When Dorie Miller joined the Navy, there weren't many career fields open to Black sailors. There weren't many options open to Miller, the son of a Waco, Texas sharecropper, anywhere, really. The U.S. Navy would be his destiny, however, and Miller would leave his mark, not only on the Navy but on Black sailors and soldiers who were about to fight the biggest war America had ever seen.
Doris Miller was a hard worker. He grew up the third of four sons, working on the family farm, helping his mom cook meals, and even finding the time to play high school football. Eventually, he dropped out of school but made up for it by learning taxidermy and becoming a crack shot with a .22 rifle. At 6'3", he was an imposing figure, even as a young man. His stature would come to serve him well in the military.
He enlisted in the Navy in 1939 and became a mess attendant, one of the few jobs open to Black sailors at the time. He was briefly assigned to an ammunition ship, but his rating was needed elsewhere, specifically the battleship USS West Virginia. So he was transferred. Miller thrived in Navy life and was even able to send money back home.
Miller was quickly promoted aboard the battleship and soon took up boxing. He was so imposing and so skilled - not to mention rather large - he fought his way to becoming the ship's heavyweight champion. After a brief stint aboard the USS Nevada for gunnery school, he was sent back to the West Virginia. It was on this battleship, moored in Pearl Harbor that Miller's gunnery training paid off.
He was awake and already on duty when the a
larm for general quarters went off. He went to his battle station, an anti-aircraft gun situated amidship, but when he arrived, he found a torpedo had already taken it out. The ship would be hit a total of seven times. He began moving the wounded to safer places before he was assigned to help Capt. Mervyn Bennion, who was mortally wounded himself.
Captain Bennion, knowing his condition, refused to leave command and instead began giving orders from a slightly safer position behind the conning tower. One of his orders was to fight and defend the ship at all costs. He died shortly after. While on the conning tower, Miller was assigned by Lt. Claude Ricketts to help load ammo into one of the unmanned .50-caliber machine guns on the tower. After briefly showing Miller how the gun worked, Ricketts was briefly distracted.
When Ricketts went to man the gun himself, he found Miller already shooting at incoming Japanese fighters. Miller fired until the weapon ran out of ammunition but is credited with downing at least two enemy planes.
Miller then began helping move the wounded through the smoke, oil, and water to the quarterdeck, which saved the lives of many crewmembers when
the West Virginia sank into the shallow waters of the harbor. Surviving crew members abandoned ship as it sank, Miller included.
The West Virginia was ultimately raised to fight again, but Dorie Miller was transferred to the USS Indianapolis, a heavy cruiser bound for Pacific duty. One hundred thirty-two men died aboard the West Virginia during the attack on Pearl Harbor, but many others who might have died were saved by the actions of Doris "Dorie" Miller.
After the smoke had cleared, American newspapers and the NAACP pushed for Dorie Miller to be awarded the Medal of Honor or the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions at Pearl Harbor. President Franklin D. Roosevelt instead awarded him the Navy Cross, and Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox called him one of "the first heroes of World War II.
The medal was presented to him by Adm. Chester Nimitz, who said, "This marks the first time in this conflict that such high tribute has been made in the Pacific Fleet to a member of his race and I'm sure that the future will see others similarly honored for brave acts."
Miller would not survive the war, however. He eventually found himself on the escort carrier USS Liscome Bay. The Liscome Bay was torpedoed as it approached Makin Island in November 1943. The torpedo detonated the ship's own weapons and went to the bottom in just 23 minutes. Only 272 of 900 crewmen survived.
American involvement in Vietnam can stretch back as far as the end of World War II, depending on how you define "involvement," but one thing is for sure; when the U.S. committed its combat troops to defend South Vietnam, things got hot almost immediately.
The most stunning example of the ferocity of Vietnam battlegrounds is the 1965 Battle of Ia Drang, the first time the U.S. Army fought a major battle against the People's Army of Vietnam (PAVN), North Vietnam's regular forces.
There are actually several notable firsts that occurred in the Battle of Ia Drang. It was the first time the U.S. employed a large-scale helicopter air assault and the first time B-52 Stratofortress bombers were used as tactical support. Both of these historic firsts would have a huge effect on the battle.
PAVN and Viet Cong guerilla forces controlled much of the South Vietnamese countryside by the end of 1964. Their main military forces were based in the central highlands, mountainous, almost impassable jungle areas that made attacks from motorized vehicles ineffective. The U.S. decided to use the new tactic of air mobility assaults to hit the communists based there.
The plan was to helo in a battalion-sized force and use helicopters to resupply and extract them. Heavy weapon support would come in the form of artillery, rocket fire, and close-air support aircraft. Lt. Col. Hal Moore, the commander of the 1st Battalion, 7th Cavalry Regiment, was ordered to launch an airmobile assault on November 14 and then to conduct search and destroy operations the following day.
What American planners didn't know was that the area was flooded with PAVN forces who were planning an attack on the U.S. Special Forces and South Vietnamese (ARVN) base at Plei Me, some 45 kilometers away. They also had heavy weapons and anti-aircraft guns that U.S. leadership didn't think were present.
