Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's late evening on Saturday, February 24th, 1917, and you're the special advisor for the State Department. You've just rushed over to the White House with four typewritten sheets of paper in your hand, information you are certain will knock the world off its axis.
Almost breathless, you enter President Woodrow Wilson's office. Mr. President, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. Wilson beckons you to take a seat. It sounded extremely urgent when you telephoned. Yes, sir, it is. We've just received this from the British. It's a message from the German foreign minister to the German ambassador in Mexico City. The British intercepted it and decoded it.
The president gives you a disbelieving look as you hand him the papers. He repositions his spectacles and then begins to read. His eyes flip back and forth, then his mouth falls open and his eyes widen. Is this genuine? Our ambassador in London and experts in the State Department believe it is, yes. The Germans are offering to let Mexico take back the Southwest if they declare war on us? That's right, sir. I doubt the Mexicans would entertain the offer, but it's proof of Germany's hostile intentions.
The president's nostrils flare in anger. This is an outrage. I'm doing everything I can to avoid war, even as they continue to sink our ships. And in the meantime, they plot this. How do you want to respond, sir? The president goes quiet. It's clear he's trying to contain his rage and not let anger cloud his decision. The American people must be informed of this treachery. Are you suggesting we make this public? Yes, I am. And the sooner the better.
You know this means that all the president's efforts to keep the U.S. out of the war could be finished. He looks pained at the prospect, but he seems determined to move forward. So you take a deep breath. It seems that war with Germany is now inevitable.
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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. In early 1917, Germany resumed its submarine attacks on American ships delivering supplies to Britain and France.
And in February, Britain shared with the U.S. an intercepted telegram written by German Foreign Minister Arthur Zimmerman. Zimmerman's telegram was intended for the German ambassador in Mexico, and it contained an explosive revelation. Germany was inviting Mexico into a military alliance against the United States. These provocations backed President Woodrow Wilson into a corner.
Since the outbreak of fighting in Europe, Wilson had sought to remain neutral. But with American territory and countless lives at stake, he was now finally beginning to heed calls for intervention. The president was under no illusions. Preparing the United States for war was a formidable task. The nation's military was undermanned and outmoded. And if Wilson was to shore up public support for the war, he'd also have to suppress dissent, even if that meant curbing civil liberties.
This is Episode 2, The Yanks Are Coming. On March 20, 1917, President Woodrow Wilson entered the Cabinet Room at the White House to hear what his top advisors had to say about how he should handle Germany's latest aggressions. The mood was grim. In the past week, German U-boats had sunk three American ships, and the public was furious about the Zimmermann telegram.
Wilson had managed to keep the U.S. out of the war for two and a half years, but now any hope of maintaining American neutrality seemed lost. But still, Wilson stubbornly hoped to find some way to avoid U.S. entry into the conflict, even though now it seemed unavoidable.
He asked his cabinet to put aside their emotions about the recent German outrages and think about the bigger picture. He noted that Russia's Tsar Nicholas II had just been ousted by a democratic revolution. It was unclear if Russia would continue to fight for the Allies. Wilson also noted the reports of growing discontent inside Germany. Food shortages and massive casualties had left the German people weary of the war. He worried if the U.S. got involved now, it might only strengthen their resolve to fight on.
But one by one, every cabinet member told the president they believed the time for neutrality was over. The cabinet also encouraged Wilson to present the war to the American people as a global fight to defend democracy against autocracy, an argument strengthened by Russia's new democratically-leaning government.
But the cabinet was divided over what exactly the U.S. contribution to the war should be. Some members worried that the army was too small and weak to be any real help on the battlefields of Europe. Instead, they suggested the U.S. focus on providing financial and economic support to the Allies. After listening to the view of every cabinet member, Wilson thanked them and left without giving any clue as to whether he was ready to take America to war.
