that efficiency was demonstrated repeatedly when observers, eyes roving over the landscape, spotted likely targets and alerted American batteries to prepare for fire. One incident involved an enemy artillery train caught in daylight attempting to reach the bridge at Sivry and cross the Meuse—what a target! Quickly two batteries were alerted, and fire commenced but needed correction. While the observer raced against time, the guns fired again, one pounding at the top of the hilly road, the other at the bottom to cut off escape and annihilate guns, trucks, and automobiles "where they stand." The result was a coup: "Guns, wagons and lorries are abandoned along the whole length of the road. Not a living thing is visible save several wounded horses that continue to stumble pathetically through this storm of destruction." 46 On the ground, troops of the 26th Division, waiting to attack, oblivious of the work over their heads, had escaped killing fire from the east.

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Patience under Hardship The Sedan gates to close to the retreating foes —"Oh, Ye Yankee Boys 'Twas Up to You," 1919 The Commander, Army Balloons, First Army, examined his organization in early October and was not altogether pleased with what he found. Writing to Major General Mason Patrick, Chief Air Service, on the tactical employment of balloons in the operation to date, he stressed the need for better liaison with different headquarter units. Inexperienced officers thought getting close to the front lines was important, but Lt. Colonel Paegelow knew better. In a war of movement, communication was vital. Balloons must keep up with batteries on the move, and telephone lines must be strung even before making a balloon bed. More training was needed in moving an inflated balloon by hand or winch, in choosing the best itinerary, in constructing camp as quickly as possible—the kind of training gained only at the front. Memos from Paegelow tried to make up for that training, advising company commanders in detail on a variety of practical matters: to repair roads (pick-and-shovel work was constant in a balloon company) use gravel or tamped earth; avoid valleys that were water soaked or level ground with running water (too damp for the balloon); pitch camp on a hillside, preferably facing south (roads facing north were generally muddy and wet); when crossing culverts, a span of three meters without intermediate support will carry the three and one-half ton winch. Combined, the memos were a handbook to get balloons working as fast as possible in the rugged exis-

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tence of an advance. Paegelow, looking to the future, wanted AEF balloon schools in France and stateside to emphasize practical work rather than theoretical. Liaison was the top priority—with artillery batteries, with division and corps headquarters, with the infantry and the heavier-than-air service. Paegelow believed in close cooperation between the two branches of the Air Service, insisting that observation work should not be divided up even if it meant duplication. He encouraged both branches to meet daily at corps artillery headquarters together with G-2 and G-3 (Intelligence and Operations). The more input, the better the information pool.1 The emphasis on liaison required observers to visit infantry units, to inform them on the mission and work of balloons, and to live with the organizations for a period of time. The program's success was in direct correlation with the interest of the commanding officer whose support or lack of it could doom the effort. It was quickly apparent that the infantry did not always understand the work of their artillery, to say nothing of balloons, and liaison seemed of greater value to the infantry than to the observer who gained little from the exchange. It was also obvious that a battery's delay in securing permission to fire at a moving target spotted by the observer meant a failure of the balloon's mission and a lost opportunity. Third Balloon Company and the Chief of the Artillery Brigade, 35th Division, devised a plan to shorten that delay by assigning to the balloon a battalion of 155s with authority to fire a limited number of rounds each day. The two units were connected by an open telephone line that allowed the observer to notify the battery whenever a good target appeared. Division artillery units, enthusiastic about the plan, signed up to participate, ending much delay and confusion. Liaison had a positive result in this instance because the division command was supportive.2 Alvin C. Reis, Commanding, Balloon Group, V Army Corps, didn't share Paegelow's opinion on the value of liaison with the infantry. (Divisional commanders in trench sectors ordered by Headquarters to visit the trenches at least once a week raged, but they went.) As required, he forwarded liaison reports from companies in his group to the Chief, Air Service, First Army, but his summary indicated that the "negligible knowledge to be acquired is incommensurate with the probability of casualty." Reis questioned the sense of exposing observers, trained at considerable expense, to "ulterior and futile risks" by putting them into the trenches. Would it make them better qualified to "recognize enemy trenches or to locate our own infantry lines?" He thought it a senseless waste to have observers placed where they could be gassed (two were) or killed or wounded in enemy fire. (Experienced observers reported that some infantry Command Posts [PCs] visited were in locations controlled by an enemy balloon or under fire from enemy batteries. The assumption was that as newcomers on the front, they didn't know any better.) Hoping to change current policy, Reis requested

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that his comments be brought to the "attention of the Chief of Air Service [Mason Patrick]." 3 Paegelow's memoranda stressed the balloon's role in boosting infantry morale, particularly when enemy balloons were up and line soldiers felt especially vulnerable, and urged that the balloon be flown even in poor weather. John Doughboy in a foxhole was positive the enemy observer was looking directly at him, and even officers insisted that an enemy machine gun must be visible from the air—didn't balloons see everything? Observers had their work cut out to correct such ideas. However, to make the troops feel more secure, balloon companies sometimes sent the balloon up unmanned in bad weather. Paegelow's final reminder to new officers on the front was curt: "The war is on for 24 hours a day. . . . There are no office hours from 9 A.M. to 5 P.M." 4 Samuel Taylor Moore, CO of the 7th Balloon Company, disputed Paegelow's assertion that balloons helped boost infantry morale. His experience indicated that "balloon companies were unpopular along the line" because as innocent bystanders during balloon attacks, the ground sloggers "seemed to suffer higher casualties than we did when the enemy attacked us." 5 Lieutenant Glenn Phelps of the 5th Company recalled that a camp of engineers behind the line berated the company winch crew, when it appeared with balloon attached, for bringing "such a bloody fire-drawing range finder" into their midst, then scattered into a woods. 6 Lieutenant George Quisenberry of the 7th Company concurred, "We were always a source of worry to any outfit near our station" for men at the front believed that "the coming of a balloon to their vicinity meant action and shelling."7 They were usually right! There are numerous incidents of infantry commanders ordering balloons away from their area, knowing the frequency of shelling by the enemy. The artillery, usually 75mm or 155mm batteries, were less than enthusiastic at the appearance of a balloon, preferring to hear from them by telephone. Lieutenant Grant, former maneuvering officer for the 2nd Company, could appreciate the truth of Paegelow's reminder that war was a full-time job. Stationed since September at the AEF Balloon School, Camp de Souge near Bordeaux, he lectured on balloon maneuvering, the close relationship between observer and maneuvering officer, the officer's influence on the efficient running of a company, and the maintenance and repair of balloons. Grant kept the school's balloons serviceable for student use, prepared lectures and practical exercises daily, and visited French suppliers to see the latest improvements in equipment, a routine not unlike the ringmaster of a three-ring circus. In spare moments, he thought of "the immortal 2nd." Philosophically, he was resigned to teaching, but his heart was at the front. "I love that crew like a lot of brothers, for we have been through so much together." Feeling guilty in a safe place when the news each day was of friends killed

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in action, he found consolation in getting even: "We are making the Huns pay and pay dearly." When in mid-October rumors of peace were circulating, Grant hoped it would not come too soon "for the Huns haven't had enough yet." 8 Two weeks later, the news on the battlefront was so optimistic that Grant's thoughts turned to life after the war. The future was filled with uncertainty, but one thing was sure: After his experiences of the past year, a nine-to-five job was unthinkable. "The immortal 2nd" continued to deal with mud, "Delahaye Drills," dysentery, and the cold. Miraculously, no one got the flu. Some balloon veterans attributed their avoidance of serious illness to cognac, which they carried with them. (Doctors prescribed cognac with an egg to cure sick patients.) Bad weather or not, the balloon advanced to keep up with artillery; the ground crew heaved its load of hydrogen tubes and equipment forward when the trucks foundered, muttering that next time they'd join the aviation section. There was no respite from enemy aeroplane attacks, which had taken a nasty turn, flying low to strafe anything that moved on the ground. Another new tactic used a flare to signal to artillery the location of a balloon winch and crew, followed promptly by a series of shells. Routinely, when the company scouted new territory, grenades were tossed into dugouts to clear out any enemy lurking there. On October 27, a fine Indian summer day, Lieutenants Quisenberry and Reeves of the 7th Balloon Company were ready to work in their balloon. Below them, the ground spread out like a giant checkerboard of gray and brown tones, the harshness of war's destruction muted by altitude. Abruptly, the telephone line went out, and the balloon was hauled down to repair it. Ascending again, the basket was held at two hundred meters when enemy planes were sighted to the north. Within minutes, the ground signal to jump was given—a large panel of cloth opened on the ground— and Reeves was over the basket. Quisenberry had never jumped before, but he knew that hesitating could be fatal. Over he went, holding to the basket's edge with one arm while Reeves' parachute snapped from its case, then he dropped. There was a sudden strong jerk, his chute was open, and at the same moment he felt a strong pull around his left leg. Quisenberry had jumped too quickly and tangled himself in Reeves' parachute, now going limp from carrying the weight of the two observers. The ground was rising rapidly; two hundred meters was generally too short for jumping. Kicking frantically, Quisenberry got loose, the fall of both parachutes was checked, and the two observers landed safely, a bit harder than usual. The balloon had not burned, the attack had failed. Not to be deterred, the two observers returned to their aerial post intent on assisting the artillery, only to be met again by the same aeroplane. This time, determined to put an end to the bag, the aeroplane flew through the defensive machine-gun fire, straight toward the balloon, firing continuously until the balloon burst into flames. Both observers had cleared the basket

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and landed safely. Quisenberry's first jump was a lesson he never forgot: Wait until your partner has cleared away completely before dropping. Within an hour and a half, he and Reeves had jumped twice. Not a record, but an unsettling experience.9 Second Company used the same good weather to assist the artillery firing on a series of enemy batteries above Grandpre and St. Georges, guarding the approach northward. The installations were formidable: Group I had nine batteries and each group added another battery until group V had thirteen batteries; north of these were ranged three more with six and seven batteries. First Corps Artillery's mission was to hammer them out of existence or force them to withdraw, the balloon's seeing eyes directing the destruction. 10 During the last two weeks of October, aerial activity increased; enemy aeroplanes attacked relentlessly with a corresponding increase in the number of American balloons burned. Fifth, 7th, and 2nd Balloons were destroyed on October 22-23—aggravating a supply problem already serious in the French Army, which supplied the Americans. First Army balloons reported convoys moving back from Dun, enemy batteries were spotted and shelled, the 2nd Company's strafing indicated that the enemy had not relinquished the struggle. Observers descending in parachutes during an attack crossed fingers that the rain of bullets whizzing by would miss them. Shooting at balloonists wasn't new—it was first reported in 1917 at the Battle of Vimy Ridge—but it indicated a certain desperation on the part of pilots who prided themselves on being sportsmen despite orders from higher up instructing pilots "to concentrate upon destroying the personnel, as they were more important than the balloon itself." Both Allied and German pilots agreed that attacking observers as well as the balloons was "correct" from a war point of view—balloons were easily replaced, not so an experienced observer.11 Still, many pilots shrank from shooting a defenseless man suspended in midair, although others justified doing so, blaming the enemy for initiating such behavior. General von Hoepner, who commanded the German Air Service, considered English aviators more aggressive than the French; attacking a German balloon was like a game of golf or polo—the Englishman must "win at all costs." 12 One such Englishman, Taffy Jones, had no compunctions. There was a bloody war on and he intended to avenge his pals. By the end of October, balloon companies of III Corps were ordered to select an advance point of operation at least four kilometers forward of their present position, the position to be chosen with care: Equipment must be safe, billeting for personnel possible, and transportation easy. Companies (the 3rd, 4th, 9th, and 42nd) were warned not to run too many wires to batteries because it was impossible "to work with all the artillery in the vicinity." 13 Division and artillery PCs, the exceptions, should be called often. Along the line, tension built—the First Army was preparing to attack.

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The army's front was greatly improved, and morale was high. Divisions were up to strength, supplies were restocked, artillery was in position for support, and roads were vastly improved after unceasing work by the engineers and the 92nd Negro Division. Thirty-one kilometers of standard gauge railroad for supply and transport were built by crews working around the clock; seventy-five kilometers were rebuilt; some 250 kilometers of narrow gauge railroad were constructed or rebuilt. The task of moving twenty-six American and seven French divisions in and out of the zone (thousands of corps and army troops went to the rear, their replacements to the front) was immense. Its accomplishment was a marvel even with the glitches.14 Attack plans were ready: III and V Corps would strike the center of the enemy line between St. Georges and Aincreville, I Corps would remain in place to protect the left flank of V Corps on the first day. The French Fourth Army on the American left would attack at the same time, the chosen day, October 28. Adding to the upbeat tempo of preparation was the startling news that General Ludendorff, sensing the end was near, had resigned on October 26. His plan to defeat the Allies had failed. The ordered German war machine he had launched against the Allied powers no longer functioned with steely precision. An orderly withdrawal of troops and equipment necessary to protect the Fatherland no longer was possible; faced with declining German morale and the loss of German allies, Ludendorff knew that machine guns and natural barriers could only delay the inevitable but not change the final outcome. Allied military leaders gathered in Paris to discuss possible terms for an armistice, but even though peace seemed more and more a possibility, the attack would begin as planned. Marshal Foch decreed November 1 attack day for all troops, to give the French three more days to prepare. "It is of the highest importance," Foch wrote, "that the American First Army be ready to begin operations on the date decided upon, viz: November 1, and that it be able to continue them until important and certain results have been attained." 15 The Americans were ready and waiting. The "important and certain results" were crushing German defenses along a two hundred-mile front extending along the Meuse River to Belgium and in the Meuse-Argonne sector, pushing the enemy back to the Beaumont-Stenay line on the Meuse, and exerting maximum pressure east of the river to force the enemy to yield the heights that protected its right and center. These accomplished, a general withdrawal toward Sedan and the vital Metz-Sedan-Meziere railroad line that supplied enemy troops in the northwest would naturally follow. On October 31 poor visibility kept most balloons down. November 1 dawned cold and cloudy with fog in the morning. Following an artillery preparation at 0330, the joint French-American attack was launched, catch-