When the 1,000 Americans and 900 ARVN troops landed in the central highlands, there were 2,500 PAVN and Viet Cong troops waiting for them - they were already surrounded and outnumbered.
Fighting was centered on two helicopter landing zones. The first was Col. Moore's LZ X-Ray. LZ Albany was situated further north in the Ia Drang Valley. Before Moore's force landed, the area was bombarded with air strikes and rockets, which signaled the PAVN that something was amiss. They abandoned the attack on Plei Me and moved to LZ X-Ray.
The first lift of American troops landed just after 11:18 in the morning. By 12:15, the first shots of the battle were fired - they landed just 200 meters from a regiment of communist infantry. The Americans didn't retreat; they advanced. 2nd Platoon, under the command of Lt. Henry Herrick, moved so fast and far it was cut off from the rest of the 7th Cavalry, while the rest of 1/7 regrouped to form a defensive perimeter as the airlifts of men and supplies kept coming in.
The North Vietnamese were relentless in their attacks on the Americans, charging position after position, seemingly unconcerned with dying in their repeated assaults. The fire was so heavy the Americans were unable to dig foxholes, as rising up from the ground was suicide. Helicopters landed among that same intense, close-in enemy fire. Keeping close, it turned out, was an intentional tactic for the Vietnamese.
Regular PAVN and Viet Cong forces didn't enjoy the same kind of powerful close-air support the Americans did, and it was a huge problem in pitched battles. The PAVN learned early on that keeping the fighting close to American troops would negate the U.S. advantage in air strikes, artillery, and rockets.
Troops landing in the LZ took immediate, heavy fire and quickly became casualties. The soldiers began to call ineffective artillery fire around the LZ to prevent an all-out charging PAVN assault. By 1520, the Battalion had fully landed and created a 360-degree perimeter around the LZ. By the end of day one, the perimeter had been established, and the 2/7 cavalry reinforced the 1/7.
That didn't end the assaults. PAVN forces launched three major charges against the perimeter throughout the night but were beaten back with grenades, rifles, and the help of some accurate artillery support. In the morning, Moore ordered reconnaissance patrols in the pre-dawn hours, but the Americans didn't have to wait long. The PAVN then launched a two-pronged attack against the perimeter.
The Americans took heavier casualties than usual but held their ground. Then the communists launched another attack that led Col. Moore to report a "broken arrow" back to headquarters - he believed he was about to be overrun. It brought all available aircraft to the unit's defense. Moore's men marked the area with smoke for the aircraft and then called in dangerously close artillery support.
As the 2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry began to land at nearby LZ Victor and move toward Moore's beleaguered troops; a friendly fire napalm attack lit up the American and North Vietnamese. Fighting on the second day began before dawn, but after the intense morning fight, the PAVN began to withdraw by 1000.
Although still harassed by sporadic enemy fire and NVA snipers, the 1/7 Cavalry went and found Herrick's lost Platoon. Although Herrick was killed in the fighting and they had been cut off from the main force, the unit's own defensive perimeter held throughout the night. Moore's unit had been weakened but not destroyed, and he refused to relinquish command of his men to fresh incoming units.
Later in the afternoon of November 15, B-52 bombers began carpet bombing the withdrawing PAVN forces to the west of LZ X-Ray. Moore was again ordered to leave the battlefield, this time by the overall commander of American forces in Vietnam, Gen. William Westmoreland, to brief him on the battle. Again, Moore refused to leave his men. As night fell on the second day, the PAVN had regrouped and began to probe the American lines.
Four early morning attacks by hundreds of communist troops erupted across the American line. Before the sun came up, artillery observers, machine gunners, and riflemen repelled vicious assaults from the PAVN forces with few casualties. The tide had finally begun to turn. By the time the sun came up, the North Vietnamese no longer had the manpower to keep fighting at X-Ray.
Both sides claimed victory at LZ X-Ray. The Americans lost a total of 79 killed and 121 wounded, while the communists lost an estimated 1,215. U.S. leaders believed they could win the war by high body counts and estimated they had a 10 to 1 kill ratio at Ia Drang. The North Vietnamese learned they could get in close to the enemy to negate the advantage of American firepower. Even Col. Moore would later say that fighting the Americans to a draw was a victory for the North Vietnamese.
Somewhere along the way, film and television got it into their heads that the medieval armor knights wore was so heavy that it restricted their movement. One common belief is that the armor was so heavy that knights going into battle had to be hoisted onto their horses with the help of a crane.
While going into battle fully protected by armor would be important to a soldier of any era, those of us who have worn body armor in combat will tell you the body armor also has to be functional. After all, if you're wearing armor, but you can't kill the enemy or adequately defend yourself, all you've done is make yourself a target.
Eventually, the enemy will figure out how to penetrate that armor. Since you can't get away due to the bulky armor and you can't take any of it with you, why even go into battle in the first place?
The armor most of us think of at the mention of the medieval knight is called full plate armor, which became popular around the high middle ages, around the years 1000 to 1300 AD, reaching its peak in the 1500s. Its decline for use in battle coincided with the rise of the flintlock musket for obvious reasons.
The plates were made of bronze, iron, or steel, and a full suit of armor could weigh between 30 and 60 pounds. While this sounds like a lot of weight, a well-made suit of armor spreads the weight across the entire body, allowing the wearer to run, jump and even swim while wearing it - although the swimmer would have to seriously consider his endurance and abilities.
