Armchair Dragoons Forums
The Reference Desk => History and Tall Tales => Topic started by: bayonetbrant on November 08, 2018, 10:37:22 PM
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https://twitter.com/iAmTheWarax/status/1060656834980265985
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https://twitter.com/supercodync/status/1060660910870556673
https://twitter.com/forbesmm/status/1060668038574432258
https://twitter.com/NuclearAnthro/status/1060660831157805056
(ND = "negligent discharge")
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https://twitter.com/robseam/status/1060672561363599361
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When i was an Army civilian, we had to take much of the same training as soldiers. Around 2009 or so (give or take), they distributed a training sheet based on an incident that had happened in theater. A soldier was loading his .50 cal MG. Something was jammed, so he grabbed a round, and started pounding on the gun with the bottom of the round. The round went off in his hand, blowing away most of his fingers and part of his hand.
I felt sorry for the Army admin that they had to take the time to make and distribute a flyer warning against such stupidity. To ensure its effectiveness, they had a photo from the hospital of the guy's hand blown away, which was pretty gross.
If I had not seen the photo, I would not believe someone was that stupid. Perhaps he was trying to get a ticket home, and used this method instead of shooting himself in the foot.
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holy f*ck
read the whole thread
https://twitter.com/War_Fighter24/status/1060776386829242368
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oy
https://twitter.com/DamnedGentlemen/status/1060658647188062209
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https://twitter.com/FAO_Joel/status/1060660884035588097
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Summer 2002, Ft Irwin CA.
On the last night in the field, the 287th ACR (TNARNG) was pulled into a laaager site around Four Corners for the night, waiting to drop off all unused blanks, smoke, hoffman charges, and star clusters on their way back into the motor pool.
It was a clear, warm night, as you often get in the summer in the desert, but with 15mph winds, gusting up to 25mph.
So of course, these idiot rednecks decide it's "fun" and "blowing off steam" to shoot off star clusters (y'know, the kind that use burning magnesium to illuminate the sky with different colors) over the assembled vehicles of the entire regiment, including (and especially) the double line of 5000g tanker trucks full of JP8.
I very, very seriously considered walking back to the cantonment area and checking into the guest house for the night and then meet everyone back at the dustbowl the next morning... if anyone survived.
What's *really* crazy is that it was only maybe about 5th most wrong thing those guys did on that entire rotation, on a list that easily hits double digits.
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As soon as I saw the word "tanker", my first thought was to wonder how anyone *didn't* die that night. :face:
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The USS Lawrence was a DDG in early 1972. She was at Guantanamo for Refresher Training.
She was the Atlantic Fleet's test bed for new technologies and was more of a testing vehicle than a trained combatant. Her captain and XO were more engineers than sailors. They Whenhad not prepped for intense drills. she started the Reftra, they got rudely awakened. No slack for being a test bed, the ship had to perform under combat conditions, and they were failing.
By the third day, they were in trouble, not a record, but kind of unusual.
One of the first class sailors otg his promotion to chief on the way to Gitmo. The Captain allowed the chiefs to have a wetting down party at the CPO club. They all left, in dress whites to get utterly sh*t faced.
After the drills performed earlier in the day, there was oil in the bilges. Should have been pumped out three miles from shore, but the chiefs were distracted.
Oil in the bilges would have gotten a gig when the inspectors checked the space. Without telling anyone, the chief engineer told the watch to pump it out. In the morning, he would say the oil slick had to be from Manley or Columbus.
Well, the kid set up an eductor to empty the bilges. An eductor works by suction. A strong stream of water goes through an open block. This is in the liquid, the suction pulls in the fluid and it goes down the pipe.
Unfortunately, he hooked up the eductor backwards. It was pulling seawater from outside the ship into the bilges.
Across the pier was Manley, and all the quarterdeck watch were saying isn't Lawrence lower in the water?
The engineering section had no idea why, but DON'T turn off the eductor, it's the only thing keeping us from sinking.
By now, it was dark and the Captain knew they were in real trouble. His answer? Get the chiefs back.
Well they'd been slamming drinks for three. Hours and had to be rolled into the bus. When the bus got on the pier, the chiefs stumbled on board, in their dress whites, and the XO sent them down. And not just the engineers but all of them - radiomen, gunners, skivvy wavers, electronic tech.
