marathag
Banned
_Francis: the War Years_
But seriously,a Mule was a film star
Patton in Korea/MacArthur in the White House
- Thread starter BiteNibbleChomp
- Start date
- Status
But seriously,a Mule was a film star
Wolf of Badenoch
Donor
The British army still had a mule pack squadron in HK up to the mid 70's - part of the Gurkha transport unit_Francis: the War Years_
But seriously,a Mule was a film star
Francis the Talking Mule - Wikipedia
en.wikipedia.org
I'm happy he was able to escape from Communist tyranny. I hope he got his back pay from WWII. The Army owed him a lot of oats.
This reminds me of the story Khrushchev once told. A horse, cow, and jackass ran away from home, and were living in the woods. After some time they got homesick, and wanted to go home. The cow went first, but she came running back the next day saying. "It was awful. Everyone was so hungry, they kept grabbing me, trying to get milk out of me." A few days later the horse tried to go home, but he ran back the next day saying. "Your right it was terrible. Everyone wanted me to pull this really heavy wagon, and they beat me." After a few more days the Jackass decided to try his luck. A day later he came running back, saying. "You were right, it was just insane. Everyone wanted me to run for public office."
For Post-Patton, I imagine a statue of Patton in Korea, similar to the one with MacArthur.
Korea was hello on the troops my dad was EOD at the end of WW2 and unfortunately got called back to the colours for Korea. Unfortunately he decided to blow him self up the day I was born. He used to set the explosives in the mine to open the seam up some prat decided to send a message that mum was in Labour he rushed things and boom no dad. Mum used to tell me the stories on what he did in the war and Korea and according to her Korea was bad conscripts not being well trained no cold weather kit at first dad lost two toes and his left pinky to frost bite. What he had bad dreams about was the mass infantry assaults apparently from reading his diary’s he went hand to hand a fair few times why is hard to work out as EOD do not normally on the front line. It’s ironic his dad got zapped in Singapore and had a all exclusive holiday sorted out by the Japanese and mums dad same thing but he was on repulse and again got zapped by the Japanese and poor old day turns what ever age gets conscriptEd and sent to Germany , mother decides that her private flying lessons in the 30s were useful to the war effort so ends up delivering fighters all over the country quite literally the whole family in the forces scary.
Any how I think the Chinese will when the rock up will still be a shock but Patton is by the looks of it hedging his bets and as long as he keeps Dugout Dug and his stupid advisers at arms left he will give him self and more importantly his troops a chance.
Any how I think the Chinese will when the rock up will still be a shock but Patton is by the looks of it hedging his bets and as long as he keeps Dugout Dug and his stupid advisers at arms left he will give him self and more importantly his troops a chance.
Not at David Llange levels but he was quite noted for some of his pointed jokes...
This reminds me of the story Khrushchev once told. A horse, cow, and jackass ran away from home, and were living in the woods. After some time they got homesick, and wanted to go home. The cow went first, but she came running back the next day saying. "It was awful. Everyone was so hungry, they kept grabbing me, trying to get milk out of me." A few days later the horse tried to go home, but he ran back the next day saying. "Your right it was terrible. Everyone wanted me to pull this really heavy wagon, and they beat me." After a few more days the Jackass decided to try his luck. A day later he came running back, saying. "You were right, it was just insane. Everyone wanted me to run for public office."
Khrushchev, like Mao had an earthy sense of humor. while speaking to VP Nixon in 1959 Nixon said. "Nothing smells worse then Horse Shit." Khrushchev disagreed, he said "Nothing smells worse then Pig Shit." For his part Mao said. "Not all Russian Farts smell sweet." That's much better then Stalin who loved to laugh about the suffering of his personal enemies. He loved to mock their begging for mercy, and other degrading behavior before they were garroted, shot, or hanged.
Well, you already have human "mules": the Korean Service Battalion(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korean_Service_Corps).
Part III, Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
I have fought with gun and cutlass
On the red and slippery deck
With all Hell aflame within me
And a rope around my neck.