The president wrestled with this decision for the next two weeks. Deep down, he still hoped to remain neutral, but he knew the national mood had shifted and eventually he accepted reality. It was time for war.
On the evening of April 2, 1917, President Wilson left the White House in a limousine accompanied by his new wife, Edith. He was headed to the Capitol to ask the nation's elected representatives to authorize a declaration of war against Germany. Through the window of the limousine, he could see crowds of supporters standing in the rain, waving flags. But Wilson knew the nation was on edge. Pacifist protesters were also out in force, wearing white armbands and chanting anti-war slogans.
And in the Capitol, some of these protests became violent. Earlier that same day, a fight had broken out between pro-peace activists and Republican Senator Henry Cabot Lodge. The 67-year-old Lodge had become a leading critic of Wilson's policy of neutrality. He viewed the war as a fight for democracy and felt strongly that America belonged in it. After learning that Wilson intended to ask for permission to declare war, Lodge had spent the day urging his fellow Republicans to back the president.
Outside a committee room, Lodge was confronted by a band of activists led by 36-year-old Alexander Banvart. Banvart was a Swiss-American and Princeton graduate who had become a committed campaigner in the pacifist movement. He'd idolized Wilson since his Princeton days, but now feared the president was about to make a terrible mistake.
And on seeing the pro-war Lodge, Banvart charged over and demanded he vote against the war. Lodge refused, and tempers flared. Banvart called Lodge a coward, and Lodge dismissed Banvart as a liar. But when Banvart made a move toward Lodge, the frail senator stunned everyone by delivering a punch that knocked the younger man flat on his back.
While Lodge had managed to hold his ground, the Secret Service feared that anti-war activists might endanger the president's life. An assassination attempt couldn't be ruled out. So as Wilson headed to the Capitol that evening, his limousine was accompanied by the cavalry who positioned their horses around the vehicle to shield the president. And on the roof of the Capitol, Army and Navy sharpshooters stood ready to take out any threat.
Despite the concern, President Wilson arrived without incident, and at half-past eight he entered the House of Representatives to deliver the most momentous speech of his career. The chamber was packed with the entire Congress, each Supreme Court justice, and every diplomat in Washington, D.C., except the German diplomatic staff, who were back at their embassy, burning secret documents in case war was declared. As the chamber fell quiet, Wilson took a deep breath and began the speech he had hoped never to give.
He told the chamber that America's quarrel was with the Kaiser's government, not the German people. And he stressed that most German-Americans were loyal. But he followed that with a warning that if any were found to be disloyal, stern repression would follow.
Then Wilson declared that for the United States, this was not a war of conquest. He made clear that the goal was to safeguard the world for democracy, stating, "...it is a fearful thing to lead this great, peaceful people into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars, civilization itself seeming to be in the balance."
When Wilson finished, the chamber responded with cheers of approval. And as the president left the Capitol, the crowds of supporters gathered outside shaking his hand.
Even Alexander Banvard, the pacifist campaigner sucker-punched by Senator Lodge, was won over. On hearing Wilson's reasoning for joining the war, he dropped his opposition and resolved to support the president instead. But not everyone, and certainly not every member of Congress, had been won over. Imagine it's April 4th, 1917 in the U.S. Senate chamber, and you're a Republican senator from Wisconsin.
Unlike most of your party, you are still opposed to the U.S. joining the conflict overseas. With a vote just minutes away, you're determined to reject Wilson's request for permission to declare war on Germany. But as you wait for the roll call, you can see fellow Republican Senator Henry Cabot Lodge storming over. He looks annoyed, so you rise to your feet as he approaches.
Senator Lodge, I trust you are not about to assault me. Word is you have a mean right hook. No, of course not. But I have come to try and persuade you to change your mind. You're wasting your breath. Besides, the mood in this room is clear. With or without my vote, the Senate will support the war. Your vote still matters.