Well by 9:30, they had gotten the chiefs back out.
At the Officers club they announce all officers of Lawrence report to the ship.
Why?
She's sinking at the pier.
Well this sounded like the most fun, so the O club emptied for this show.
The Damage Control Assistant was brand new, he'd been pulled out of school and shipped down after the Lawrence's first day. The former DCA got permission to separate just prior to the ship heading to Gitmo and left a mess.
The poor guy said they needed help.
The duty Hull Tech, Orel Rist, got his away team over and had his portable pumps running in no time.
He traced out the hookup figured out it was wrong, and shut it off. He saved the ship.
And the Captain, XO, chief engineer, were relieved for cause and the ship failed Reftra.
An epic performance.
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Just a guess, you were the new dca?
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Wow. A regular tragicomedy of errors.
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Oh no.
I was on Manley and was prepping for Shore Patrol.
If you ever want to get a shudder from an old East Coast sailor, ask about the cattle cars at Gitmo.
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Told before
Worth retelling
http://rhinoden.rangerup.com/the-dumbass-chronicles-the-most-dangerous-range-ever/
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Oh man, I hadn't read that one in a while. Yeah, definitely worth sharing again. ;D
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Gary Mills was a sergeant on the training staff of V Corps in Germany about 1982.
Every year there was a series of competitions among all the NATO countries.
Gary's office had oversight on the field artillery shoot. Basically a battery would move into position, fire ten rounds on a designated target and then pack up and retire.
For many years, the British teams always came in last, they were the slowest. Everyone on the staff had observed all the teams. They were all good and no one could figure out why one country's batteries always were the slowest.
The. Major. In charge borrowed some video equipment and recorded the Brits.
The drill seemed fine, but was slowed down by the loader. He would slam a round into the. Guns breech and then run ten yards to the rear, about face, and stay there until the gun fired.
The staff had never noticed this before but all the. Guns in the battery did this extra, time consuming dance.
The major called the battery commander, and this practice was in the manual. The commander didn't know why this was in the drill, but it was how they trained.
Well, the major was. Nothing if not thorough, and he started calling every office in the artillery arm to understand.
He finally got through to an old "Contemptible" at Woolwich arsenal.
Yes, he knew why the lad ran back and came to attention before the gun could shoot
"E's there to 'old te 'orses."
The Brits won the next competition.
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My first response was :2funny: . That was too good.
My second response was, holy crap! Just how long had it been since that manual was last updated?? :o
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https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/new-brunswick/court-martial-cannabis-cupcakes-1.6129731
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https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/new-brunswick/court-martial-cannabis-cupcakes-1.6129731
All I can ask is 'Why?' Did she mix up the batch of cupcakes for her weekend rave with the ones she meant to take on base?
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Yeah, what was the point of that?? ???
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Ahhhhh....Canadian :bigthumb:
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:bigthumb:
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Staff officers are universally made fun of.
Everyone who has been in a military service has seen their mistakes. Really, it's inevitable, they have to keep things running while nature and entropy conspire against them.
Then, their boss decides to have something done. The poor staff puke has to take amuttered direction and turn that into a messaged order that both gives clear direction to the recipient while ensuring the boss looks good. Often an impossible task.
The staff pukes get a lot of disrespect, but rarely any real hostility, they are just doing their job.
But sometimes they really excel the expectations.
Guantanamo bay used to have two very long piers. Just past Girl Scout Beach (don't ask) and adjacent to Radio Hill. Pier C was large and long to handle carriers, battleships, cruisers, and large auxiliaries like tankers. It had about ten berths on each side, and each beth could have ships tied up in nests. In that case, the ship would be ordered to berth 5A. This was on the starboard side of the pier (odd to starboard, even to port), the third berth out from shore, and right next to the pier (B would be next out from the pier).
The Kepler, DD753, was at Gitmo for Refresher training. This takes 2 -3 weeks and is constant exercise. Each day, the ship left harbor, was put through a day of simulated battle, or fires, or collisions, you name it. Then came in, tied up, and prepared to do it again the next day - better.
They came in and were assigned to 6A.
Unfortunately, there was already a ship in 6A, the carrier Independence.