October 22, 1950
Lieutenant General John B. Coulter grimaced as he grabbed a hold of the shaking telephone. It had barely stopped ringing since yesterday evening, and he had had no rest for over twenty four hours. Serving as Patton’s effective deputy and unofficial American commander for all ROK units – ten divisions or so in all – was a stressful job. Or he had thought so until the events of the last night gave him a new frame of reference.
“Coulter speaking.” he said.
“Major Harry Fleming, sir.” Major Harry Fleming said. “7th Regiment.”
Good, another American. That was a small mercy: the poor Korean interpreter had already had to take too many of these calls.
“What division are you with?” Coulter asked.
“6th, sir.” Fleming replied.
“And you’ve been attacked by the CCF?” Coulter asked. He’d heard the story from just about every division the ROKs had. “What’s the situation?” Bad was the most common answer. Awful was becoming increasingly common.
“We’re down to half strength. The regiment, I mean.” Fleming said, doing his best – but not good enough – to keep the worry out of his voice.
“In one night?” Coulter asked, without even meaning to. “Never mind, is the road still open?”
“To Hungnam, yeah. North? No chance.” Fleming said. “We’re on the east bank of the Pujon Reservoir and got hit from the east too, so I don’t know how much longer we will be open.”
“How far up?” Coulter said. “From the base of the dam?”
“Two miles, sir.” Fleming said after a short pause.
“Find Colonel Lim. If he’s gone, the next in line. Tell him to get all your living onto the trucks and pull back to the southern edge of the dam, then to dig in on the double.” Coulter ordered. Patton would skin him for ordering – hell, allowing – a retreat. Well, too bad for Patton. He’d been ordering them all night. What was one more? Or two more?
“Lieutenant!” he shouted to a lieutenant on the other side of the room. “Get on the line to the 2nd Regiment of the 6th Division. Tell them, I don’t care who, to pull back to the southern edge of the Pujon Dam immediately.” That regiment was on the western side. “They are to link up with the 7th and then to dig in.”
“You got it, sir.” the lieutenant said.
Coulter put down the phone – evidently he had forgotten to return it to its cradle in the rush to alert the neighbouring regiment – and looked at the map pinned on the wall. Literally, in this case. Some Korean was going to one day return to his home and wonder why one of its walls had a thousand tiny holes in it. Then he would be thankful he didn’t live across the street, where a block had been flattened by a B-29’s old payload.
Those thousand holes came from the incredible array of pins marking the positions of various units. Blue ones, where the ROKs were. Red ones, known cells of North Korean activity. And now, far, far too many yellow ones. Chinese. They called themselves the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army, disguising the fact that they were CCF units, “volunteers” most likely only in the old way of volunteer or I kill you. He only knew they were called that at all because of the two green pins – not representing units per se, but the locations where the CPVA had been repulsed. One had yielded prisoners.
Two small victories in a sea of yellow. A sea, that had come from nothing to form a tsunami.
October 25, 1950
President Harry Truman was glad to finally be rid of Louis Johnson as his Secretary of Defence. Johnson had, as was now apparent although may not have been then, gone too far with the economisation policy when it came to the military. The Army, Navy and Air Force had all gone into Korea woefully unprepared – it hadn’t mattered too much as things turned out: Patton had proven a masterful leader of men, but every senior officer was in agreement that, but for Patton’s gamble at Taejon, they would have been holding a small corner of Korea near Pusan to this day. Truman couldn’t blame Johnson too much for gutting the army – he had come up with it himself. He could blame Johnson for annoying everyone else on the President’s staff. Now the papers were going to blame someone for Red China’s sudden entrance to the war. Johnson got the sack that day. Truman hoped the political stink would go with him.
George Marshall had the spot now. He had been Chief of Staff for FDR. Truman had full confidence in his abilities.
“What can I do for you, Mr President?” Marshall asked.
“I have two problems, General. A Chinese problem and a Patton problem.” Truman said. “You have experience dealing with both.”
“I wasn’t terribly successful with China, I’m afraid, but I’ll do my best.” Marshall said, referring to the time shortly after the last war when he had gone to China to broker a cease fire between Mao and Chiang. “What’s the issue with Patton? MacArthur?”
“Not MacArthur. What makes you say that?” Truman asked.
