Mars-la-Tour, Late Morning

La ligne de feu, 16 août 1870
Pierre-Georges Jeanniot (PD)

"Were you there, Sergent?"

Maurice Leduc looked up from where he was sitting at the side of the old barn which his platoon was living in. "Was I where?"

Leduc seemed annoyed at being interrupted, Kossakowski had the impression that the sergeant didn't like him all that much.

"Mars-la-Tour. With Lieutenant de Caumont."

Leduc's face went blank for a moment, then he shuddered involuntarily. "Yes, I was."

Leduc stood up and looked at the newspaperman, "Walk with me."

Kossakowski said not a word, he simply fell in beside the Frenchman as he began to stroll away from the barn. Not towards the town, but towards the open fields nearby which in summer would yield fodder for the Swiss cows, but now lay underneath a blanket of snow.

When they were some distance from the barn, Leduc stopped. He quickly ran the cuff of his greatcoat over his face. Turning away from Kossakowski, he began to speak.

"I was a fairly new sergent then. Oh, I'd been in the Army for quite a few years, but a fondness for drink and a lack of motivation kept me from getting promoted and staying at whatever rank I held. I was a good enough soldier to not get shown the door, but I was lazy. Made corporel in Crimea, almost lost it after coming back to France, I was in a brawl. But at Solferino I fought well enough to be reinstated as a corporel. At some point between Crimea and this war starting, I think I grew up. At least I became a better soldier."

"You see, I had joined the Army to get away from the family farm in Normandy. That farm had been in my family for generations, my younger brother was keen to be a farmer, I was not. It would have been my inheritance if I had stayed, but I didn't stay. As soon as I was old enough, I joined the Army. Haven't been home since."

"Do you write your family?" Kossakowski asked.

Leduc shook his head, "No, I do not. What is there to say? What is there to ask? I went home once, after the Crimea, I had nothing in common with my father, my brother, or anyone else in the nearby village. I had no desire to stay, they had no desire to hear my stories. So I left, never to return."

"Were none of your family soldiers? Most of France seems to have ancestors who marched with the Emperor, and I mean the first one, not his nephew."

"My grandmother had an uncle who marched with Napoléon, went all the way to Moscow, came all the way back. Lost two fingers on his left hand at Leipzig and was invalided out. But when the Emperor returned from Elba, apparently the old fool rejoined the colors and marched into Belgium."

"He didn't return from that one."

"You never met him?"

"No, but I would have liked to, my old granny was rather fond of him. She told me stories of him and his campaigns. Made it all sound like an adventure. Now that I'm older, I realize old Uncle Pierre didn't tell her the things all soldiers want to forget."

Kossakowski stayed silent, figuring it best to let Leduc set the pace. He'd either talk, or he'd walk away.

Leduc's eyes went blank, he was looking towards the horizon, which with the Swiss mountains wasn't that far away, but wasn't really seeing anything. In his mind's eye he could picture those young Germans advancing, and dying by the dozen. Then he started talking.

"We were going through our ammunition very quickly. I swear that my rifle barrel was hot enough to glow red. We had to rummage through the cartridge boxes of the dead and the wounded to replenish our bullets."

"I remember tearing open young Anton's cartridge box, he protested loudly but he couldn't stop me, his hands were busy trying to stuff his guts back into his belly. But the kid wanted to fight, refused to believe he was dying. He was tugging at my trouser leg as I reloaded and fired, over and over I fired."

"When I was nearly out again, I realized that Anton was no longer tugging at my pants, when I looked down, I saw that he had died. He was only seventeen I think."

"Young." Kossakowski offered.

"Yes, too young to be out there on that field, but he was there. A good kid, a good soldier, he went down at the first volley. Some German kid probably didn't even know he'd killed Anton. Odds are, that German kid died that day. We killed hundreds of the bastards. But then their damned artillery came up once more."

"We fell back, had to, we were getting slaughtered by those Krupp guns. But we had come so close to driving the Prussians back across the Moselle. We destroyed an entire battalion, though our colonel sent message after message begging for reinforcements to roll up the entire German army, nothing. We had them, we could have ended the war then and there, but our generals were either too stupid or too timid to do anything."

"So we withdrew towards Rezonville. As we did so, the cavalry came up to cover the withdrawal. The guard cuirassiers charged the Prussian infantry, and were cut to pieces. More of our lads came up and held the Prussians back long enough for us to get clear. But it was obvious, we'd been licked."