The Kepler's captain had been screwed with for a week and decided to run with it.
He figured the overhang of the Indy's deck was just high enough. He backed into the space between the pier and ship.
To say the Independence crew was shoc ked would be an understatement. The captain and XO ran into the pier yelling to shear off.
"Just tieing up to my berth" replied the captain. Cool as a cucumber, as if berthing under a carrier was nothing unusual.
As he slo-o-owly pulled in and the mast missed scraping the Indt by inches.
The port captain trotted up the dock and told the. Captain they were in the wrong berth. Kepler was to be in 5A. Captain n showed him the assignment message, 6A.
His eyes bugged and verbally overrode the assignment.
Shortly afterward there was a volcanic explosion in the offices at Radio Hill.
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you wonder though.... if every sailor disembarked from the Kepler, would that have raised the ship enough that it would bang into the underside of the carrier at that point?
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you wonder though.... if every sailor disembarked from the Kepler, would that have raised the ship enough that it would bang into the underside of the carrier at that point?
Hmmm. We can figure that out... Assume the crew of the Kepler are spheres of uniform density. ("Assume"? Have you seen any of those petty officers...)
Anyway, I'd be more worried about the crew of the Independence, returning to berth 6A to discover their ship had mysteriously shrunk.
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For some reason this story reminds me of THIS................................
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https://twitter.com/BT0731/status/1464723591010787329
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Sound on, but not at work
https://twitter.com/TerminalLance/status/1504938745761464322
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Oof. He's probably not gonna make that mistake again...
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Man - after the ND, he turns around and is pointing the weapon at the guys to his left! :doh:
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This is not about an idiot, but sort of fits.
After WWII, King George VI took a trip on the battleship Vanguard to South Africa.
He was a sailor, having been a turret commander on the dread naught Collingwood during Jutland.
One evening he was strolling the deck, enjoying the sea with some aides. They were on the stern when he asked about a cleat in the center of the open space. It was too far from the side to have any use with the ropes used to tie up to a pier.
It was too far from anything to serve a purpose they could think of.
Asking some passing sailors, no one had an idea what the cleat was for. It was always just there.
Hearing about His Majesty's curiosity, the captain of Vanguard realized he didn't know. He knew that every battleship in the RN had this tie down, but no idea why.
He called all the chiefs. They agreed that every BB had this lonely cleat, but none could say what it was for.
Finally, one of the ship's cooks came forward. He had enlisted as a boy in 1880 and was the oldest crew member.
"That's where we tethered the cow."
Before refrigeration, ships would go to sea with chickens (for eggs and an occasional fresh bird) and cows for milk(or a rare feast).
To give the animals sunlight and fresh air, they would be tied to the cleat in fair weather.
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:2funny:
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Huh- udderly fascinating... who moo?
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You know we will milk this one for all it's worth.
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I knew someone would have a beef with it, I just didn't think it'd be a stampede.
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The Prussian General Staff pioneered war gaming starting in the
nineteenth century, and by the early twentieth century the practice had spread to other armies as well, though with varying degrees of acceptance.
In a number of armies, the value of wargaming was viewed with a jaundiced eye. In the British Army Gen. Sir Henry Wilson (1864-1922), was a staunch supporter of wargaming, having served as head of the British staff college from 1907 until 1910, when he was appointed Director of Military Operations. An inveterate admirer of the French Army, and a close friend to Ferdinand Foch, Wilson worked hard to insure that Britain would be ready to stand by France when war came with Germany. He developed the mobilization and deployment plans that put the British Expeditionary Force on the French left in August of 1914. But Wilson’s ambitions for a field command went unfulfilled, save for a brief tour at the head of a corps, due to political machinations
Nevertheless, in late 1917 Wilson was appointed the British representative to the newly formed Allied Supreme War Council, headed by his old friend Foch. Pondering the possibilities for the coming year, in January of 1918 Wilson decided to conduct a wargame using the personnel from his staff.
During the game, the German player undertook an offensive with 100 divisions that broke the front along the Somme at the juncture of the Anglo-French armies and led to the loss of some of the Channel ports.
With this grim possibility in mind, this Wilson recommended a number of measures to Field Marshal Douglas Haig, commanding the British Expeditionary Force. Haig chose to dismiss the recommendations, despite the fact that in February Wilson was appointed Chief of the Imperial General Staff.
