The Prussian Cavalry

Heinrich XVII, Prinz Reuß, an der Seite der fünften Eskadron I Garde-Dragoner-Regiments bei Mars-la-Tour, den 16 August 1870¹
Emil Hünten (PD)

The wind was picking up, Kossakowski pulled the lapels of his coat together and looked for a place to get out of the wind. The moving air seemed to slice right through his clothing. As he rounded a corner, he saw the young conscript, what was his name? Ah, yes, Junot, Soldat Junot.

The young man was sitting on a crate up against the wall of a shed. He was drinking something out of a bottle, Kossakowski couldn't tell what it was. He stood in front of the young soldier.

"Mind if I join you?"

Junot looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and he hadn't shaved in a few days, he looked rather scruffy for a soldier.

"Suit yourself, newspaperman." Junot said that with a certain amount of scorn.

Kossakowski didn't say anything, he just sat down next to the man, glad to be out of the wind. He didn't say a word, reaching into his coat, he pulled out a cheroot.

"Got any more of those?" Junot asked.

Kossakowski remained quiet, he simply handed the cheroot over, then reached for another. He lit Junot's for him, then lit his own up. After that the two men sat in companionable silence for quite a while.

Junot pulled his bottle out, the Pole thought it was beer, and Junot took a long pull on it, then set it beside the crate. He sighed as he did so. Kossakowski knew that sound, the sound of a man, who had perhaps drank too much, realizing that he was all out of whatever it was he'd been imbibing.

Junot took a long pull on his cheroot, coughed loudly, then tossed the cheroot aside.

"I'm more of a pipe man myself, but haven't found any tobacco worth smoking here." Junot offered. Kossakowski grunted as if in agreement.

After a few more long moments of silence, Junot slumped back against the barn, then wrapped his arms around himself. The young soldier shook his head, then spat into the snow.

"Horses."

Kossakowski looked at Junot and asked, "What about them?"

"They're big animals."

Kossakowski nodded, "Yes, they can be."

"Those Prussians ride some pretty big horses. Scary animals when there's a lot of them together. Scarier still when the men on their backs want to kill you."

Junot watched as the French cavalry charged. He had been surprised to see the horsemen advance at first a walk, then gradually increase their speed until they were almost upon the enemy. As the trumpet sounded the charge, a volley had crashed out. Powder smoke quickly obscured the field.

"Form up, form ranks you bastards!" It seemed as if all of the sergeants and not a few officers were yelling the same thing. Junot felt someone push him forward into a rough line.

A horse, without a rider, came out of the powder smoke, its eyes were open and rolling wildly, the animal was clearly in distress. Junot saw that the horse's chest and saddle were drenched in blood. He wondered whether it was from the rider, or from he animal itself. Perhaps both.

That single horse was followed by more, most with riders, all fleeing as if their lives depended on it, which they surely did as a mass of Prussian cavalry burst from the slowly dissipating smoke, pursuing the disordered French heavy cavalry.

Junot felt the ranks waiver, he had an enormous urge to urinate. He didn't know what to do and no one was giving any orders at the moment. That's when a Prussian lancer, they called them uhlans, dashed at Junot and the men to either side of him. That's when he realized that the other men in his company had fled. It was just him and two others.

The lancer thrust his weapon at Junot, who remembered his training and used his rifle to parry the blow. The lance impaled the arm of the man to his right, who screamed in pain and fury. Junot watched as the wounded man drove his bayonet into the horse's belly.

The animal reared, screaming in pain, unseating its rider. The lancer fell heavily, grunting in pain as he hit the ground. Then he too was screaming as Junot and the man to his left drove their bayonets into the young Prussian. The cavalryman arched his back, then tried to wriggle out from under the blades piercing him.

"Cochon!²" Junot bellowed as he pulled his bayonet back and then thrust it again, this time into the Prussian's throat, pinning him to the earth.

"Jesus, Pierre, I think you killed him good, we need to get out of here."

The wounded man, a fellow named Henri, shouted, "That gully, to our left rear, make for that."

Junot followed the two men, looking back to see if there were any more cavalrymen about, yes, there was another. An officer from the look of him, the Prussian spurred his mount and headed directly for the fleeing Frenchmen.

"Pierre! Watch out!"

Henri's warning was unnecessary, Junot took aim and fired. The Prussian officer jerked back in his saddle as Junot's round hit him in the chest. The man's sword dropped from his lifeless grip and the officer's face went blank. But the horse continued on, nearly bowling Junot over as it passed.

"Here, get down!"

Junot scrambled into the depression in the earth as Adolphe Lambert pulled Junot down beside him.

"Henri, are you alright?" Junot saw that Henri Coulomb's injured arm was bleeding profusely.

"It hurts, Pierre."

Lambert was digging through his pack and pulled out his spare shirt. He handed it to Junot and said, "Bind that up, I'll watch for Prussians."

He did so.

"We were there for only a short time before the counterattack swept over us, driving those Prussians away. We fell back and found our unit, Henri went back to the surgeons." Junot sat on slumped upon crate, he shuddered at the memory of that day. "The surgeons took his arm, he died three days later."

"At least the weather was warm," he added as he looked at the snowy street.

Kossakowski simply nodded, then asked, "What was that you were drinking?"

"Drinking? Oh, beer, it was beer. I'm not much of a beer man, I prefer wine, or a good applejack." Junot shook his head again, as if to drive the memory of Mars-la-Tour from his brain.

Kossakowski stood and reached his hand out to Junot, "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry? Sure, I guess."

"Come along, let's get you a meal, perhaps a nice bottle of wine." Kossakowski helped Junot to his feet.

"Will you write about that?"

"About ..."

"What I just told you."

"Maybe. Do you want me to?"

"No. Well, yes ... I don't know. Would your readers like it?"

Kossakowski didn't answer the question. "Do you know that those Prussians were cut to pieces after they overran your unit?"

"No, I did not."

"They were, destroyed a number of regiments, your guns and infantry did."

"Really?"

"Yes, and your little stand allowed Bazaine the time to send up those reinforcements you saw."

Junot heard the name of the French general, then spat in the snow.

"Bazaine, that bastard threw away our victory. We were gaining on our right, the Prussians were falling back in disorder, then we were ordered to halt and defend."

"You don't say?"

Junot nodded, "I do, ask Lieutenant de Caumont. Hell, ask anyone."

Kossakowski nodded, "I will. Now let's get you that meal. I know a place."

¹ Heinrich XVII, Prince Reuss, alongside the 5th Squadron of the 1st Guard Dragoon Regiment at Mars-la-Tour, August 16, 1870.

² Pig!

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