“I was one of his closest friends in the days of the Old Army. I’ve known him longer than just about anyone, and think it likely I know him better than just about anyone too.” Marshall explained. “And if I had to guess anything about him, it would be that he and General MacArthur would not get along. That’s why I denied him the Pacific assignment just before he retired. It’s why I was amazed when you gave him the Eighth Army.”
“I’m still amazed I did it myself.” Truman said. “He’s been thanking me over the teletype every day for the last month by demanding I let him over the Walker Line. Or actually, MacArthur’s doing it on his behalf. The two might as well share a mouth with how often they think alike these days.”
“I’m not surprised.” Marshall said. When he noticed Truman’s questioning expression, he explained it. “I mean, I’m surprised about MacArthur, but not about George. He has never reacted well to being held back. Worse than usual.”
“And that’s why he’s so dangerous for the political side of this war.” Truman said. “You know, if I had any other general out there in charge of Eighth Army, I wouldn’t have the slightest hesitation about sending them forward with the ROKs, at least before we knew about Red China. We wouldn’t even have the divided command at all – before he got Rhee mad we were going to integrate US and ROK units into mixed divisions. As things are…”
“Wait and see.” Marshall advised. “According to the reports from Tokyo, the ROKs have been pushed back and badly shaken by the Chinese offensive, but I believe they will contain it before too long. From their current positions, there is no immediate threat to the Walker Line. If the situation turns for the worse, we should of course reconsider. Because if we do send Patton forward, China and Russia are going to be concerned that he won’t just stop at the Yalu, but blow right past it. He’d never do such a thing without orders, but they don’t know that. Less political risk in holding back for now. Might make armistice negotiations a bit simpler too.”
“Would things be helped by making an offer now?” Truman asked. He hadn’t been planning on doing so until the ROK flag waved on the Yalu, but seeing as Marshall had brought it up, another opinion couldn’t hurt.
“No.” Marshall said flatly. “Not until we throw their offensive back. To do so any sooner would just be a sign of weakness.”
November 7, 1950
General Patton was being driven to the front. The Walker Line was a demoralising, poor excuse for a front line, better described as an extensive training camp than anything else. While the ROKs battled the Chinese, often without much success, American, British and now a few other nations’ troops waited, and trained, here. Evidently the order that he only command American troops had been forgotten. For them, this was ‘the front’.
“Election Day today.” Sergeant Mims said. “At least when the sun rises on the East Coast.”
Patton gave a noncommittal grunt for a reply. Soldiers weren’t supposed to have politics, although they were still encouraged to do their democratic duties when November came around. Before 1945, he hadn’t paid much attention to politics, and he couldn’t now remember when, if ever, he had cast a ballot in his younger days. Since the end of the last war, politics had changed. A fear of communism tore through the land, splitting states, counties, even families at times.
For Patton, the last wasn’t quite literal, but it could have been. In 1950, California was electing a senator, either the Republican Richard Nixon or Democrat Helen Douglas. He’s voted Douglas when forces in Korea were offered the chance to vote: Nixon was a shifty son of a bitch who Patton had never been able to stand. Beatrice, he was certain, would have voted for Nixon – she came from a devoutly Republican family and was no less supportive of the GOP herself. He hadn’t told her and never would: it would have been a terrible idea to do so.
Maybe not so terrible, he thought on a second reflection. He planned to die here in Korea, a glorious death leading the charge of the final, successful battle. It was the only way for a warrior to truly go out. Of course, if he told her that, she might never have let him leave California at all…
He’d made a number of trips like this over the last couple of days, and what he did when he reached each regiment’s camp depended entirely on what he felt like when he got there. Sometimes he had the troops assemble on the camp’s largest open area. Other times he’d meet the soldiers in the field kitchens or while they were conducting practice exercises. This evening, he decided “drive me to their barracks”. After Mims did so and they both hopped out of the jeep, he called out to those inside.
“Soldiers, I’ve got something for you!”
“Is that the General?” someone inside said, obviously to his buddies but loud enough to be heard at the opening of the very large tent (Patton suspected multiple tents had been joined together to create this structure).