On March 21st the Germans unleashed “Operation Michel,” the first attack of the “Kaiserschlacht – the Kaiser Battle,” their series of spring offensives intended to end the war. The blow came at precisely the point and in almost the strength predicted in Wilson’s wargame, and very nearly had the prediced outcome, as the British front was ripped open so badly only a desperate “backs to the wall” resistance saved the Channel ports.
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Wilson's "I told you so" is still echoing through the halls there, I imagine.
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In 1944, Japanese Naval Air Force was devastated by the fighting in the Marianas. Also, the US sub force was annihilating the tanker fleet, so flying hours were being cut to forty hours. American trainee pilots had at least four hundred.
at the same time imports was cutting into aluminum and steel production. At the start of the war, 5.5 metric tons of aluminum were allocated for each Zero's Production. This was now reduced to 4.5.
Ensign Hasegawa knew nothing of these calculations. He worried the war would end before he could get into it. Hasegawa also reached the fatalistic conclusion—perfectly rational, given the JNAF situation—that he would die in the air. At least the Kasumigaura trainers had an internationalist orientation and a sense of humor. Every weekend they would have Western movies shown in the auditorium. One Saturday the duty officer’s order read, “If we are to win the war, we must first know our enemy. Today, the movie "One Hundred Men and a Girl" will be shown. Attack the enemy!”
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During the Second World war, to combat the U boat menace, the navy developed an acoustic torpedo. Nicknamed Fido, it's official designation was Mk XII Mine. Due to the issues that the Mark XIV torpedo had, the acoustic torpedo was developed through the Mine warfare authority.
Constant development went forward and in about fifteen years, the Mk 44 torpedo was the high point.
MK-44 was put into production at the Navy's Forrest Park Ordnance plant in the Chicago, Illinois metropolitan area. The torpedoes were proofed at Naval Torpedo Proofing Station-Keyport, Washington and issued to the fleet. There were a few things that could be improved, and GE's Key West Test Station was conducting development runs in the Florida Straits when the next to worst thing that can happen to an acoustic homing torpedo happened. Extraneous noise, that is sound that is not coming from the target or from a noise source on the torpedo or from any expected target, interferes with the torpedo's ability to detect and attack the intended target. This noise had characteristics we had never before observed. It came in spikes just like the echoes expected from the target, but often in two closely spaced spikes where we would expect only one. It varied smoothly in volume as sound would from a radio when you turned the volume up and down. The indicated rate of closure on the sound source varied, but was often much faster than the torpedo could run! Sometimes the closure rate indicated speeds of hundreds of knots. It continued unchanged for a time after the torpedo stopped running and its sonar was turned off.
We spent hours on the telephone between Key West and our home plant in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, puzzling over the cause, suggesting tests, and analyzing results. No tests revealed what could be causing the noise and the peculiar characteristics, and it couldn't be duplicated in the lab.
Tursiops truncatis, the common dolphin, turned out to be the elusive culprit.
At the next break, the GE engineer asked how they were sure it was porpoise. They replied that the porpoise had followed their transducers right to the surface, talking to them all the way. The GE engineer told them of his own baffling experience with torpedoes that he had now deduced had been caused by those same noisy porpoise. They all agreed that the porpoise had gathered at the transducers to ask when their talkative, silvery, frisky little friends would be coming back to play.
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:rockon: :rockon:
https://twitter.com/TheWTFNation/status/1681339730238251009
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The principal national leaders running World War II all had rather distinctive tastes in alcohol.
Chaing Kai-shek. Unlike most Chinese, the Generalissimo was a teetotaler, and also did not smoke.
Winston S. Churchill. The British prime minister was a major toper, and he held his liquor very well. Churchill's daily intake regularly included scotch (preferably Johnny Walker Black or Red), brandy (Hine), port, and claret, not to mention champagne (Pol Rogers or Cordon Rouge), of which he claimed to average about a bottle a day. William Manchester claimed there was “always some alcohol in his bloodstream, and it reaches its peak late in the evening after he has had two or three Scotches, several glasses of Champagne, at least two brandies, and a highball.”
Hirohito. Much preferred whiskey over the more traditional sake.
