137: The First Battle of the First American Army: St. Mihiel
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near you. That's the letter K, the number 12.com slash HTDS. K12.com slash HTDS. It's 410 a.m., August 8th, 1918. A seemingly endless line of khaki-clad young men from the British Isles and the dominions of Canada and Australia are quietly taking positions just east of the northern French city of Amiens.

This is British General Sir Henry Rawlinson's 4th Army, and in 10 minutes, this impressive force will give the some-river-straddling German 2nd Army an unwelcomed and unexpected wake-up call. Likewise, the French 1st Army, operating just to the south and on the right of the British, are preparing to do the same to the German 18th Army. In short, this is a massive, highly coordinated surprise attack.

Behind the British infantry, 1,800 French and British pilots. The latter only recently organized as the Royal Air Force, aka the RAF, are starting up their planes. At the same time, the engines of 500 plus tanks, including 342 of Britain's new heavy Mark Vs, roar like an army of locomotives.

British infantrymen feel their hearts pound through their chests, knowing that the crowds can hear this cacophony of engines, propellers, and wheels. But no matter. It's 4.19 a.m. Soldiers check to ensure that their steel helmets are secure and bayonets are fixed as they grip their rifles. Section officers stare at their synchronized wristwatches as they count down the last minute, from 60 seconds to 30 to 10, right to the appointed hour, 4.20 a.m. Fire!

Artillery opens the attack. Like a hellish chorus, the British 4th Army's 2,034 guns sing a song of death as they spit shells at the Germans. Their accuracy is top notch. Thanks to advanced surveillance conducted both on the ground and from the sky, the guns are firing exactly where it will hurt the Fritzes the most. Shells rip apart trenches in the front and obliterate gun batteries in the German rear.

And with these crucial defenses neutralized, it's time for the infantry to advance. With the artillery continuing to lay down a rolling barrage, British troops emerge through the early morning mist. But artillery isn't the only thing supporting these rifle-toting Tommies. RAF pilots are soaring through the air, unleashing machine gun fire on the fritzes below.

Meanwhile, those powerful 26.5-foot-long Mark V tanks are rolling forward, their treads smashing the Germans' carefully laid barbed wire into the earth like a bug splattering on the windshield. With 12 such tanks assigned to each leading brigade, not to mention armored cars, Stokes mortars, and the dense morning mist obscuring the sight of anything more than 20 yards out, these boys of the British Empire are nearly unstoppable.

They advance across no man's land, as misblinded Germans can do little more than listen in horror to the overwhelming, ear-splitting sounds of war rushing their way. The Australian Corps and the Canadian Corps, which make up the British lines Centre and Right, respectively, appear unstoppable. Not that this is surprising. Leaders on both sides know that there are no better shock troops in the war than those from the Great White North and the land down under.

Known for their independent nature, so well conveyed by the swagger in their step in lieu of a true march, the slouched hat wearing Aussies cheered the morning's bombardment. Their infantry now advanced with a cool confidence, at times outpacing the tanks as they walk almost sightless through the mist and dust right up to German machine gun crews and take them captive. Indeed, men of the 39th Victoria Battalion take 40 Germans prisoner and capture five machine guns without losing a single man.

Meanwhile, the Canucks are moving in a similar stride on the right. Wearing kilts nodding to the battalion's Scottish heritage, the 43rd Cameron Highlanders of Canada Battalion soon captures a battery, 33 machine guns, and more than 400 German troops while moving in on Dodo Wood. Frankly, the Australians and Canadians are smashing through today's goals as they reclaim the British position of the 1916 Battle of the Somme and so much more, blowing past what their plans designated as the Green and Red Lines that very morning.

Some of them reached the still farther out blue line in the early afternoon. By the day's end, the Canadians have pushed eight miles into Boche territory. The Australians in the center are six miles deep, while the British Third Corps, which encountered far harder terrain, has done respectably, gaining two miles of ground. Across a 10-mile front, Sir Henry Rawlinson's British Fourth Army has suffered approximately 9,000 casualties.

In return, his men have inflicted 27,000 casualties on the Germans, including the capture of 15,000 of the Second Reich's gray-clad troops. While the Allies are elated, German General Erich Ludendorff is wracked with grief. The despondent commander will later write of this fateful day in 1918: "August 8 was the black day of the German army and the history of the war.

Our war machine was no longer efficient. Our fighting power had suffered even though the great majority of divisions still fought heroically. August 8th puts the decline of that fighting power beyond all doubt, and in such a situation, as regards the reserves, I had no hope of finding a strategic expedient thereby to turn the situation to our advantage.

But it won't take reflecting after the war for this German commander to recognize just how far the prospects of the once dominating Second Reich's Imperial Army have fallen. Only three days from now, Erich will see his sovereign, Kaiser Wilhelm II, and offer his resignation. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Craig Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. History That Doesn't Suck

General Erich Ludendorff's analysis of day one of the Battle of Amiens, August 8th, 1918, is spot on. It was indeed the Black Day of the German army. While both sides count their casualties by the tens of thousands at the end of this four-day battle on August 12th, the Germans lose 33,000 of those men as prisoners of war, further proof that the Second Reich's men are simply losing the will to fight.

August 8th, then, was a dark day for Germany indeed, opening a series of Allied offenses soon to be known as the Hundred Days Offensive. But that doesn't mean peace is imminent. Still holding large swaths of occupied territory, leaders of the Second Reich are prepared to fight on, hoping that, even if victory eludes them, they can maintain enough leverage to win meaningful concessions in the negotiations to come.