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ing the German front as foreseen—expecting an attack on the right and weak in the center, the focal point of V and III Corps attack. Surging through the center, each battalion with a machine-gun company, the corps reached the Barricourt Ridge and overran the entire defense system to a depth of seven miles beyond German artillery lines. First Corps, holding on the left flank and none to happy with this assignment, was unleashed on November 2. Trucking troops forward, they made contact with the enemy, who had withdrawn from their position during the night. The race was on. Disorganized by the new attack, German troops began a steady retreat between the Aisne and the Meuse; by November 2, Croix-aux-Bois, Buzancy, Villers-devant-Dun, and Doulcon were in American hands. On the 3rd, the entire northern part of the Argonne was cleared, the heights of Beval taken, and the left bank of the Meuse was in American hands. Imperial Headquarters ordered the German line to hold for two days, then rescinded that order and called for a withdrawal behind the Meuse. Marshal Foch congratulated General Pershing on the army's accomplishments, the result of "the ability shown by commanders and the energy and bravery of the troops." 16 Second Company had the balloon up on November 1 in spite of poor visibility—at three hundred meters the balloon was in the clouds—that hindered observation or assisting the artillery. Telephone lines were kept open and liaison established with the 80th and 77th Divisions, 162nd Artillery Brigade, 157th Artillery Brigade, and the signal officer for both divisions. On the 2d, the company, resuming its gypsy life, changed stations, maneuvering the balloon at night through Fleville into a mud-filled valley near Sommerance. The tender and chart room vehicles immediately stalled in the mud three kilometers behind the gasbag while the kitchen truck was two kilometers ahead. Spirits wilted; the CO was nowhere in sight—the chain of command had broken down. On the 3d, the company was on the move again as Lieutenant Batten, a newcomer, reorganized the company, got everyone on the long rope to pull the trucks out of the mud, and guided the balloon to a position near St. Juvin. Liaison was out of the question—the infantry was moving too fast. The next morning, on the road again, sixteen men struggled with the rain and mud-soaked ground cloth—even folded it was a heavy load—while others toted sandbags the low moving balloon couldn't carry. The one bright spot was the reunion of company and kitchen, even though breakfast, predictably, was Corned Willie and sow belly. At least it was warm, chased down with a hot liquid vaguely resembling coffee that warmed bodies briefly. Their next meal was up to Lady Luck—supplies had not caught up, and iron rations were long gone. Incredible news on the radio gave a brief lift to sagging spirits: The Germans were suing for peace. Leaving camp was now a simpler procedure because most of the men

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slept where they dropped, not bothering with either pup tent or dugout. Advancing to Buzancy, at dusk, the company took over a German airfield vacated that day. It was a poor choice for protecting a balloon; enemy fliers had used the field for over four years; they knew its exact location well. No sooner were the men lowering the balloon to the ground than enemy fliers appeared overhead and dropped small bombs on the field. Frightened men wondered whether to drop the ropes and run, or "stay and be killed." Half hung on for dear life and somehow survived—"It's still a mystery and miracle"—before bedding the bag in a hangar. 17 It was the beginning of a very long night. At intervals, bombs rained down, prompting the men to seek shelter during each attack in an emergency trench system on the side of the field. Frightened, exhausted men looked around for officers—there were none. Apparently they had found a dugout where they spent the night, leaving a new observer in charge, who was experiencing bombing for the first time. Craig Herbert remembers, he didn't know who the officer was in the dark, but "his teeth chattering and his fear-driven stutter" were evidence of the man's fright. "How he kept from dropping dead was remarkable." 18 The next day was no improvement. Still carrying the ground cloth, the company cut through a farmer's field when seven Fokkers swooped down and sprayed the company with machine gun fire. The company scattered as the aeroplanes flew off to shoot up Buzancy. The balloon survived and was sheltered in a picnic ground where trees offered some protection. The success of the American drive left the company defenseless—neither antiaircraft guns nor the company's machine gunners were in position—and American air squadrons seemed to be following the pattern Birge Clark had noted earlier. The division of daytime hours meant that the Germans were in the air when balloons had the best visibility. Third Company complaints to Army Air Service for protective flights during hours when the balloon worked had no results; headquarters insisted there was a patrol in the area—therefore, there couldn't be any German aeroplanes there. In Buzancy, German aeroplanes strafed the town, killing six Americans and wounding eleven. The enemy's withdrawal was more rapid than usual, but there was still time to destroy whole sections of the town—by 1918 a German trademark. All along the Western Front, bridges, canals, and rail systems were targets for destruction. Marshal Foch attributed the destruction to the German "joy in wreaking damage" (Schadenfreude). In World War I, destruction was a logical instrument of war used effectively by the Germans because it "retarded the advance of the Allied armies." 19 To the French, the destruction was excessive, particularly when churches suffered. The rapidity of the American advance affected all units. Artillery of the 82nd Division had changed positions so rapidly its officers requested permission to use map coordinates instead of sketches of positions "until we are stabilized." (Tracing paper was scarce.) The 82nd Division had been

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relieved before the attack, but its artillery continued performing with the relief division, the 80th. Arriving at a new position, Battery A#l of the 82nd Division informed Battery Buck U#l by handwritten note that as soon as a switchboard was up, it would call; a first firing would start at 1156 as ordered. On November 4, the CO of the 321st Field Artillery reported: Enemy resistance seemed to be stiffening, men and animals were being pushed to the limit of endurance, but artillery would go ahead "as long as there is anything to move." Spirits were high, but the men needed chow, and the animals needed forage—they were tiring badly.20 Division Headquarters Field Order #32 allowed no letup, advance to continue at 0600; artillery was to continue close support of the infantry; pursuit was to be pushed "with utmost vigor," using trucks and whatever was available to push leading elements forward on the double.21 The 2nd Balloon Company, assigned to the 80th Division by Field Order 25, was instructed to work for any artillery unit of the army corps or division when called on, as long as it didn't interfere with its assigned mission. Signaling became especially important as troops worked their way forward. Observers watched for the infantry's white Dongel lights or white star cartridges that indicated their position—information vital to headquarters staff waiting for news of an attack's progress and to artillery batteries coordinating barrage coverage for the troops. Artillery observers passed the word to batteries and balloon chart room crews, who telephoned the positions to command, aware that failure to act quickly could mean lost lives. On November 4, as ordered, I Corps 320th Infantry pushed forward through Sommauthe, followed two days later by 2nd Company, who maneuvered into position there. The entire First Army was on the move, pursuing an enemy forced to retire, his ability to counterattack now gone, but whose "withdrawal was strongly protected by cleverly placed machine guns and well organized delaying operations." 22 German orders to the 31st Division holding the stretches east of the river outlined these delaying tactics: The Americans must be prevented from crossing the Meuse "under all circumstances," because once in an overhead position, they could easily see into the thinned out patches of woods below; firing should avoid swampy lowlands, which can cause duds and waste ammunition; artillery should deliver "searching fire" up and down the Meuse and the railroad line. Mortar fire must destroy the towns of Givodeau Ferme and Villemontry when occupied by the enemy.23 The speed of the American advance coupled with wet weather led to inevitable traffic jams and supply breakdowns as troops rushed north and east under Pershing's orders to push the Germans as close to their borders as possible with an armistice a possibility. Transportation buckled under the demand; soldiers dragged their guns by hand; balloonists, struggling to keep up, flew the gasbag low on the winch truck, or when that was im-

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possible walked it across sodden fields, hanging onto the ropes. Second Company, its morale sinking, believed a rumor that a mail ship had been sunk, which made life still more dismal. Greater confusion ensued when through a mix-up in orders—or their interpretation—1st Division (V Corps) broke a cardinal rule of tactics and cut across the lines of two I Corps divisions in a race to Sedan with the 42nd Division to be the first to reach the overlook at Sedan.24 The morning of the 7th, men from both units were on the heights looking down across the Meuse to Sedan, waiting for the French who, by agreement, would have the honor of occupying the city taken from France by the humiliating peace treaty of 1871 with Prussia. Its loss remained an open sore on the French body politic. By all rights, the commanding officers of the 1st Division should have been severely punished, but Pershing, partial to the men of "the Big Red One," could not find it in his heart to do so, citing the division's "splendid record," and "the approach of the end of hostilities suggested leniency."25 His military mind could appreciate the results of the mishap: The German line of communication was now within range of the First Army's machine guns backed up by heavy artillery. News of the First Army's race to Sedan swept the cities of Europe and the United States, peace was imminent, prompting premature celebrations on both sides of the Atlantic. The Omaha Daily News had a banner headline on November 7: "Huns Quit, War Ends At 2 Today; Germans Revolt; Yanks Take Sedan." Would that it were so. To weary soldiers, the constant shelling and daily drudgery with peace so near seemed a bad joke. Ironically, just as balloonists were stretched to the limit of endurance in pursuit of a retreating enemy, long-awaited balloon reinforcements arrived in Europe. On November 9 Colonel Chandler of the Balloon Section, AEF, reported to Mason Patrick, Chief Air Service, the arrival and assignment of ten balloon companies to training centers around France with a general reshuffling of personnel that ordered six companies to the front from their station in the Service of Supply (the noncombative area where companies trained). At the same time, as part of a reorganization of expanding army personnel, six balloon companies serving at the front were ordered to duty with the newly formed Third Army, AEF, among them the first four companies to arrive in France.26 The original four, judged the most experienced, would join the Army of Occupation across the Rhine. Despite the swirl of peace talk, there was no letup in pressure. Marshal Foch, while conferring with German representatives, urged all commanders in chief on November 9 to "make decisive the results obtained" to emphasize the enemy's untenable position along the entire front.27 Units of the First Army, struggling to cross the Meuse to establish bridge heads near Mouzon, faced desperate resistance from the heights above. The bloodletting continued as the Americans exerted every effort to turn the enemy's

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strong position. Further east, the Second Army made progress along its front advancing toward the Briey iron basin. Among the ranks, the talk was all of peace as news of Marshal Foch's meeting with representatives of the new German government in the forest near Compiegne made the rounds. Second Company, caught up in the fever of rumors, failed to notice that the balloon had been hit on the ground by a Boche bullet until they were ready to move again and discovered it was leaking badly. The men completed the job of deflating, packed the bag on a truck, and headed toward St. Pierremont. Liaison with G-2 and G-3 of the 77th Division kept the company informed on objectives, but there was no communication with artillery units. Mess supplies were irregular as dumps were left farther behind; dinner was Corned Willie supplied by the 309th Field Artillery. It was warm and made the outlook brighter. (Artillery units living the same gypsy life as balloonists discovered "courage is largely a matter of diet," and the most dangerous assignment was possible after a good supper.28) Much to the company's amazement, it was payday, but for once, exhausted men were too tired for poker. Breakfast the next morning was "three pieces of sow belly and dehydrated spuds," before shoving off again.29 At dusk on the 9th, the company reached Les Petite Armoises, after a day of helping the engineers repave a shelled road and waiting for bridges to be repaired over flooded rivers. The company, billeted in houses formerly occupied by the enemy, was cheered up considerably by the sheer luxury of bunks and a roof overhead for the first time in five months. The French locals reported, "Guerre is Fini!" (American ears tended to garble French), but there was no confirmation, no liaison—and no dinner. On November 10, despite the continuing rumors, a general attack was ordered by Headquarters, AEF, for First Army. Second Company, waiting for orders and supplies at Les Petites Armoises, digested the latest news: The company and the entire I Army Corps would be relieved. The men's optimism was tempered by enemy bombers working over the next town. Troop movements were evident—units of the 42nd Division moved to the rear all day, and part of the 1st Division had camped nearby. A tired company grew more anxious. In fact the entire corps was close to exhaustion. By mistake, two Americans flying Spads shot down 5th Balloon Company's balloon, forcing observers Phelps and Bowers to parachute. The pilots apologized for their error and, fittingly, were presented with medals made from Corned Willie cans. Finally, the rumors were confirmed; orders arrived. The 2nd Company and the entire I Army Corps were being relieved; 2nd Company would proceed to Auzeville in the rear on the 11th. The men gathered themselves for the morning's work stowing equipment. Something was up: The Germans were blowing up ammunition dumps; smoke and fire filled the air while occasional shells added their bang to the night sounds.

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To the east, Second Army was preparing for an attack scheduled for November 14. The 10th, 15th, 16th, and 69th Balloon Companies were part of that army's effort to keep the Germans guessing about American intentions. With balloon assistance, the artillery focused on strategic bridges to cut off escape routes, enemy observation posts, and mortar installations. Sixteenth Company, maneuvering to "Death Valley" near Jaulny on orders that the front had advanced six kilometers, found the unit as welcome as a skunk at a picnic when a relief infantry regiment filed into the valley. Seeing the balloon up at three hundred meters, German antiaircraft immediately opened fire with shrapnel shells and high explosives on the ground. The arriving infantry fled to dugouts and trenches, shouting with graphic profanity, "there was no need for a balloon in their valley."30 Somehow in the rain of fire, the balloon was lowered, winch and balloon were undamaged, and the observers came down safely. Realizing that the advance had not gone as reported, the company pulled back to their old camp—two kilometers from the front was cutting exposure too fine. The 15th Company was equally unwelcome when it tried to move closer to the front. The company was raring to go, but a divisional commander countermanded the order because he didn't want "any damn balloon" near him.31 Enemy balloons were still operating. Wallace Kaiser, Sergeant First Class with the 16th Balloon Company, was responsible for keeping the balloon supplied with hydrogen. "Many times supply was short," but Kaiser managed to keep the bag flying by trading with other companies stationed nearby. On a trip to the 10th Company to straighten out the records of several trades, he detoured to walk through Pont-a-Mousson, which was deserted except for well-concealed troops. A truck passed him and stopped a little beyond. Kaiser saw the driver hit the ground followed in a split second by the tremendous explosion of a shell burst where Kaiser had stood just seconds before. "Enemy balloons had spotted this one lone truck," and shells were dropping all around. Kaiser beat a fast retreat using back trails through the woods, avoiding roads, and made it back to headquarters after dark. Another time, just before dark, Kaiser took two men to help gas up the balloon, hidden under cover of large trees in a forest about a half mile from the company's dugouts. An alert enemy observer was watching as the three made their way back across an open field. Again, in a matter of seconds, "shell after shell of shrapnel burst over our heads." 32 The 11th Company balloon, operating with First Army Artillery, was the first balloon to cross the Meuse, reaching the east bank on November 9 at Dun-sur-Meuse. Its destination was Fontaines where the company was billeted in a church. The 42nd Company, taxed like other companies of the First Army to keep up with its division, made a fifteen-kilometer trek over