“Yes it’s me, now get moving!” he called back. As the troops assembled, he found an old ammo box and decided it would do well enough for a stage. There wouldn’t be a microphone here. Too much bother to set up, and there were a lot of regiments to get to.
“Men, on the day after I came to Korea some dumb son of a bitch told me that the 24th Regiment was the worst one in the Army. If you haven’t already realised it yet I want you to know how wrong he was. Every time you men have gone into battle, you have fought bravely and fought well, and if I had to complain about this outfit in some way it would be that we don’t have more like you. You have all done your duties, and you should be proud of it.
“Alas, there are lots of dumb sons of bitches out here, because I’ve been hearing another stupid thing. People are saying that the war is nearly over, and that there’s no more fight to be had. They were saying the same thing back in France, and then Hitler hit us with the Battle of the Bulge. I think you’re already aware of this, but the Hun Chinese have done something similar to our allies. There’s no such thing as ‘nearly’ winning a war. You either have won it or you need to. We still need to. The way we do it is to go north into those goddamn mountains and shoot the Nazis in the damn nose. We’re gonna rip out their guts and toss them back over the Yalu River. And once we’ve done that, then we can say we’ve won the war. I haven’t ordered you up there yet because our allies are supposed to do it for us. I already know what that means. We’ll wait down here while our allies stuff it up, just like Monty did in Caen and Arnhem, but eventually they’ll decide we’re needed. The day they do, you’ll be prepared. The day they do, we advance.
“There’s one other dumb son of a bitch’s comment I need to deal with. That idiot thought we wouldn’t need winter kit. In case he hasn’t realised it yet, we’re in November already. There’s gonna be some snow on the damn ground in a few weeks. In the mountains, the Chinese are probably digging goddamn snow trenches right now, because its been falling there for weeks. Koreans have told me about it. Well, I told that man to go to hell, and now there’s a couple of boats in Pusan with half a million uniforms for you. Two for each man. One will be sent for your commanding officer to distribute over the coming days. The others are sitting in the back of a couple of trucks. I thought I’d bring you them myself.”
He finished the speech off by naming a few good soldiers who had also been approved for decoration, including a DSC for one brave man, and then ordered the unit to assemble in a single file line to collect their new winter gear package. As each man came up, he asked them for their name, what state they were from, who was waiting for them back home, and other such questions. Just as it was important for the soldiers to see their commander, it was important for a commander to see his soldiers.
Then, once two thirds of the line had collected their new gear, a young black sergeant asked one of his own. “If you’d be willing to answer, of course, sir.”
“Go ahead.” Patton said. If he didn’t like the question, then too bad for Corporal William Thompson.
“Sir, a couple of years ago, President Truman signed an executive order saying white and black troops should serve together. This being an all black unit, a lot of us thought you’d bust us up, especially with the reputation we had back then. What I want to ask is, why didn’t you?” Thompson asked.
“Corporal, I knew what you troops were capable of. I had a tank battalion in France that was black, and they were some of the toughest troops I ever met. I’m not going to bust up a perfectly good unit, and you’ll notice I’ve given your regiment white replacements for your losses.” Patton said. “Truman gets his mixed units, your unit stays intact. Makes everyone happy. Now go on, see if you can’t inspire some of your friends to win that cross like you did.”
- BNC
I have fought with gun and cutlass
On the red and slippery deck
With all Hell aflame within me
And a rope around my neck.
October 22, 1950
Lieutenant General John B. Coulter grimaced as he grabbed a hold of the shaking telephone. It had barely stopped ringing since yesterday evening, and he had had no rest for over twenty four hours. Serving as Patton’s effective deputy and unofficial American commander for all ROK units – ten divisions or so in all – was a stressful job. Or he had thought so until the events of the last night gave him a new frame of reference.
“Coulter speaking.” he said.
“Major Harry Fleming, sir.” Major Harry Fleming said. “7th Regiment.”
Good, another American. That was a small mercy: the poor Korean interpreter had already had to take too many of these calls.
“What division are you with?” Coulter asked.
“6th, sir.” Fleming replied.