It's important we're united on this. How will it look to the young soldiers in your state to know they're heading to a war their own senator opposes? I thought you said this was a war for democracy. And it is. Then defending my right to disagree is part of the fight. Besides, if you're so concerned with democracy, start with the allies. France is the only true democracy among them. Japan is ruled by an emperor. Russia's new government is barely a month old. Great Britain is run by a monarch and a chamber of unelected lords.
Lodge throws up his hands in frustration.
If we go to war, think of the lives that'll be lost. Millions of French and British soldiers already lie rotting in the trenches. Do we really want our sons and brothers to lie beside them? Senator Lodge stares at you for a moment and shakes his head and returns to his seat. A few minutes later, true to your word, you cast your vote against the declaration of war. But it is no use. Only five other senators vote with you. You know the president's request will be granted, and you shudder to think of the bloodshed to come.
Two days after Wilson's speech, the Senate gathered to debate his request for a declaration of war. During the debate, Republican Senator Henry Cabot Lodge urged Democrats and Republicans to put party differences aside and come together to support America's entry into the war. But he also warned that as it stood, the U.S. Army lacked enough troops and resources to be an effective fighting force.
While Britain and France had more than 12 million troops, the United States had just 133,000, fewer men than had been killed in just three days during the Battle of the Marne. And the death toll at several later battles far surpassed that. For over a year, the president had talked about preparedness for the war, but little progress had actually been made. So Senator Lodge believed it was imperative that the U.S. rapidly grow the size of the army. And almost everyone in the Senate agreed.
When the vote came, 82 senators voted to approve a declaration of war. Just six senators opposed, including Wisconsin Senator Robert La Follette. Two days later, on April 6, 1917, the House of Representatives followed suit, voting 373 to 50 in favor of war.
President Wilson had won the support he needed. The United States was now officially at war with the German Empire. But it wouldn't be joining Britain, France, Russia, Italy, and Japan as a member of the Allies. Instead, the U.S. announced it was joining the war as an associated power.
This meant the U.S. did not have to work in lockstep with the Allies. The military insisted they would retain their sovereignty and American troops would not be subject to the orders of European powers. Additionally, the U.S. had only declared war against Germany, not the other members of the Central Powers, Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria, and the Ottoman Empire. But limiting the countries America was at war with did nothing to alleviate the concerns raised by Senator Lodge about America's readiness to fight.
The intensity of trench warfare had ignited a technological arms race among the European powers. When the war began, tanks didn't exist. But now Britain and France were sending hundreds of these metal machines onto the battlefields in hope of breaking through German defenses.
Artillery guns also fired powerful shells further and more precisely than ever before. The Germans were armed with flamethrowers, and the French had developed light machine guns. In addition to all this deadly mechanical weaponry, the use of poison gas was also widespread. These advances brought a new air of terror to the battlefield and sent casualties soaring. Not even the skies above could escape the war. For the first time, aircraft also played a critical role.
In addition to planes used for reconnaissance and artillery spotting, airships dropped bombs on cities and other targets, and biplanes strafed ground targets and engaged in aerial dogfights. Soon the first anti-aircraft guns were also being deployed.
But this rush of military innovation had so far bypassed the United States, whose army wasn't just undermanned. It was also stuck in the pre-war era of riflemen and cavalry. To Wilson and U.S. military leaders, it was clear that millions of American men would need to be recruited and trained to fight. The country needed to modernize its weaponry at the same time.
There were non-military challenges, too. The U.S. now had to pivot to mobilize industry and transport networks to supply the needs of the military. And that meant domestic food supplies needed to be conserved and secured. There was also a pressing need to find ways to deal with potential threats from German spies and domestic militants who opposed the war. And all of these challenges required money. Somehow, the U.S. Treasury would have to raise billions of dollars to finance the conflict.
America had yet to fire a single shot. But already, the demands of war threatened to overwhelm the government. To rise to the challenge, an entire nation would have to embrace radical changes that would permanently reshape America.