Thus it is that the Kaiser rejects Erich Ludendorff's resignation, while the beaten-but-unbroken general likewise concludes that, We cannot win this war anymore, but we must not lose it. This war, then, is far from over, and as for the Americans, well, the Yankees are just hitting their stride. Indeed, after more than a full year in France,

After adding more than one million men to the American Expeditionary Force and, at times, begrudgingly allowing his doughboys to fight under the command of allies, today we get to see General Black Jack Pershing realize his great dream, the creation and deployment of an American army. But it's not without peril. Some back in Washington, D.C. are questioning the general's ability to deal with the AEF supply issues and lead his new American First Army.

Meanwhile, Black Jack and Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Foch are still butting heads over how and where the Yankee force will fight. We'll find out how the American commander navigates these challenges, then follow his new American army into its first battle, the Battle of Saint-Miel. Once there, we'll bond some more with Douglas MacArthur and George Patton, and also meet an American ace of the sky, Eddie Rickenbacker. But don't mistake this for a meet-and-greet.

The pressure is on in this battle as the Yankees must prove their worth fighting under their own flag, then book it 60 miles to start another offensive in the Argonne Forest. Drama among the generals, fighting at the front, we have plenty to do. And we begin by heading about one month back to bear witness as our American commander counters threats to his leadership, both foreign and domestic. Rewind.

General Black Jack Pershing has faced his fair share of difficulties since arriving in France in early June 1917. We've witnessed that firsthand in the last few episodes as the determined, mustachioed American commander from Missouri has fought off allied colleagues attempting to absorb or amalgamate his doughboys into their own ranks and as he strived to turn the rapidly ballooning, drafty-made American Expeditionary Force into a serious military. And all in all, Black Jack has done well.

The doughboys have proven themselves in battles across France, from Cantigny to Soissons, while the AEF has evolved organizationally, forming divisions, corps, and soon a first army. But there's one significant problem that isn't escaping the attention of the powers that be back in the States. That's the AEF's supply lines. Blackjack has struggled to get the Services of Supply, or the SOS for short, to function properly since day one.

Now, this isn't entirely the Missourians' fault. Outfitting the near instantaneous AEF is as daunting a task as any, and placating Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Foch by prioritizing American infantrymen and machine gunners over support positions hasn't helped the logistic situation. That said, Blackjack and his staff do not appreciate the impossible burden their inconsistent, changing demands for equipment and weapons place on manufacturers.

Further, the fact remains that he is the AEF's commander. Therefore, Blackjack is ultimately responsible for its successes and failures. That's why the big shots in DC want to lessen his responsibilities. On July 6th, 1918, War Secretary Newton Baker sends a letter to Blackjack.

It's polite, but the kind words do not mask the note's intent, which is to suggest that the American commander relinquished the responsibility for logistics and supplies to another, specifically to the gifted organizer who finished the Panama Canal back in episode 116, George Washington Goethals. To quote the war secretary, as the American troops in France become more and more numerous and the battle initiative on some parts of the front passes to you,

Both the president and I want to feel that the planning and the executing of military undertakings has your personal consideration and that your mind is free for that as far as possible. The American people think of you as their fighting general, and I want them to have that idea more and more brought home to them. For these reasons, it seems to me that it would help if some plan were devised by which you would be free from any necessity of giving attention to services of supply.

And one plan in that direction, which suggested itself, was to send General Goethals over to take charge of the services of supply, establishing a direct relationship between him and Washington. I would be very glad to know what you think about this suggestion." Blackjack responds politely, but in brief, that's a hard no. He thinks splitting any aspect of his command is a terrible idea and acts quickly to alleviate the situation.

That same month, he meets with his recently promoted commander of the 2nd Division, Major General James Harvard, and volunteers him to take over the SOS. James is disappointed, but agrees to whip the services of supply into shape as command of the 2nd Division falls to a Marine, Brigadier General John Lejeune. And while we won't follow him right now, note the name, because this isn't the last you'll hear of John Lejeune.

But even as Blackjack thins off the War Secretary, he has more friendly fire coming his way. Once again, he's butting heads with Ferdinand Foch. I know, things ended so well when Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Foch and General Blackjack Pershing met at the close of the last episode.

As you may recall, the July 24, 1918 meeting of Allied commanders concluded with Blackjack ready to organize, finally, a proper First Army out of the AEF's forces with the plan that it would get to prove itself by taking out yet another Bolch, that is, a salient, in the German line. Specifically, the Samiel salient. Blackjack has been nothing but excited ever since.

With the American First Army officially organizing on August 10th, he's eager to demolish this salient. This triangular-shaped intrusion into the Allies' line found 200 miles directly east of Paris. The general tasks a brilliant officer with planning the attack. The same young captain who boldly stood up to him at a training exercise in episode 133, George Marshall.

Now operating at the temporary rank of lieutenant colonel, young George is hatching a plan to hit the protruding triangular Samia salient on both sides with 22 divisions, 16 American and six French. From there, they can drive eastward to take the fortified city of Metz.

Ah, Blackjack is nothing if not prepared for success. More to the point, to prove to everyone that the independent, not amalgamated forces of Uncle Sam are crucial to the eventual Allied victory to come. And given those goals, he does not appreciate Ferdinand Foch offering new ideas. It's Friday, August 30th, 1918.