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ruined countryside with the inflated balloon, only to be reported "by a company further back as an enemy balloon" on its first ascension. Their location on a hillside near Villers-Devant-Dun was bad, "as bad a place as could possibly be experienced."33 Dugouts—balloon companies had learned to appreciate their worth—were few and still held the bodies of German soldiers, while their comrades in death, the American soldiers who had stormed the hill, lay where they had fallen. The company's first duty was burial detail. Rumor of an imminent armistice prompted a company celebration, a grand bonfire that night. Soon after the fire lit up the night, a squadron of enemy aeroplanes appeared and machine gunned the company's position and for good measure the village where the 90th Division was headquartered. The celebration was premature. The German air service remained active to the end. On November 10, 3rd Balloon Company, operating with III Corps, was up in spite of poor visibility when a German aeroplane flew low over the balloon from the east, spraying it and the basket with bullets. The balloon burned, but observers Carroll and Cumming jumped safely. Later, Lieutenant Carroll realized that more than his chest telephone had been hit when he discovered bullet holes in his flying suit and a hit on the 1st Lieutenant bar on his forehead. The company viewed his escape as miraculous and chalked up the German's firing at the basket to "bitterness due to losing the war." 34 At 0600 on November 11, 2nd Company, unquestionably in "bad shape and desperately in need of a change," climbed aboard the trucks now empty of hydrogen cylinders and headed back to Auzeville, after forty-seven days of the Meuse-Argonne battle, for their first day off the front in 251 days.35 Personnel changes, bringing new observers while others departed, indicated that the company would be an ongoing organization. News of the Armistice had not yet reached them, neither had reassignment to the Third Army. Across France at Camp Coetquidan in Brittany, the 13th Balloon Company, one of the six companies finishing training, prepared to move to the front on orders from Colonel Chandler that spelled out: Leave all equipment. Lt. Charles Hayward, now commanding the 13th, remembered similar orders from the same source when leaving Fort Omaha. That time, 98 percent of their equipment never reached them. This time, Hayward was determined to bring the water tank trailer, knowing the vicissitudes of train travel, and warm clothing for the observers, which he "borrowed" from the incoming 23rd Company. The Transportation Detail confiscated a flat car, wired the trailer onto it, and hooked it onto the train, ensuring water for the three-and-a-half-day journey. Colonel Chandler's first impulse was to court-martial Hayward for not following orders, but he thought better of it later. The train left promptly at 0700. About 1430, it stopped at a small village

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where Hayward saw steam coming from a factory building, "a waste I was not accustomed to." Something was up! As employees streamed out, the woman conductor came along the train shouting "La guerre fini." At Rennes, where there was a three-hour wait to link up with another train, some of the company's officers were allowed into town. The main square was packed with celebrating people, poilus and men jammed the cafes, and boys paraded with flags as firecrackers went off everywhere, even under the long dresses of older women. A U.S. truck came into the square, carrying a piano, violinists, and drummers from a nearby unit, and was greeted by a shower of firecrackers. Hungry balloon officers, Hayward among them, sought out a cafe and had dinner while girls danced on the tables for pure joy. For the Americans, dazed by the commotion and hunger— "the glacee carrots and chicken were a godsend"—the extraordinary turn of events was hard to grasp. 36 The abrupt end of the war stirred mixed emotions: disappointment at not giving the Germans some licks, relief that four years of killing and suffering had ended, uncertainty of what would come next. At 0510 on the morning of November 11, Allied and German representatives affixed signatures to the terms of an Armistice—no Americans were present—and uncertainty ended with an official radio message from Marshal Foch: "Hostilities will be stopped on the entire front beginning at 11 o'clock French time. Allied troops will not go beyond the line reached at that hour on that date until further orders." 37 His message to all ranks of the Allied Armies was eloquent: "You have won the greatest battle in history and rescued the most sacred of all causes, the Liberty of the World. . . . You have crowned your standards with immortal glory and won the gratitude of posterity." 38 First Army, AEF, Headquarters issued Field Order No. 112, confirming that hostilities would cease at 1100 hours, Allied Armies should hold themselves ready for further advance, but no troops should pass the line reached at 1100 hours until further orders. Communications with the enemy were forbidden, the cessation of hostilities was "an armistice only, and not a peace, and there must be no relaxation of a vigilance." All commanders must ensure strict discipline, troops should be "held well in hand," and division commanders should personally inspect all units with that in mind. 39 Official policy, suspicious of German intentions, was one of "wait and see." The timing of the order came too late for units of the First Army ordered to cross the Meuse near Stenay at 0500. In the following days, some like John Gilchrist, who had encountered the column of soldiers marching northeast in battle gear, would question the heedless loss of life when "the terms of the Armistice had been agreed on and firing was to cease at 11 a.m." 40 But on all fronts, the war continued right up to the minute of 1059 with shelling laid on with special force to use up ammunition. The Germans

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didn't want the Allies to have it, the Americans didn't want to move it and enjoyed shooting up German territory for all they were worth. In the British Sector of the front a clipped communique captured the reality of the Armistice: "All along the Front, the balloons are down." 41 For British and French balloon companies the Armistice was an abrupt curtain on years of nerve-racking activity—the show was over. First Army balloons generally were down, some preparing to move back, others settling into new positions, but some American companies in the Second Army Sector to the east, uncertain of German intentions, had balloons up. Morning haze clouded visibility; the wind down of the grand show was a day like so many others. The ground crew, gazing skyward, waiting for the observer's comments, felt only undiluted envy of his "grandstand seat" on that momentous day.42 Observer John Broaddus, conducting artillery fire at Clermont-Ferrand with the newly arrived 35th Balloon Company, found himself suspended in the air for two hours after the Armistice, when an excited ground crew forgot him.43 It wouldn't have happened on the front, the crews had better discipline. German Fifth Army Headquarters orders for the Armistice echoed those of American Headquarters. There would be no change in position, no patrols, or no other movement in the direction of the enemy; aeroplanes and balloons would remain six kilometers behind German lines; above all, there would be no fraternization! Officers were to enforce discipline by whatever means, no excesses would be permitted, and no one should leave the line on his own. The spread of communist influence, already prevalent in Germany, was a major army concern. Fearful of a repeat of the troop rebellion of last August, the German High Command was determined to keep a tight rein on the army, to return it to the Fatherland in good order. The appointed hour was 1155, German time—an hour later than French time. The news, received at 1000, was a thunderbolt from heaven to hard-pressed German divisions, now, suddenly, freed of all worries. In spite of the general relief, telephone reports at 1120 indicated that the Americans were still fighting at Autreville and German batteries were still firing. Both sides seemed unwilling to quit.44 General Pershing was informed of the Armistice by telephone at 0600 by Colonel T. Bentley Mott, Pershing's liaison officer at Foch's headquarters. Emotion would come later; for the moment he confided to his diary, "I have begun studying at once the questions that are brought up by this new condition." 45 There is no hint of his feelings on the absence of Americans from the railway car at Compiegne. The sounds of battle roared and boomed all morning along the front until seconds before 1100. Artillery batteries and railroad guns all fired furiously with no target in mind, then gunners joined hands to pull the lanyards for a final shot at the Boche. The din was deafening even for cannoneers. On the stroke of 11, it ended. An extraordinary silence spread

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over the land. Americans, strangely muted, watched French and German soldiers seized by a frenzy of pure joy—yelling, dancing, throwing caps in the air—and among the French, wine bottles appeared as if by magic. An American Negro battalion, moving up to a command post near a clearing seconds before 11:00, saw a rocket go up from the heights behind them, followed by rifle, machine-gun fire, and grenades. Running forward, they could see frontline trenches and groups of Germans standing up, "acting like crazy men." The Armistice! Stepping into the open was a revelation. For months they had crouched like animals below the ground, and "now for the first time, we stood up in broad daylight with the enemy in plain sight in front of us." Unlike the Germans, "we stood in a dazed silence unable to believe that at last the fighting was over." 46 The Armistice produced two effects that soldiers had almost forgotten: silence and light. A corpsman in a hospital at Petit Mountjoy, working feverishly all morning in the operating room under a steady barrage, realized it was "strangely quiet and still—almost uncomfortable." 47 An artillery battery, firing round after round in retaliation for lives taken by enemy fire that morning, recorded, "The silence is oppressive. It weighs on one's eardrums." An occasional song goes up—"And we'll all go back 'cause it's over, over here"—but for the most part there is silence as forgotten sounds are heard: wind in the tree tops, the rustle of dead leaves.48 Soldiers exposed to shelling and bombing for months found themselves unable to sleep in the unnatural stillness of the night. John A. Hughes, a private with Battery C of the 15th Field Artillery, described the unease felt by all when quiet descended after months of constant roar of guns and shells: "We were lost without the noise." 49 Light, blinding, unfamiliar light, was evident that first night. Soldiers blinked in the unaccustomed glare of headlights and the sight of light pouring from uncovered windows. It took getting used to. General Pershing addressed all troops on November 12 in appreciation for "this glorious result," brought about because "without complaint you have endured incessant toil, privation and danger." But one more task remained—duty in occupied Germany. Reflecting the best of Army values, the spit-and-polish general urged, whether in friendly France or Germany, "bear yourself in discipline, appearance and respect for all civil rights" so as to confirm for all time "the price and love which every American feels for your uniform and for you." 50

15

Balloons Are Down! 'Twas a hell of a war as I recall, But a damned sight better than no war at all . . . —To the tune of "Mademoiselle from Armentieres," 1917-1918

The Armistice began to register in men's consciousness: "Those bombers quit coming over and for which we felt very thankful." 1 The war was over, and they had survived. They might not be knowledgeable about history, but there was pride in the statement, "I just helped make it." 2 Throughout the long ordeal of the Meuse-Argonne with the daily presence of death, when bodies were worn beyond endurance, one thought was present: "Is this the day I'm going to get it?" 3 Some were too sick to care; others assumed that the other guy would get it. That was the extent of their philosophizing. Robert J. Casey, a battery C O , observed in his World W a r I memoir that the average American soldier was not the introspective type that some " w a r fiction would have us believe." He had little thought about the status of his soul or the reasons that brought him into the army. His main concerns appeared to be: " W h e n do we eat? Where do we go from here?" 4 Balloonists were of the same mold. There had been little time for introspection. The sudden end of fighting that had been all-consuming was perplexing. Birge Clark, 3rd Balloon Company C O , may have expressed it best: I have a rather peculiar feeling. Heaven knows I am enormously thankful the war is over, but nevertheless I feel as tho [sic] my occupation was entirely gone, and the idea of turning back to civilian life an awful jump. I really have got accustomed

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to fighting, life in the open, running a balloon company with a lot of men, trucks, etc., and it is going to leave a rather gone feeling for a while I think.5 That "gone feeling" would inspire a number of American writers in the next decade who experienced the loss of romantic ideals in war's bloody reality, and searched vainly for excitement equal to that of the war. But for the average doughboy, it was home to family, friends, and the job left behind or the start of a new one. Before the 13th Balloon Company left for the front in November 1918, they were supplied with a new American-made Caquot balloon. The company went through the normal drill: inspection for flaws, filling the bag with hydrogen, moving to the ascension point, and easing off. The balloon rose for its test with sandbags, and all appeared well. As the sun warmed the gas, suddenly the balloon burst, to the astonishment of the camp. On closer examination, the company discovered that the ballonette capacity designed to fill with air was greater than it should be and the diaphragm separating the two sections was too tight. The balloon couldn't expand and rise; the bag was a failure. Charles Hayward, Company CO, sent for a replacement from the French depot at Meudon. The balloon's failure was never reported to Headquarters, where the belief persisted that American balloon production was a success. According to Hayward it was "our bestkept secret." 6 Frederic Grant, writing from de Souge near Bordeaux, described that Balloon School's last hurrah. Shortly after the Armistice, a French photographer looking for a scoop suggested a picture of the balloon, attached to the winch, crossing the railroad bridge in Bordeaux, a difficult maneuver requiring the cable to be changed in midair. Grant agreed and everything went fine until the balloon reached the outskirts of the city, where hightension wires blocked the way. Prepared to pass any obstacle but these, Grant finally consented to try passing the balloon under the wires as the lesser danger. It was imperative that no metal touch the wires. The balloon was hauled down in the middle of the street, surrounded by a wondering crowd. One interested observer approached the balloon, lighted cigar in hand, to give it a poke, when Grant grabbed him. Inching its way under the wires, the balloon moved forward into town as Grant offered silent prayers of thanks. Alas, the balloon soon came to a nest of high-tension wires in an impassable place short of the bridge. Admitting defeat, the company prepared to return the way they had come, under the wires again. Once more the balloon was pulled down in a street so narrow "that the sides of the balloon touched the walls of the houses on each side." Grant skipped dinner that night, fearing a ragging from the Colonel and a visiting Major. He needn't have worried. Impressed by the company's maneuvering, they declared it "wonderful." Grant's reaction was less en-

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thusiastic: "O Lord! and it the most assinine thing that a balloon man ever did!" 7 Balloon companies rejoiced in victory, but for most of them, like the rest of the AEF, life after the Armistice was filled with ennui. It was a trying time for all ranks, the majority of whom had one thought: to go home. The 2nd Balloon Company, like others who arrived first in France, did not understand why they shouldn't go home before the recently arrived companies. They did not recognize the compliment that sent them to Germany. To make life more interesting while awaiting the return home, the AEF established a school system, offering most subjects of public schools at home in addition to trade and business subjects, and a university at Beaune for advanced courses. Athletics were encouraged; sports and games of all sorts were played, culminating in the Inter-Allied Games of June and July 1919, held in the Pershing Stadium near Paris. The structure, built mainly by engineers of the American Army, was funded by the YMCA as a gift to General Pershing, who later gave it to the French people. For many soldiers, the time after the Armistice provided the first opportunity during their sojourn abroad to sightsee, and they took advantage of a liberal leave policy to travel in France and the occupied part of Germany. Drill and inspections continued to maintain discipline and standards of military conduct, but there was an effort to keep the men occupied in interesting ways to counter complaints of drunkenness and disorderly behavior from the home front. All personnel were examined by a doctor on return from leave to prevent the spread of venereal disease. Any high jinks were summarily disciplined even if it meant reducing a good sergeant to private. Charles Hayward led the 13th Balloon Company—one of the six moving to the front when the Armistice was announced—to Toul and from there to the Bois de Nonsard, where the company occupied quarters of a former German division while waiting orders to go to Germany. Hayward's quarters had double walls, a foot apart, lined with turf and moss, electric lights, an electric water pump, and "a cracker-jack concrete dugout twenty feet under." The amenities included fine wallpaper and trim throughout, a lighted swimming pool with concrete walls and roof, and a water system piped from a reservoir ten kilometers distant. It was a very comfortable camp, a fine place to fly a balloon. Ironically, Hayward, while observing with the 4th Balloon Company the previous July, had directed shrapnel fire on the German officers' quarters when he spotted smoke from a chimney at breakfast time.8 The AEF, like its officers and men, had major adjusting to do. The eastward flow of troops and equipment must now turn 180 degrees to the west. The urgency that brought troops to the battlefield was not matched when it was time to return them home; transportation, always a problem during