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On April 13, 1917, with America now at war with Germany, President Woodrow Wilson turned his focus to the battle at home by taking bold steps to ensure public support. Executive Order 2594 created a propaganda and censorship agency called the Committee for Public Information. It was part of a flood of new wartime policies, laws, and federal agencies designed to prepare the U.S. for war.
To head the committee, Wilson tapped a 40-year-old journalist from Missouri named George Creel. Creel had begun his career as a reporter in Kansas City before hopping freight trains to New York where he wrote jokes for newspapers. After returning to the Midwest, Creel built a reputation as a progressive columnist and worked on Wilson's 1916 re-election campaign.
But as the nation crept towards war, senior people in the military began to advocate for strict censorship of war criticism. Creel felt that silencing dissidents wasn't the way to win the hearts and minds of the American public. So he wrote to President Wilson and proposed an alternative. A government agency that would sell the war to the nation, much like an ad agency would sell a product like soap or soda pop.
Creel believed that by using the techniques of advertising and journalism, he could, as he put it, weld the people of the United States into one white-hot mass instinct. Then he could harness that patriotic fervor to instill in the public the will to win the war. Creel was ultimately proposing a government propaganda machine, and President Wilson embraced the idea. He immediately ordered the creation of the Committee for Public Information and put Creel in charge of it.
And as chairman of the committee, Creel moved fast. He knew the war was about to change daily life for every American, and without sustained public support, there would be no hope of victory. So his first targets were the newspapers. He formed a team to send them a deluge of government-approved war news.
For newspaper editors, it was a lifeline. Their readers craved updates about the war, but their reporters were being denied access to military personnel and munitions manufacturers in the name of national security. So with their own journalists struggling to deliver stories, editors filled their papers with reports provided by Creel's committee.
and newspapers were just the start. Creel soon had multiple teams fighting the information war on every front. They published school books promoting American ideals while trashing Germany, and blocked the export of movies that portrayed the U.S. in a bad light.
The committee's artists churned out posters depicting monstrous German soldiers with bloodied hands coming for America's women. They also created a powerful symbol of the American war effort when they released posters based off a British Army recruitment ad, showing a finger-pointing Uncle Sam with the tagline, I want you for the U.S. Army.
The committee also deployed hundreds of recruits to deliver rousing speeches at public venues. Known as the Four Minute Men, they would show up at cinemas during the intermission or at church events, encouraging the audience to do their patriotic duty. They urged Americans to conserve food by observing Meatless Tuesday or Wheatless Wednesdays and encouraged them to buy Liberty Bonds to help fund the cost of the war.
But in addition to churning out this wartime propaganda, Creel's committee also monitored the contents of hundreds of non-English newspapers around the country, especially the German ones.
The United States' entry into the war with Germany had left the nation's 2.8 million German-Americans caught between heritage and country. Many German-language newspapers had favored the Central Powers over the Allies since the start of the war. Now they had to distance themselves from Germany to avoid being shut down or censored. Many also lost advertisers, leading several newspapers to close their doors before the war was over. But Creel's committee wasn't their only worry.
because they were also being watched by America's new secret police. Imagine it's the summer of 1917 and you're visiting St. Louis, Missouri. You were born in Germany, but now you live and work in Kansas City. Today, you're taking a break from your job at an ice manufacturer to see the sights of St. Louis. A friend from work recommended you visit the zoo. And as you stroll into the city center, you spot a men's clothing store and wander over to see what's on display. But just then, someone taps you on the shoulder.
You turn to see a serious-looking man holding out a badge. Excuse me, sir, I'm an operative in the American Protective League. We're a secret service of volunteers endorsed by the Department of Justice. Our job is to defend America from enemy aliens, and that's you, isn't it, pal? What's an enemy alien? I'm sorry, English is not my first language. Don't give me that. An enemy alien is someone like you, born in Germany, but now living here pretending to love America.
