Regiment Army Quotes

After World War Two, the Australian army had been re-organised into its peace-time army status. The army was primarily three battalions which together with supporting units, formed a regiment and the battalions making up the regiment were identified by both their number and the title of the regiment. This meant that the First Battalion Royal Australian Regiment was identified by the initials of 1RAR. The two other battalions were identified as 2RAR or 3RAR. At the height of Australia’s commitment to the Vietnam War (Second Indochina War) Australia had a total of nine battalions which were later called the First Division.

The Minister of Army answered, “Bob, I thought that you would have been an astute and clever enough a politician to think of this yourself, but seeing how you have asked me, I suggest that you wait until eight in the night on Thursday 29/April/1965 to announce that Australia will send the First Battalion Royal Australian Regiment to fight in South Vietnam. By you waiting until the evening of 29/April/1965 to announce this in Parliament, the labour opposition leader of Arthur Caldwell and his deputy leader of Gough Whitlam should be absent, as will be most of the entire parliament, because the following day is the beginning of a long week- end. You are legally not required to give advanced warning to the house, so you can easily get away with this!

We can't make you do anything, but we can make you wish you had. - Army saying

In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy's country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good. So, too, it is better to recapture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them.

Im's offspring stare at stars and make clocks that calculate useless happenings like the angle of a hawk's claws as it strikes its prey. They demonstrate their contraptions and everyone marvels. My children get drunk, confuse a herd of cows with an enemy regiment, and slaughter the lot, screaming like lunatics until the entire army panics.

I’ve waged the war you forced me to, Alina,” said the Darkling. “If you hadn’t run from me, the Second Army would still be intact. All those Grisha would still be alive. Your tracker would be safe and happy with his regiment. When will it be enough? When will you let me stop?

What if all those strange and unexplainable bends in history were the result of supernatural interference? At which point I asked myself, what's the weirdest most eccentric historical phenomenon of them all? Answer:the Great British Empire. Clearly, one tiny little island could only conquer half the known world with supernatural aid. Those absurd Victorian manners and ridiculous fashions were obviously dictated by vampires. And, without a doubt, the British army regimental system functions on werewolf pack dynamics.

Sun Tzu said: In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy's country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good. So, too, it is better to capture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them.

There is a recurrent scene from those dinners that surfaces again and again, like an obsessive undercurrent in a dream. Julian, at the head of the long table, rises to his feet and lifts his wineglass. ‘Live forever,’ he says. And the rest of us rise too, and clink our glasses across the table, like an army regiment crossing sabres: Henry and Bunny, Charles and Francis, Camilla and I. ‘Live forever,’ we chorus, throwing our glasses back in unison. And always, always, that same toast. Live forever.

Monogamy, in brief, kills passion -- and passion is the most dangerous of all the surviving enemies to what we call civilization, which is based upon order, decorum, restraint, formality, industry, regimentation. The civilized man -- the ideal civilized man -- is simply one who never sacrifices the common security to his private passions. He reaches perfection when he even ceases to love passionately -- when he reduces the most profound of all his instinctive experiences from the level of an ecstasy to the level of a mere device for replenishing the armies and workshops of the world, keeping clothes in repair, reducing the infant death-rate, providing enough tenants for every landlord, and making it possible for the Polizei to know where every citizen is at any hour of the day or night. Monogamy accomplishes this, not by producing satiety, but by destroying appetite. It makes passion formal and uninspiring, and so gradually kills it.

it is better to recapture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them.

The losses in the Dervish ranks were horrendous as whole families and tribal groups were wiped out. No European army would have dreamed of facing such a wall of fire, but still they came on.

I'd like to have two armies: one for display with lovely guns, tanks, little soldiers, staffs, distinguished and doddering Generals, and dear little regimental officers who would be deeply concerned over their General's bowel movements or their Colonel's piles, an army that would be shown for a modest fee on every fairground in the country. The other would be the real one, composed entirely of young enthusiasts in camouflage uniforms, who would not be put on display, but from whom impossible efforts would be demanded and to whom all sorts of tricks would be taught. That's the army in which I should like to fight.

I believe every man who stood up was either killed or wounded," said Lieutenant Oliver Williams, who was himself hit. This regiment had participated in a touching event, well remembered by both armies. At Fredericksburg in late 1862, after the Sharpsburg campaign, it had held a dress parade at which the band played "Dixie." Across the Rappahannock a Northern band heard and played back the song as a bit of camaraderie. The band of the 20th North Carolina responded by playing "Yankee Doodle." Then both bands, as if by prearrangement, joined in "Home, Sweet Home." This chorus ran along the lines and both armies sang and wept.

They were white, because the U.S. Army in World War II was segregated. With three exceptions, they were unmarried. Most had been hunters and athletes in high school.