To put it into perspective, an average American firefighter carries 35-40 pounds of equipment into a burning building. Would they brave that kind of situation in protective gear that restricted their movement? Absolutely not (we hope).
Plate armor protected the wearer from sword slashes, spears, pikes, and blunt objects while giving them the ability to return the same kind of sword slashes and pike thrusts. Knights needed to be in top physical condition to prepare for that kind of combat in full armor. Battles could last for hours or days, and carrying that extra weight could still wear on them after a while.
Knights had complete weight training regimens on top of their combat training, with many wearing the full suit of armor as they trained. The axiom of "train like you fight" has always been an important part of military training, and knights needed it more than anyone. Some even used extra-heavy versions of their weapons and armor in training so they could move and kill more effectively on the battlefield.
The French knight Jean II Le Maingre developed a special training technique that not only allowed him to endure hours of riding in full armor, fighting battles, and then riding home but also allowed him to mount his horse without his squire's assistance, climb walls, perform somersaults and even run miles, all while wearing his armor. If you consider that it was his only job and the training would keep him "battlefield ready" - and thus, alive at the end of the battle - then it's easy to see why knights would put themselves through that kind of training.
We all know the people of the Middle Ages weren't as intelligent or educated as we are today, but soldiers aren't stupid. Career soldiers who make it to old age have figured out what it takes to survive combat, and being a slow-moving target on the battlefield isn't the way to make it to retirement.
With America thrust into World War II, President Franklin D. Roosevelt became interested in creating an American equivalent to the British Commandos; elite, highly mobile, hard-hitting forces, and the Marine Corps was the natural place for this organization. The debate over the creation of these elite units came to a climax when the new commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Chester Nimitz, requested a "commando unit" for raids against lightly defended Japanese-held islands. Created by an order from President Roosevelt, the Marine Commandant, Major General Thomas Holcomb, selected the term "Raider" and created two battalions. The 1st Raider Battalion was activated on February 16, 1942, under the command of Lt. Col. Merritt Edson, followed immediately by the 2nd Raider Battalion on February 19, under the command of 
Lt. Col. Evans F. Carlson. However, much of the Marine establishment was unaccepting of the change and, in combination with very different training and deployment methods, made the 2nd Raider Battalion one of the most controversial units of World War II.
Like other elite military units, the Raiders were handpicked from available volunteers and given the best Marines' equipment. With a free hand in leading the Battalion, Carlson trained using new and controversial concepts he pioneered using leadership and teamwork principles he witnessed in China during the 1930s; democratic and team-building methods, officers and enlisted men treated with minimum regard to rank. Those chosen to join the Raiders were given an "ethical indoctrination," describing for each man what he was fighting for and why. Carlson also adopted the phrase "Gun-ho" as a motivational slogan which he learned from the Communist forces in China. Still, further, Carlson turned his back on the standard Marine Corps organization, forming six rifle companies of two platoons each and innovating 3-man "fire teams" as its basic unit (one man with an M1 rifle, one with a Thompson submachine gun, and the third a Browning Automatic Rifle). However, the more significant the departure from longstanding practice, the more critics Carlson created. The 2nd Raider Battalion trained at Jacques Farm south of Camp Elliott, California, part of what is now Marine Corps Air Station Miramar. But there were no facilities at Jacques Farm, and the men built the camp themselves. For six weeks, they undertook extreme physical training, guerilla tactics, weapons, and explosives use. Before it was over, the Raiders could move seven miles an hour in full equipment, executing weekly 70-mile hikes.
The first operation for the 2nd Raiders came in August 1942, on Butaritari Atoll (then called Makin Island by the US military), nearly 2,500 miles southwest of Hawaii. A small Japanese garrison had occupied the island with plans to construct a seaplane base, and a decision was made to raid the island while it was a small, non-vital outpost, ideally boosting uncertain morale at home despite the victory at Midway two months earlier Carlson'son's 2nd Raider Battalion boarded the submarines Nautilus (SS-168) and Argonaut (APS-1), heading for Makin Island with the raid scheduled to commence August 17. Delivered in rubber boats, once ashore, the force of 211 was supposed to kill or capture the garrison and destroy anything of military value. Just after dawn first contact was made.
The Raiders pushed to the northern shore, then attack
ed the southeast. Strong enemy opposition stalled the advance as the Raiders suffered casualties facing down two Banzai charges before moving out. In reality, without realizing it, they had killed most of the garrison. Carlson and a handful of his men stayed behind to blow up a fuel dump and gather intelligence. The men fought valiantly and suffered only 19 killed-in-action (7 of whom drowned), 17 wounded, and 11 missing-in-action, 9 of whom were captured when the Raiders returned to the submarines and were later beheaded at Kwajalein.
The action on Butaritari Island was responsible for 160 enemy dead, two planes shot down, and a posthumous award of the Medal of Honor to Sergeant Clyde A. Thomason, the first Marine recipient of this honor during World War II. For his leadership, during this engagement, Carlson was awarded a second Navy Cross. For the American public, Makin Island was a decisive victory, and the Raiders were heroes, including a battle song created by the media for the 2nd Marine Raider Battalion.