"'Well, yes, I was born in Germany, but I am certainly not an enemy.' The operative smirked, and you regained your composure. "'Hold on. Have you been following me? We have agents everywhere. One of our informants told us of your little trip. What are you doing in St. Louis?' "'I'm just visiting. I wanted to see the city, maybe the zoo. Nothing wrong.' "'Oh, really? Then explain why you're standing in a no-aliens zone.'
Since the war started, cities have been designating areas where German nationals can only go by permit. But you didn't see any signs saying that this was one of those areas. You're not sure what powers, if any, this American Protective League has, but you're not keen to find out. Look, sir, I didn't mean to violate any rules. I'm unfamiliar with St. Louis. As I said, I'm just a tourist. But you didn't think to learn where you can and can't go before just wandering around? Yes, sir, I should have done that.
"'And I am very sorry it was a silly mistake. But believe me when I say that whatever my nationality, America is my home now.' The operative eyes you for a while, then puts his badge away. "'Very well, then. I'll let you off the hook this time. But I suggest you get the first train back to Kansas City before I find a good reason to have you arrested.' You nod and hurry away toward the station. "'But it's not the encounter with this operative that unnerved you the most.'
Only three people knew you planned to be in St. Louis today. All colleagues from work, people you've known for years. Your heart sinks as you realize those you thought were your friends are now reporting your every move.
The American Protective League formed in April 1917, just before war was declared. Its founder, Albert Briggs, a Chicago advertising executive, felt the federal government's intelligence service was under-resourced and wanted to help clamp down on German espionage. But the League wasn't part of the federal government. It was a secretive, private organization that had been granted semi-official status by the Department of Justice.
And once so sanctioned, the League set to work recruiting 250,000 agents and informants, tasking them with rooting out disloyalty in more than 600 American cities. But despite the gravity of their mission to protect America from enemy aliens, agents were simply volunteers who paid a membership fee of 75 cents to receive a badge.
Officially, agents of the Protective League had no police powers and were not allowed to carry firearms or make arrests. Nevertheless, some members simply ignored these restrictions, carrying out illegal searches or delivering vigilante justice.
In Denver, members of the Protective League punished a man who refused to kiss the American flag. They put a noose around his neck, tied it to a truck, and dragged him by the neck through the streets. Others who didn't donate to the Red Cross or were considered un-American were tarred and feathered or beaten in the streets.
Despite being illegal, few of these incidents resulted in the arrest of a Protective League member, and even when they did, jurors often hesitated to hand down a guilty verdict, fearing it could make them the League's next target. And the League didn't stop with Germans, either. Their watch list also included trade unions, socialists, and pacifist groups. Soon members of the League would focus on another target, too—draft dodgers.
On May 18, 1917, Congress gathered to debate what was set to be the most controversial piece of wartime legislation yet, a bill introducing military conscription. When President Wilson declared war, he instructed the Army to recruit a million men. But after six weeks, just 73,000 had volunteered.
Wilson knew this was nowhere near enough troops. In France, the Battle of Arras that spring had left 159,000 soldiers from across the British Empire dead, wounded, or missing. On average, 5,000 soldiers were dying on the Western Front every day. And at that rate, America's volunteers would be wiped out in a matter of weeks.
This left the U.S. government with little choice but to enact a draft. So, Secretary of War Newton Baker persuaded the president to back the introduction of the Selective Service Act, which required all American men between the ages of 21 and 30 to register for military service.
But both Wilson and Baker were nervous about the move. Americans had not been conscripted since the Civil War, and at the time, the Union Army's draft law had allowed the wealthy to pay their way out of service, provoking fury and riots in northern cities.
To avoid a similar debacle, the Wilson administration ensured the Selective Service Act did not give people the option to buy their way out. The administration also knew many citizens distrusted the federal government, which they saw as remote and disconnected from their daily lives. So it offloaded the task of deciding who'd be sent to war to thousands of local selection boards composed of influential businessmen and civic leaders.