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the war, did not improve when the war ended. The British and French no longer felt compelled to help as they had when American soldiers were needed. The return would be slower, but Headquarters AEF was pleased with the first effort: some 25,500 men sent home in November; by the end of the year nearly 124,000. The eventual return of two million men was impressive when it is remembered that within weeks of the Armistice the French refused to transport soldiers by rail except when convenient. It was trucks or marching. Reports were filed at every level of AEF organization to summarize operations and account for what was spent, providing much material for future discussion and conferences. The British Air Service held one such conference in January 1919 on the future of balloons—a nice gesture—but with aviation advanced enough to contemplate England-Australia flights, no one "could kid himself that kite-balloons had a future in the Service."9 Americans would reach the same conclusion in the next decade. A conference of Balloon Field Officers held at Tours in January 1919 produced a list of conclusions based on their experience during the war. It was an attempt to look busy. Heading the list was the recommendation that instruction be given at Balloon Schools in the care and use of pigeons for carrying messages, followed by suggestions for improving communication in companies—use of an alarm horn, a megaphone, radio telephone, a collapsible drum, and an electric signal lamp—all of which sound very quaint today. Suggestions for transportation improvements included a three-ton truck chassis for the tender and a caterpillar drive for winches of at least ten miles per hour; experiments should be conducted to see if a steam motor would perform better than a gasoline motor on the winch for winding the balloon cable. Weapon changes proposed increasing machine guns from six to twelve per company and developing an automatic cannon of about 40mm for antiaircraft mounts on light trucks. There were more recommendations including organizational changes, but as the officers conferred, technology was about to go ahead of them. Aviation advances together with "longer-range anti-aircraft artillery and better methods of long-range artillery targeting" spelled the end of the observation balloon in military planning. Fort Sill still used a few companies at the Artillery School in 1940 to "assist in classes on targeting and adjustment, but their usefulness was behind them." 10 Ira R. Koenig, CO of the 2nd Balloon Company, who had led the company through St. Mihiel and the Meuse-Argonne, filed his report on November 25, 1918, detailing the company's experiences, "both tragic and comic," since their arrival in England. Koenig wrote that by far the greatest difficulty encountered was "the introduction of the balloon into the army," which often resembled "the work of a salesman trying to introduce some new article on the market." Happily, when tried, the balloon proved very satisfactory—"the balloon no longer was compelled to solicit work." 11

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At Command Headquarters there were three armies to be restructured, two million men to be returned home as soon as possible. The French and Americans discussed logistics and numbers, frequently disagreeing on both. Marshal Foch's first request was for thirty divisions for the Army of Occupation. General Pershing objected, and when the Third Army crossed the Rhine to establish headquarters at Coblentz, it was with fifteen divisions, close to 450,000 men, which included accompanying balloon companies. By the following May, all combat divisions except five in the occupying army had returned home. (The final pullout, about 6,000 soldiers, would leave Germany on January 24, 1923). Balloon companies returned to the United States throughout the spring of 1919. The ten companies that arrived in November never reached the front, but were stationed at training centers until their return home. Second Balloon Company was turned over to the Service of Supply in May 1919 after nearly five months' duty with the Third Army in Germany. At a special review of the troops including the Second Company by General Pershing shortly before their departure from Germany, Craig Herbert was the sole person to catch the general's attention. Walking down the assembled lines of soldiers, stern faced as usual, Pershing did not pause, did not speak. At length, he came to Herbert and stopped. "Soldier," he said, "don't you have dubbin'?" Herbert snapped out a prompt "Yes, Sir," to which Pershing said crisply, "Use it." Dubbing was shoe polish. Herbert had never heard of it, much less used it, but he was thrilled that of all the assembled company the general had spoken only to him!12 About the same time, Frederic Grant, still languishing at de Souge, sent his mother advice from a Literary Digest article that warned mothers on what to expect from their returning sons. Foremost among a list of "don'ts" was this caution: "Never serve hash, corned beef, salmon or rice." 13 Reporting to Secretary of War Baker, General Pershing listed American casualties: 53,169 dead, 179,625 wounded, 2,163 prisoners, and 11,660 missing as of November 18. 14 In turn, Americans had taken 44,000 prisoners and 1,400 guns, howitzers, and trench mortars. All units of the AEF received mention for their splendid work—the Services of Supply, Medical Corps, Quartermaster Department, Ordnance, the Adjutant General's Department, the Navy, the Tank Corps, and "our aviators," and especially the officers and soldiers of the line. The Balloon Service was notable for its omission. Pershing's final comment on his troops betrayed the usual stone visage: When I think of their heroism, their patience under hardship, their unflinching spirit of offensive action, I am filled with emotion which I am unable to express. Their deeds are immortal and they have earned the eternal gratitude of our country.15

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It was left to Mason Patrick, Chief of Air Service, AEF, to give an accounting of balloons. At the Armistice, there were thirty-five companies in France, with 446 officers and 6,365 men, of which twenty-three companies were serving at the front; ascensions totaled 642 with 3,111 hours in the air; artillery adjustments numbered 316. In addition, they reported thousands of shell bursts; sighted 11,856 enemy aeroplanes, 2,649 enemy balloons, and 400 batteries; and relayed reports on enemy traffic on roads and railroads 1,113 times, plus hundreds of explosions and destructions. Frederic Grant's Balloon School at de Souge graduated 199 officers and 623 enlisted men as specialists. Supply depots kept companies furnished with needed equipment, and a production plant repaired balloons that had seen service at the front. Balloons were attacked eighty-nine times, during which thirty-five burned and nine were destroyed by shell fire; the enemy lost seventy-one balloons. Observers were forced to jump 116 times, and not once did a parachute fail.16 One observer was killed in action when bits of burning balloon fell on his parachute as he descended—a remarkable statistic considering the exposed position of balloon observers. Three other officers died from accidents on the ground or disease; twenty-two enlisted men died from a combination of shelling, gun wounds, and disease. The wonder is that the numbers were so low when one remembers the bullets and explosives expended on balloon companies by the enemy. As for individual records, Lieutenant Frank Henry, 2nd Company, spent more hours in the air on the front than all others—163 hours and 14 minutes. He did not receive a DSC (Distinguished Service Cross). Lieutenant Harold Dungan, 2nd Company, made the greatest number of artillery adjustments on the front, according to Craig Herbert, but that did not win him a DSC. Fifteen observers received that honor, each having jumped at least twice. Glenn Phelps, who started with the 2nd Balloon Company and finished with the 5th, outperformed all observers with five jumps, three times from a burning balloon, to win a DSC. Sidney Howell, 1st Balloon Company, the first observer on the front awarded for bravery, was joined by eight other balloonists to receive the Croix de Guerre. In addition, thirteen balloon observers received French Citations for their courage and devotion to duty. Sang froid rated high in French military thinking and was rewarded regularly. Harold O. Nicholls, Sergeant First Class, was the only noncommissioned officer to receive the DSC. He had volunteered to go up when his company was short of observers to carry out an important mission. In August and October, his balloon was burned three times, forcing him to jump. The last time he waited until a student observer in the basket with him had jumped first before climbing out and barely missed being hit by the burning balloon as it fell. His was the stuff of heroes. After the accolades, balloonists carried with them into civilian life the knowledge of a job well done in a war that saw the conduct of war change

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as technology produced ever more destructive weapons. Foot soldiers remained a constant, but advances in air power and ordnance soon made balloons a quaint anachronism. In the period 1914-1918, observation balloons had their moment of glory as essential partners in war, assisting to direct accurate artillery fire, sending vital information to intelligence and army command, and maintaining critical communication lines—if necessary with pigeons. Americans, starting from scratch in 1917, adopted balloons as a key part of military operations in 1918, the year that saw the end of the World War, but the service's usefulness proved short lived. In the following years, the service was greatly reduced before being abolished in 1929. In 1932, veterans of the Balloon Service, tired of attending reunions where no one had heard of their service, organized to inform the public of the role they had played in the last war. Their efforts were soon overshadowed by World War II, which saw balloons used only to protect cities from enemy attack. The National Association of American Balloon Corps Veterans remained active, however, until 1986 when it disbanded because of declining membership. As part of the effort to inform the public of the Balloon Corps' role in the World War, members gathered archival material. Craig Herbert, an employee of the Pennsylvania Railroad Financial Department and the group's historian, had a fine collection of balloon memorabilia. Charles Hayward of Portland, Oregon, was another veteran with an extensive collection of World War I balloon material that he was generous in sharing. In the years after the war, Hayward was a representative for several companies. Frederic Grant credited his experience as Maneuvering Officer and Instructor at de Souge Balloon School with valuable lessons in administering an organization. That experience combined with his chemical background led to a career with Franciscan Pottery in California. Birge Clark returned to California and, as a young architect, designed Herbert Hoover's home among other works. When there were problems on the job, he reminded himself that things could be worse—at least he was working in English, not French. John Paegelow retired as a Lt. Colonel in the 1920s following a long career that began as an enlisted man in the Philippines. Charles DeForest Chandler retired as a Colonel in 1920, but Frank P. Lahm, who learned to fly with the Wright Brothers, continued in the Air Service. He organized and commanded the Air Corps Training Center at Randolph Field, Texas, from 1926 to 1930. He retired in 1941 as a Major General, one week before the attack at Pearl Harbor. America's first experience in a European war would gradually fade from memory except when veterans got together, told stories, sang old songs, and recalled among other deeds "the heroic work of the officer observers

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of the Balloon Section of the Air Service." An admiring Lt. Colonel Paegelow, when recommending officers under his command for the DSC, described their work as "one of the most sensational chapters in the history of the war." 17 If balloonists felt slighted when DSCs were handed out, Craig Herbert's comment reminded them: "We were lucky we didn't get the Wooden Cross." 18 As for Fort Omaha, where Army balloonists first took to the air, observers trained there until January 4, 1919, when the last class was graduated. After several reincarnations the fort is now a community college, its parade ground and brick officers' row the only reminders of other days.

Notes CHAPTER ONE 1. Barbara Tuchman, The Guns of August (New York: Macmillan, 1962), p. 191. 2. Two Conferences at The Hague to limit armaments—one in 1899, the other in 1907—had small success in working for a pacific settlement of international disputes. One principle, however, was unanimously agreed upon in 1899: a fiveyear ban on "launching projectiles or explosives from balloons," primarily because it was almost unknown. Should future developments or inventions within that period make airships useful in a humanitarian way, the ban would be lifted. At the second Hague conference, the ban was renewed for another five years by conferees delighted that they agreed on something. See Barbara Tuchman, The Proud Tower (New York: Macmillan, 1966), pp. 262, 286. 3. New York Times, April 3, 1917, p. 1. 4. Robert H. Ferrell, Woodrow Wilson and World War I, 1917-1921, (New York: Harper 6c Row, 1985), p. 2. 5. New York Times, April 6, 1917, p. 1. 6. New York Times, April 5, 1917, p. 2. 7. Ferrell, Wilson, p. 14. 8. Frederic J. Grant, unpublished memoir, p. 2. Courtesy of family. 9. Ibid., p. 5. 10. Arthur Weigel, taped interview, September 25, 1981, by Historical Society of Douglas County, Ft. Omaha, Nebraska. 11. Alvin A. Underhill, taped interview, September 25, 1981, by Historical Society of Douglas County, Ft. Omaha, Nebraska. 12. Charlie Brown, taped interview, September 25, 1981, by Historical Society of Douglas County, Ft. Omaha, Nebraska.

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CHAPTER TWO 1. Peter Mead, The Eye in the Air: History of Air Observation and Reconnaissance for the Army 1785-1945. (London: Her Majesty's Stationer's Office, 1983), p. 11. 2. Frederick S. Haydon, Aeronautics in the Union and Confederate Armies, (New York: Arno Press, 1980), p. 4. 3. Reginald Hargreaves, M. C , "Conflict Goes Aloft," Army Quarterly (January, 1962): 207. 4. Mead, Eye in the Air, p. 12. 5. Ibid., pp. 207, 208. 6. Aeronautics (British edition), June 1910. 7. Mead, Eye in the Air, p. 211. 8. Haydon, Aeronautics, p. 33. 9. Erik Norgaard, The Book of Balloons, trans. Erik Hildesheim (New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1971), p. 36. 10. Herkimer County Historical Society, Herkimer County at 200, (Herkimer, New York: Herkimer Co. Hist. Soc, 1992), p. 85. 11. Charles DeForest Chandler, and Frank P. Lahm, How Our Army Grew Wings; Airmen and Aircraft before 1914 (New York: The Ronald Press Company, 1943), p. 36. 12. Tom D. Crouch, The Eagle Aloft: Two Centuries of the Balloon in America (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983), p. 412. 13. John Stewart Bryan, letter to Elizabeth Gregory, dated September 25, 1942, Elizabeth Hiatt Gregory Collection, Box 2, UCLA Reference Library, Special Collections, Los Angeles. 14. David McCullough, The Great Bridge, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1972), p. 160. 15. Crouch, Eagle Aloft, p. 413. 16. Lennart Ege, Balloons and Airships, trans. Erik Hildesheim (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc., 1974), p. 129. 17. Albert Caquot, "L'Aerostation Militaire pendant la Guerre," L'Aeronautique pendant la Guerre Mondiale (Chateau de Vincennes, France: Service Historique de L'Armee de L'Air), p. 303.

CHAPTER THREE 1. Haul Down and Ease Off (Yon Omaha, Nebr.: Historical Society of Douglas County, n.d.). 2. U.S. Army Military History Institute, "The World War I Survey," Balloon Service Questionnaire, Carlisle Barracks, Matthew R. Scully. 3. Patricia Fritzmeier, "From Indian Fighting to Administration, the MultiPurposed Fort Omaha," Motor Club News (June 1973): 10. 4. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 23. 5. Ibid., p. 24. 6. Daniel E. Carlquist, taped interview, September 25, 1981, by Historical Society of Douglas County, Ft. Omaha, Nebraska.