They were gathered from near and were gathered from far,
They were picked from the best in the land,
A hell-raising crew that sailed the blue,
Carlson's raider band.
However, the Pacific Island-hopping campaign was in its infancy, and the Raiders had no idea what lay ahead.
Following the raid on Butaritari, Carlson's men were set ashore on Guadalcanal, joining the 1st Marine Raider Battalion as the fighting moved inland. On the morning of November 6, 1942, a force of 267 marines from lead companies of the 2nd Battalion took its first steps into the jungle from a landing point at Aola Bay, roughly 30 miles east of the American perimeter on Guadalcanal. Marine forces had suffered long and hard to establish that perimeter around Henderson Field, the airstrip used to launch attacks against Japanese forces in the area and defend the Marine position. Still, outside the secure area, Japanese troops moved at will. The Raiders landing at Aola Bay were to conduct reconnaissance t
o determine what Japanese forces existed east of Henderson Field. Further, they were to engage any Japanese troops fleeing southward into the jungle from Koli Point, where substantial enemy forces had been pinned down by American action. The mission would turn into an epic month-long fight, drawing on all the Raiders' combat and survival skills, elevating the reputation of the controversial Raiders to near-legendary status.
On the morning of the 6th, the Raiders walked into the jungle, native scouts at the lead. Operating exclusively behind enemy lines, the companies of the 2nd Raider Battalion would move gradually west toward Henderson Field and scout through areas of reported Japanese presence, stopping at villages along the way. Wherever possible, they would harass and hurt the enemy to ease the strain on the Marines at Henderson. Speed and mobility would be necessary, accomplished partly by conveying scant provisions while foraging and relying on an uncertain resupply strategy. The Raiders' worst enemy that first day was the jungle itself; they made only five miles. During their time on Guadalcanal, the Raiders found the disease to be a much more formidable foe than the Japanese, with over six times as many Marines evacuated due to disease and illness than were killed or wounded in action. Ultimately, the engagement is known as "The Long Patrol," a 29-day mission that saw 700 Raiders conduct hit-and-run raids against a much larger Japanese force of 2:500, killing 488 while reportedly losing 16 of their own. When the Raiders finally emerged from the jungle, they were shadows of their former selves- unshaven, emaciated, covered with sores, and unable to eat solid food. Nonetheless, Carlson had achieved all his objectives for the long patrol and done significant damage to the Japanese on Guadalcanal, the Battalion earning a unit citation from General Vandegrift and a third Navy Cross for Carlson.
In the Fall of 1942, two additional Raider battalions were created, mainly on the heels of success demonstrated by the 1st and 2nd Raiders. However, early in 1943, changes in Marine command personnel allowed critics of the Raiders to begin a return to more traditional methods. On March 15, 1943, the four battalions were reorganized as the 1st Marine Raider Regiment, imposing a common organization among the battalions; one weapons company and four rifle companies composed of three rifle platoons and a weapons platoon. Perhaps surprising Carlson's 3-man fire team and 10-man squad organizations were adopted, first by the Raiders and eventually by the entire
Marine Corps. A further change adopted across the Regiment was the practice of discussion and critique conducted by Carlson with his Raiders after a mission or training event. In fact, this exercise still survives today as the AAR (After Action Review), used by military units to determine what went right or wrong and to suggest improvements. As for Carlson, one week later, he was relieved as commander of the 2nd Raider Battalion. For the duration of combat operations, the battalions would be transferred and reconfigured to form provisional regiments, adapting to prevailing manpower requirements.
The Raider battalions repeatedly distinguished themselves in heavy combat during the 1943 Solomons Campaign. The principle in those engagements was the invasion of Bougainville, a substantial Japanese base and the largest island in the Solomons chain. On November 1, 1943, the 2nd Raider Battalion, under the command of Lt. Col. Joseph McCaffery, landed on Bougainville in Empress Augusta Bay. The Raiders immediately faced overwhelming gun, mortar, and machine gun crossfire raking the beach from a hidden bunker and enemy emplacements. But, without hesitation, McCaffery led an attack that overcame enemy defenses, sacrificing his own life and earning the Navy Cross "or "extraordinary heroism while in command of the 2nd Marine Raider Battalion in action against enemy Japanese forces". This attack permitted Company M of the 3rd Marine Raiders, temporarily attached to the 2nd Raider Battalion, to occupy a blocking position against the main avenue of approach to the beachhead. On November 4, the 2nd Raider Battalion was relieved from the front line, but two days later, the unit participated in an attack extending the perimeter several hundred yards to the east. Otherwise, for much of the month, the 2nd Raiders served as corps reserve due to their depleted condition and unaware this would be their final combat action.
The changing nature of the war in the Pacific, with many large-scale amphibious assaults against well-defended islands, negated the requirements for small light units that could strike deep into enemy territory. All four Raider Battalions were disbanded on January 8, 1944, when the Marine Corps made the decision that the Raiders had outlived their original mission. The 2nd Raider Battalion was repurposed as a regimental weapons company, lacking the manpower to form an entire Battalion after the costly fighting in the Solomons.