Sir" said Mrs. Meade indignantly. "There are NO deserters in the Confederate army." "I beg your pardon," said Rhett with mock humility. "I meant those thousands on furlough who FORGOT to rejoin their regiments and those who have been over their wounds for six months but who remain at home, going about their usual business or doing the spring plowing.

The looting was profitable, fun, low-risk, and completely in accord with the practice of every conquering army since Alexander the Great’s time.

To his left he saw the other regiments, men from New York, Pennsylvania, Michigan. Men like these, he thought, just farmers and shopkeepers, and now we are soldiers, and now we are about to die.

III. ATTACK BY STRATAGEM 1. Sun Tzu said: In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy's country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good. So, too, it is better to recapture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them. 2. Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.

I believe every man who stood up was either killed or wounded," said Lieutenant Oliver Williams, who was himself hit. This regiment has participated in a touching event, well remembered by both armies. At Fredericksburg in late 1862, after the Sharpsburg campaign, it had held a dress parade at which the band played "Dixie." Across the Rappahannock a Northern band heard and played back the song as a bit of camaraderie. The band of the 20th North Carolina responded by playing "Yankee Doodle." Then both bands, as if by prearrangement, joined in "Home, Sweet Home." This chorus ran along the lines and both armies sang and wept.

In Honolulu, I saw cats, individual cats, groups of cats, platoons of cats, companies of cats, regiments of cats, armies of cats, multitudes of cats, millions of cats, and all of them sleek, fat, lazy and sound asleep.

While few men, legislators or otherwise, have felt down the years that they could command ships of the line or marshal air armies without specialized training, almost any fool has felt in his heart he could command a regiment.

Each man in his own way had gone through what Richard Winters experienced: a realization that doing his best was a better way of getting through the Army than hanging around with the sad excuses for soldiers they met in the recruiting depots or basic training. They wanted to make their Army time positive, a learning and maturing and challenging experience.

He suddenly lost concern for himself, and forgot to look at a menacing fate. He became not a man but a member. He felt that something of which he was a part—a regiment, an army, a cause, or a country—was in a crisis. He was welded into a common personality which was dominated by a single desire. For some moments he could not flee no more than a little finger can commit a revolution from a hand.

People who have never canoed a wild river, or who have done so only with a guide in the stern, are apt to assume that novelty, plus healthful exercise, account for the value of the trip. I thought so too, until I met the two college boys on the Flambeau. Supper dishes washed, we sat on the bank watching a buck dunking for water plants on the far shore. Soon the buck raised his head, cocked his ears upstream, and then bounded for cover. Around the bend now came the cause of his alarm: two boys in a canoe. Spying us, they edged in to pass the time of day. ‘What time is it?’ was their first question. They explained that their watches had run down, and for the first time in their lives there was no clock, whistle, or radio to set watches by. For two days they had lived by ‘sun-time,’ and were getting a thrill out of it. No servant brought them meals: they got their meat out of the river, or went without. No traffic cop whistled them off the hidden rock in the next rapids. No friendly roof kept them dry when they misguessed whether or not to pitch the tent. No guide showed them which camping spots offered a nightlong breeze, and which a nightlong misery of mosquitoes; which firewood made clean coals, and which only smoke. Before our young adventurers pushed off downstream, we learned that both were slated for the Army upon the conclusion of their trip. Now the motif was clear. This trip was their first and last taste of freedom, an interlude between two regimentations: the campus and the barracks. The elemental simplicities of wilderness travel were thrills not only because of their novelty, but because they represented complete freedom to make mistakes. The wilderness gave them their first taste of those rewards and penalties for wise and foolish acts which every woodsman faces daily, but against which civilization has built a thousand buffers. These boys were ‘on their own’ in this particular sense. Perhaps every youth needs an occasional wilderness trip, in order to learn the meaning of this particular freedom.

The hardhearted person never sees people as a people, but rather as mere objects or as impersonal cogs in an ever-turning wheel. In the vast wheel of industry, he sees men as hands. In the massive wheel of big city life, he sees men as digits in a multitude. In the deadly wheel of army life, he sees men as numbers in a regiment. He depersonalizes life.

Army was boring, unfeeling, and chicken, and hated it. They found combat to be ugliness, destruction, and death, and hated it. Anything was better than the blood and carnage, the grime and filth, the impossible demands made on the body—anything, that is, except letting down their buddies. They also found in combat the closest brotherhood they ever knew. They found selflessness. They found they could love the other guy in their foxhole more than themselves. They found that in war, men who loved life would give their lives for them.

The Marbleheaders were one of the first and most diverse regiments in the colonies and, later, the army.

You must be the only officer in the whole army who involves his regiment in his personal relationships.