But still, conscription remained controversial for a variety of reasons. Despite the Army being segregated, some Southern Democrats opposed the idea of drafting African Americans. Mississippi Senator James Vardaman argued that making Black men soldiers, even in non-combat units, would embolden them and leave the region's plantations short of workers. Other Democrats opposed conscription on principle and argued that there was little difference between a conscript and a convict.
But the Republicans had already decided to give the Selective Service Act near-unanimous support, ensuring it would sail into law. Nevertheless, Secretary Baker knew that simply passing a law did not guarantee that the American citizens would embrace the draft. There was no threat of a German invasion to rally around, and the idea of compelling people into service felt at odds with American ideals of individual liberty.
Despite his concerns about a possible public backlash, Baker set June 5th as the draft registration day and held his breath. And as that day approached, George Creel's Committee on Public Information stepped up its efforts to convince the nation to do their duty. Local selection boards organized parades, pageants, and festivities to make registering for the draft feel like a moment of celebration.
But there was an undercurrent of danger, too. There was talk of organized resistance to the draft in major cities and the rural counties of the South. Police stood ready to arrest anyone who tried to disrupt the registration process. The American Protective League was also on the watch for any hint of opposition. And in several states, National Guardsmen were on alert, ready to put down any trouble on the big day. But ultimately, fears of mass apathy or resistance were overblown.
On June 5th, approximately 10 million American men headed to their local selection boards to register for the draft. While the law did allow draftees to claim conscientious objector status, fewer than 1% requested it. And many of those who did agreed to serve in non-combat roles.
But despite the encouraging turnout, not everyone was ready to fight for their country. An estimated one in ten men failed to register, becoming draft dodgers. The authorities and the public dubbed them slackers, and within weeks, they were being hunted. Secret Service and American Protective League agents teamed up with local police to hold slacker raids, where squads would roam the streets to catch suspected draft dodgers.
These squads would storm into saloons, dance halls, sporting events, workplaces, and pool rooms. Demanding men of military age show them the blue cards that proved they registered for the draft. Anyone without a card would be jailed.
In the meantime, the U.S. Army now needed to work out how to get the millions of young men on the draft register trained, armed, and transported to the battlefronts of Europe. But even with more soldiers, the United States military would soon discover they were still far from ready to face the might of the German Empire.
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Hire high-quality, certified pros at Angie.com. On the afternoon of May 24, 1917, General John Pershing entered the Oval Office with Secretary of War Newton Baker at his side. Pershing was there to be formally named Commander-in-Chief of the American Expeditionary Forces, as the U.S. forces on the Western Front were to be called.
Pershing had a distinguished military career, having been one of the first officers to lead an all-black regiment to fight Native Americans on the frontier. He'd also led successful campaigns in both Cuba and the Philippines during the Spanish-American and Philippine-American wars. During their brief meeting in the Oval Office that day, Pershing got little direction from Wilson, who said nothing about how U.S. forces were to cooperate with the Allied armies. Wilson simply told the general he had full confidence in him.
A few days later, Secretary of War Newton Baker offered Pershing a little more guidance. Pershing was to cooperate with the Allied forces, but the United States military had to remain a separate and distinct force. Armed with these brief instructions, Pershing and his staff left for France on May 28, 1917. But on arrival, he soon realized America would need even more manpower than anticipated to make a difference in the war.
Based on his calculations, Pershing cabled Washington and asked for one million men. But only nine days later, he cabled Washington again. He changed his mind. One million was too few. He needed three times that.
Pershing knew that these men still needed to be drafted, and before they could be sent overseas, they would need training. The best he could hope for now was to get 500,000 troops prepared and shipped to Europe by the end of 1917. But just training that many was still going to be a major undertaking.