“And you’ve been attacked by the CCF?” Coulter asked. He’d heard the story from just about every division the ROKs had. “What’s the situation?” Bad was the most common answer. Awful was becoming increasingly common.
“We’re down to half strength. The regiment, I mean.” Fleming said, doing his best – but not good enough – to keep the worry out of his voice.
“In one night?” Coulter asked, without even meaning to. “Never mind, is the road still open?”
“To Hungnam, yeah. North? No chance.” Fleming said. “We’re on the east bank of the Pujon Reservoir and got hit from the east too, so I don’t know how much longer we will be open.”
“How far up?” Coulter said. “From the base of the dam?”
“Two miles, sir.” Fleming said after a short pause.
“Find Colonel Lim. If he’s gone, the next in line. Tell him to get all your living onto the trucks and pull back to the southern edge of the dam, then to dig in on the double.” Coulter ordered. Patton would skin him for ordering – hell, allowing – a retreat. Well, too bad for Patton. He’d been ordering them all night. What was one more? Or two more?
“Lieutenant!” he shouted to a lieutenant on the other side of the room. “Get on the line to the 2nd Regiment of the 6th Division. Tell them, I don’t care who, to pull back to the southern edge of the Pujon Dam immediately.” That regiment was on the western side. “They are to link up with the 7th and then to dig in.”
“You got it, sir.” the lieutenant said.
Coulter put down the phone – evidently he had forgotten to return it to its cradle in the rush to alert the neighbouring regiment – and looked at the map pinned on the wall. Literally, in this case. Some Korean was going to one day return to his home and wonder why one of its walls had a thousand tiny holes in it. Then he would be thankful he didn’t live across the street, where a block had been flattened by a B-29’s old payload.
Those thousand holes came from the incredible array of pins marking the positions of various units. Blue ones, where the ROKs were. Red ones, known cells of North Korean activity. And now, far, far too many yellow ones. Chinese. They called themselves the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army, disguising the fact that they were CCF units, “volunteers” most likely only in the old way of volunteer or I kill you. He only knew they were called that at all because of the two green pins – not representing units per se, but the locations where the CPVA had been repulsed. One had yielded prisoners.
Two small victories in a sea of yellow. A sea, that had come from nothing to form a tsunami.
October 25, 1950
President Harry Truman was glad to finally be rid of Louis Johnson as his Secretary of Defence. Johnson had, as was now apparent although may not have been then, gone too far with the economisation policy when it came to the military. The Army, Navy and Air Force had all gone into Korea woefully unprepared – it hadn’t mattered too much as things turned out: Patton had proven a masterful leader of men, but every senior officer was in agreement that, but for Patton’s gamble at Taejon, they would have been holding a small corner of Korea near Pusan to this day. Truman couldn’t blame Johnson too much for gutting the army – he had come up with it himself. He could blame Johnson for annoying everyone else on the President’s staff. Now the papers were going to blame someone for Red China’s sudden entrance to the war. Johnson got the sack that day. Truman hoped the political stink would go with him.
George Marshall had the spot now. He had been Chief of Staff for FDR. Truman had full confidence in his abilities.
“What can I do for you, Mr President?” Marshall asked.
“I have two problems, General. A Chinese problem and a Patton problem.” Truman said. “You have experience dealing with both.”
“I wasn’t terribly successful with China, I’m afraid, but I’ll do my best.” Marshall said, referring to the time shortly after the last war when he had gone to China to broker a cease fire between Mao and Chiang. “What’s the issue with Patton? MacArthur?”
“Not MacArthur. What makes you say that?” Truman asked.
“I was one of his closest friends in the days of the Old Army. I’ve known him longer than just about anyone, and think it likely I know him better than just about anyone too.” Marshall explained. “And if I had to guess anything about him, it would be that he and General MacArthur would not get along. That’s why I denied him the Pacific assignment just before he retired. It’s why I was amazed when you gave him the Eighth Army.”
“I’m still amazed I did it myself.” Truman said. “He’s been thanking me over the teletype every day for the last month by demanding I let him over the Walker Line. Or actually, MacArthur’s doing it on his behalf. The two might as well share a mouth with how often they think alike these days.”