We're roughly 20 miles southwest of Saint-Miel, where General Blackjack Pershing is working in his headquarters, currently the Château Aubertel in Ligny-en-Berrois, where Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Fauche, or Marshal Fauche as he's known since recently being honored with the distinction of being named Marshal of France, walks in with his Chief of Staff, Maxime Weygand.

Sitting down with Blackjack, the newly named Marshal cuts right to the chase. In order to better coordinate the Allied forces, he wants the Yankees to cut back drastically their attack on the Samir salient. Instead, he wants most of Blackjack's divisions to fall under French command and reinforce the French Second Army in two separate northwestern offenses up the Meuse River through the Argonne Forest and toward the crucial rail center of Mézières.

This path will set up the French and American forces to converge with the British. Blackjack doesn't say a word. And so, the mustachioed Frenchman tries to puncture the uncomfortable silence. I realize that I am presenting a number of new ideas and that you will probably need time to think them over. But I should like your first impressions. Blackjack seethes. A plan that rips away his barely forming American army's glory while once again ripping away most of his divisions as well?

Yeah, the American commander has some first impressions, all right, but he tries to maintain his composure in responding. "Well, Marshal, this is a very sudden change. I cannot understand why you want to make these changes.

Moreover, I think that to make an attack in the salient with limited objectives would cost little less than to carry out the original idea, which would put us in a much better position. That is true, but the fate of the 1918 campaign will be decided in the N region, and I wish to limit the attack so that the Americans can participate in the Meuse offensive, which will produce still greater results.

"But Marshal Foch, here, on the very day "that you turn over a sector to the American Army, "and almost on the eve of an offensive, "you ask me to reduce the operation "so that you can take away several of my divisions, "leaving me with little to do except hold "what will become a quiet sector after the Samiel Offensive. "This virtually destroys the American Army "that we have been trying so long to form." The discussion continues.

The Marshal says he's open to suggestions, but that feels hollow as he shoots down every one of Black Jack's ideas. Tempers flare as discussion gives way to argument. Do you wish to take part in the battle? Most assuredly, but as an American army and in no other way. There would not be time. If you will assign me a sector, I will take it at once. Where would it be? Wherever you say. Ferdinand scoffs.

The Americans lack artillery and auxiliary troops. Ah, but Blackjack reminds the Marshal of his insistence that the United States only send infantry and machine gun units, and his accompanying promise that, in return, France would cover the Yanks' shortcomings. Well, time to pay up. Ferdinand insists it's not that simple. It's a calendar issue. It is now August 30th, and the attack must begin on September 15th.

It is a question of time. Both men rise in anger. At this moment, Blackjack is genuinely considering punching the Frenchman. Time? Ha! No, screw that. This is a question of authority, of command, of sovereignty.

But resisting the urge to take a swing, Blackjack fires back. Marshal Foch, you have no authority as Allied Commander-in-Chief to call upon me to yield up my command of the American Army and have it scattered among the Allied forces where it will not be an American Army at all.

Foch is taken aback by the brash American. "I must insist upon the arrangement." "Marshal Foch, you may insist all you please, but I decline absolutely to agree to your plan. While our army will fight wherever you may decide, it will not fight except as an independent American army."

With that pronouncement, Blackjack shows Marshal Ferdinand Fauche his orders from President Woodrow Wilson that essentially reiterate this very position. Pale and exhausted, the Marshal gathers his papers and maps, pausing only at the door to hand Blackjack a copy of his proposal, sure that, in time, the stubborn American will come around. And with that, the Frenchman leaves. The next day, Blackjack writes Ferdinand Fauche a memorandum.

No, he hasn't come around, but he offers an important compromise, suggesting that the American army still conduct its well-planned full-scale attack on the Saint-Mier salient, but once finished, it will immediately pivot as the marshal requests. Blackjack also reaches out to France's commander-in-chief, his friend, the Lion of Verdun, General Philippe Etain, for support of his peace offering. Philippe gladly gives it.

With further discussion at a meeting of various commanders on September 2nd, Ferdinand manages to make peace with this compromise. But while this might look like a win for Blackjack, what he's promised of the Doughboys is nothing short of a miracle. They're supposed to take the Saint-Mierce salient and then, with no pause, rush 600,000 mostly rookie Doughboys and 2,700 guns some 60 miles traveling only at night to avoid detection. Wow. Good luck. But Blackjack has at least two things going for him.

First, Ferdinand Foch proves a man of his word. The French will provide supplies, including most of some 1,400 aircraft, plus some British night bombers, about 3,000 pieces of artillery, and 267 light tanks. Second, the American commander has a brilliant plan to keep this massive attack secret even as doughboys run their mouths and German aircraft conduct surveillance. It's time for a little head fake.

This is Operation Belfort Ruse. The plan starts with the unknowing assistance of a former commander of the 2nd Division, whom we met at Belleau Wood in episode 134, Major General Omar Bundy. Now commanding the 6th Corps, Omar's headquarters are situated to give the impression that the American 1st Army is going to attack at the Vosges Mountains, moving toward the Belfort Gap, south of Saint-Miel. In reality, this is a giant bluff to dupe the Germans, and to make sure it sells, poor Omar is an in on it.