The few thousand men of the elite Marine Raider units have left behind a legacy of innovation, courage, and competence not surpassed by any other Marine battalion. The vision and spirit of the raiders live on today in the MarCorps'rps' Special Operations Capable battalions. These infantry units trained explicitly for many of the same missions as the original raiders, routinely deploy with amphibious-ready groups around the globe.
When "Thank you for your service" usually comes from a well-meaning civilian, veterans often fumble for an appropriate and respectful response. Saying "thank you" to a "thank you" seems awkward, and saying "you're welcome" feels a little pompous.
So imagine having to reply when someone says, "thank you for our freedom," as if you're Captain America, personally dealing death to terrorists and various supervillains.
No matter how awkward that might feel for veterans, two members of Congress seem to think that the highfalutin phrase should be the official way to thank vets and want to make it official.
Reps. Jack Bergman (R-Mich.) and J. Luis Correa (D-Calif.) introduced a resolution in the House of Representatives on Sept. 29 to replace "thank you for your service" with "thank you for our freedom," despite neither phrase having an official status of any kind in U.S. law or policy.
"As a Nation, we have an obligation to support the brave men and women of our Armed Forces who risk their lives to protect the freedom of the American people and our allies," Bergman said in a press release that related a 70-year-old story that inspired him to actually introduce the idea when we all have better things we could be doing.
The U.S. military faces a number of high-profile problems. All branches are struggling to meet manning requirements, the U.S. Army is recommending food stamps to military families, and Fort Hood is still an evolving tragedy - just to name a few of the real issues Congress could be fixing.
Although likely unintentional, the language of the resolution is surprisingly self-aware, acknowledging congressional shortcomings in dealing with the actual problems faced by troops, veterans, and their families, stating, "for far too long, our Nation has fallen short in our obligation to our military."
Thanking the troops who are putting up with moldy barracks and jet fuel-flavored water while Russian President Vladimir Putin threatens them with nuclear weapons is where Congress decided to begin addressing its obligation. It is literally the least they could do.
"All gave some, and many made the ultimate sacrifice," Correa said, paraphrasing legendary American Billy Ray Cyrus in Bergman's press release about the resolution.
The non-binding resolution was referred to the House Armed Services Committee the same day it was introduced. There, it will likely die a death as meaningless as its existence. Even if it were ever to pass, it would be a purely symbolic gesture. As a non-binding resolution, it can't be enforced.
CDR Paul X. Rinn was in command of the guided missile frigate USS Samuel B. Roberts as it sailed into the Persian Gulf in 1988. His vessel's mission was to join Operation Earnest Will, the largest naval convoy since World War II, escorting Kuwaiti oil tankers and protecting them from Iranian attacks.
As the Roberts moved to resupply on April 14 of that year, it struck a mine that blew a 20-foot hole in its hull and started a massive fire aboard the ship. Rinn's frigate was suddenly faced with two problems, each equally fatal to the vessel and the more than 200 sailors and aviators aboard.
Operation Earnest Will was the U.S. Navy's response to the "tanker war" phase of the Iran-Iraq War. When Iran captured Iraq's al-Faw Peninsula in 1986, it left the country landlocked, and Iraq was forced to use Kuwaiti oil tankers and facilities to export its oil. Iran began attacking these vessels, then any tanker in the region.
Soon, both sides were attacking all merchant ships to cut off the other side's trade. The U.S. had discovered Iran's use of naval mines in 1987 when a Kuwaiti oil tanker flying the American flag hit a mine 20 miles off the coast of a small Iranian island. The U.S. deployed a large minesweeping force to the region but finding all the mines proved difficult.
The Roberts was one of around 30 American warships deployed to protect shipping in the Persian Gulf during the operation. When it first arrived in the area, 67% of its crew had never been to sea, while another 20% had deployed on only one previous tour.
On April 14, 1988, Rinn and his ship were on their 14th convoy, escorting minesweepers out of Kuwait. While headed for a resupply with the USNS San Jose, Rinn received reports of naval mines just 350 yards away from the Roberts. He called the crew to general quarters but ordered them to stay on the upper decks as a precaution. Then, he began to reverse the ship.
About 25 minutes into their attempt to escape from the minefield, one of the mines struck the ship. Rinn was standing 140 feet from the explosion, which he called "the loudest of my naval career."
The blast lifted the ship into the air and brought it splashing back down in a 100-foot fireball. Rinn's foot was broken, while seven sailors suffered burns, and 57 more were injured.
As for the ship, its keel was shattered, and its engine room was destroyed. The entire vessel lost power, and its firemain (which pumps seawater into its firefighting systems) and diesel engines were damaged. A massive fire engulfed the ship while water poured into the hole in the hull. In just 90 seconds, the Roberts had taken on nearly half its total displacement in water and was held together only by the main deck.
With both the fire and the
Incoming water posing potentially fatal threats to the ship, Rinn was forced to make a tough call: which to deal with first.
After determining how much water the ship could take on and still stay afloat, he realized the ship would sink before his crew could put out the fire. To make matters worse, the water from the fire hoses was adding to the problem. They were helping to sink themselves.
He ordered the crew to stop fighting the fire and focus on the flooding. He knew they had to stay afloat, or fighting the fire would be pointless.