“I’m not surprised.” Marshall said. When he noticed Truman’s questioning expression, he explained it. “I mean, I’m surprised about MacArthur, but not about George. He has never reacted well to being held back. Worse than usual.”
“And that’s why he’s so dangerous for the political side of this war.” Truman said. “You know, if I had any other general out there in charge of Eighth Army, I wouldn’t have the slightest hesitation about sending them forward with the ROKs, at least before we knew about Red China. We wouldn’t even have the divided command at all – before he got Rhee mad we were going to integrate US and ROK units into mixed divisions. As things are…”
“Wait and see.” Marshall advised. “According to the reports from Tokyo, the ROKs have been pushed back and badly shaken by the Chinese offensive, but I believe they will contain it before too long. From their current positions, there is no immediate threat to the Walker Line. If the situation turns for the worse, we should of course reconsider. Because if we do send Patton forward, China and Russia are going to be concerned that he won’t just stop at the Yalu, but blow right past it. He’d never do such a thing without orders, but they don’t know that. Less political risk in holding back for now. Might make armistice negotiations a bit simpler too.”
“Would things be helped by making an offer now?” Truman asked. He hadn’t been planning on doing so until the ROK flag waved on the Yalu, but seeing as Marshall had brought it up, another opinion couldn’t hurt.
“No.” Marshall said flatly. “Not until we throw their offensive back. To do so any sooner would just be a sign of weakness.”
November 7, 1950
General Patton was being driven to the front. The Walker Line was a demoralising, poor excuse for a front line, better described as an extensive training camp than anything else. While the ROKs battled the Chinese, often without much success, American, British and now a few other nations’ troops waited, and trained, here. Evidently the order that he only command American troops had been forgotten. For them, this was ‘the front’.
“Election Day today.” Sergeant Mims said. “At least when the sun rises on the East Coast.”
Patton gave a noncommittal grunt for a reply. Soldiers weren’t supposed to have politics, although they were still encouraged to do their democratic duties when November came around. Before 1945, he hadn’t paid much attention to politics, and he couldn’t now remember when, if ever, he had cast a ballot in his younger days. Since the end of the last war, politics had changed. A fear of communism tore through the land, splitting states, counties, even families at times.
For Patton, the last wasn’t quite literal, but it could have been. In 1950, California was electing a senator, either the Republican Richard Nixon or Democrat Helen Douglas. He’s voted Douglas when forces in Korea were offered the chance to vote: Nixon was a shifty son of a bitch who Patton had never been able to stand. Beatrice, he was certain, would have voted for Nixon – she came from a devoutly Republican family and was no less supportive of the GOP herself. He hadn’t told her and never would: it would have been a terrible idea to do so.
Maybe not so terrible, he thought on a second reflection. He planned to die here in Korea, a glorious death leading the charge of the final, successful battle. It was the only way for a warrior to truly go out. Of course, if he told her that, she might never have let him leave California at all…
He’d made a number of trips like this over the last couple of days, and what he did when he reached each regiment’s camp depended entirely on what he felt like when he got there. Sometimes he had the troops assemble on the camp’s largest open area. Other times he’d meet the soldiers in the field kitchens or while they were conducting practice exercises. This evening, he decided “drive me to their barracks”. After Mims did so and they both hopped out of the jeep, he called out to those inside.
“Soldiers, I’ve got something for you!”
“Is that the General?” someone inside said, obviously to his buddies but loud enough to be heard at the opening of the very large tent (Patton suspected multiple tents had been joined together to create this structure).
“Yes it’s me, now get moving!” he called back. As the troops assembled, he found an old ammo box and decided it would do well enough for a stage. There wouldn’t be a microphone here. Too much bother to set up, and there were a lot of regiments to get to.
“Men, on the day after I came to Korea some dumb son of a bitch told me that the 24th Regiment was the worst one in the Army. If you haven’t already realised it yet I want you to know how wrong he was. Every time you men have gone into battle, you have fought bravely and fought well, and if I had to complain about this outfit in some way it would be that we don’t have more like you. You have all done your duties, and you should be proud of it.