But someone else is. Colonel Arthur Conger. We met this brilliant intelligence officer briefly in episode 134 as well. He's the one who so effectively collected intel on the town of Vaux that the 2nd Division took it in less than three hours. Putting his intelligence skills to work once again, Arthur checks into the Hôtel Tonneau d'Or in Belfort and purposely leaves false intel indicating an imminent attack on the Belfort Gap.

My favorite is a false report he writes to Blackjack about Belfort on carbon paper which he then sends while tossing the carbon copy in his trash. He then goes to the hotel bar for a drink, giving all available German spies ample time to rifle through his garbage. And sure enough, when he returns to his room, he finds the crumpled up carbon paper missing from the bin. Yeah, this guy is good.

Yet, even as the Yankee army moves at night, in the rain, and with the utmost secrecy, the Americans can't keep the secret of hundreds of thousands of troops forming lines around the Samia salient from the Germans indefinitely. Boldly, the Boche send a balloon message to their gathering foe, which reads, "To the 9th Infantry, we know you are here and we are ready for you."

But the American's confidence holds. If Lieutenant John Clark is any indicator, that is. He writes, "I really feel sorry for them, because if they are ready for the 9th or any others of our division, they must have made their wills and resigned themselves either to death or a prison camp." Such courage. And for their sake, let's hope it holds. Because now that the American forces have taken their places on both sides of the Samia salient, it's time to put that bravery to the test.

to charge out of their waterlogged trenches and go over the top into no man's land. This message is sponsored by Greenlight. I've been telling you about summer vacationing with my family and how we've been using Greenlight with the kids to establish their own spending money on these trips. But now, summer is winding down while the school year is quickly approaching. That means new school supplies and clothes. And once again, Greenlight provides another great opportunity for our kids to learn about managing their personal finances.

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The Yanks begin their attack on the Samoyed Salient at 1 a.m., September 12, 1918. It's a miserable moment for the average soldier. They stand in the deep, thick, rain-made mud of their trenches as a deafening artillery barrage blasts away. They can see nothing in the early morning's pitch black, until the occasional flash of lightning, that is, which only brings glimpses of a hellish, war-torn landscape filled with splintered trees and barbed wire.

The artillery carries on like this for four hours, and then the moment has arrived. Time to charge into no man's land. But before we do, let's zoom out and get the big picture. As mentioned earlier, the Saint-Mille salient has a triangular shape. Starting with the Moselle River straddling town of Pont-a-Mousson, the salient forms a southern face that cuts some 40 miles to the west.

It then takes a fairly sharp turn north at its namesake town of Saint-Miel to form a western face that runs through some wooded terrain known as the Heights of the Meuse before coming to a stop just shy of Verdun. The newly formed US First Army and supporting French forces have now taken positions along both of the salient's faces. On the southern face and to the right, we have the US First Corps. Notably, these forces include the 2nd Division and its now famous Bellowood-taking Marines.

To its left is the U.S. 4th Corps. It too contains divisions we know quite well from past episodes, the Big Red 1 and the 42nd Rainbow. As for the triangle's northern side approaching Verdun, we have the 5th Corps, which includes the 26th Yankee Division. The thinking is that the Americans will strike on both sides, and when they do, German defenses at the tip of the salient, at Saint-Miel itself, will crumble, allowing the French 2nd Colonial Corps the honor of liberating the four years occupied town.

As for the Germans, their defenses are, in a word, elaborate. The Samia salient has two lines. First is the Wilhelm line, which runs the perimeter of the triangular bulge. It's about five miles deep and protected by seven divisions, roughly 23,000 troops, as well as two divisions in reserve.

Second is the Michel line. This is the hypotenuse of the triangle, if you will. And taking note of the American forces gathering in early September, German General Erich Ludendorff actually has his first line forces falling back to this second Michel line. Huh, so much for that bold balloon trash talk. But let's not count the Bosch out just yet.

Given the compromise struck with Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Foch, Blackjack and his American First Army have but a few days to achieve victory here, then charge out to the Meuse-Argonne region to take part in that offensive. So, with that 30,000-foot view taken in, let's see if the Yankees and their French allies can chase the Germans from the salient within such tight time constraints.

At 5:00 AM, September 12th, 1918, the US First Army's opening artillery bombardment comes to an end. The whistles blow and the doughboys along the Saint-Mierce salient southern face charge over the top. At this very moment, General Black Jack Pershing and his staff officers are nearby at Old Fort Girondeville. Sitting on this commanding height overlooking the southern side's battlefield, it provides Black Jack an excellent view of the fight below.

He'll later describe what he's seeing at this moment in his memoir. Quote, "The sky over the battlefield, a flame with exploding shells, star signals, burning supply dumps and villages, presented a scene at once picturesque and terrible. The exaltation in our minds that here at last, after 17 months of effort, an American army was fighting under its own flag was tempered by the realization of the sacrifice of life on both sides." Close quote.

Yes, gratifying as it is to see an American army finally formed, the general makes a sobering, somber, and important point. Yet, the Americans are off to a strong start. Greeted by the pleasant surprise of the Germans already withdrawing from the salient, the doughboys advance rapidly. More than that, the Yanks find the barbed wire covering no man's land has been sitting out in this countryside for so long, it's largely rusted through.

The infantry meet their scheduled movement of 100 yards every four minutes with ease. Ah, if only Lieutenant Colonel George S. Patton's tanks could likewise progress so easily. That's right, George Patton. A former personal aide to Black Jack himself during their time in Mexico, we caught wind of George coming to France with the commander himself back in episode 133. But it was shortly after arriving that he found his true military love, the tank.