So soon, construction teams all over the United States set to work building training facilities and barracks to house the troops. These facilities were erected so fast that in some instances the conscripts found themselves living in tents while helping the construction. Equipment was also in short supply. U.S. factories were struggling to keep pace with wartime demand, a task made harder as workers began being called up for military service, and new restrictions were placed on immigration.
The resulting labor shortage forced employers to seek out alternatives, and they soon began to recruit more African American workers and women. Large numbers of African Americans had already begun to migrate from the South to Northern and Midwestern cities, seeking better jobs and less racist oppression. The war only accelerated the trend. Still, many African Americans found that they were not welcomed with open arms.
In many cities, white workers opposed working alongside black workers, and some turned to violence. On July 2, 1917, in East St. Louis, a mob of more than 1,000 white residents went on a rampage, attacking black families and burning their homes. This massacre left around 100 African Americans dead and as many as 6,000 homeless. In response, 10,000 African Americans marched in New York in silent protest.
But it wasn't just an influx of African-American workers that changed American industry as the U.S. geared up for war. Facing a lack of labor as young men went off to battle, traditionally male workplaces began to hire women for positions like operating cranes, driving trucks, and building ships. But even as these women began to fill the ranks and power production, U.S. factories could not meet demand from the military. The backlog in orders for uniforms and boots stretched into months,
And the U.S. Army did not have enough guns to arm their soldiers either. So instead of training with rifles, many men found themselves practicing for war armed with broomsticks. By the time they reached France, as many as 40% of the troops had not yet fired a standard-issue army rifle.
But despite their lack of training, the U.S. troops were a welcome sight for Allied commanders. On June 24th, the first 14,000 U.S. troops arrived in France. With the Americans now in the fight, Germany's defeat seemed more certain. Then, as the summer went on, the initial dribble of U.S. troops became a steady stream. For the first few months, the American expeditionary forces spent their time setting up bases and being drilled in trench warfare by British and French instructors.
But as summer turned to fall, the first American soldiers headed to the front lines. Imagine it's just before dawn on November 3rd, 1917. You're a soldier in the 1st Division of the American Expeditionary Forces. You're in the trenches in northeastern France, just a few miles from the border with Germany. You stand on tiptoe and carefully raise your head to peek over the trench wall. In the gloom, you can make out no man's land. The roughly hundred yards of land that separates you from the enemy.
It's eerie. A pockmarked wasteland of barbed wire, mud, unexploded shells, pools of fetid water, and the decaying bodies of the fallen. Then, at the far end, you can see the German trenches.
A lone sniper shot pierces the air. You duck back into your trench. Well, that was close. You are an idiot. You turn to see your friend Johnny, a fellow First Division soldier. He's leaning against a muddy trench wall, rolling a cigarette. Hey, I almost got shot there. That's exactly my point, idiot. Didn't you listen when they told us the quickest way to die here is to stick your head up above the trench? Yeah, I heard that, but I'm sick of staring at nothing but these dirt walls.
I wanted to get a glimpse of what it was like up there. Besides, that instructor was a sourpuss. All doom and gloom. It's no wonder they haven't beaten the Germans yet. Johnny strikes a match and lights a cigarette. Or maybe they've just been here long enough to know what's what. I mean, look at this place. Nothing but mud and rats. And jeez, the smell. Maybe that Brit wasn't joking when he said the best thing you can hope for is a bullet in the rear.
You frown, because sure, it's bad, but having Johnny complaining doesn't help. Well, look, I came here to fight, teach the Kaiser a lesson. I'm tired of waiting around. That's not what they trained us for. At least they gave you a gun to train with. I was twirling around a broomstick. I only got a gun the day we left for France. Just like the song. What? Just like the song. Over there, over there. Oh, yeah, I guess.
You pause and think about your brief glimpse of No Man's Land. You know, it's creepy up there. Up where? No Man's Land. It's all shadowy, like there's ghosts or something. I know my eyes were fooling me, but I swear I saw something move out there. You saw something move? Johnny springs up and grabs his rifle. Before you can react, the noise of grenades and gunfire fill the air. It's a trench raid, and the Germans are already right on top of you.