“Alas, there are lots of dumb sons of bitches out here, because I’ve been hearing another stupid thing. People are saying that the war is nearly over, and that there’s no more fight to be had. They were saying the same thing back in France, and then Hitler hit us with the Battle of the Bulge. I think you’re already aware of this, but the Hun Chinese have done something similar to our allies. There’s no such thing as ‘nearly’ winning a war. You either have won it or you need to. We still need to. The way we do it is to go north into those goddamn mountains and shoot the Nazis in the damn nose. We’re gonna rip out their guts and toss them back over the Yalu River. And once we’ve done that, then we can say we’ve won the war. I haven’t ordered you up there yet because our allies are supposed to do it for us. I already know what that means. We’ll wait down here while our allies stuff it up, just like Monty did in Caen and Arnhem, but eventually they’ll decide we’re needed. The day they do, you’ll be prepared. The day they do, we advance.
“There’s one other dumb son of a bitch’s comment I need to deal with. That idiot thought we wouldn’t need winter kit. In case he hasn’t realised it yet, we’re in November already. There’s gonna be some snow on the damn ground in a few weeks. In the mountains, the Chinese are probably digging goddamn snow trenches right now, because its been falling there for weeks. Koreans have told me about it. Well, I told that man to go to hell, and now there’s a couple of boats in Pusan with half a million uniforms for you. Two for each man. One will be sent for your commanding officer to distribute over the coming days. The others are sitting in the back of a couple of trucks. I thought I’d bring you them myself.”
He finished the speech off by naming a few good soldiers who had also been approved for decoration, including a DSC for one brave man, and then ordered the unit to assemble in a single file line to collect their new winter gear package. As each man came up, he asked them for their name, what state they were from, who was waiting for them back home, and other such questions. Just as it was important for the soldiers to see their commander, it was important for a commander to see his soldiers.
Then, once two thirds of the line had collected their new gear, a young black sergeant asked one of his own. “If you’d be willing to answer, of course, sir.”
“Go ahead.” Patton said. If he didn’t like the question, then too bad for Corporal William Thompson.
“Sir, a couple of years ago, President Truman signed an executive order saying white and black troops should serve together. This being an all black unit, a lot of us thought you’d bust us up, especially with the reputation we had back then. What I want to ask is, why didn’t you?” Thompson asked.
“Corporal, I knew what you troops were capable of. I had a tank battalion in France that was black, and they were some of the toughest troops I ever met. I’m not going to bust up a perfectly good unit, and you’ll notice I’ve given your regiment white replacements for your losses.” Patton said. “Truman gets his mixed units, your unit stays intact. Makes everyone happy. Now go on, see if you can’t inspire some of your friends to win that cross like you did.”
- BNC
Last edited:
Should be Lieutenant General
I'dove to see their faces if they had seen OTL. I know this is a Pattonwank thread, but even TTL staff can't have all ignored the possibility that there were alternatives to Patton.
Here comes the Red Chinese. I am waiting to see Patton's kicking their asses back to the other side of Yalu.
So the worry about Patton caused China to intervene early? Well that's a good thing as it gives Patton a great defensive line to have China batter themselves against and then thrown back the exhausted army.
I can appreciate the cultural shock that the white soldiers felt when they showed up and were one of a handful of whites in a formerly all back regiment, I grew up in the Deep American South in the 60's and 70's. I was used to be in a predominately white environment with only a few blacks. One day, I saw a bar on the side of the road and I went in. It was an all black bar and I was the only white guy there. It felt weird. Everyone was nice and the bartender asked me what I wanted to drink. I had a couple of beers and relaxed. When I got up to leave, the bartender told me that I was welcome to come back anytime.
I never did go back but I will always remember the feeling that I had when I was in the minority for the first time in my life. Hopefully the white replacement troops will focus on fitting in since the best way to survive a war is to have some one watching your back and you watch theirs.
I never did go back but I will always remember the feeling that I had when I was in the minority for the first time in my life. Hopefully the white replacement troops will focus on fitting in since the best way to survive a war is to have some one watching your back and you watch theirs.
Different times. There wasn't such an ideological gap between the parties as there is today. People went back and forth between both parties fairly regularly depending on who they personally liked more.
- Status