He directed the tank school at Bourg until recently, and now the 32-year-old West Point graduate and career officer commands the U.S. 1st Tank Brigade. He trusted that his French-made tanks could handle the loose soil and deep ditches around Saint-Miel as long as it didn't rain. So naturally, it's rained nonstop for the last several days. That hasn't shaken the lieutenant colonel's resolve, though.

Seeing Samiel as our big chance, to use his words, and holding a conviction that American tanks do not surrender. As long as one tank is able to move, it must go forward. George has committed his tanks to this battle. But as things turn dicey for them, the Lieutenant Colonel is struggling to be a good officer who watches the action from afar. Nor is he the only such officer. It's day one of the attack on Samiel, about 6:30 a.m., September 12th, 1918.

Consisting mostly of French Renault FT17s, the 327th Tank Battalion's armored vehicles are rolling forward, supporting the 42nd Rainbow Division's push into the salient toward the town of Sèche-Pré. Or they're trying to, at least, as the thick, heavy mud left from days of rain swallows segments of the tank's tread-covered wheels. Instructed to stay out of harm's way, Lieutenant Colonel George Patton watches this from a ridge above the battle. And he fumes.

It was bad enough when a whole company of tanks arrived late, showing up a mere three hours ago. But now his mighty tanks are being stopped by near mud. You'll later recall, "I could see them coming along and getting stuck in the trenches. It was a most irritating sight." And at this point, George just can't take it any longer.

With the pipe firmly clenched between his teeth, the irritated commander takes several staff members and heads into the thick of battle. Walking amid the advancing doughboys, George approaches an unnamed Major sitting on top of the tank. The Major explains that the machine is stuck in the pass, and with all this shell fire, there's nothing more they can do.

Recognizing this, George begins to walk off, but he's no more than 200 feet out when a six inch shell strikes the tank. Every single one of the 15 men that were on or around that armored vehicle have simply vanished, blown apart with the shredded metal of the former tank. George is a bit shaken. Despite nearly a year as an army officer, this is his first real taste of battle. But he's acclimatizing quickly and will later write,

I admit that I wanted to duck and probably did at first, but soon saw the futility of dodging fate. Continuing on, George passes a farmhouse and soon sees a familiar face on a small hill.

the commander of the Rainbow Division's 84th Infantry Brigade, Brigadier General Douglas MacArthur. The two 30-something-year-olds start chatting, and as they do, a German artillery barrage opens. Yet, neither man budges. They keep on chatting as bullets fly and shells creep their way. Lore will grow out of this battlefield chat between these two young, future World War II commanders.

But future claims of what was said, including Jack Pearl's secondhand assertion that Douglas MacArthur told a ducking George Patton, don't sweat over them, Colonel. If they're going to get you, they're going to get you, are dubious at best. All we know with any certainty is what George writes to his wife, which is that despite their posture, neither man was half as comfortable as they looked.

To quote him, "I think each one wanted to leave, but each hated to say so. So we let it come over us." But whatever the truth, we can't hang out all day with these two just cutting their teeth, gaining the experience that will help make them legends in the next world war. We'll let them continue their advance towards SE as we continue to survey more of the battlefield. German defenses on the salient southern face are crumbling quickly.

Adding to the legends of the AEF in the First World War, William J. Wild Bill Donovan and the Rainbow Division's 165th Infantry urges his heavily Irish New Yorkers on, yelling, Get forward there! What the hell do you think this is? Awake? And by God, do they listen. By 11 a.m., the 2nd Division has already achieved its first day's objective, reaching the town of Teokwu.

After four years of German occupation, the town's newly liberated citizens greet the doughboys with tears, hugs, and kisses. Sergeant Bernard J. McCrossin of the 28th Infantry and his fellow soldiers don't mind at all, noting a number of, and I quote, "...very pretty mademoiselles." Stories abound from this battle. Though fading from use in a war of machine guns and tanks, the U.S. Cavalry are here on their horses.

Terry de la Mesa Allen of the 90th Division gets shot in the mouth, yet despite missing teeth and blood running profusely down his face, he manages to help wipe out a machine gun nest before passing out from blood loss. He'll receive a Silver Star for that one. Sergeant Harry Adams chases a German who flees into a house then darts into a trap door in the wall. With only two bullets left in his pistol, the sergeant fires both and demands that the Bosch surrender.

Slowly, the German comes out, hands raised, and is then followed by a lieutenant colonel, then 18 staff officers, then 355 soldiers. The sergeant plays it cool, taking all 375 Germans prisoner at the end of his empty pistol. It's an amazing story, but it isn't so much that the Sarge is a superhuman, it's that the Germans are simply losing the will to fight.

Lieutenant Maury Maverick realizes this when he takes a group of Germans as prisoners. A brash Texan with the 28th Infantry, Maury is mounted and riding when 26 Germans suddenly appear in front of him. He nearly falls off his horse and assumes this is it. He's dead. Instead, the Germans drop their guns and thrust their arms into the air, crying out, Comrade! Comrade! Comrade!

In broken English, one steps forward, begging the Texan to please take them captive. "Let them live!" Two young Germans, clearly not warriors, likely terrified teenage boys, are sobbing, filled with brotherly love, as he'll later write. More he does as they ask. He leads them to a larger group of POWs, at which point the group's relieved officer gives the Texan a grateful salute.