Adolph Hitler. Generally a teetotaler, the German Führer did occasionally take a little brandy in warm milk to help him sleep. From time to time he is reported to have sampled beer, though never found one that suited his taste. On celebratory occasions Hitler was sometimes seen with a glass of Moet & Chandon champagne, such as on hearing the news of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor or upon marrying Eva Braun
Benito Mussolini. Il Duce rarely drank more than an occasional glass of wine, and like Hitler he did not smoke.
Franklin D. Roosevelt. Roosevelt often had wine or beer with meals, but his preferred potable was a martini. He considered himself an excellent mixicologist – and made the first legal drinks served the White House on the abolition of Prohibition in 1933 – but his concoctions were reportedly only passable.
Josef Stalin. The Soviet Vozd often drank Georgian red wine or vodka with red pepper, sometimes to excess.
Harry S Truman. In keeping with his Missouri roots, Truman liked bourbon, and greatly preferred Wild Turkey, hardly top shelf stuff.
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Wild Turkey's a damned-good choice. :bigthumb:
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1928 two seasoned arctic explorers, the Australian George H. Wilkins, and the American Carl B. Eielson were planning a new expedition.
In 1925 Wilkins and Eielson cooperated on a pioneering non-stop flight from Barrow, Alaska, to Spitzbergen, Norway, which was an enormous success. Thereafter they made several other Arctic flights.
This time they had their sights on an Antarctic expedition, using a Lockheed Vega to conduct exploratory flights during the southern summer of 1928-1929. But how to prepare runways on the ice cap? Well, after some hard thinking, one of them had a bright idea; why not use flamethrowers?
Now Germany had introduced flamethrowers to modern warfare in 1915, and had the most extensive experience with their manufacture and use. So Eielson and Wilkins entered into negotiations with the German firm that had produced the weapons, to procure several for use on their expedition. Well, it turned out that there was a little problem. As the Germans pointed out, they were banned from producing flamethrowers by the Treaty of Versailles. Securing permission from the Allies to make any would require extensive diplomatic negotiations.
This seemed an overwhelming obstacle, and stories even circulated in the press that the expedition would probably be scrubbed. But then the assistant U.S. Army Attaché to Germany for Aviation, Maj. George Reinberg, pointed out that the Germans were permitted to produce some modified flamethrowers for use as “insect killers,” designed to burn out large infestations of noxious bugs.
At that, there was considerable joy all ‘round, since Eielson and Wilkins got their flamethrowers, and Germany gained some international recognition as supporting scientific endeavor. Eielson and Wilkins were even feted by President von Hindenburg before leaving the country.
The Wilkins-Eielison Antarctic Expedition was a great success. The first attempt at aerial exploration in the Antarctic, on December 20, 1928, the pair flew a round trip of some 1,300 miles over the Antarctic Peninsula in about 10 hours. As Wilkins summed it up, "We had left at 8:30 in the morning, had covered 1300 miles – nearly a thousand of it over unknown territory – and had returned in time to cover the plane with a storm hood, go to the [base ship] Hektoria, bathe and dress and sit down at eight o'clock to dinner as usual in the comfort of the ship's wardroom".
Oh, and those flamethrowers, they proved useless.
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https://twitter.com/Doctrine_Man/status/1684913629521387520
Holy shit there is so much awesomeness in this thread
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Well… that first one is from an actual published song
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https://www.usni.org/magazines/proceedings/1955/november/cold-war-between-von-diederichs-and-dewey-manila-bay?
An interesting "what if" moment at Manila Bay.
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How very interesting. :bigthumb:
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Among the many regiments that have served in the British Army over the centuries is one that holds the dubious distinction of having been wiped out more often than any other in the history of the service, the former 44th Regiment of Foot.
The 44th Foot had its origins in 1741, when one James Long raised a regiment for the British Army. For a time known as the 55th Foot, in 1748 the regiment was redesignated as the 44th, and was later renamed the 44th East Essex. In 1851 the regiment merged with the 56th West Essex Regiment and became the 1st Battalion of the new Essex Regiment.
On four occasions the regiment was virtually obliterated in action.