When evil strives to overcome good, when firepower is greater than the spoken word, then death rides a winged horse.

discipline relies on punishment, and there is no punishment the Army can inflict on a front-line soldier worse than putting him into the front line.3

Discipline won’t do it, because discipline relies on punishment, and there is no punishment the Army can inflict on a front-line soldier worse than putting him into the front line.3

Every year, on the Emperor's birthday, he makes a resolution to begin a new life and not get into debt. And so he gets drunk. And comes home late at night, stands in the kitchen with drawn sword, and commands an entire regiment. The pots are platoons, the teacups are units, the plates are companies. Simon Demant is a colonel, a colonel in the service of Franz Joseph I.

The result of these shared experiences was a closeness unknown to all outsiders. Comrades are closer than friends, closer than brothers. Their relationship is different from that of lovers. Their trust in, and knowledge of, each other is total. They got to know each other's life stories, what they did before they came into the Army, where and why they volunteered, what they liked to eat and drink, what their capabilities were. On a night march they would hear a cough and know who it was; on a night maneuver they would see someone sneaking through the woods and know who it was from his silhouette.

With no good option before him, Cornwallis decided on his own to march into Virginia despite having no orders to that effect from Clinton—a fateful decision that put his army and the entire war at risk.

All this was part of the initiation rites common to all armies. So was learning to drink. Beer, almost exclusively, at the post PX, there being no nearby towns. Lots of beer. They sang soldiers’ songs. Toward

Let us fool ourselves no longer. At the very moment Western nations, threw off the ancient regime of absolute government, operating under a once-divine king, they were restoring this same system in a far more effective form in their technology, reintroducing coercions of a military character no less strict in the organization of a factory than in that of the new drilled, uniformed, and regimented army. During the transitional stages of the last two centuries, the ultimate tendency of this system might b e in doubt, for in many areas there were strong democratic reactions; but with the knitting together of a scientific ideology, itself liberated from theological restrictions or humanistic purposes, authoritarian technics found an instrument at hand that h as now given it absolute command of physical energies of cosmic dimensions. The inventors of nuclear bombs, space rockets, and computers are the pyramid builders of our own age: psychologically inflated by a similar myth of unqualified power, boasting through their science of their increasing omnipotence, if not omniscience, moved by obsessions and compulsions no less irrational than those of earlier absolute systems: particularly the notion that the system itself must be expanded, at whatever eventual co st to life. Through mechanization, automation, cybernetic direction, this authoritarian technics has at last successfully overcome its most serious weakness: its original dependence upon resistant, sometimes actively disobedient servomechanisms, still human enough to harbor purposes that do not always coincide with those of the system. Like the earliest form of authoritarian technics, this new technology is marvellously dynamic and productive: its power in every form tends to increase without limits, in quantities that defy assimilation and defeat control, whether we are thinking of the output of scientific knowledge or of industrial assembly lines. To maximize energy, speed, or automation, without reference to the complex conditions that sustain organic life, have become ends in themselves. As with the earliest forms of authoritarian technics, the weight of effort, if one is to judge by national budgets, is toward absolute instruments of destruction, designed for absolutely irrational purposes whose chief by-product would be the mutilation or extermination of the human race. Even Ashurbanipal and Genghis Khan performed their gory operations under normal human limits. The center of authority in this new system is no longer a visible personality, an all-powerful king: even in totalitarian dictatorships the center now lies in the system itself, invisible but omnipresent: all its human components, even the technical and managerial elite, even the sacred priesthood of science, who alone have access to the secret knowledge by means of which total control is now swiftly being effected, are themselves trapped by the very perfection of the organization they have invented. Like the Pharoahs of the Pyramid Age, these servants of the system identify its goods with their own kind of well-being: as with the divine king, their praise of the system is an act of self-worship; and again like the king, they are in the grip of an irrational compulsion to extend their means of control and expand the scope of their authority. In this new systems-centered collective, this Pentagon of power, there is no visible presence who issues commands: unlike job's God, the new deities cannot be confronted, still less defied. Under the pretext of saving labor, the ultimate end of this technics is to displace life, or rather, to transfer the attributes of life to the machine and the mechanical collective, allowing only so much of the organism to remain as may be controlled and manipulated.