The German raid near the French village of Bat-le-Mont was the first time U.S. troops faced direct combat. The fighting lasted an hour, and by the time the Germans returned to their lines, they had taken several prisoners with them. Three American servicemen died in the fighting, becoming the first U.S. soldiers to fall in battle during the war. The next day, General Pershing arrived in Paris for a morning meeting with David Lloyd George, the British Secretary of War.
The mood was solemn. American troops were arriving in growing numbers, but both Pershing and Lloyd George were worried about Italy. Before the war, Italy had made a defensive pact with Germany and Austria-Hungary, but when the fighting began, it declared itself neutral. Then, in April 1915, the Allies persuaded Italy to join their side by promising to give it parts of Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman Empire once the Central Powers were defeated.
Italy's entry into the war had boosted the Allied forces by more than 5 million men. But now, in late 1917, Italy was in trouble. Austria-Hungary had just inflicted a major defeat on the Italians at Caporetto. More than a quarter million Italian soldiers had been taken prisoner, and Italy's prime minister was forced from office. Italy's continued commitment to the war was now looking shaky.
And there was also another issue for General Pershing and Lloyd George to chew over that morning, the coordination of American and Allied troops. Britain and France wanted the American forces rolled into their armies. They felt the U.S. was wasting valuable time and resources trying to build their own divisions as the U.S. troops were inexperienced, badly equipped, and untrained. Even General Pershing had to concede that without British and French support, the American expeditionary forces couldn't function.
But his orders were clear. The American army was not to be absorbed into the Allied forces. This was in part because Pershing doubted the Allies' tactics. For three long years, Britain and France had been sending hundreds of thousands of men to their deaths and getting nowhere.
The ongoing battle in Passchendaele, Belgium, only seemed to underscore the futility. Since July, the British had been trying to break through the German defenses there, but the offensive had failed, leaving more than a quarter of a million British soldiers dead, injured, or missing. Pershing had no intention of allowing the British and French to use American soldiers as more cannon fodder, but he and Lloyd George did agree that the Allied forces needed to get better aligned.
So three days later, on November 7, 1917, the British, French, and Italian governments agreed to form a Supreme War Council. Soon after, President Wilson approved American participation as well. This council would coordinate the war effort, but the armies of each nation would remain separate and under their own leadership. But even as the council prepared for its first planned meetings, the tide of the war turned in Germany's favor.
First, Austria-Hungary inflicted another crushing defeat on Italy. The Italians were now threatening to drop out of the war entirely unless the U.S. also declared war on Austria-Hungary. The news from Russia was even worse. Back in the spring, Germany had helped the exiled Marxist revolutionary Vladimir Lenin return to Russia. They hoped, as leader of the Bolshevik revolutionaries, he would cause enough trouble to force Russia's new democratic government to pull out of the war. And they were right.
On November 7th, Lenin and the Bolsheviks overthrew the Russian government and seized power. Now it was just a matter of time before Russia withdrew from the war. And when it did, Germany's battle-hardened forces on the Eastern Front would be free to turn west toward France, just as American forces were headed straight into the fight.
From Wondery, this is episode two of our series on World War I from American History Tellers. On the next episode, President Wilson presents his plan for a new world order, General Pershing considers letting Paris fall as Germany stages a massive spring offensive, and more American troops land in Europe just in time.
If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.
American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bach. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Tristan Donovan of Yellow Ant. Research by Louisa Byrne, Marina Watson, and David Walensky. Edited by Doreen Marina. Produced by Alida Rozansky. Our production coordinator is Desi Blaylock. Managing producer, Matt Gant. Senior managing producer, Ryan Moore. Senior producer, Andy Herman.
Executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marsha Louis for Wondery.
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