But the ground isn't the only place where American military men are making names for themselves at Saint-Miel. After all, Black Jack Pershing has over 1,400 aircraft here. While those planes are mostly French, the number of American pilots in this war has been growing.

Now, the story of the Great War as American aviators, from their origins flying with the French as the legendary Lafayette Escadrille before the U.S. even entered the war, to their organization as the U.S. Signal Corps, and as of last May, as the U.S. Air Service, well, all of that is a story for another day. But suffice it to say that here at Saint-Miel, the Air Service's Colonel Billy Mitchell is as determined to prove his flyboys as Lieutenant Colonel George Patton is to prove his tanks.

Or General Black Jack Pershing is to prove the American First Army for that matter. Like George Patton though, the airborne colonel is running into issues, among which is the weather. Low clouds, high winds, and heavy rain aren't exactly friendly to the aircraft of the day, especially when so many pilots are still so inexperienced. That said, not all pilots are waiting for clear skies before entering the fray, and one of them has already achieved ace status.

the American race car driver turned pilot, Eddie Rickenbacker. It's day one of the attack on Saint-Miel, just after 12 noon, September 12th, 1918. The wind is whipping hard at a small aerodrome west of Saint-Miel, so hard that it's kept the pilots here grounded thus far. But one of them, Eddie Rickenbacker, is growing restless. The athletic-built, late 20-something pilot pulls his friend Reed Chambers aside and suggests that they take off.

They'll stay low, flying no more than 600 feet above the ground, just to do some reconnaissance. Reed agrees. They grab a two-seater plane and take off. Soaring over the city of Saint-Miel, the Meuse River, and then north toward Verdun, the two pilots see pillars of black smoke all over below. Haystacks, villages, ammunition dumps, all of these are burning as the battle rages below, sending pillars of black smoke into their skies.

They then head east toward Vigneul. This is where the American forces on either side of the salient plan to meet after their successful pincer move. Looking down, Eddie and Reed can see the American infantry, their countrymen, advancing. But an even better sight is the main highway outside the German-held town. Eddie will later describe it as being "black with hurrying men and vehicles." Hmm, the two pilots are intrigued.

They follow a road south into the heart of the salient and find more of the same, more Germans in retreat, or as Eddie puts it, "Germans in full cry to the rear." Then something really catches Eddie's eye, horse-drawn carts dragging a whole battery of three-inch guns. They cover a full half a mile stretch of the road. Eddie meant it when he said reconnaissance, but this is just too easy of a target to pass up.

Dipping down, Eddie lets loose with his mounted machine gun as he soars straight at the in-transport battery. Some horses fall dead, while one driver leaps from his seat only to run directly into the spray of Eddie's bullets. The German's arms fly in the air as he drops. Eddie and Reed make several passes, strafing the road and throwing the columns of the treating Germans into confusion. By Eddie's report, most of the drivers and gunners had taken to the trees before we reached them.

Our little visit must have cost them an hour's delay. Once back on the ground at the aerodrome, Eddie phones up General Headquarters and reports his observations. With news from the front only trickling in, this is the first they're hearing of much of the battle, and the response is ecstatic. American military leaders question the two pilots extensively. Only half a day in, and the Battle of Saint-Miel appears to be going the Americans' way. That said, Black Jack Pershing has a promise to keep.

He must win swiftly and get his army in place for the Meuse-Argonne offensive. That means the Yankees still have much to do here, and little time to do it. As the afternoon of September 12th, 1918 wears on, the Battle of Saint-Mille continues in full swing on the salient's two faces. It's going well for the Yanks, but not without its challenges. Here's where things now stand.

In the middle of the salient southern face, the U.S. 4th Corps' divisions, which, from left to right, consist of the Big Red 1, the 42nd Rainbow, and the 89th, are seeing great success. The Big Red 1 reaches the La Marche and Nansart lines in the early afternoon. That was supposed to be their objective for the entire day. In the Corps' center, the Rainbow Division is also moving forward.

Among these ranks, Wild Bill Donovan and his fightin' Irish of the 165th Regiment achieved their objective by 2:00 p.m. Brigadier General Douglas MacArthur's 84th Infantry Brigade is having a harder go of it as they face the German 10th Division's machine guns, short-range heavy mortars, and "minenwerfers," that is, mortars that launch mines. But by 4:30, they too accomplish the day's objectives.

Some of the 4th Corps' heaviest fighting though is still farther to the right with the 89th Division. Pushing toward the forest of Bois de Montmartre, they encounter concrete machine gun nests. As the 177th and 178th Infantry Brigades rush the Boche positions, an exploding shell shreds 2nd Lieutenant J. Hunter Wickersham's right arm. Yet, he refuses to stop, leading his men forward with his revolver in his left hand.

He advances and fires until he collapses, never to rise again. The lieutenant will receive a posthumous Medal of Honor for this action. As for the attack, the Yanks do indeed take the Montmartre woods. Yet, the biggest struggles are up north on the salient's western face with the V Corps' 26th Yankee Division.

These New Englanders are pushing through thick forests on the heights of the Meuse and although the Germans are still in retreat, the Bosch forces here must protect their supply corridor and are thus less giving than those down on the southern face. Only one Yankee division unit reaches its objective that afternoon as the rest of the 26th is still pressing on.