While en route to the gulf and during the 13 escort missions it conducted before hitting the mine, Rinn had implemented a rigorous training and cross-training regimen for his crew. They were drilled for any situation, and everyone from Cooks to Radiomen learned to deal with any ship's two worst enemies: fire and flooding.
"Those are the guys that saved the ship," Rinn would later say during his post-retirement speaking tours.
He told his crew that if they didn't save one of the generators in the auxiliary machinery rooms, they would lose the ship. The Roberts had four electrical generators, three of which were flooded or in danger of being shut down. The last one, in auxiliary machinery room one, had been shut down for repairs before the incident.
Then, the lights started to flicker as the last operating diesel engine began to shut down. "If those lights go out, game over," Rinn thought to himself as he watched them flicker. He didn't have to worry for very long. Soon, the lights on the ship began to beam.
Engineman Fireman Mike Tilley and some of his shipmates had decided to stay below, close to one of the diesel generators when the order to stay above decks was given. He was in auxiliary machinery room one when the mine exploded. When the lights went out, he and his fellow Firemen decided to "suicide start" the generator, using high-pressure air to start a fan motor, which would start the main generator. There was just one flask of air left, so he had only one shot at it. After some initial issues, the generator came to life, saving the Samuel B. Roberts.
The ship was still sinking and burning in a minefield, but the working generator brought the firemain and dewatering systems back online. After restoring power, it wasn't long before the fire and flooding could be contained.
For four hours, the Roberts' crew fought for survival but won. They would eventually be towed back to port for repairs, and the ship would serve in the Navy for another 27 years.
The United States' involvement in South Vietnam lasted roughly 20 years. For much of that time, American forces were actively engaged against the North Vietnamese. As the war lingered on and public sentiment turned against the war, the U.S. eventually withdrew in 1973. Within two years, the South Vietnamese government would fall and Vietnam was unified under the Communist regime.
That is a very simplistic description of 20 years of conflict. The men and women who served in Vietnam each have a unique perspective on their time there, and many of them have written about it, immortalizing their experiences as part of the U.S. military story forever.
Those who served in the post-Vietnam era were still very much at war, Cold Warriors who maintained readiness, waiting for World War III with the Soviet Union around the world. Yet, their stories are few and far between. What life was like for the GI in a post-Vietnam world is largely undocumented.
Rick Bogdan joined the Army as a Private during this period. His book "Grunts, Gramps & Tanks: A Soldier's Tales" details just that: what serving in the Army was like at a time when war was no longer hot and the world's attention was no longer focused on the Army. He left his life as a junior corporate executive for the life of an infantry private. He would serve on active duty for 17 years, become an officer, and join the Army Reserve for another 13 years.
"It's quite apparent that those of us who served during the U.S. Army's incredible post-Vietnam transformation took part in a unique era," Bogdan notes in his biography. "Very little literature exists except official historical documents. So I decided a novel that captured the essence of that turbulent time, down to GI level, could fill a void while providing some needed insight."
"Grunts, Gramps & Tanks: A Soldier's Tales" consists of 19 stories from his time serving, from July 1975 to June 1984, through the eyes of characters Tyler Willett, his wife Nancy, and their son Sean. They echo his own rise to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel while offering insights into the lives of military families from the time, recounting the trials and tribulations unique to those families.
"I was fortunate t
o also serve as a Department of the Army civilian, working as a military analyst, then an editor, and finally a managing editor for two agencies," Bogdan says. "In these capacities, I did a great deal of professional writing, re-writing, and editing but had no time for creative writing."
The Vietnam War cast a long shadow over U.S. military history, and despite the victories in Grenada and Panama, many analysts believe the specter of the war was looming over the United States military until the Gulf War of 1991.
As a result, the post-Vietnam era is a largely under-addressed one, despite the efforts of hundreds of thousands of service members who joined a fighting force so formidable it helped bring down the "Evil Empire" of the Soviet Union without firing a shot. Standing behind them were even larger numbers of military dependents as they trained for a war that would never come - but the troops didn't know that at the time.
A generation of veterans lived and worked under the threat of all-out war that would likely mean the death of them all. Bogdan's book, through the prism of his own experiences, shows what life was like for troops at all levels, as Bogdan's rise through the ranks gives him unique insight into each level.
"As the years pass, I realize the incredible impact Army service had and continues to have on my life, and that impact is the direct result of the people and events during those formative years that shaped me personally and professionally."
Readers and veterans from all eras will enjoy the universal nature of Willett's experiences and will recognize their own experiences through his. Veterans in particular, will enjoy the snapshot of what serving was like during this oft-forgotten era.
"Grunts, Gramps & Tanks: A Soldier's Tales" is on sale now via e-book for around $3.00, paperback for around $18, and audiobook for S11. Catch it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or wherever books are sold.
As a retired U.S. Army Officer, I have been deliberate in what I do in this phase of my life. Following retirement, I found employment with a major tax preparation service, and that was satisfying in many ways. Since my military retirement, I decided to find an answer to the question, "what do I do now?" Too many times while I was still in uniform, I would learn about a retiree whose last unit was my unit, but the answer to "how is he doing?" would be, "oh, he passed away." It was apparent that the guy had no plan. One day he worked full tilt; the next day, he had nothing to do except stumble through the shower, have a bowl of Wheaties, fall into an over-stuffed chair, and watch TV. There was no plan. The mind/body connection was broken. Purpose was lost. Lethargy set in. I decided to try my best to avoid that quagmire.