"Is that when the Prussians launched their cavalry attack?" Kossakowski asked.

"Yes, but ..." Leduc broke off and turned abruptly on his heel, heading back towards his bivouac.

Kossakowski watched him go, realizing that Leduc was done talking for now.

80th TFS, "The Juvats"

 

Okay, Campers, I was wide awake in the middle of the night a couple of weeks ago (yes 0100 military time, 1AM for all the rest of you).  It's a Monday Morning.  I had a post up so not real worried about a subject to post (it's too late anyhow for this week).

Then I got a lightning bolt idea.  I haven't done a article on the History of the 80TFS aka THE "Juvats".   So... Hang on to your hats or, if necessary, your Toupee!*

 

Hmmm, maybe I should try one!  Source

 

OK, Humor's over, on with the show. 

What would eventually become the 80th Fighter Squadron was activated as the 80th Pursuit Squadron as part of the 8th Pursuit Group at Mitchel Field NY on 10 January, 1942, a little over a month after Pearl Harbor. 

Assigned at Port Moresby, they began flying combat missions in P-39's on 22 July 1942. Their first aerial kill took place on 26 August, 1942. Many more would follow over the next few years.

Source

In January 1943 they transitioned to the P-38 which they flew until the end of the war.  The extended range of the P-38 was an excellent aspect to fight in the vast distances in the Pacific.

 

Source

 

 During this period, there Squadron became known as the "Headhunters". Which stuck with them until recently.

The squadron was deactivated 26 Dec 1945 after 3 years of combat.  It was reactivated 20 Feb, 1947.  Hmmm! Not quite two years after deactivation, something special must have been in their future. That would be the first US jet fighter, the  P-80 .It started out P-80, then the Air Force decided this class of airplanes should be called "Fighters". Hence the F which is still the configuration code.)

While it seems obsolete to us, back in the day, this was the hottest fighter in the world, the P-80 Shooting Star Source

That was followed after a couple of years with the F-86.

 

F-86 Sabre Source 

  

Then again in the F-100.

Not in Juvat Color Scheme, couldn't find one. Source

 Then the F-105. While flying this aircraft, they were sent TDY** to Southeast Asia AKA Vietnam, where they flew 2,657 missions over North Vietnam.

 The Thud. Met a lot of guys in my Dad's Squadron that had flown or would fly this jet.  Not everyone  came back. Source

 

In the early 80's, the Juvats were assigned to Kunsan AB ROK.  They also were flying F-4D's.  About this time, I was assigned to this squadron.   It was a HOT jet and taught me a lot about being a fighter pilot, newer jets did a lot of the job for you.  This one didn't.

I've flown THIS Jet, with THIS tail number! Source

    

The WP stood for Wolf Pack, the Wing's nickname. I think I remember, after my return to the States, that the Juvat's got invited to Red Flag.  This picture must have been taken there.

Then, the Juvat's got a new jet.  No, not an Eagle.  If they had I'd have volunteered to return to the squadron in an instant.  But...They got....Half an airplane.

Source

 

1 Engine instead of 2, 2 heat seekers instead of 4. (Zero radar missiles until the AMRAAM came out.) 

Yep, half an airplane.  Unfortunately, Heads up Display displayed quite a bit of classified info on the video tapes or I'd put one in here. 

But that's the history of the 80th TFS.  The entire 8th TFW, (the Juvats and the Pantons (our nickname for the other squadron , the 35th TFS "Panthers" at Kunsan) was absorbed into the "Super Squadron" in Osan AB ROK. Three squadrons melded into one with ~80 airplanes in it.  In my day that was called a "Fighter Wing", but what do I know.

What I do know is the USAF lost an extremely fine and historic squadron.  More's the pity.

Peace out y'all!
 

*No, I don't have a toupee.  I have a solar panel on the top of my head that gets me through the day. 

**TDY- Temporary Duty. You're going to go out take care of a mission and return to your home base. 

In case you're interested I used these sources for squadron histories and pictures. There's a lot more squadron history in them than I mentioned.  Well worth your time.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/80th_Fighter_Squadron

https://80fsheadhunters.org/news/deactivation-of-the-80fs 

https://80fsheadhunters.org/ 

https://www.kunsan.af.mil/About-Us/Fact-Sheets/Article/412725/80th-fighter-squadron/ 

https://military-history.fandom.com/wiki/80th_Fighter_Squadron  

https://www.usafunithistory.com/PDF/75-100/80%20FIGHTER%20SQ.pdf 

https://grokipedia.com/page/80th_Fighter_Squadron 

 

This Weekend, Remember Them ...