All in all, the 4th and 5th Corps are making solid, steady progress on their respective sides of the salient, but by the end of the day, General Black Jack Pershing is nonetheless worrying that they're moving too slow, that the Germans will have time to evacuate the town of Saint-Miel and slip out of the salient's tip before his pincer movement can close in and meet at Vignoles, thus trapping and capturing these Boche forces.

As such, Blackjack orders a night attack to ensure his doughboy's pincer movement closes in on time. When 5th Corps Commander General George Cameron receives this order, he's all about it. Leaning into the regular Army vs. National Guard rivalry, he goads his nearly 60-year-old commander of the 26th Yankee Division, General Clarence Edwards, by saying, This is your chance, old man. Go do it. Try to beat the 1st Division in the race and clean up.

The National Guardsmen of the 26th Yankee Division rise to the occasion. They arrive at Vignole around 2 a.m. When the doughboys of the Big Red One arrive a little before sunrise, they're shocked to find these New Englanders beat them to the punch. Well done, General Clarence Edwards. Not bad for an old man. Both in the air and on the ground, the fight continues to go the Americans' way on September 13th.

Pilots Eddie Rickenbacker and Reed Chambers swap bullets with a German machine gun firing from the ground and get the better of it. But they're heartbroken to learn that, just yesterday, David Putnam, the ace of aces as the 19-year-old pilot was known, met his end in a dogfight against eight Fockers. German ace Georg von Hantelmann got him. David's death is yet another reminder that, for all the glamour of being a pilot in this war, the skies are no safer than the ground.

But speaking of terra firma, the doughboys are mopping up the salient. Germans are surrendering to the Americans left and right, much like those yesterday, without putting up a fight. While local operations will continue until September 16th, the Battle of Saint-Miel is effectively over in just 36 hours. Sounds like Blackjack will get his victory and prove the worth of the newly organized American First Army. Not a bad birthday present for the 58-year-old commander.

It's the afternoon of September 13th, 1918. General Black Jack Pershing is at his Ligny-en-Barois headquarters when a French general comes to visit. No, not his frenemy, Marshal Ferdinand Fauche. This time, it's his favorite Frenchman. The commander of the French army, the Lion of Verdun, General Philippe Pétain.

We don't know whether the smiling, mustachioed Frenchman knows to wish Blackjack a happy 58th birthday or not. But after friendly greetings and congratulations, the duo decide to visit newly liberated Sam Yen. Despite the damage done to many of the city's stone buildings, the French and American commanders are greeted with ecstasy as they walk the streets of Sam Yen.

A military band plays the Marseillaise as townspeople gratefully wave French flags and throng both Blackjack and Philippe, thanking them for putting an end to four years of German occupation. Words fail to express their joy at once again being a part of the French Republic. Eventually, the crowd's cheers subside as all gather beneath the three-story, stone-built former town hall.

Black Jack and Philippe stand next to the assistant mayor of the town, who explains to the two generals the pained look on some of the women's faces and the absence of the town's young men. In retreating, the Germans took the town's military aged males. The Boche forces will soon find their civilian captives too slow to keep, and all the men will return tomorrow. But of course, no one here knows that yet.

General Philippe Etain then takes it upon himself to address the gathered women, children, and elderly men of Saint-Mihiel. He explains that while brave French forces from the colonial empire drove the Germans from their city, they did so while serving as a part of the American army and could only do so because of the Yankees' work and sacrifice in driving the Boche from the larger salient. The line of Verdun also promises aid to help rebuild their city and local government in the days to come.

What a day! After nearly a year and a half in France, General Black Jack Pershing not only got to celebrate his doughboys fighting under the stars and stripes, but they're achieving a resounding victory. One well appreciated by the French at that. His army has proven itself. Back at headquarters that night, Black Jack writes in his diary, this is my birthday and a very happy one. And so we come to the aftermath of the Battle of Saint-Miel.

It was a disaster for the Germans. The Second Reich not only lost the salient, but suffered over 20,000 casualties, which breaks down as approximately 5,000 dead and wounded and a staggering 16,000 taken as prisoners of war. Now, we know that many of those soldiers are relieved to be POWs, but that doesn't make captivity a pleasant experience. And the misery starts immediately.

As the German soldiers climb into boxcars to get shipped off, French women yell out, taunting them. Are you on your way to Paris? Oof, that's gotta hurt. Ça fait mal. Meanwhile, Blackjack reports the Americans suffered 7,000 casualties. That figure jumps to a little over 10,000, however, if we include the French fighting under U.S. command, as well as the smaller engagements in the days after September 13th.

The reactions on both sides are predictably different. German Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg has nothing but harsh words for the commander who lost the salient, General Max von Galowitz. On September 17th, the Field Marshal writes to him, complaining about his quote-unquote faulty leadership. General Erich Ludendorff piles on. Why did you allow two divisions to be beaten to pieces yesterday?

Rather harsh of Erich, considering that he's the one who ordered the retreat from the salient and further knows that, strategically, the salient wasn't that important. Still, there's frustration as it seems like the whole German army is crumbling. As Prince Max of Baden will later write, "...his attention in September could hardly be borne, when I woke every morning with the anxious question, what has happened?"

As for the Americans, General Blackjack Pershing has nothing but glowing praise for his troops. Not only was the great goal of creating a U.S. Army completed, but his doughboys showed its force. And so, the general boasts, quote, an American army was an accomplished fact and the enemy had felt its power, close quote. But beyond the military victory, another important piece of history has happened here.