A white police officer had entered a black women's home without a warrant, searching for a suspect. When she protested, he beat and arrested her, dragging her from her home though she wasn't fully dressed. When a black soldier saw this and tried to intervene to defend the woman, the white policeman pistol-whipped the black soldier, seriously injuring him. The men of the beaten soldier's regiment, learning no consequences would befall the white policeman, felt abandoned by white police and army officials. They saw the abuse as a last straw in a long string of injustices. So the marched into the city. Soldiers and civilians died in the shooting that followed

Wars, wars, wars': reading up on the region I came across one moment when quintessential Englishness had in fact intersected with this darkling plain. In 1906 Winston Churchill, then the minister responsible for British colonies, had been honored by an invitation from Kaiser Wilhelm II to attend the annual maneuvers of the Imperial German Army, held at Breslau. The Kaiser was 'resplendent in the uniform of the White Silesian Cuirassiers' and his massed and regimented infantry... reminded one more of great Atlantic rollers than human formations. Clouds of cavalry, avalanches of field-guns and—at that time a novelty—squadrons of motor-cars (private and military) completed the array. For five hours the immense defilade continued. Yet this was only a twentieth of the armed strength of the regular German Army before mobilization. Strange to find Winston Churchill and Sylvia Plath both choosing the word 'roller,' in both its juggernaut and wavelike declensions, for that scene.

Live forever," he says. And the rest of us rise too, and clink our glasses across the table, like an army regiment crossing sabres: Henry and Bunny, Charles and Francis, Camilla and I. "Live forever," we chorus, throwing our glasses back in unison.

Men calling a strike, the company calling in the army to force them back to work, the miners saying guess what, we’ve got guns too. Serious shit. Battle of Blair Mountain, that turned into the biggest war in America ever, other than the civil one. Twenty thousand guys from all over these mountains, fighting in regiments. They wore red bandannas on their necks to show they were all on the same side, working men. Mr. Armstrong said people calling us rednecks, that goes back to the red bandannas. Redneck is badass.

Red Army cavalry divisions also ranged far into the rear, mounted on resilient little Cossack ponies. Squadrons and entire regiments would suddenly appear fifteen miles behind the front, charging artillery batteries or supply depots with drawn sabres and terrifying war-cries. The

This regiment was formed last fall, back in Maine. There were a thousand of us then. There’s not three hundred of us now.” He glanced up briefly. “But what is left is choice.” He was embarrassed. He spoke very slowly, staring at the ground. “Some of us volunteered to fight for Union. Some came in mainly because we were bored at home and this looked like it might be fun. Some came because we were ashamed not to. Many of us came … because it was the right thing to do. All of us have seen men die. Most of us never saw a black man back home. We think on that, too. But freedom … is not just a word.” He looked up into the sky, over silent faces. “This is a different kind of army. If you look at history you’ll see men fight for pay, or women, or some other kind of loot. They fight for land, or because a king makes them, or just because they like killing. But we’re here for something new. I don’t … this hasn’t happened much in the history of the world. We’re an army going out to set other men free.” He bent down, scratched the black dirt into his fingers. He was beginning to warm to it; the words were beginning to flow. No one in front of him was moving. He said, “This is free ground. All the way from here to the Pacific Ocean. No man has to bow. No man born to royalty. Here we judge you by what you do, not by what your father was. Here you can be something. Here’s a place to build a home. It isn’t the land—there’s always more land. It’s the idea that we all have value, you and me, we’re worth something more than the dirt. I never saw dirt I’d die for, but I’m not asking you to come join us and fight for dirt. What we’re all fighting for, in the end, is each other.

I've been ordered to take you men with me. I've been told that if you don't come I can shoot you. Well, you know I won't do that. Not Maine men. I won't shoot any man who doesn't want this fight. Maybe someone else will, but I won't. So that's that." He paused again. There was nothing on their faces to lead him. "Here's the situation. I've been ordered to take you along, and that's what I'm going to do. Under guard if necessary. But you can have your rifles if you want them. The whole Reb army is up the road a ways waiting for us and this is no time for an argument like this. I tell you this: we sure can use you. We're down below half strength and we need you, no doubt of that. But whether you fight or not is up to you. Whether you come along, well, you're coming." Tom had come up with Chamberlain's horse. Over the heads of the prisoners Chamberlain could see the regiment falling into line out in the flaming road. He took a deep breath. "Well, I don't want to preach to you. You know who we are and what we're doing here. But if you're going to fight alongside us there's a few things I want you to know." He bowed his head, not looking at eyes. He folded his hands together. "This regiment was formed last fall, back in Maine. There were a thousand of us then. There's not three hundred of us now." He glanced up briefly. "But what is left is choice." He was embarrassed. He spoke very slowly, staring at the ground. "Some of us volunteered to fight for Union. Some came in mainly because we were bored at home and this looked like it might be fun. Some came because we were ashamed not to. Many of us came...because it was the right thing to do. All of us have seen men die. Most of us never saw a black man back home. We think on that, too. Freedom...is not just a word." He looked into the sky, over silent faces. "This is a different kind of army. If you look at history you'll see men fight for pay, or women, or some other kind of loot. They fight for land, or because a king makes them, or just because they like killing. But we're here for something new. I don't...this hasn't happened much in the history of the world. We're an army going out to set other men free." He bent down, scratched the black dirt into his fingers. He was beginning to warm to it; the words were beginning to flow. No one in front of him was moving. He said, "This is free ground. All the way to the Pacific Ocean. No man has to bow. No man born to royalty. Here we judge you by what you do, not by what your father was. Here you can be something. Here's a place to build a home. It isn't the land- there's always more land. It's the idea that we all have value, you and me, we're worth something more than the dirt. I never saw dirt I'd die for, but I'm not asking you to come join us and fight for dirt. What we're all fighting for, in the end, is each other.