Sept. 21, 1745, the Battle of Prestonpans, Second (or maybe Third or Fourth . . . ) Jacobite Rising: Of 291 men present in five companies, some were killed but most were captured, including 13 officers, among them Lt. Col. Sir Peter Halkett, commanding.
July 9, 1755, the Battle of the Monongahela ("Braddock's Defeat"), French & Indian War: The regiment lost heavily, with many killed, including Col. Halkett and his son, and most of the rest wounded.
January 13, 1842, Battle of Gandamak, First Anglo-Afghan War: The final battle of the British retreat from Kabul, only one man escaped death or capture, to make it back to India, Surgeon William Brydon; 41 men were subsequently released from captivity
July 1, 1916, Battle of the Somme, The Great War: In 90 minutes (1050-1220) the 1st Battalion took so many casualties that it was unable to continue in action.
On might also include the Battle of New Orleans (January 8, 1815), where the regiment suffered 36 killed, 162 wounded, and 80 captured, for 278 casualties, not to mention one officer subsequently cashiered. Making matters worse, American observers claimed that the regiment left the field precipitously.
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Captain Pierre Landais was in command of the frigate Alliance and part of the squadron of ships under Captain/Commodore John Paul Jones during the fight off Flamborough Head. In the desperate fight, his actions were a tad muddled.
Captain Landais, of the Alliance, after observing for a time, formed another plan, and set off after Pallas. On the way, Alliance passed the two locked ships, still anchored, still firing broadsides at each other. As the direction of shots was now predictable, Captain Landais could safely approach within firing range of Serapis, from the right direction- bow or stern rather than flank. This he did, firing a broadside including round-shot, bar-shot and grapeshot at Serapis’ bow. Right next to that bow, still, was Bonhomme Richard’s stern. As much lethal shot hit Jones’s men as Pearson’s, and metal also flew along Bonhomme Richard’s gun-deck, killing some of the remaining gunners and wrecking several gun-carriages. Landais then continued on his way.
After that, Bonhomme Richard started definitively losing the battle. Still, efforts to make the situation too hot for the British, both figuratively and literally, continued. Just after 9:30 pm, one of these attempts succeeded in spectacular fashion. According to Jones's published campaign report, grenade-thrower William Hamilton ventured right out along a yard-arm until he could look almost straight down on the deck of Serapis (by this time, almost cleared of men), and began trying to drop grenades, not onto the deck but down the hatches. By good fortune, one of these ignited a charge of gunpowder placed in readiness (contrary to standard fire safety practice, but Captain Pearson had encouraged his men to "fire briskly") for loading into one of Serapis’ 18-pound guns. The problem with this version of the story is that the 18-pounders were on the lower deck, so it would take a very lucky drop to reach them from high above. Captain Pearson speculated that either a grenade had been thrown through a hole in the hull, from Bonhomme Richard’s gun deck, or that the charge had been ignited by accident. Whatever the cause, the effect was devastating. As the ignited charge blew up, it scattered burning gunpowder, setting off other charges nearby, and ultimately the chain reaction covered the entire rear half of Serapis’ lower gun-deck, killing or severely burning many of the gunnery crewmen, forcing some to leap into the sea to extinguish their burning clothes, and putting five guns out of action. In the confusion, some of the crew clambering back on board after jumping into the sea were nearly mistaken for American boarders.