There happened to be volunteer fairs being run by the community college nearby. I attended a couple of seminars and poured over a collection of leaflets encouraging volunteers to make a difference with them. The seminars consistently said two things: volunteer and travel. I decided that, while I love to travel, I wasn't able to travel incident to military orders any longer. So, I evaluated a host of volunteer organizations in West Michigan. I selected two: the Buddy 2 Buddy program started a few years earlier under a program developed by the University of Michigan and Hospice of Holland (a non-profit located in Holland, Michigan). Unfortunately, the Buddy 2 Buddy program lost funding, and after a few years, the good work done in support of veterans was closed.
The Hospice of Holland has been operational for many years. One of the things I have done is to help write the Life Review of seniors in the hospice program. At this point, I have helped about 12 seniors record the highlights of their lives. One veteran was a World War II fighter pilot. He still had his leather flight jacket with a silk liner, where a request was written in several languages. The idea was that if the pilot was shot down in enemy territory, the message said, "I am an American serviceman. Please help me rejoin American forces," could be shown to the locals to gain their help. This veteran had recorded his military story from WWII as part of the Kalamazoo Air Museum program. I was privileged to hear his recorded story. The Museum still has his recollections in its archives.
What this fighter pilot wanted now that he was a patient in Hospice of Holland was to record the rest of his story for his family. He had things to say to his children and his grandchildren. It was an honor for me to interview him and publish his Life Review, which included some pictures of him, his wife, his parents, and his family. The family members each received a copy of what had been on his mind and was now on paper. I am sure the family treasures that as much as the recording of his military exploits while in the Army Air Corps.
Another World War II veteran, a U. S. Navy sailor, allowed me the opportunity to write his story. He was very reluctant to share his story. It took a period of time to overcome his reluctance. It turned out that he said he had been drafted near the end of the war and was not in combat. He had served for something like two years and was in logistics support of the installation where he was assigned. His second reason for being reluctant was that one of his sons was a Vice President of a major bank, and he was adamant about bringing any form of discredit to his son, as he had a very prominent position in many communities. The opportunity to meet his two sons in person was the catalyst to getting their support to allow me to help him get his story posted on TWS (Navy). It was a wonderful experience to interview him and to let him know that his service at a difficult time for our nation was appreciated and mattered.
I fondly recall both of these World War II veterans and am so grateful to both of them for their contributions to our democracy.
Now I am Adjutant for a large Post of The American Legion here in West Michigan. The position puts me in touch with each of our members (about 350) at least once a year. My goal is to help where I can, overcome reluctance by affirming the veteran and his/her honorable service and help them record the experience of serving in uniform. I hope that my encouragement and patience will somehow allow veterans to more willingly embrace the idea. For some veterans, I am sure there will be some emotional healing occur as they recall, to the degree that they are able and willing to share their story. I am resigned to the reality that all I can do is try.
When Dorie Miller joined the Navy, there weren't many career fields open to Black sailors. There weren't many options open to Miller, the son of a Waco, Texas sharecropper, anywhere, really. The U.S. Navy would be his destiny, however, and Miller would leave his mark, not only on the Navy but on Black sailors and soldiers who were about to fight the biggest war America had ever seen. 
larm for general quarters went off. He went to his battle station, an anti-aircraft gun situated amidship, but when he arrived, he found a torpedo had already taken it out. The ship would be hit a total of seven times. He began moving the wounded to safer places before he was assigned to help Capt. Mervyn Bennion, who was mortally wounded himself. 
the West Virginia sank into the shallow waters of the harbor. Surviving crew members abandoned ship as it sank, Miller included. 
The most stunning example of the ferocity of Vietnam battlegrounds is the 1965 Battle of Ia Drang, the first time the U.S. Army fought a major battle against the People's Army of Vietnam (PAVN), North Vietnam's regular forces. 
When the 1,000 Americans and 900 ARVN troops landed in the central highlands, there were 2,500 PAVN and Viet Cong troops waiting for them - they were already surrounded and outnumbered.
Troops landing in the LZ took immediate, heavy fire and quickly became casualties. The soldiers began to call ineffective artillery fire around the LZ to prevent an all-out charging PAVN assault. By 1520, the Battalion had fully landed and created a 360-degree perimeter around the LZ. By the end of day one, the perimeter had been established, and the 2/7 cavalry reinforced the 1/7. 
As the 2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry began to land at nearby LZ Victor and move toward Moore's beleaguered troops; a friendly fire napalm attack lit up the American and North Vietnamese. Fighting on the second day began before dawn, but after the intense morning fight, the PAVN began to withdraw by 1000. 
Four early morning attacks by hundreds of communist troops erupted across the American line. Before the sun came up, artillery observers, machine gunners, and riflemen repelled vicious assaults from the PAVN forces with few casualties. The tide had finally begun to turn. By the time the sun came up, the North Vietnamese no longer had the manpower to keep fighting at X-Ray. 