Napoleon I., whose career had the quality of a duel against the whole of Europe, disliked duelling between the officers of his army. The great military emperor was not a washbuckler, and had little respect for tradition. Nevertheless, a story of duelling, which became a legend in the army, runs through the epic of imperial wars. To the surprise and admiration of their fellows, two officers, like insane artists trying to gild refined gold or paint the lily, pursued a private contest through the years of universal carnage. They were officers of cavalry, and their connection with the high-spirited but fanciful animal which carries men into battle seems particularly appropriate. It would be difficult to imagine for heroes of this legend two officers of infantry of the line, for example, whose fantasy is tamed by much walking exercise, and whose valour necessarily must be of a more plodding kind. As to gunners or engineers, whose heads are kept cool on a diet of mathematics, it is simply unthinkable. The names of the two officers were Feraud and D'Hubert, and they were both lieutenants in a regiment of hussars, but not in the same regiment. [The duel]

It was the lot of the Fifity-fourth to bear the brunt of the struggle against the bitter injustice of inferior pay to which black troops were subjected, and the further struggle to secure for the enlisted men who earned it by intelligence and bravery, the right to rise from the ranks and serve as officers.

Lieutenant Colonel Charles Young of the 10th Cavalry Regiment, the third African American to graduate from West Point and the highest-ranking black officer in US Army history to that point, was discharged for fabricated “health issues” in the spring of 1917 to keep him from being promoted to brigadier general.

the indestructibility of the army pack mule. Falling from a height of thirty feet, one of these creatures—watched in amazement by a regiment of troopers whose colonel recorded the incident in his memoirs—“turned a somersault, struck an abutment, disappeared under water, came up, and swam ashore without disturbing his pack.

The failure of emancipation to take root during the war is one of the great What ifs of the Revolution. Another is: What if blacks had not fought for the American cause? What if a slave had not saved Colonel William Washington’s life, with the result that his cavalry charge dissolved and the Battle of Cowpens had become a British victory? As the historian Thomas Fleming speculates, both North and South Carolina might well have gone over to the British. What if Glover’s regiment of Massachusetts sailors had not had the manpower to complete the evacuation of Washington’s army before the fog lifted in New York—and Washington himself, waiting for the last boat, had been captured? *

While neither the British nor the Americans realized it at the time, Guilford Courthouse altered the course of the war. It changed the strategy of both sides: it halted a potentially disastrous pending Patriot attack on New York, stopped the British conquest of the Carolinas, and set the stage for a stunning defeat of a British army at Yorktown.

They knew they were going into great danger. They knew they would be doing more than their part. They resented having to sacrifice years of their youth to a war they never made. They wanted to throw baseballs, not grenades, shoot a .22 rifle, not an M-1. But having been caught up in the war, they decided to be as positive as possible in their Army careers.

Amid this bureaucratic confusion, Pope’s General Order No. 33 stood. This meant that by virtue of the political and social contacts that had secured him command of the 18th Infantry Regiment, the obscure Colonel Henry Beebee Carrington, with no fighting experience and an attorney’s approach to most military hurdles, remained in charge of the Army’s most ambitious undertaking on the western frontier—the defeat of Red Cloud, the mightiest warrior chief of the mightiest tribe on the Plains. A plan to endow such an officer with the authority to build and maintain outposts throughout the very wilderness that had been ceded time and again to the Lakota by government treaty appeared not only duplicitous but idiotic.

This regiment included some of the most famous army officers of the era, including Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston, then–Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee, Major George H. Thomas, Captains Edmund Kirby Smith and Earl Van Dorn, then-Lieutenant Fitzhugh Lee, and Lieutenant John Bell Hood—all of whom became general officers during the Civil War and five of whom commanded armies.