American soldier Duncan Lee saves some German shepherd puppies from a destroyed dog kennel. Ultimately, he keeps two of the pups for himself and names them after a pair of dolls popular with French children, Nanette and Rin Tin Tin. When Duncan returns home to Southern California after the war, Rin Tin Tin will become a Hollywood star, stealing the show and many a movie from his human co-stars.

but keeping our eyes on the war at hand. For all his pride over his doughboy's performance, it isn't lost on Blackjack that the American First Army has its issues. As low as casualties were for this engagement, they were sizable for a fight against a retreating force. Back at First Army headquarters, leadership chalks this up to two things. One, terrible traffic congestion. And two, poor coordination between units.

Blackjack doesn't dismiss this analysis, but considers it a training issue, one that will disappear as the troops gain experience out here. But honestly, that's not his concern for the moment. Right now, the American commander has an impossible task to accomplish, moving his army 60 miles from Samuel to the newly designated American sector of the Western Front, the Meuse-Argonne region.

This means moving hundreds of thousands of men, 600,000 tons of supplies, 2,000 guns, and more than that, it will require doing so while crossing muddy roads, the Meuse River, and attempting to do this at night to keep the movement secret. And all in less than two weeks. Yikes. Thanks and praise fall to the big-eared and balding French chief of military automobile service, Major Joseph Dumoncq.

His sheer genius at moving trucks and men, combined with the genius of his American counterpart, that young officer, George Marshall, enabled both the American and French armies to travel the roads and reach their lines by September 24th. And that's when the Americans get their first good look of what they're up against. Colonel Hugh Drumm is crestfallen. He describes the Germans' position as, quote, the most ideal defensive terrain I have ever seen or read about, close quote.

Picture this with me. The Boche have the moat-like protection of the Meuse River, the observation and artillery positions of the high ground atop the heights of the Meuse, the natural barrier of the Argonne forest's dense trees, and among the rolling hills, the Boche have trenches, dugouts, barbed wire, and concrete bunkers all so long held and well defended that the Crown Prince of Bavaria once used these as his headquarters.

It's such an opulent quote unquote trench system, there's even a crystal chandelier here. In the center of all this is Mont Faucon, or Mount of the Falcon. This is a heavily fortified high ground between two equally defended ridges, which makes up the first line of defense for the Germans. Black Jack's friend, French commander Philippe Hittin, tells him that the Americans will be lucky to take Mont Faucon by Christmas.

Yeah, the Missourian, however, would rather keep the element of surprise than wait. And so he orders the Doughboys to move against Montfaucon immediately. It's late at night, September 25th, 1918.

Chester Baker, or Zeb, as this 25-year-old corporal of the U.S. 28th Division's 128th Infantry F Company is known. He's fast asleep, a short distance from the small village of Les Islettes, somewhere in the Argonne forest. It's much-needed shut-eye after days of hard travel and marching, but it doesn't last more than a few hours. Artillery not far from Zeb opens fire at 11 p.m.

It's so close and loud that even the hardened veterans startle from their slumber. Soon on their feet, Zeb and his fellow doughboys are once again on the move, trudging alongside wagons and trucks on overcrowded roads as they make their way to the front. Weary French infantrymen, those poilus, add to the path's congestion as they go the other way, grateful to be relieved. Pressing on, Zeb feels as though his ears will burst. They are right next to the artillery!

At one point, the men in his company even have to duck down and crawl underneath the long barrels of firing guns. It's absolutely deafening. The explosion and boom from each shell shooting off only feet away from them practically pushes the men into the ground below. Their very brains feel rattled. And for one new soldier, it's just too much. Letting loose a horrified scream, the young recruit throws his rifle to the ground and darts back toward the rear.

Seeing this, a sergeant bellows out, "Grab that yellow son of a bitch!" But the fleeing recruit is at a full-on sprint, and as he charges through the dark, a truck is coming up the road. The driver slams on the brakes, bringing this massive vehicle to a stop just in time. An officer jumps out of the truck's passenger side and grabs the dazed doughboy by the arms. He looks the youth over, and he knows that confused, dazed look.

It's shell shock, and God knows when or if this kid will function again. The officer hollers over the still-exploding shells. As you were, Sergeant, I'll see that he gets to a hospital. As the officer takes him away, Zeb has nothing but sympathy for everyone. Of the shell-shocked soldier, he'll later write that...

The kid was only giving way to the impulse we all shared. As for the sergeant, Zeb is sure the man denounced the boy's fear merely, and I quote, "to squelch his own fear down." Zeb's company reaches the front just after midnight. They watch as their artillery continues to fire at the German lines and cheer when those massive American guns strike a Bosch ammunition dump, exploding in a grand fashion that lights up the dark sky.

But then, as Zeb bites into a bit of French hardtack, the captain hollers out, "All right, let's go." With those words, Zeb grabs his rifle as he and the rest of F company squelch their own feared demon. The battle of the Meuse-Argonne has begun. But we aren't ready to follow the now proven American army into this massive battle that will rage until the war's end. Not just yet. We have a few other tales to tell first.

After all, we've yet to learn what's happening with the war's black American troops like the Harlem Hellfighters. We need to hear the full story of our American aces in the sky. And we've got to learn about America's enlisted women, be they nurses, office workers, or one of those famous bilingual telephone operating hello girls. We'll hear these stories and more in the episodes to come.