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7. U.S. Army Military History Institute, "The World War I Survey," Balloon Service Questionnaire, Carlisle Barracks, Wallace G. Kaiser. 8. Herbert, Eyes, p. 20. 9. Ibid., p. 21. 10. The Type M Kite Balloon Handbook (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, October 1919), p. 80. 11. U.S. Army Military History Institute, "World War I Survey," Rex Pemble. 12. Kenneth R. Havens, taped Interview, September 25, 1981, by Historical Society of Douglas County, Ft. Omaha, Nebraska. 13. Albert Caquot, "L'Aerostation Militaire pendant la Guerre," LAeronautique pendant la Guerre Mondiale (Chateau de Vincennes, France: Service Histonque de L'Armee de L'Air), p. 297. 14. Harold E. Porter, Aerial Observation, the Balloon Observer and the Army Air Corps Pilot (New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers, 1921), p. 53. 15. Lyn MacDonald, Voices and Images of the Great War (London: Michael Joseph Ltd., 1988), p. 292. 16. Capitaine J. Mathieu, Memoires d'un Observateur en Ballon, 1914-1918, Archives, Chateau de Vincennes, Paris, France, p. 2. 17. Porter, Aerial, p. 53. 18. Charles DeForest Chandler, AEF Air Service—Balloon Department, memorandum, December 27, 1917, Chandler Papers, National Air and Space Museum Library, Washington, D.C. 19. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF, 1917-1919, Balloon Service, Series F (Washington, D . C : National Archives), p. 191. 20. Frederic J. Grant, letter of June 17, 1917. Courtesy of family. 21. Ibid. 22. Grant, letter of June 22, 1917. Courtesy of family. 23. Frederic J. Grant, unpublished memoir, p. 7. Courtesy of family. 24. Charles L. Hayward, unpublished paper, "East St. Louis." Hayward papers, Portland, Oregon. 25. Grant, memoir, p. 10. 26. Hayward, East St. Louis, p. 2. 27. Herbert, Eyes, p. 35. 28. Ibid., p. 32. 29. Ibid., p. 37. CHAPTER FOUR 1. Kenneth R. Havens, taped interview, September 25, 1981, by Historical Society of Douglas County, Ft. Omaha, Nebr. 2. Charles L. Hayward, interviewed by author, September 14, 1995, Portland, Oregon. 3. Frederic J. Grant, unpublished memoir, p. 17. Courtesy of family. 4. Stuart W. Kellogg, letter of October 10, 1917, Haul Down and Ease Off (Fort Omaha, Nebr.: Historical Society of Douglas County, n.d.). 5. Ibid. 6. Benedict Crowell, Director of Munitions Report, (Washington, D . C : U.S. Government Printing Office, 1919), p. 336.

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7. Ibid., p. 335. 8. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 32. 9. Joseph Mathieu, Memoires d'un Observateur en Ballon, 1914-1918, p. 18 (Archives, Chateau de Vincennes, Paris, France). Mathieu, a Chevalier de la Legion d'Honneur, served four years as a balloon observer. He blames the military establishment for not requiring parachutes and credits Lieutenant Juchmes at ChalaisMeudon with designing the successful prototype used by the Allies after 1915. 10. Birge Clark, diary, May 11, 1918 (Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Stanford University, Palo Alto, Calif.), p. 75. 11. Herbert, Eyes, p. 40. 12. The Gas Bag, November 8, 1918, vol. I, no. 3, Historical Society of Douglas County, Omaha, Nebraska. 13. Daniel Carlquist, taped interview, September 25, 1981, by Historical Society of Douglas County, Ft. Omaha, Nebr. 14. Lawrence Youngman, newspaper clipping, Milton Darling Scrapbook, Historical Society of Douglas County, Fort Omaha, Nebraska. 15. Herbert, Eyes, p. 45.

CHAPTER FIVE 1. Birge Clark, diary (Hoover Institution Archives, Stanford University, Palo Alto, Calif.), p. 1. 2. Ibid., p. 2. 3. Ibid., p. 5. 4. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 48. 5. Clark, diary, p. 8. 6. Herbert, Eyes, p. 50. 7. Ibid. 8. Ian (Bleith) Hay, The First Hundred Thousand (New York and London: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1916), p. viii. 9. The Americans would encounter this attitude again amongst their Englishspeaking allies, the result of the terrible toll from three years of fighting. Villages and towns across England lost a generation of men. 10. Herbert, Eyes, p. 51. 11. Frederic J. Grant, letter, dated December 23, 1917. Courtesy of family. 12. Clark, diary, p. 12. 13. Herbert, Eyes, p. 52. 14. Clark, diary, p. 13. 15. Ibid., p. 15. 16. Ibid., p. 17. 17. Grant, letter, undated, from "The Great French Desert." Courtesy of family. 18. Clark, diary, p. 20. 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid. 21. Herbert, Eyes, p. 58. 22. Clark, diary, p. 27. 23. Ibid., p. 30. 24. Charles L. Hayward, telephone interview by author, December 4, 1995.

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CHAPTER SIX 1. George S. Patton, Jr., diary entry for June 24, 1917, Patton Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 2. Benjamin D. Foulois, Papers, memo from Raynal C. Boiling dated December 27, 1917, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington D.C. 3. Foulois, papers, comments on supply of mechanics. 4. Foulois, papers, organization of balloon companies. 5. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF, 1917-1919, Balloon Service, Series F, Memo to General Mason Patrick, June 2 1 , 1919, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 6. Harry A. Toulmin, Jr., Air Service, American Expeditionary Force, 1918 (New York: D. Van Nostrand Company, 1927), p. 187. 7. Ibid., p. 23. 8. Brig. Gen. William L. Kenly was Chief of Air Service from September to November 1917, with Colonel William Mitchell, commanding AS on the front and Colonel Raynal Boiling head of AS Line of Communication. Kenly was succeeded as CAS by Brig. Gen. Benjamin D. Foulois on November 27, 1917. On May 19, 1918, Brig. Gen. Mason Patrick replaced Foulois as CAS, and Foulois, in turn, replaced Colonel William Mitchell as CAS, First Army. In July Foulois requested that Mitchell replace him as CAS, First Army, and became Assistant Chief of Air Service, AEF. The conflict of egos between Mitchell and Foulois was no secret; a firm hand was needed to keep them in line. Pershing's choice of Patrick was excellent. 9. Craig S. Herbert, interviewed by author, April 15, 1993. 10. Frederic J. Grant, memoir, Ch. 5, p. 3. Courtesy of family. 11. Ibid., ppi 5, 6. 12. Grant, papers, Haul Down and Ease Off (Fort Omaha, Nebr.: Historical Society of Douglas County, n.d.). 13. Edward D. Sirois, and William McGinnis, Smashing through the World War with Fighting Battery C 102nd Field Artillery ''Yankee Division' (Salem, Mass.: The Meek Press, 1919), p. 2. 14. Foulois, papers, Balloon Service. 15. Herbert, "A Balloon View of the World War," Haul Down and Ease Off, April 1, 1935, no. 2, p. 1. 16. Grant, memoir, Ch. 5, p. 4. 17. Ibid., 5. 18. N. E. Margetts, letter to Col. Charles G. Treat, General Staff, Washington, December 15, 1914, War College Division General Correspondence, Box 331, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 19. Grant, memoir, Ch. 5, p. 6. 20. Courtesy of Gus Crenson. The song was copyrighted in 1917 by Leo Feist Inc.

CHAPTER SEVEN 1. Frank P. Lahm, diary, February 18, 1918, p. 42, U.S. Air Force Historical Research Division, Maxwell AFB, Alabama.

178

NOTES

2. William Mitchell, diary, entry for May 1917, Mitchell Collection, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 3. Shipley Thomas, The History of the AEF (New York: George H. Doran Company, 1920), p. 191. 4. James G. Harbord, The American Expeditionary Forces (Evanston, 111.: Evanston Publishing Company, 1929), p. 28. 5. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, United States Army in the World War, 1917-1919, Vol. 3 (Washington, D . C : U.S. Government Printing Office, 1948), p. 262. 6. Ibid., p. 258. 7. John J. Pershing, My Experiences in the World War, Vol. II (New York: Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1931), p. 32. 8. Colonel Lahm's diary has a note added by Albert F. Simpson, who edited it, that on February 19, "the 103rd Aero Squadron had become the first US air unit of any sort to enter combat." Balloonists dispute this claim, insisting they were the first Air Service unit on the front on active duty. Simpson writes that Company B "became the first US balloon unit to enter into active operations with US troops" and gives a date of 5 March. 9. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 73. 10. Ibid., p. 120. 11. Frederic J. Grant, memoir, Ch. 6, p. 1. Courtesy of family. 12. Lieutenant Cleo J. Ross, 8th Balloon Company, was the only American observer killed in action. Ross delayed jumping, and the spider maneuver could not save him. 13. World War I Organization Records, 26th Division, Historical, Box 62, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 14. Charles L. Hayward, unpublished papers, "The Balloon at Work." Portland, Or. 15. Frederic J. Grant, "Maneuvering in Emergencies," Air Force History Support Office, Boiling Air Force Base, B.S. 29 I, p. 313. 16. Ibid., p. 314. 17. Grant, memoir, Ch. 6, p. 6. 18. Ibid., Ch. 6, p. 8. "Kultur," used for shelling, was adopted by the Americans from German propaganda claims that German troops were viciously attacked in Belgium while fighting to preserve civilization and enlighten the world with German culture. Its use always provoked a derisive laugh. 19. The Stanislas is still operating in Nancy. Lodged in the Grand Hotel de la Reine, its food is still excellent, but the cost is considerably higher than in 1918. 20. Birge Clark, diary (Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Stanford University, Palo Alto, Calif.), May 28, 1918, p. 76. Clark's solution was to have his men observe the artillery shots while a man went to the artillery observation post to determine the target and correct it for his observer's training. Clark was CO for Company C, later the 3rd Balloon Company. 21. A set of maps included one Panorama (1 to 50,000) with trees in green and roads clear and three Firing maps of different scale. The 1 to 20,000 scale map (measurements were metric) was for Intelligence use and showed trains and trucks; the 1 to 10,000 was used by 155mm long guns and railroad guns; the 1 to 5,000 was for 155mm short guns and 75mm guns. This was the one the observer took

NOTES

179

to gun batteries to plan a shoot. The company Chart Room (Operations) kept one set and noted changes and corrections daily. This set was given to the Map Train on its next visit. 22. Alistair Home, The Price of Glory Verdun, 1916, (London: Penguin Books, Ltd., 1993), p. 13. The 75 could not be used for plunging fire, and its shells were ineffectual against entrenchments. 23. Hayward, unpublished papers, "The Balloon At Work." 24. Ibid. 25. Harold Porter, Aerial Observation, The Balloon Observer and the Army Air Corps Pilot (New York: Harper, 1921), pp. 263-64. 26. Hayward, unpublished papers: "The Balloon Working." 27. George P. Neumann, The German Air Force in the Great War, trans. J. E. Gurdon (London: Hodder 6c Stoughton, Ltd., 1920), p. S3. 28. Lee Kennett, The First Air War 1914-1918 (New York: The Free Press, a Division of Macmillan, Inc., 1991), p. 29. 29. Frederic J. Grant, letter, dated March 16, 1918. 30. Osborne de Varila, The First Shot for Liberty (Philadelphia: The John C. Winston Company, 1918) p. 79; also U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, Army 1917-1919, Vol. 3, p. 451. 31. Herbert, Eyes, p. 113.

CHAPTER EIGHT 1. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 89. 2. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, U.S. Army in the World War, 1917-1919, Vol. 16, p. 233. 3. Ibid., p. 246. 4. Samuel Taylor Moore, "When Sausages Blazed in the Sky," p. 6. Grant papers. 5. Herbert, Eyes, p. 103. 6. In Frank P. Lahm's diary, he described the German planes as two Albatrosses. Craig Herbert wrote that one plane was an Albatross D-5, the other a Pfalz D-3. Lahm also gave April 14th as the date. 7. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, Army, 1917-1919, Vol. 16, pp. 335, 336. 8. Ibid., pp. 643, 644. 9. Herbert, Eyes, p. 107. The men in the company held the Salvation Army women in high esteem. They didn't like the YMCA workers because they sold food and basic essentials only to those divisions they were assigned to, at prices the men thought too high. 10. Ibid., p. 106. 11. Ibid., p. 105. 12. Frederic J. Grant, letter to mother, May 5, 1918. Courtesy of family. 13. Frederic J. Grant, letter to mother, May 12, 1918. Courtesy of family. 14. Ibid. 15. Los Angeles Times, February 28, 1956, Part I, p. 2. 16. New York Times, May 25, 1918, p. 6.

180

NOTES

17. Elsie Janis, The Big Show (New York: Cosmopolitan Book Corporation, 1919), p. 108. 18. Ibid., p. 103. 19. Charles Hayward, interviewed by author, May 30, 1996. 20. Jams, Big Shoiv, pp. 186, 187. 21. Ibid., p. 83. 22. Frederic J. Grant, letter, May 31, 1918. Courtesy of family. 23. Spalding W. Ovitt and L. G. Bowers, Eds., The Balloon Section of the American Expeditionary Forces (New Haven: The Tuttle, Morehouse 6c Taylor Company, 1919), p. 75. 24. Meirion Harries and Susie Harries, The Last Days of Innocence: America at War 1917-1918 (New York: Random House, 1997), p. 251. 25. Frederic J. Grant, letter, June 17, 1918. Courtesy of family. 26. Herbert, Eyes, p. 130.

CHAPTER NINE 1. James G. Harbord, The American Army in France 1917-1919 (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1936), p. 241. 2. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, United States Army in the World War, 1917-1919, Vol. 13 (Washington, D . C : U.S. Government Printing Office), p. 135. 3. John J. Pershing, diary entry for May 30, 1918, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D . C 4. Ibid., entry for M a y 3 1 , 1918. 5. James G. Harbord, Papers, translation of order of May 30, 1918, from French HQ, German War Diaries, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 6. Harold M. Kramer, With Seeing Eyes (Boston: Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company, 1919), p. 207. 7. Pershing, diary entry for June 9, 1918. 8. Ibid., entry for June 17, 1918. 9. Ibid., entry for July 10, 1918. 10. James G. Harbord, The American Expeditionary Forces: Its Organization and Accomplishments (Evanston, 111: Evanston Publishing Company, 1929), p. 86. 11. Francis Joseph Reynolds, ed., The Story of the Great War, Vol. 8 (New York: P. F. Collier and Son, 1919), p. 395. 12. Edward D. Sirois, and William McGinnis, Smashing through the World War with Fighting Battery C, 102nd Field Artillery "Yankee Division" (Salem, Mass.: The Meek Press, 1919), p. 63. 13. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF, 1917-1919, Balloon Service, Series F. National Archives, Washington, D.C. Summary of the Experiences, Both Tragic and Comic, of the Second Balloon Company during the Period of Service at the Front," Page 3. 14. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication) p. 139. 15. Frederic J. Grant, memoir, Ch. 7, p. 4. Courtesy of family.

NOTES

181

16. Swanee Taylor, "Parachute Jumps Seen from Above," Saturday Evening Post, July 20, 1935. 17. Frederic J. Grant, papers, Glenn Phelps, "The Observer's Test," p. 4. Courtesy of family. 18. Ibid., p. 6-8. 19. Grant, memoir, p. 8. 20. Frederic J. Grant, letter, dated July 10, 1918. Courtesy of family. 21. Ibid. 22. John J. Pershing, report to the Secretary of War, p. 11, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 23. Charles F. Home, Ed., Source Records of the Great War, Vol. 6, (Jean de Pierrefeu) (Indianapolis: The American Legion, 1930), p. 212.