While going into battle fully protected by armor would be important to a soldier of any era, those of us who have worn body armor in combat will tell you the body armor also has to be functional. After all, if you're wearing armor, but you can't kill the enemy or adequately defend yourself, all you've done is make yourself a target.
Knights had complete weight training regimens on top of their combat training, with many wearing the full suit of armor as they trained. The axiom of "train like you fight" has always been an important part of military training, and knights needed it more than anyone. Some even used extra-heavy versions of their weapons and armor in training so they could move and kill more effectively on the battlefield. 
Lt. Col. Evans F. Carlson. However, much of the Marine establishment was unaccepting of the change and, in combination with very different training and deployment methods, made the 2nd Raider Battalion one of the most controversial units of World War II.
ed the southeast. Strong enemy opposition stalled the advance as the Raiders suffered casualties facing down two Banzai charges before moving out. In reality, without realizing it, they had killed most of the garrison. Carlson and a handful of his men stayed behind to blow up a fuel dump and gather intelligence. The men fought valiantly and suffered only 19 killed-in-action (7 of whom drowned), 17 wounded, and 11 missing-in-action, 9 of whom were captured when the Raiders returned to the submarines and were later beheaded at Kwajalein.
o determine what Japanese forces existed east of Henderson Field. Further, they were to engage any Japanese troops fleeing southward into the jungle from Koli Point, where substantial enemy forces had been pinned down by American action. The mission would turn into an epic month-long fight, drawing on all the Raiders' combat and survival skills, elevating the reputation of the controversial Raiders to near-legendary status.
Marine Corps. A further change adopted across the Regiment was the practice of discussion and critique conducted by Carlson with his Raiders after a mission or training event. In fact, this exercise still survives today as the AAR (After Action Review), used by military units to determine what went right or wrong and to suggest improvements. As for Carlson, one week later, he was relieved as commander of the 2nd Raider Battalion. For the duration of combat operations, the battalions would be transferred and reconfigured to form provisional regiments, adapting to prevailing manpower requirements.
The changing nature of the war in the Pacific, with many large-scale amphibious assaults against well-defended islands, negated the requirements for small light units that could strike deep into enemy territory. All four Raider Battalions were disbanded on January 8, 1944, when the Marine Corps made the decision that the Raiders had outlived their original mission. The 2nd Raider Battalion was repurposed as a regimental weapons company, lacking the manpower to form an entire Battalion after the costly fighting in the Solomons.
As the Roberts moved to resupply on April 14 of that year, it struck a mine that blew a 20-foot hole in its hull and started a massive fire aboard the ship. Rinn's frigate was suddenly faced with two problems, each equally fatal to the vessel and the more than 200 sailors and aviators aboard. 
Incoming water posing potentially fatal threats to the ship, Rinn was forced to make a tough call: which to deal with first.
Then, the lights started to flicker as the last operating diesel engine began to shut down. "If those lights go out, game over," Rinn thought to himself as he watched them flicker. He didn't have to worry for very long. Soon, the lights on the ship began to beam. 
o also serve as a Department of the Army civilian, working as a military analyst, then an editor, and finally a managing editor for two agencies," Bogdan says. "In these capacities, I did a great deal of professional writing, re-writing, and editing but had no time for creative writing."
As a retired U.S. Army Officer, I have been deliberate in what I do in this phase of my life. Following retirement, I found employment with a major tax preparation service, and that was satisfying in many ways. Since my military retirement, I decided to find an answer to the question, "what do I do now?" Too many times while I was still in uniform, I would learn about a retiree whose last unit was my unit, but the answer to "how is he doing?" would be, "oh, he passed away." It was apparent that the guy had no plan. One day he worked full tilt; the next day, he had nothing to do except stumble through the shower, have a bowl of Wheaties, fall into an over-stuffed chair, and watch TV. There was no plan. The mind/body connection was broken. Purpose was lost. Lethargy set in. I decided to try my best to avoid that quagmire. 
The Hospice of Holland has been operational for many years. One of the things I have done is to help write the Life Review of seniors in the hospice program. At this point, I have helped about 12 seniors record the highlights of their lives. One veteran was a World War II fighter pilot. He still had his leather flight jacket with a silk liner, where a request was written in several languages. The idea was that if the pilot was shot down in enemy territory, the message said, "I am an American serviceman. Please help me rejoin American forces," could be shown to the locals to gain their help. This veteran had recorded his military story from WWII as part of the Kalamazoo Air Museum program. I was privileged to hear his recorded story. The Museum still has his recollections in its archives. 
Another World War II veteran, a U. S. Navy sailor, allowed me the opportunity to write his story. He was very reluctant to share his story. It took a period of time to overcome his reluctance. It turned out that he said he had been drafted near the end of the war and was not in combat. He had served for something like two years and was in logistics support of the installation where he was assigned. His second reason for being reluctant was that one of his sons was a Vice President of a major bank, and he was adamant about bringing any form of discredit to his son, as he had a very prominent position in many communities. The opportunity to meet his two sons in person was the catalyst to getting their support to allow me to help him get his story posted on TWS (Navy). It was a wonderful experience to interview him and to let him know that his service at a difficult time for our nation was appreciated and mattered.