The absence of any other combatants had bought Serapis a considerable amount of time. Bonhomme Richard’s gun decks were now so badly damaged that most of the British shots were passing straight through without touching anything, and the great guns were almost completely silenced. There were almost as many fires to be extinguished as there were aboard Serapis, but on the other hand, the hold was filling with water because one of the pumps was in ruins. Commodore Jones was exhausted, and apparently slumped on the chicken coop for a brief rest. Somehow (according to his later memoirs), a rumour went around that he was dead or dying, and his gunner and carpenter, both wounded, hastily consulted with the master-at-arms. Together they decided, a little before 10 pm, to surrender by striking the ship’s colours, but the flag had already been shot away, so their only option was to shout. Captain Pearson shouted back, asking whether the Americans had really struck their colours. Possibly his Lieutenant of Marines relayed this message. Certainly, Jones’s reply was firmly negative.[8] Jones himself recalled shouting something along the lines of "I have not yet thought of it, but I am determined to make you strike," at which point, presumably, the surrendering officers realised he was still very much alive and returned to their duties. A much more dramatic version appeared in newspapers within days of the event, allegedly based on the testimony of an ex-crewman who thought he heard something like "I may sink, but I’ll be damned if I strike", and witnessed the captain using his pistols to shoot the three officers who were attempting to surrender (another version of the story also circulated, with the chicken coop but without the shootings, which fits better with Jones's memory). In all the noise,Pearson could not actually hear the reply to his question, so he decided to send a boarding team. At this point, once again, Jones's preparation paid off. The boarders were met by a previously hidden defensive force, which swiftly drove them back to Serapis. By this time, the attempts to bring down Serapis’ main mast had also borne some fruit (ironically, the only reason why it had not fallen down was because it was leaning on Bonhomme Richard’s rigging). And then, perhaps about 10:15 pm, Alliance returned, and Landais delivered another of his helpful broadsides. Jones’s men yelled at him to stop, and the commodore attempted to send orders for Alliance to help with a boarding operation. The moon was full, brightly illuminating the distinctive yellow livery of Serapis. Bonhomme Richard was clearly showing agreed lantern signals, but Landais stuck to his plan, sailing round the "safe" sides of the locked ships to fire broadsides aimed, in his theory, at both bow and stern of Serapis. In reality, Bonhomme Richard, yet again, was holed below the waterline and started settling so rapidly that the master-at-arms took it upon himself to release the hundred or so prisoners from previous captures, who had been held on the lower decks. As they had not been put in manacles, they were completely free and could potentially have helped Serapis’ crew to overrun the American ship. Jones reacted quickly to the new crisis, successfully urging the prisoners to put all their efforts into working the three remaining pumps to save themselves.
Captain Pearson of Serapis had only limited knowledge of the escalating chaos aboard Bonhomme Richard. He too was losing many men from Alliance’s attacks, and he could not move his ship. Alliance, still effectively undamaged, could keep firing at will. On the other hand, nearly every ship in the convoy he had been sent to protect had reached safety before the battle even began. Following the second of Alliance’s new round of broadsides, like Piercy before him, he decided that he could achieve nothing more by continuing to fight. Not long after 10:30 pm, he called for quarter and struck his colours in person. Thus the Americans finally got the chance to board the Serapis, but this did not go quite as well as it could have. Three shots were fired by British sailors who had not got the message. Midshipman John Mayrant, following First Lieutenant Dale aboard, got a pike stuck through his leg. Pearson's first lieutenant was among those reluctant to believe that his captain had surrendered, and Dale made sure that he stayed with Pearson rather than leaving him to his own devices. A short time later, as Captain Pearson was boarding Bonhomme Richard to hand over his ceremonial sword, the main-mast of Serapis finally fell overboard, perhaps as a result of work to separate the two ships, dragging the damaged mizzen-top-mast with it. As Bonhomme Richard got under way, Dale attempted to follow in Serapis, and learned two important facts in quick succession. First, Serapis would not move, and second, he had a very large splinter in his leg, which now caused him to fall over. The first problem was rectified by cutting the anchor cable, the second by returning Dale to Bonhomme Richard for treatment. Boats from both Serapis and Alliance were used to begin the the evacuation of Bonhomme Richard’s crew. One or two of these boats went missing during the night, as ex-captive British crewmen took the opportunity to go home (hence the eyewitness newspaper stories). The combatants had been observed by thousands of onlookers, for on that clear night, with a near-full moon, the action could be seen from a long stretch of the high Yorkshire coastline, from Scarborough in the north to Flamborough Head itself in the south.
There is no record of final casualty figures aboard the two main combatants. Captain Pearson, in a postscript to his battle report, stated that there were "many more than" 49 dead and 68 wounded aboard Serapis, but his figure of 300 casualties aboard Bonhomme Richard seems very high, unless it includes a great many of the captives stuck below decks during the battle. British press reports claimed 70 deaths on Bonhomme Richard, which, assuming a similar ratio to the Serapis figures would give around 100 wounded.