CHAPTER TEN 1. James G. Harbord, Papers, German War Diaries, vol. 21, July 18, 1918, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 2. Harbord, Papers, 9th Army File #38, #44. 3. William Mitchell, Diary, p. 214, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 4. Ibid., p. 215. 5. Edward D. Sirois and William McGinnis, Smashing through the World War with Fighting Battery C, 102nd Field Artillery "Yankee Division," (Salem, Mass.: The Meek Press, 1919) p. 69. 6. Frederic J. Grant, memoir, Ch. 8, p. 2. Courtesy of family. 7. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 147. 8. Frederic J. Grant, letter, dated July 29, 1918. Courtesy of family. 9. Grant, memoir, Ch. 8, pp. 10-11. 10. Air Service Information Circular, Vol. 23, no. 2, "Tactics Employed by German Airplanes in Attacking Balloons," pp. 142-43, August 15, 1920, (Reprint of Balloon Notes, AEF, No. 49), National Air and Space Museum Library, Washington, D.C. 11. Ed Swearingen, "Kuster und der Drachen," Cross and Cockade 5, no. 3, (Autumn 1964). 12. Bert Hall and John J. Niles, One Man's War (New York: H. Holt, 1929), pp. 332-33. 13. World War I Organization Records, 26th Division History and Papers, Headquarters Report, August 12, 1918, Box 62, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 14. Herbert, Eyes, p. 158. 15. Grant, memoir, p. 15. 16. Harold E. Dungan, "4-Day Balloonography of an 'Ace' Observer," Haul Down and Ease Off (Autumn, 1970): p. 3. 17. Ibid. 18. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF 1917-1919, Balloon Service, Series F, 2nd Company Log, August 10, 1918, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 19. Grant, memoir, p. 17-18.

182

NOTES

CHAPTER ELEVEN 1. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, United States Army in the World War, 1917-1919, Vol. 3, (Washington, D . C : Government Printing Office, 1948), pp. 330-31. 2. Pierce G. Fredericks, The Great Adventure: America in the First World War (New York: E. P. Dutton and Company, Inc., 1960), p. 211. 3. John J. Pershing, Diary, entry of August 19, 1918, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 4. Herbert contradicted Jouett's report, commenting that the company described its movement as "the winch with a tender behind" (said with a smile in an interview with the author). His book also lists winch first, followed by the tender and the trucks. Jouett may have confused the two companies. 5. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, Army, 1917-1919, Vol. 13, p. 301. 6. Shipley Thomas, The History of the A.E.F. (New York: George H. Doran Company, 1920), p. 184. 7. World War I Organization Records, Balloon Section, AEF, August 2, 1918, Box 241, National Archives, Washington, D . C 8. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF, 1917-1919, Balloon Service, Series F, Air Service, p. 22. 9. World War I Organization Records, History of Balloons, First Army, September 6, 1918, Box 241. 10. The 17th Field Artillery Regiment History, p. 32, notes that the Allies were superior to the Germans in all arms except air service, the complaint of the balloonists. The German avions were "daring" and "effective" in dropping bombs and "attacking observation balloons." World War I Organization Records, 2nd Division Historical, Box 84, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 11. World War I Organization Records, Box 62, 26th Division Historical. 12. Leslie Langille, Men of the Rainbow (Chicago: The O'Sullivan Publishing House, 1933), p. 123-26. 13. Americans working with French horses had their hands full. Complained Corporal Osborne de Varila, "the nags didn't understand a word of English." Some of the gunners tried to use French words, but "their pronunciation was so punk that the nags didn't savvy at all." After orders to use only English, de Varila figured that the horses probably learned "damn" and "hell" right away—both were used freely at the start of instruction. See Osborne de Varila, The First Shot for Liberty (Philadelphia: The John C. Winston Company, 1918), pp. 50-51. 14. World War I Organization Records, Box 85, Memo of 8/12/18 from Headquarters, 2nd F.A. Brigade to 17th F.A. Regiment. 15. Karl Kuster had an interesting explanation for the defeat of Germany and her allies in World War I. Many reasons have been given, but said Kuster, it was the ammunition supplied to France by America that contributed in large measure. It was "simply devastating." The French ammunition was 50% dud, but if it did go off, it dug a hole twenty feet deep. "You had to be sitting on top of it to get hurt, everything went straight up. American ammunition hardly touched the ground and "phoom!—everything around it was dead!" See Ed Swearingen, "Kuster und der Drachen," Cross and Cockade 5, no. 3 (Autumn 1964), p. 253.

NOTES

183

16. Francis J. Reynolds, Ed., The Story of the Great War, Vol. 5 (New York: P. F. Collier and Son, 1919), p. 525.

CHAPTER TWELVE 1. World War I Organization Records, History of 17th Field Artillery, p. 17, Box 84, National Archives, Washington, D . C 2. Leonard P. Ayres, The War with Germany, A Statistical Summary (Washington, D . C : U.S. Government Printing Office, 1919), p. 110. 3. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, United States Army in the World War, 1917-1919, Vol. 3 (Washington, D . C : Government Printing Office, 1948), p. 351. 4. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 193-94. 5. Birge Clark, diary, pp. 134-35, Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Stanford University, Palo Alto, Calif. 6. Ibid., p. 137. 7. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF 1917-1919, Balloon Service, Series F, St. Mihiel Operation, pp. 272, 273, National Archives, Washington, D . C 8. Francis L. Parker, papers, trip to St. Mihiel, p. 3, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 9. John J. Pershing, My Experiences in the World War, Vol 2. (New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co., 1931), pp. 272, 273. 10. Ibid., pp. 273, 274. 11. Samuel H. Frank, "American Air Service Observation in W.W.I," (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Florida, 1961), p. 341. 12. World War I Organization Records, Balloon Service, IV Army Corps Report, Box 241. 13. Birge Clark, Papers, Air Service, Information Circular, Vol. I, January 30, 1921, p. 5. Hoover Institution Archives, Stanford University, Palo Alto, Calif. 14. Charles F. Home, Source Records of the Great War, Vol. 6 (Indianapolis: The American Legion, 1930) pp. 162, 163. 15. Air Service, AEF Records, "Will Balloons Be Used in the Next War?" (Air Force History Support Office, Boiling Air Force Base, Washington, D.C), microfilm pp. 1528-34. 16. John Jouett, "Lessons Learned," pp. 3-5, Balloon Companies, AEF, File 4765-81, Air Force History Support Office, Boiling Air Force Base, Washington. 17. Robert J. Casey, The Cannoneers Have Hairy Ears (New York: J. H. Sears and Company, 1927), pp. 138-40. 18. Alexander Woollcott, The Command Is Forward (New York: The Century Company, 1919), p. 59. 19. Hunter Liggett, A.E.F., Ten Years Ago in France (New York: Dodd, Mead and Company, 1928), p. 137. CHAPTER THIRTEEN 1. Alexander Woollcott, The Command Is Forward (New York: The Century Company, 1919), p. 2.

184

NOTES

2. New York Times, September 14, 1918, p. 3. 3. James G. Harbord, Papers, "Notes on Operations, Reduction of the St. Mihiel Salient," p. 4, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 4. Charles F. Home, ed., Source Records of the Great War. Vol. 6 (Indianapolis: the American Legion, 1930), p. 347. 5. Ferdinand Foch, The Memoirs of Marshal Foch, trans. T. Bentley Mott (Garden City, New York: Doubleday, Doran and Company, Inc., 1931), p. 405. 6. Donald Smythe, Pershing: General of the Armies (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), p. 192, 193. 7. Home, Source Records of the Great War, Vol. 6, p. 349. 8. Harbord, Papers, AGWAR—#1721-S, September 25, 1918. 9. George S. Patton, Papers, Letter, September 26, 1918, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D . C 10. Home, Source Records of the Great War, Vol. 6, p. 361. 11. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF, 1917-1919, Balloon Service, Series F, 2nd Company, Log Book, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 12. Robert J. Casey, The Cannoneers Have Hairy Ears (New York: J. H. Sears and Company, Inc., 1927), pp. 181, 182. 13. John J. Pershing, Diary, entry of September 26, 1918, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 14. Hunter Liggett, commanding the First Army, wrote that "the miserable roads began to have their effect on the second day. As the infantry advanced it lost the proper support of the artillery, which was unable to follow. . . . In front of us it was impossible to fill the great mine crater in our only road. . . . The rest of the region—a succession of half obliterated trenches, water-filled shell holes and tangles of wire—defied transport." See A.E.F., Ten Years Ago in France (New York: Dodd, Mead and Company, 1928), p. 179. 15. Pierce G. Fredericks, The Great Adventure: America in the First World War (New York: E. P. Dutton and Company, Inc., 1960), p. 209. 16. Casey, The Cannoneers p. 184. 17. Spalding W. Ovitt and L. G. Bowers, Eds., The Balloon Section of the American Expeditionary Forces (New Haven: The Tuttle, Morehouse and Taylor Company, 1919), p. 112. 18. World War I Organization Records, First Army, AEF, September 27, 1918, Box 241, National Archives, Washington, D . C 19. A sign at Montfaucon explaining the history of the site in World War I states that George S. Patton "charged-attacked with the 7th Brigade of Tanks" and, when one after the other the tanks were demolished by artillery on the height, he led the attack on foot, "fantassin-pistolero" (pistol-packing infantryman) to take Montfaucon. Patton was hit on the 26th at about 1115 leading an attack on Cheppy where he charged, stick in hand, over the crest of a hill toward machine guns, waving to his reserve tanks to follow. The fortifications on Montfaucon were taken by units of the 79th Division the following day, September 27. 20. Pershing, Diary, entry for September 27, 1918. 21. William Mitchell, Diary, entry for September 26, 1918, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 22. Birge Clark, Diary, Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Stanford University, Palo Alto, Calif., p. 153.

NOTES

185

23. Spalding W. Ovitt and L. G. Bowers, Balloon Section of the American Expeditionary Forces, p. 90. 24. Birge Clark, Diary, p. 152. 25. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, United States Army in the World War, 1917-1919, Vol. 13 (Washington, D.C: Government Printing Office, 1948), p. 355. 26. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 201. 27. Ovitt and Bowers, Balloon Section, p. 90. 28. Pershing, Diary, entry for September 30, 1918. 29. Harbord, Papers, Volume 23, German War Diaries, entry for October 4-5, 1918. 30. World War I Organization Records, Eleventh Balloon Company Report, p. 11, Box 241. 31. "Cacquot Crusader," Author unknown, Haul Down and Ease Off (May 1938): pp. 1, 4. 32. Pat Barker, Regeneration (New York: Penguin Books, USA Inc., 1993), p. 222. 33. Alan Morris, The Balloonatics (London: Jarrolds, 1970), p. 186. 34. Samuel Taylor Moore, "Upstairs and Down," Collier's (June 15, 1929): p. 36, 51. 35. Hayward, Papers, Speech by Herbert Maw at the banquet of the National Association of Balloon Corps Veterans, September 22, 1979, Portland, Oregon. 36. John J. Pershing, My Experiences in the World War, Vol. II (New York: Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1931), p. 325. 37. Ibid., pp.325, 340, 341. 38. George Pattullo, "The Inside Story of the A.E.F.," Saturday Evening Post, May 20, 1922. 39. Foch, Memoirs, p. 434. 40. Casey, The Cannoneers, pp. 28, 29. 41. G. I. Lawson, Letter to his parents in Omaha, Gas Bag, January 10, 1919, Archives, Historical Society of Douglas County, Fort Omaha, Nebraska. 42. Herbert, Eyes, p. 235. 43. Ibid., p. 217. 44. Liggett, A.E.F., pp. 207, 208. 45. Moore, "Upstairs and Down," p. 36. 46. Laurence La Tourette Driggs, "A Reserved Seat at a Battle," Ladies Home journal 36 (August 1919): 7, 8, 88, 90. The writer of this article was probably British, judging from his vocabulary. He grouped a variety of incidents together to create an exciting read.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 1. World War I Organization Records, History of Balloons, First Army, I E39, Paegelow Memorandum, Box 241, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 2. World War I Organization Records, Report of the 3rd Balloon Company, First Army, Box 241.

186

NOTES

3. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF, 1917-1919, Balloon Service, p. 94 and preceding pp. 89-93, National Archives, Washington, D . C 4. World War I Organization Records, Paegelow, Memorandum, Box 241. 5. Frederic J. Grant, Papers, Moore, "When Sausages Blazed in the Sky," p. 5. Courtesy of family. 6. Frederic J. Grant, Papers, Phelps, "The Observer's Test," p. 12. Courtesy of family. 7. Charles L. Hayward, Papers, Quisenberry, "Two Parachute Jumps," p. 4. Portland, Oregon. 8. Frederic J. Grant, letter of October 22, 1918. Courtesy of family. 9. Hayward, Papers, Quisenberry, "Two Parachute Jumps," pp. 6-8. 10. World War I Organization Records, 82nd Division, Historical, Map— Groupments of enemy batteries, Box 25, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 11. Cross and Cockade, 5, no. 4 "Two Faces of Chivalry," (Winter 1964): 33233. 12. Joseph Branche, Les Ballons d'Observation (Montdidier: Pierrepont-SurAvre, 1977), p. 184. 13. World War I Organization Records, HQ Balloon Group, III Army Corps, memo dated October 24, 1918, Box 241. 14. John J. Pershing and Hunter Liggett, Report of the First Army, AEF (Fort Leavenworth, Kans.: The General Service Schools Press, 1923), p. 89. 15. Ferdinand Foch, "Americans Advance West of the Meuse," Washington Herald, March 3, 1931, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 16. Ibid. 17. Craig S. Herbert, Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 242. 18. Ibid., pp.242, 243. 19. Ferdinand Foch, The Memoirs of Marshal Foch, translated by T. Bentley Mott (Garden City, New York: Doubleday, Doran and Company, Inc., 1931), p. 425. 20. World War I Organization Records, 82nd Division Historical, Messages dated November 2, 1918 and November 4, 1918, Box 25. 21. World War I Organization Records, 82nd Division Historical, Field Order #32, November 3, 1918. 22. John J. Pershing, My Experiences in the World War, Vol. 2 (New York: Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1931), p. 377. 23. James G. Harbord, Papers, German War Diaries, entry of November 5, 1918, Cont. 16, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 24. Brigadier General Douglas MacArthur, commanding the 42nd Division, refused to wear the regulation Army hat. Instead, he fancied a peaked cap resembling that of a German soldier. A group of 1st Division soldiers, coming upon MacArthur and his aides in their rush to Sedan, were positive that they had captured a German officer, because of the cap. It took some explaining to convince them otherwise. 25. Pershing, My Experiences in the World War, p. 381. 26. Benjamin D. Foulois, Papers, Balloon Operations, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 27. Pershing, My Experience in the World War, p. 382. 28. Robert J. Casey, The Cannoneers Have Hairy Ears (New York: J. H. Sears and Company, Inc., 1927), p. 285.