Source

Four days off.

Will we barbecue? Probably.

Will we perhaps have an adult beverage? Probably.

Will we remember the fallen?

Absolutely.

Many view this weekend as the start of summer. Pools will be opened. Folks will go to the beach. People are going to enjoy themselves. It's what people do.

Should folks take a moment this weekend to remember those who gave their lives for our freedom? Yes, they should. Will everyone? Probably not.

In church on Sunday I will, as I do every Memorial Day Sunday, recite the names of those killed in the line of duty whom I wish to keep alive in my heart, in my memory.

For if they are remembered, are they truly gone?

Captain Carroll F. LeFon, Jr.
United States Navy 

Lance Corporal Kurt E. Dechen
United States Marine Corps

Major Taj Sareen
United States Marine Corps

Lieutenant Nathan T. Poloski
United States Navy

Private Robert G. Bain
Royal Scots Fusiliers 

Private First Class Albert J. Dentino
United States Army
Photo courtesy of Kris in New England

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal 

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres, 

There is music in the midst of desolation 

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young, 

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. 

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted; 

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. 

At the going down of the sun and in the morning 

We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; 

They sit no more at familiar tables of home; 

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; 

They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound, 

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, 

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known 

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, 

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; 

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, 

To the end, to the end, they remain.

For the Fallen by Laurence Binyon

At some point during this weekend, take a moment, remember those who died defending this great nation of ours.

I will.

Damn it ...

Source

Late night texts are never a good thing.

My old boss texted me Thursday night to let me know that the police were doing a wellness check on a fellow lab rat. Guy I've known for a very long time. Fellow Vermonter.

The next day she called me, the police found him, dead, at home.

Losing people sucks.

Farewell Doug, you were a damn good man.

Man, I am all f**ked up.

The Mowing ...

Grass? What grass?
OAFS Photo

A brief pause in the tale of 1870 is in order. Thursday required a trip to the dermatologist, regularly scheduled visit, nothing ominous to report. Upon my return the lawn needed tending to. After a two week absence it was starting to look like jungle.

My next door neighbor knocked the front yard down for me at one point in my absence, so as not to arouse the ire of the neighborhood busybodies, so that wasn't too bad. So naturally I did that first. Curb appeal dontcha know? Weed whacking was a dire need, so I did that as well.

Friday will see the cutting of the back lawn, or the Serengeti as I'm starting to think of it. The idea of a herd of wildebeest back there is somewhat appealing, I mean they would knock down the grass, but you do know that they crap everywhere, right? And they'd drain that koi pond in nothing flat.

So, I do it manually. I am giving serious thought to finding someone else to do it, you know, for cash money. As Danny Glover might have put it ...

So yeah, there is that. This way I can go somewhere for a week or three and not worry about the gorram grass. Costs money, but I have that. I guess it all depends on how much. It can get pricy around these parts. (Maryland, on the gripping hand, is dirt cheap for that sort of thing. Or perhaps Tuttle just knows people, he's lived there for over fourteen years.)

In other news, the lilacs are in bloom. I have a fondness for those, my Mom had a whole line of them along the southern boundary of the ancestral manse, right outside my window, growing up. Love that fragrance.

OAFS Photo

Back soon with my fictional tale of the Franco-Prussian War, but more lawn cutting is in the offing.

Yay ...

Just an update

Ok Folks, the atrial ablations went well and I was released the day after the operation. The Doc gave me the “Take it EASY for a few days, juvat!” order. But I’m doing ok. Thanks for the thoughts and prayers. Much appreciated!

See you on Monday! Turning you over to Sarge for his post this morning.

juvat

Le Village

Contre-attaque d'infanterie dans un village, 1870
Paul-Louis-Narcisse Grolleron
Source

Lieutenant de Caumont was awake still, the sun was just coming up and the men were preparing breakfast.

"Are you going to eat, Sir?"

De Caumont turned, "No, but thank you Sergent Leduc. I'm going down to the town to speak with the journalist. But keep that to yourself for now."

"Oui, monsieur, certainement."

As de Caumont walked down the farm track to the village, it was only a few hundred meters, it gave him time to think. The events at the Battle of Mars-la-Tour had haunted him for months now. Perhaps telling someone who had not been involved with it might prove cathartic. He couldn't speak with the men about it, it might damage his authority, or so he thought. If he lost the men's confidence, he would be useless as an officer.