When I joined the regiment my comrades said to me, there is one beast we fear more than the foe. An army marches on its stomach, so ’tis plain to see, that fool we call the cook has got to go!   O the cook! O the cook! If words could kill, or just a dirty look, he’d have snuffed it long ago, turned his paws up doncha know, he’d be gladly written off the record book!   What a greasy fat old toad, that assassin of the road, we tried to hire him to the enemy. But they smelt the stew he made, mercy on us they all prayed, we’ll surrender, you can have him back for free!   O the cook! O the cook! He could poison a battalion with his chuck. I’ve seen him boilin’ cabbage, an’ the filthy little savage, takes a bath in it to wash off all the muck!   He made a batch of scones, big grey lumpy solid ones, the Sergeant lost four teeth at just one bite. Then an officer ordered me, sling them at the enemy, an’ those that we don’t slay we’ll put to flight!   O the cook! O the cook! He’s stirring porridge with his rusty hook. Playin’ hopscotch with the toast, he’s the one that we hate most, tonight we’re goin’ to roast that bloomin’ cook!”   A

The French and British Armies had begged the United States to send supporting reinforcements, but General Pershing had refused to relinquish command of any U.S. troops. They were his responsibility to lead and, as much as possible, to safeguard. He didn't want Americans used as expendable cannon fodder by non-American generals. But he could spare a black regiment, to be used as needed.

As the bulk of Washington’s army retreated east of the Brandywine toward Chester, Pennsylvania, Howe once again failed to vigorously pursue his defeated foe. Passing through Chester, Washington veered slightly north, then marched through Darby, Pennsylvania. His force then crossed a pontoon bridge that spanned the Schuylkill at Middle Ferry, near today’s Market Street Bridge in Philadelphia.

And in a nasty war, where's the best place to be? Apart from on the moon, o' course? No one?" Slowly, Jade raised a hand. "Go on, then," said the sergeant. "In the army, sarge," said the troll. "'cos..." She began to count on her fingers. "One, you got weapons an' armour an' dat. Two, you are surrounded by other armed men. Er... Many, youse gettin' paid and gettin' better grub than the people in Civilian Street. Er... Lots, if'n you gives up, you getting taken pris'ner and dere's rules about that like Not Kicking Pris'ners Inna Head and stuff, 'cos if you kick their pris'ners inna head they'll kick your pris'ners inna head so dat's, like, you're kickin' your own head, but dere's no rule say you can't kick enemy civilians inna head. There's other stuff too, but I ran outa numbers.

The Russian armies drove forward in the same desperate fashion in which they had retreated in the previous year, numbed by daily horrors. Victory at Kursk meant little to a soldier such as Private Ivanov of the 70th Army, who wrote despairingly to his family in Irkutsk: “Death, and only death awaits me. Death is everywhere here. I shall never see you again because death, terrible, ruthless and merciless is going to cut short my young life. Where shall I find strength and courage to live through all this? We are all terribly dirty, with long hair and beards, in rags. Farewell for ever.” Private Samokhvalov was in equally wretched condition: “Papa and Mama, I will describe to you my situation, which is bad. I am concussed. Very many of my unit have been killed—the senior lieutenant, the regimental commander, most of my comrades; now it must be my turn. Mama, I have not known such fear in all my eighteen years. Mama, please pray to God that I live. Mama, I read your prayer … I must admit frankly that at home I did not believe in God, but now I think of him forty times a day. I don’t know where to hide my head as I write this. Papa and Mama, farewell, I will never see you again, farewell, farewell, farewell.

Adding to the problems of frustration and anger caused by the point system was the combination of too much liquor, too many pistols, and too many captured vehicles. Road accidents were almost as dangerous to the 101st in Austria as the German Army had been in Belgium. In the first three weeks in Austria, there were seventy wrecks, more in the six weeks of June and July. Twenty men were killed, nearly 100 injured.

No one was planning to travel light. One brigadier claimed that he needed fifty camels to carry his kit, while General Cotton took 260 for his. Three hundred camels were earmarked to carry the military wine cellar. Even junior officers travelled with as many as forty servants—ranging from cooks and sweepers to bearers and water carriers. According to Major General Nott, who had to work his way up through his career without the benefit of connections, patronage or money and who looked with a jaundiced eye on the rich young officers of the Queen's Regiments, it was already clear that the army was not enforcing proper military austerity. Many of the junior officers were already treating the war as though it were as light-hearted as a hunting trip—indeed one regiment had actually brought its own foxhounds with it to the front.

In his 1960 novel, The Centurions, a book that follows French paratroopers in counterinsurgency operations in Indochina and then Algeria, author Jean Lartéguy, who just might make an appearance in the pages ahead, writes: “I’d like… to have two armies: one for display, with lovely guns, tanks, little soldiers, fanfares, staffs, distinguished and doddering generals, and dear little regimental officers… an army that would be shown for a modest fee on every fairground in the country. The other would be the real one, composed entirely of young enthusiasts in camouflage battledress, who would not be put on display but from whom impossible efforts would be demanded and to whom all sorts of tricks would be taught. That’s the army in which I should like to fight.” Every time I read that passage, I cannot help but think of MACV-SOG.