NOTES

187

29. Herbert, Eyes, p. 245. 30. Spalding W. Ovitt and L. G. Bowers, Eds., The Balloon Section of the American Expeditionary Forces (New Haven: The Tuttle, Morehouse and Taylor Company, 1919), p. 163. 31. Ibid., p. 154. 32. U.S. Army Military History Institute, World War I Survey, Wallace Kaiser, p. 11, Carlisle Barracks, Pa. 33. Ovitt and Bowers, Balloon Section, p. 200. 34. Birge Clark, Diary, p. 173. 35. Herbert, Eyes, p. 246. 36. Charles L. Hayward, unpublished reminiscence, November 12, 1990, Portland, Oregon. 37. Harbord, Papers, Vol. 29, November 11, 1918. 38. Foch, The Memoirs of Marshal Foch, p. 488. 39. U.S. Department of the Army, Office of Military History, United States Army in the World War, 1917-1919 (Washington, D.C: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1948), Vol. 16, p. 412. 40. John S. Gilchrist, An Aerial Observer in World War I (Richmond, Va: Private publication, 1966), p. 128. 41. Alan Morris, The Balloonatics (London: Jarrolds Publishers, 1970), p. 192. 42. Ovitt and Bowers, Balloon Section, p. 154. 43. Stanley Weintraub, A Stillness Heard Round the World (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1985), p. 170. 44. Harbord, Papers, German War Diaries, Order # 6960, November 11, 1918, Vol. 29. 45. John J. Pershing, Diary, entry for November 11, 1918, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 46. Chester D. Heywood, Negro Combat Troops in the World War, The Story of the 371st Infantry (New York: AMS Press, 1969), pp. 222-23. 47. Stanley Weintraub, Stillness, p. 208. 48. Robert J. Casey, The Cannoneers, p. 329-30. 49. The 2nd Division Association, Historical Committee, The Second Division American Expeditionary Force in France, 1917-1919, (New York: The Hillman Press, Inc., 1937), p. 287. 50. Pershing, My Experiences in the World War, p. 391.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 1. E. B. Eaton Collection, letter from W. G. to Ruth, 12/17/18, Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Stanford University, Palo Alto, California. 2. U.S. Army Military History Institute, "The World War I Survey," Questionnaire, Clifford Barrans, Carlisle Barracks, Pa. 3. Ibid. (Craig Herbert). 4. Robert J. Casey, The Cannoneers Have Hairy Ears (New York: J. H. Sears and Company, Inc., 1927), p. x. 5. Birge Clark, Diary, Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Stanford University, Palo Alto, Calif, pp. 173-74.

188

NOTES

6. Charles L. Hayward, interview by author, May 30, 1996. 7. Frederic J. Grant, letter to his mother, November 21, 1918. Courtesy of family. 8. Charles L. Hayward, Papers, photograph with description of the camp, dated November 18, 1918. 9. Alan Morris, The Balloonatics (London: Jarrolds Publishers, 1970), p. 192. 10. James Cooke, U.S. Air Service in the Great War, 1917-1919 (Westport, Conn.: Praeger Publishers, 1996), p. 231. 11. Edgar S. Gorrell, History of the AEF, 1917-1919, Balloon Service, Series F, Vol. 6, National Archives, Washington, D.C. 12. Herbert, interview by author, April 1993. 13. Grant, letter dated March 31, 1919. Courtesy of family. 14. Craig Herbert gives different figures for fatalities: 120,144 dead in battle, 62,668 died of disease, 2,243 died of other causes, and 237,000 wounded, blinded, or maimed. Eyes of the Army (private publication), p. 247. 15. John J. Pershing, Papers, Report to Secretary Baker, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 16. Craig Herbert, historian for the Balloon Veterans gives a different set of numbers: 125 jumps, 61 from balloons that burned, 64 from balloons that did not burn. Three jumps were made by Americans from French balloons. As for balloons burned, 35 were during an attack, 39 were not. "Humble Balloon," Cross and Cockade, 7, no. 4 (Winter 1966): 344. 17. John Paegelow, Recommendations for the DSC, November 8, 1918, Balloon Service History, National Archives, Washington, D.C 18. Herbert, Eyes, 247.

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LETTERS Frederic Grant N. E. Margetts NEWSPAPERS/MAGAZINES Aeronautics Aerospace Historian Air Service, Information Circular Cross and Cockade Ladies Home Journal Los Angeles Times Motor Club News New York Times Saturday Evening Post Scientific American Washington Herald

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Index AEF (American Expeditionary Forces), 3 , 4 1 , 82 General Staff, 114 GHQ, 49, 50, 52, 77, 78, 168 Aero Club of America, 26 Aero Squadron (94th), 79 Aincreville, 154 Air Service, supply problems, 53-54, 97, 113, 156 Aire River, 142, 144 Aisne River, 91, 144, 155 Albatross D-3 (German), 94 Alexander E. P., 11 Alexis, Grand Duke, 16 Allen, James, 10 Allies (Britain and France), 3, 50, 63 Amblonville Farm, 123 "America" balloon, 26 American Army, 74 Anderson, Charles M., 15 Anstrom, Otto E., 15 Apremont, 79, 135 Argonne Forest, 131—32 Armentieres, 102 Armistice, 161-64 Army, American, 74:

First, 113-14, 119; Meuse-Argonne, 134, 137, 147, 153-54, 157-58, 160,162-63 Second, 113, 158, 160, 163 Third, 113, 158, 161, 169 Army Corps: I Corps, Marne (Chateau-Thierry) sector, 95, 99, 101, 103, 113, 115; St. Mihiel, 123, 125; MeuseArgonne, 134-35, 137-38, 153, 154-55, 157, 159 III Corps, 115, 134-35, 138, 15455 IV Corps, 114, 119, 123, 125 V Corps, 123, 134-35, 137-38, 144, 146, 154-55 Articles of War, 35 Artillery: 157th Artillery Brigade, 155 162nd Artillery Brigade, 155 56th Coast Artillery, 110 61st Coast Artillery, 110 148th Coast Artillery, 108 5th Field Artillery, 141, 142 6th Field Artillery, 74, 75 7th Field Artillery, 74 17th Field Artillery, 92, 118 67th Field Artillery, 79

198

INDEX

102nd Field Artillery, 58, 82 103rd Field Artillery, 58, 81, 104, 117, 118 148th Field Artillery, 140, 141 149th Field Artillery, 58, 142 150th Field Artillery, 58 309th Field Artillery, 159 321st Field Artillery, 157 Aubreville, 135 Austria-Hungary, 3 Austrian 88 gun, 78 Autreville, 163 Auzeville, 159, 161 Avery, Walter, 105 Avocourt, 139 Baker, Newton D., 70, 169 Baldwin, Thomas, 17 Balloon Companies (American): 1st Company (A), 47, 50, 79, 84, 86, 95, 97; Marne sector, 101, 103, 107, 108, 114-15, 126; Meuse-Argonne, 135, 138 2nd Company (B), 29, 33, 47, 50, 56, 66 (first on front), 178 n.8, 73, 79, 85; Armistice, 161, 166, 169; Marne sector, 91-96, 99, 101-3, 106-7, 109; Meuse-Argonne, 135, 137-40, 142, 145-46, 153, 155-56, 15758, 159, 161; rest camp, 113-15; St. Mihiel, 121, 123, 125 3rd Company (C), 47, 48, 49, 71, 84, 95; Meuse-Argonne, 135, 136, 138-39, 150, 153, 156, 161; St. Mihiel, 124 4th Company (D), 47, 50, 73, 79, 85, 86, 95; Marne sector, 108; Meuse-Argonne, 136, 139, 153, 167 5th Company, 123, 125, 135, 159 6th Company, 125, 135, 138, 140 7th Company, 135, 136, 139, 140, 143 8th Company, 123, 135, 136 9th Company, 123, 125, 136, 137, 153

10th Company, 123, 160 11th Company, 123, 135, 136, 142, 160 12th Company, 135, 146 13th Company, 161-62, 166, 167 14th Company, 84 15th Company, 160 16th Company, 160 23rd Company, 161 35th Company, 163 42nd Company, 123, 135, 153, 160 43rd Company, 84, 123, 137, 138 44th Company, 84 69th Company, 160 Balloon Companies (French) 39th Company, 135, 138 44th Company, 92, 95 87th Company, 85 91st Company, 63, 64, 77 93rd Company, 135 Balloon Field Officers, Conference at Tours, 168 Balloon Service, 4, 5, 169, 170 Balloon Squadrons: 1st Squadron, 29 2nd Squadron, 29, 35, 37, 39, 44, 45, 47, 51 3rd Squadron, 35 4th Squadron, 35 Bamberger, Lieutenant, 16 Barker, Pat, 143 Barrage, 121, 122 Barncourt Ridge, 155 Barrons, Clifford, 15 Base Hospital No. 46, 108 Bastille Day, 95 Batten, Raymond M., 155 Baulmey, 137 Bazoilles-sur-Meuse, 108 Beall, Vincent, 20 Beaumont, 144, 154 Belgium, 1 Belleau Wood, 91, 99 Bennett, James Gordon, 12 Berard, Maurice, 70 Bernstorff, Graf von, 2 Beuvardes, 103, 105; Bois de, 103

INDEX Beval, 155 Billy, 101 Blanc Mont, 141, 144, Blanchard, Jean-Pierre, 9 Boer War, 9 Bois, Commandant, 56 Bois Apremont, 142 Bois de Barricourt, 132 Bois de Bouleaux, 138 Bois de Bouresches, 96 Bois de Nonsard, 167 Bois de Rehanne, 64 Bois de Rochets, 94 Bois de Rois, 101 Bois de Romagne, 144 Boiling, Raynol C , 52, 177 n.8 Boiling Commission, 51 Bonaparte, Napoleon, 8, 47, 63 Bons Hommes Farm, Les, 107 Bouresches, 101 Bowers, Lloyd G., 159 Boyd, David, 123 Brabant-sur-Meuse, 144 Brecy, 101 Brievilles, 143 Briey iron basin, 159 Britain, 2, 3 British Air Service, Conference on Future of Balloons, 168 Broaddus, John, 163 Bryan, John Randolph, 11 Buchanan, President James, 10 Bull Run, Battle of, 11 Bullard, Robert, 146 Burnham, Stanley, 68 Burns, Robert, Butler, William O., 63, 69, 73, 75, 84 Buzancy, 155-56 Camouflage, 58 Camp Coetquidan, 47, 54-55, 58, 161 Camp de Souge, 49, 95, 151, 170 Campbell, Douglas, 79 Caquot, Albert, 12, 31 Caquot Balloon, 13, 31-32 Carroll, George C , 161

199

Casey, Robert J., 165 Cevor, Charles, Chandler, Charles DeR, 4, 5, 13, 17 observer requirements, 22, 47, 59, 70, 86, 116, 158 orders to 13th Co., 161-62, 171 Charly-sur-Marne, 92 Charme, Le, 102 Chateau-Thierry, 86, 91, 99, 100, 101, 113 salient experience, 114-15 Chatel, 135 Chatham, 9 Chaumont, 49 Chemin des Dames, 91 Cheppy, 146 Chery-Chartreuve, 108 Chouy, 101 Civil War, 9, 10, 11 Claire Farm, Le, 139 Clark, Birge, 38, 39, 48, 49, 124, 139, 156, 165 on Armistice, 171 Clemenceau, Georges, 145 Coblenz, 169 Cody, Buffalo Bill, 16 Coincy, 101 College of William and Mary, 9 Columbia University, 4, 15 Communist Infuence, fear of, 163 Compiegne, 159, 163 Confederates, 11 Corps des Aerostiers, 8 Corps of Royal Engineers, 9 Cote Dame Marie, 144 Courcelles, 92, 111, 113, 117 Courpoil, 104 Coutelle, Jean Marie Joseph, 8 Crehore, William W., 2 1 , 2 3 Crimea War, 9 Croix-aux-Bois, 155 Croix de Guerre, 96, 170 Croix la Motte, La, 108 Croix Rouge Farm, 104 Crouch, Tom, 11 Cruaux, Le 108 Cumieres, 137

200

INDEX

Cumming, Frank D., 161 Cunel Heights, 132, 142 Cuperly-sur-Marne, 47, 49 Curtiss, Glenn, 17 Custer, George A., 16

Drachenballon (Drachen balloon), 5, 12, 13, 1 6 , 3 1 Dungan, Harold, 82, 94, 108, 110, 170 Dun-sur-Meuse, 135, 153, 161

Davis, John, 20 Degoutte, Joseph, 115 Delahaye Drill, 104, 152 Dirigible, 12, 16 No. 1, 17 Divisions (American): 1st Division, 64, 77, Marne sector, 89, 100, 124; Meuse-Argonne, 134, 140, 142, 145, 158, 159 2nd Division, 79, Marne sector, 89, 91, 92, 94, 99, 100; MeuseArgonne, 144 3rd Division, 89, 97, 134, 140 4th Division, 108, 134 5th Division, 122 26th Division, 75, 77, 79, 81; Marne sector, 86, 94, 97, 104, 117, 124, 147 27th Division, 114 28th Division, 134, 136 29th Division, 134 30th Division, 114 32nd Division, 108, 134, 140, 149 33rd Division, 114, 134 35th Division, 134, 136, 138, 140, 150 36th Division, 144 37th Division, 134, 136, 140 41st Division, 45 42nd Division, 77, 97, 104, 117, 118, 124, 158, 159 77th Division, 84, 134, 155, 159 78th Division, 114 79th Division, 134, 139, 140 80th Division, 114, 134, 155, 157 82nd Division, 123, 134, 146, 15657 90th Division, 123, 161 91st Division, 134 92nd Division, 134, 154 Dog Robbers, 73 Doulcon, 155