He pushed the door open to the small café, and there was Kossakowski waiting for him. On the table were some Gipfeli, which he still insisted on calling croissants though they were smaller and denser than a typical French croissant. There were two coffee cups as well, one the journalist was drinking from, the other sat empty, waiting for his arrival no doubt.

"How could you be so sure I would come?" he asked the Pole.

"A hunch, I sensed last night that you wanted to talk. That you needed to talk."

"Perhaps." de Caumont signaled to the man waiting tables to bring the coffee pot.

The first attack had been driven back, leaving numerous Prussians lying on the field, victims of the concentrated fire of his men's Chassepots. Then the Prussian artillery arrived.

The Krupp C64 guns were breechloaders, capable of a faster rate of fire than the muzzleloading cannon available to the French that day. The Prussian fuses were also superior, their shells would explode on impact, unlike the French fuses which were timed to explode at a certain point after leaving the barrel. A good gunner could set the fuse to explode at just the right time, based on his estimate of range. But not every battery had such a gunner.

As the Prussian cannon fire began impacting all around them, the men were getting reluctant to expose themselves. Many of them would poke their rifles over the walls they were sheltering behind and fire blindly. Under the cover of this cannon fire the Prussians managed to drive the French back.

De Caumont looked for his sergeant, one Maxwell Bénard, the man seemed to be everywhere at once, rallying the men, trying to get them to fire accurately, and was having some success. It was time to pull back, out of the village, it would take the Prussians time to consolidate their forces after taking the town, time in which they could either counterattack or withdraw. Based on his experiences so far in this war, de Caumont fully expected an order to fall back.

"Monsieur! The Prussians are milling about in the town, I don't think their generals realize that they've taken the place. Do we go back in?" Sergent Bénard had shown up with the remnants of the 3rd Platoon, which was down to just fourteen men.

De Caumont looked around, he saw another company to his left, the men seemed confused and unsure of what to do. He didn't see any officers with them and a single corporal seemed to be in charge.

"Bénard, good to see you, I thought you had fallen. Get the men ready, we're going back in." Then he turned and went to the corporal of the other company.

"Corporel! Where are your sergeants, your officers?"

The man turned and snapped to attention, "I don't know, Sir. I last saw my Lieutenant just as he was decapitated by an enemy shell. Our Sergent was hit as well. The men ran at that point, but I think they are willing to go forward again."

De Caumont drew his sword and shouted at the men behind the corporal, "Will you men follow me? Will you help my company drive those bastards from the town? For the honor of our regiment, for the honor of France!"

At first the men looked at each other with uncertainty, then an older man stepped forward and bellowed, "I will go! Who will follow?"

With a roar, the men of the other company aligned themselves and looked to de Caumont.

He pointed his sword at the village and bellowed, "En avant! Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur!"

Kossakowski set his cup down and looked at de Caumont, "Did they follow?"

"Yes, yes they did. We retook the village, but the cost was too high. Bénard fell, as did many of the soldiers. The Corporel, whose name I never did get, was killed as well, just as the last Prussian fled. Other regiments were attacking and the Prussian guns fell back, but not before killing my Sergent and the Corporel." de Caumont's gaze drifted to the window, his face went blank for a moment, then a shadow seemed to sweep over him and he looked down at the table.

"Are you all right, Monsieur?"

"Yes, no, I don't know Kossakowski, I ... What is your given name?"

"Tadeusz, my friends in the United States call me Ted. Feel free to address me as that."

"Very well, Ted, I am Jean. I must return to my company. Can we meet later? There is more to tell of Mars-la-Tour, where I saw the death ride of the Prussian cavalry."

"Dinner perhaps, here?"

"Very good, I will see you at sunset?"

"That will be excellent."

As de Caumont donned his greatcoat and left the café, Kossakowski watched the man, his eyes following him outside, where he noticed that it was snowing again. He shook his head.

His glance fell on a small pile of Swiss coins on the table which he hadn't noticed before, "Hhmm, decent of de Caumont to pay, he didn't eat anything and barely drank his coffee."

He returned to his hotel room and consulted his notes, then added to them. He needed to ask the lieutenant if he could be introduced to someone higher up, perhaps even a brigadier. It would be interesting to get their view of Mars-la-Tour.

He knew what had happened, but did the reality match the view at headquarters?