The military operation to overthrow the Dudayev regime was launched on 11 December 1994. It was poorly planned—recall the then minister of Defense General Grachyov’s announcement that he would ‘capture Grozny with two regiments in two hours.’ From the outset, the army was betrayed by the high command. Its soldiers were insufficiently trained, depressed and demoralized; they did not understand the aims of this war, and they were treated as cannon fodder.

The British Army had learned so much during the long years of war, yet it was incredible how often generals continued to misuse strategic air power. Time and again, the heavy bombers had been called in and had flattened towns, with the net result of not only the destruction of centuries of history but the creation of a mass of craters and piles of rubble that made the task of advancing harder, not easier. Cassino, Caen, Saint-Lô and now Cleve. It was astonishing how they simply had not learned.

I’d like . . . two armies: one for display, with lovely guns, tanks, little soldiers, fanfares, staffs, distinguished and doddering generals, and dear little regimental officers . . . an army that would be shown for a modest fee on every fairground in the country. The other would be the real one, composed entirely of young enthusiasts in camouflage battledress, who would not be put on display but from whom . . . all sorts of tricks would be taught. That’s the army in which I should like to fight.

But listen, and let all your brothers know my words. No other white man shall cross the mountains, even if any man live to come so far. I will see no traders with their guns and gin. My people shall fight with the spear, and drink water, like their forefathers before them. I will have no praying-men to put a fear of death into men's hearts, to stir them up against the law of the king, and make a path for the white folk who follow to run on. If a white man comes to my gates I will send him back; if a hundred come I will push them back; if armies come, I will make war on them with all my strength, and they shall not prevail against me. None shall ever seek for the shining stones: no, not an army, for if they come I will send a regiment and fill up the pit, and break down the white columns in the caves and choke them with rocks, so that none can reach even to that door of which ye speak, and whereof the way to move it is lost. But for you three, Incubu, Macumazahn, and Bougwan, the path is always open; for, behold, ye are dearer to me than aught that breathes.

and he prepared his elite professional household regiments: the infantry – the famous Janissaries – the cavalry regiments, and all the other attendant corps of gunners, armorers, bodyguards, and military police. These crack troops, paid regularly every three months and armed at the sultan’s expense, were all Christians largely from the Balkans, taken as children and converted to Islam. They owed their total loyalty to the sultan. Although few in number – probably no more than 5,000 infantry – they comprised the durable core of the Ottoman army.

Before they came in Lee had a couple of adventures. He first clashed with a sergeant of a Mississippi regiment who wandered over the wet field. Lee called out sharply: "What are you doing here, sir, away from your command?" "That's none of your business," the ragged soldier said. "You are a straggler, sire, and deserve the severest punishment." The sergeant shouted in rage, "It is a lie, sir. I only left my regiment a few minutes ago to hunt me a pair of shoes. I went through all the fight yesterday, and that's more than you can say; for where were you yesterday when General Stuart wanted your cavalry to charge the Yankees after we put 'em to running? You were lying back in the pine thickets and couldn't be found; but today, when there's no danger, you come out and charge other men with straggling." Lee laughed and rode off. Behind him an officer baited the sergeant, who thought he had been talking with a "cowardly Virginia cavalryman". "No, sir, that was General Lee." "Ho-o-what? General Lee, you say?" "Yes." "Scissors to grind, I'm a goner." The sergeant tore out of sight along the muddy road.

The Russian regiment was very much part of an Old Regime rather than a modern, national army. This merely underlines the fact that it was the European Old Regime which defeated Napoleon. It had absorbed some aspects of modernity such as the Prussian Landwehr and it had allied itself to British economic power, which was much more truly modern than was Napoleon’s absolutist empire. Nevertheless the main cause of Napoleon’s defeat was that the three great dynasties fought side by side for the first time since 1792 and that the Russian army was on the scene from the start,

The East India Company has, thankfully, no exact modern equivalent. Walmart, which is the world’s largest corporation in revenue terms, does not number among its assets a fleet of nuclear submarines; neither Facebook nor Shell possesses regiments of infantry. Yet the East India Company – the first great multinational corporation, and the first to run amok – was the ultimate model and prototype for many of today’s joint stock corporations. The most powerful among them do not need their own armies: they can rely on governments to protect their interests and bail them out.