Edwards, Clarence, 12, 127 Ely, Dinsmore, 69 Ely, Eugene, 17 Engineers, 122 Entreprenant, L', 8 Epieds, 101, 103, 104 Ermitage, L', 64-65 Essex, 123, 124 Etrepilly, 96, 99 Fere-en-Tardenois, 103, 107 Finnegan, Rupert A., 55 First Hundred Thousand, The, 43 Fismes, 108, 110, 111, 118 Flaming Onions (also known as Pineapples), 107 Fleischmann, Max, 27, 29, 30, 31, 34, 35, 4 1 , 47 Fleurus, Battle of, 8 Florence Field, 28, 30, 33 Foch, Ferdinand, 74, 89, 90, 113, 119 congratulates First Army, 125 on German destruction, 156 meets with Germans, 158-59, 162, 169 Meuse-Argonne, 132, 144, 145 pushes attack, 154, 155 Foret de Fere, 103 Fort Crook, 37 Fort Leavenworth, 16, 17 Fort Omaha, 4, 13, 15, 16, 17 army life, 18-19, 172 Fort Pontisse, 2 Fort Sill, 29, 168 Fort Slocum, 15 Foulois, Benjamin D., 16, 52, 54, 177 n.8 Four a Verre, le, 107 France, 1, 3, 8, 12 Franco-Prussian War, 8, 12 Franklin, Benjamin, 7

INDEX Fredencksburg, 11 French 5th Calvary Division, 134 French 7 5 m m gun, 57, 5 8 , 71 French 1 5 5 m m gun, 71 French Army: Second, 134 Fourth, 132, 144, 154 French Military Advisory Mission, 145 French M o r o c c a n Division, 99 Fresnes, 104 Fresnes-en-Woevre, 134 Freya Stellung, 132 Gallwitz, General von, 140 Garden City, 38 Garnerin, Andre, 8 Cias (Poison), 74 Gas Detail, 67 Geiger, H a r o l d , 147 G e r m a n 15th Bavarian Division, 141 G e r m a n 31st Division, 157 G e r m a n Fifth Army, 163 G e r m a n First Army, 2 G e r m a n Imperial H e a d q u a r t e r s , 155, 163 G e r m a n N i n t h Army, 100 G e r m a n Seventh Army, 100 G e r m a n y , 3 , 9, 12 spring attack, 74, 89 Gettysburg, 11 Gilchrist, J o h n , 162 Givodeau Farm, 157 Glassford, Pelham D., 117, 118 Goering, H e r m a n , 108 Gonetrie Farm, La, 9 6 , 102 Goodale, Frank, 2 5 , 32 Goodyear Rubber Co., 16, 20 G o r d o n Bennett Race, 12 G r a n d e Tranchee de Calonne, 124 G r a n d p r e , 132, 153 Grange Farm, 142 Grange M a r i e Farm, La, 104 Grant, Frederic J., 4, 5, 15 M a r n e sector, 92, 94, 9 6 - 9 7 , 1 0 5 - 6 , 1 0 8 - 1 1 , 1 5 1 - 5 2 , 166-67, 169, 171 to Saumur, 82, 84 Toul sector, 54, 57, 63, 69, 73

201

training, 14, 15, 2 3 - 2 4 , 2 5 , 2 6 , 2 9 , 30,43 on trench fever, 86 Grant, President and M r s . Ulysses, 16 Gray, T h o m a s , 7 Greely, J. H., 146 Green, Charles, 9 Grisolles, 102 Guer, 4 7 , 59, 61 Haig, Douglas, 90, 1 2 5 - 2 6 Halifax, Nova Scotia, 4 0 Hall, Bert, 107 Hallam, Basil, 83 H a n n a y , Donald R., 2 7 H a r b o r d , James, 70, 86 Harve, Le, 4 5 , 4 6 , 4 7 Hattonchatel, 124 H a y , Ian (Bleith), 4 3 Hayes, President and M r s . Rutherford B., 16 H a y w a r d , Charles L. C O . 13th Co., 1 6 1 - 6 2 , 166-67, 171 overseas, 4 5 , 50, 56, 70, 73, 83 training, 15, 2 6 , 30 Henry, Frank, 170 Herbert, Craig S. M a r n e sector, 1 0 8 - 9 Meuse-Argonne, 156, 169, 1 7 2 , 182 n.4, 188 nn.14, 16 Toul sector, 4 5 , 50, 56, 70, 73, 84 training, 15, 2 6 , 30 Hersey, Henry B., 12, 18, 2 1 , 3 3 , 37 Hill, Sergeant Major, 25 Hill 2 0 4 , 95 Hill 2 8 9 , 135 Hindenburg, Paul von, 89, 1 3 4 - 3 5 Hindenburg Line, 132, 144 H i n m a n , George W., 126 Hitchcock, Gilbert M . , 3 Hoepner, General von, 153 Honeywell, C a p , 26 Honeywell balloon, 18 Hotchkiss machine gun, 69 Howell, Sidney, 84, 170 H u d n u t , Lieutenant, 135

202

INDEX

Hughes, John A., 164 Hydrogen plant, 20 Illinois Traction Company, 26 Inflation (balloon), 66 Inter-Allied Games, 167 Ipprecourt, 139, 141 Italy, 3 Ivoiry, 137 Jams, Elsie, 82-84 Jaulney, 160 Jersey City, 38 Jones, Taffy, 153 Joralemon, Ira B., 82 Jouett, John H., 114, 115, 128, 146, 182 n.4 July 18 attack, 99-100 Kaiser, Wallace, 160 Keefe, Robert, 26 Kellogg, Stuart, 30-31 Kelly Field, 27 Kenly, William L., 54; 177 n.8 King, Samuel, 10 Koenig, Ira R., 86, 87, 109, 146, 168 Kramer, Harold, 90 Kriemhilde Stellung. See Hindenburg Line Krupp Works, 90 Kuhn, Joseph E., 137 "Kultur," 70, 178 n.18 Kuster, Karl, 106, 182 n.15 La Follette, Robert M., 3 La Mountain, John, 10 7Lahm, Frank P., 4, 5, 178 n.8, 12, 1718 2, with balloon companies, 49, 51, 62, 70, 82 reports, 117, 171 Lambert, Albert B., 15, 25 Landres-St. Georges, 142-45 Lee, Robert E., 11 Lenoir, Captain, 12 Leviathan, 43

Liason, 70-71, 72, 150 Liege, 1 Lifeboat drill, 41 Liggett, Hunter, 78, 99, 113, 146-47; 184 n.14 Ligny-en-Barrois, 119 Likens, Everett R., 123 Lincoln, President Abraham, 10 Line of Communication, 51 Liverpool, 43 London Graphic, 4 Lorraine, 62 Lowe, Thaddeus, 10, 11 Ludendorff, Erich, 89, 134-35, 154 Luke, Frank, 140 Lunardi, Vicenzo, 9 Luneville, 134 MacArthur, Douglas, 144, 186 n.24 Machine Gun Detail, 68, 69 Malancourt, 138 Maneuvering Detail, 66 Maps, 71, 178 n.21 Marne, Battle of, 21 Marr, Kenneth, 105, 106 Marre, 137 Mars, Bud, 17 Marshall, George C. Jr., 134 Maw, Herbert B., 144 McCullough, Paul, 26 McCurdy, J. D., 17 McElgin, Hugh, 17 McFarland, Allan, 63, 85, 92, 105, 109 Medeah Farm, 144 Metz, 122, 123, 131, 144 Metz-Sedan-Mezieres Railway (Mezieres-Sedan-Metz Railway), 132, 154 Meudon, 166 Meuse-Argonne Sector, 131, 132, 145, 154 Mexican War, 10 Mineola, 38 Mitchell, William, 177 n.8, 94, 100, 101, 138, 141

INDEX

203

Observation Balloon, 2 Observer, requirements, 22 role, 21-22, 75-76 stress, 72-73 Oliver, Bernard, 22 Omaha, 34, 38 Omaha Bee, 33, 35 Omaha Daily News, 158 Oureq River, 107

First Army, 116-17, 125, 127, 14951, 171-72 I Corp balloons, 69, 86, 94, 100, 101, 110 squadron dispersed, 47 Parachutes, 32-33 basket (French), 109 Paris, 48, 53, 74, 90 Paris-Metz Highway, 102 Parker, Cortlandt, 59 Parseval, August von, 12 Patrick, Mason M., 53, 177 n.8, 101 149, 158, 170 Patterson, Roy K., 94, 96 Patton, George S., Jr., 42, 134, 184 n.19 Paullin, William, 10 Peninsula Campaign, 11 Pershing, John J., 3, 23, 4 1 , 51, 52 an American army, 77, 113-14 Armistice, 163-64 the draft, 114 General of the armies, 146, 155, 157-58 Marne sector, 89, 90, 91 Meuse-Argonne, 131, 135-37, 141, 144-45 open warfare, 61-63, 83 St. Mihiel, 119, 125 Pershing Stadium, 167 Petain, Henri, 3, 63, 77, 90, 119, 125, 132 Petite Armoises, Les, 159 Petret Farm, 101 Phelps, Glenn, 94, 96, 109, 151, 159, 170 Philadelphia, 9 Philadelphia Ledger, 10 Picardy Farm, 103 Pont-a-Mousson, 160 Portland, Maine, 39 Prentice, Captain, 18 Prussian Guards, 102

Paegelow, John C O . 2nd squadron, 29, 35, 37, 38, 39, 42, 44, 46

Quartermaster Corps, 77-78 Quisenberry, George, 151-53

Moe, Gust E., 138 Monkey Meat, 102, 104 Monster Gun, 90, 118, 122 Skoda 305, 1 Skoda 420, 1 Mont Sec, 64, 122, 123, 129 Montfaucon, 132, 135, 137, 141 Montgolfier Brothers, 7, 9 Montgomery, Harry E., 109 Moore, Samuel Taylor, 78, 143, 151 Morlot, General, 8 Morris, Alan, 143 Mort Homme, Le, 142 Mortane, Jacques, 73 Mott, Bentley, 163 Mouzon, 158 Mulhausen, 119 Murphey, Leo, 94 Murvaux, 140 Myers, Carl, 10 Myers, Mary Hawley, 10 Nancy, 70 National Association of Balloon Corps Veterans, 171 Neuvilly-Varennes Road, 136 New Haven, 4, 39 New London, 39 New York, 38 New York Evening Sun, 66 Niagara, 38 Nicholls, Harold O., 170 Nurse balloon, 33

204 Rankin, Jeanette, 3 Ravine Marion, 110 Red Cross, 35, 39, 49 French, 62 Reeves, Dache M., 152-53 Regulation of fire, 71, 72 Reis, Alvin C , 150 Resolution on a State of War, 3 Rest camp British, 45 Courcelles, 113 Richardson, John, 33 Richthofen Squadron, 103 Rigger Detail, 67 Rochets Farm, Les, 99 Roebling, Washington, 11 Romagne, 144 Ross, Cleo J., 135-36 Royer, Adjutant, 65 Roze, Marechal des Logis, 32 Rozier, Jean Francois Pilatre de, 7 Rubottom, H., 41, 45 Ruhl, Arthur B., 110, 111 Rumpler Aeroplane (German), 107 Rupt de Mad River, 120 Russia, 73-74 Russo-Japanese War, 12 St. St. St. St. St. St.

George, 144, 153, 154 John, New Brunswick, 39 Juvin, 142, 155 Louis Balloon School, 15, 25 Mihiel, 125 Mihiel Salient, 62, 117, 122, 131 St. Pierremont, 159 Salmson aeroplane (German), 126 Salvation Army, 80 San Antonio, 25 San Juan Hill, 13 Schadenfreude, 156 Scully, Matthew R., 15 Sebastopol, 9 Sebille, Georges, 56, 57, 58 Sedan, 132, 158 Sedgwick, Malcolm A., 94 Seicheprey, 79-80, 124 Seminole War, 10

INDEX Service of Supply, 158 Sezanne, 92 Sherman, William T., 16 Signal Corps, 4, 13, 16, 17 Sigsfeld, Bartsch von, 12 Sivry, 147 Sky watchers (spotters), 68-69 Slum, 55, 84 Smith, Laurence K., 108 Smith, Maurice, 4, 5 Soissons, 101 Sommerance, 137, 155, 157 Souilly, 136 Sound and Flash Ranging Stations, 126 Southampton, 44 Spanish-American War, 13, 16 Spider, 65 Squier, George, 13 Stanislas Restaurant, 70, 178 n.19 Stars and Stripes, 89-90 Stenay, 162 Stevens, A. Leo, 5, 17, 20, 32 Stone, William J., 3 Stress, 72-73 Supply, 53 Surmelin Valley, 95 Surveillance, 86, 95 Swanson, Claude Augustus, 3 Taft, President William H., 33 Tait, Roland S., 126 Taylor, Lewallace W., 94 Telephone Detail, 67, 72 Tender, 68 Ternynck, Lieutenant, 56 Thiaucourt, 125, 131 Tobyhanna, 4 Toul, 62 Toul Sector, 62, 74, 103, 113 enemy balloons, 81 Toulmin, Harry, 53 Tours, 53 Training, 50, 63, 64 Trench foot, 65 Trugny, 104 Bois de, 104 Tunisian, 39-40, 4 1 , 42, 43

INDEX Turkey, 3 Turkington, Myrtle, 80 Tytler, James, 8 U-boats, 51 Uder, Captain, 105 Upson, Ralph, 20 Upson kite, 20, 30 Valdahon, 49, 71 Varennes, 137 Varila, Osborne de, 75, 182 n.13 Vaughn, Harry, 24, 29 Vaux, 94, 95, 99 Venice, 9 Verdun, 62, 106, 134, 142 Vesle River, 108, 110, 111 Vigneulles, 124 Ville-au-Val, 123 Villemontry, 157 Villette, Andre-Giroud de, 7 Villiers-devant-Dun, 155, 161 Villiers-sur-Marne, 92, 102 Vimy Ridge, 153 Vincelles, 96

205

War Department, 4, 5, 23, 51 General Staff, 52 Waterloo Battle, 8 Wells, Richard, 10 "Where Do We Go From Here?" 59 Wilhelm, Crown Prince, 100, 132 Williams, Major, 99 Wilson, President Woodrow, 2 on draft, 3, 125 Winch, 67-68 Winslow, Alan, 79 Wise, John, 10, 11 Woevre Plain, 122 Wood, Leonard, 33 Woolwich, 9 Xivray, 123 Yale University, 4, 9, 39 YMCA, 39, 54, 58, 70, 84, 145 Young, Stella, 80 Zeppelin, Ferdinand von, 11 Zone of Advance, 53 Zuber, Sergeant, 27

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About the Author EILEEN F. LEBOW was born and grew up in the Panama Canal Zone. After earning a Master's Degree from U.C.L.A., she taught for 30 years in the Maryland Public Schools. She is the author of Cal Rodgers and the Vin Fiz: The First Transcontinental Flight. She lives and writes in Washington, D.C.