Overnight, pumping continued on Bonhomme Richard, and repairs began (also, the powder was removed from the magazine, which was threatened by the continued smouldering of the ship's woodwork). With the water still getting deeper, the guns from the lower decks were reluctantly heaved overboard—not a very difficult task, as much of the hull was missing. The dead went the same way, though with rather more dignity. At 2 pm the next day, with the carpenter insisting that the ship could not be saved, Commodore Jones took the ex-captain and lieutenant of Serapis to safety, but returned early in the evening to check on progress. Finding that the water was still rising, he ordered the wounded, who ideally should not have been moved, to be transferred to other vessels (Pearson was not aware of this nocturnal operation, and wrote in his official report that Jones had left the wounded aboard). At 10 pm, those who had been brought in from other ships to man the pumps were ordered to leave, and during the rest of the night the most important items aboard were removed. These did not include personal possessions, not even most of Jones's. The flotilla was slowly moving east-south-east away from the coast all this time,[17] and was not seen from land again after night fell (as Flamborough Head is about 400 feet (120 m) high, ships’ sails would be visible on a clear day up to 30 miles (48 km) away). At 4 am the next day, 25 September, pumping was abandoned, with the water almost up to the lower deck. The wind was getting stronger, so all personnel abandoned ship at 10 am, and just before 11, as a boat approached from the commodore's new command ship, Serapis, to try to salvage a few more items, Bonhomme Richard started to disappear beneath the waves.
Several Royal Navy ships were on their way, but once again French obstinacy had a semi-beneficial effect. Jones wished to take his prizes to Dunkirk, but the French captains insisted on following the original orders from their government masters to head for the island of Texel in the neutral United Provinces (the Netherlands). They arrived safely on 3 October, while the British ships searched for them in all the wrong places, having ignored a correct preliminary estimate by observers in Yorkshire. Jones immediately wrote a report to his own government superior, Benjamin Franklin, one notable feature of which was, inevitably, the conduct of Captain Landais. Furious though he was, he wrote, "I forbear to take any steps With him until I have the advice and approbation of your Excellency". Captain Cottineau, on the other hand, placed himself under no such obligation, and called Landais a coward to his face. Landais challenged him to a duel during which Landais ran his sword through Cottineau's chest, just missing the heart
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http://navweaps.com/index_lundgren/bbActionGuadalcanal.php
Have been reading John Prados book, Islands of Destiny. He has delved deeply into Japanese records and American code breaking. He found that when admiral Kondo departed Rabaul to bombard Guadalcanals airfield, Henderson field, the fast battleship Kiroshima had the special bombardment rounds that had been so devastating before.
In the harbor there were two other fast battleships, Kongo and Haruna.
Prados could not find anything in Kondos's report as to why he did not take them along. He speculators that the Japanese thought only American cruisers were in Iron Bottom Sound, so he thought it wise to conserve them for the Decisive Battle.
Or that with all the Shinseki rounds loaded on Kirishima, they could not contribute to the bombardment mission.
Or due to fuel considerations, they would use too much and hamper follow on missions.
Whatever the reason, with hindsight three Kongos versus Washington and South Dakota would have been much better than historically occurred.
Would make a great "what if" scenario to game.
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The following are excerpts from two letters that are reported to have been exchanged during the Boer War between a young British officer in South Africa and his father back home.
Dear Father,
. . . kindly send me fifty pounds at once; lost another leg in a stiff engagement, and am in hospital without means . . . .
Some weeks later, the young man’s father received his desperate plea, and promptly took pen in hand to respond,
My dear son,
As this is the fourth leg you have lost, according to your letters, you ought to be accustomed to it by this time. Try to hobble along on any that you may have left . . . .
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https://twitter.com/ADragoons/status/1753812193726836761
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"LUCY. You got some 'splainin to do". ;D
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en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Napoleon_as_Mars_the_Peacemaker
As you may know, the sculptor, Canova, carved a statue of Pauline Bonaparte as Venus.
Rather than being outraged at the nude of his sister, Napoleon wanted one of himself by Canova.
He obliged and created a statue of Mars, the Peace Maker, obviously modeled on Nappy.
Rather embarrassed by the - ahem - well equipped representation, it was put behind a acreen.
After the war, this statue was observed by the duke of Wellington. He let the British government know how much he liked the marble. They bought it from Louis XVIII and it was gifted to the duke.
It graced the stairway at Apsley House, the Duke's residence, where it can be appreciated to this day.