I here behold a Commander in Chief who looks idle and is always busy; who has no other desk than his knees, no other comb than his fingers; constantly reclined on his couch, yet sleeping neither in night nor in daytime. A cannon shot, to which he himself is not exposed, disturbs him with the idea that it costs the life of some of his soldiers. Trembling for others, brave himself, alarmed at the approach of danger, frolicsome when it surrounds him, dull in the midst of pleasure, surfeited with everything, easily disgusted, morose, inconstant, a profound philosopher, an able minister, a sublime politician, not revengeful, asking pardon for a pain he has inflicted, quickly repairing an injustice, thinking he loves God when he fears the Devil; waving one hand to the females that please him, and with the other making the sign of the cross; receiving numberless presents from his sovereign and distributing them immediately to others; preferring prodigality in giving, to regularity in paying; prodigiously rich and not worth a farthing; easily prejudiced in favor of or against anything; talking divinity to his generals and tactics to his bishops; never reading, but pumping everyone with whom he converses; uncommonly affable or extremely savage, the most attractive or most repulsive of manners; concealing under the appearance of harshness, the greatest benevolence of heart, like a child, wanting to have everything, or, like a great man, knowing how to do without; gnawing his fingers, or apples, or turnips; scolding or laughing; engaged in wantonness or in prayers, summoning twenty aides de camp and saying nothing to any of them, not caring for cold, though he appears unable to exist without furs; always in his shirt without pants, or in rich regimentals; barefoot or in slippers; almost bent double when he is at home, and tall, erect, proud, handsome, noble, majestic when he shows himself to his army like Agamemnon in the midst of the monarchs of Greece. What then is his magic? Genius, natural abilities, an excellent memory, artifice without craft, the art of conquering every heart; much generosity, graciousness, and justice in his rewards; and a consummate knowledge of mankind. There

Sharpshooters Yeomanry Museum who, with his fellow trustees, have allowed me to use a number of their photographs in this book. I wish them the best of luck as they establish their regimental museum at Hever Castle. I would also like to thank the staff at the Air and Army historical branches who have also been particularly helpful in allowing me to access and use their crown copyrighted images. I would particularly like to single out Jo Bandy and Bob Evans in the Army Historical Branch and Mary Hudson in the Air Historical Branch. I feel I have been blessed in finding an excellent publisher in Helion. Duncan Rogers and his team have been helpful and enthusiastic about the book and made generous allowances for photos, diagrams and maps. I should add that George

This New World utopia, this promised land, was soon buried under the ashes and cinders that erupted over the Western World in the nineteenth century, thanks tot he resurrection and intensification of all the forces that had originally brought 'civilization' itself into existence. The rise of the centralized state, teh expansion of the bureaucracy and the conscript army, the regimentation of the factory system, the depredations of speculative finance, the spread of imperialism, as in the Mexican War, and the continued encroachment of slavery-all these negative movements not only sullied the New World dream but brought back on a larger scale than ever the Old World nightmares that the immigrants to America had risked their lives and forfeited their cultural treasures to escape.

In contemplating who should command the Army’s multiplying regiments and divisions, Marshall and his training chief, Lesley J. McNair, kept a list in a safe of more than 400 colonels with perfect efficiency reports. Allen, neither a full colonel nor perfect, was not on it. Rather, he was facing court-martial for insubordination in 1940 when word arrived of his double promotion, from lieutenant colonel to brigadier general. He was the first man in his former West Point class to wear a general’s stars. No man better exemplified the American military leadership’s ability to identify, promote, and in some cases forgive those officers best capable of commanding men in battle. Among the encomiums that followed Allen’s promotion was a penciled note: “Us guys in the guardhouse want to congratulate you, too.

Troops caught nibbling their emergency D- ration chocolate bars were dubbed Chocolate Soldiers and punished by forfeiting two meals. This was a happy penance. The galleys served so much fatty mutton that derisive bleating could be heard throughout the convoy and the 13th Armored Regiment proposed a new battle cry: 'Baaa!' Crunchy raisins in the bread proved to be weevils; soldiers learned to hold up slices to the light, as if candling eggs. The 1st Infantry Division on Reine de Pacifico organized troop details to sift flour through mesh screens in a search for insects. Wormy meat aboard the Keren so provoked 34th Division soldiers that officers were dispatched to keep order in the mess hall. When soldiers aboard Letitia challenged the culinary honor of one French cook, he 'became quite wild and threatened to jump overboard.

For the duration of the war, American surgery remained crude, and wound infections spread unchecked. The bullet-riddled arms and legs of more than thirty thousand Union soldiers were amputated by battlefield surgeons, many of whom had little or no experience of treating trauma patients. Knives and saws were wiped free of gore with nothing more than dirty rags, if at all. Surgeons never washed their hands and were often covered in the blood and guts of previous patients at the commencement of a new operation. When linen and cotton were scarce, army surgeons used cold, damp earth to pack open wounds. When these wounds inevitably began to suppurate, they were praised for their laudable pus. Many surgeons had never even witnessed a major amputation or treated gunshot wounds when they joined their regiments, much to the detriment of those who fell under their care.

In the great world outside Hungary events were taking place that would change all their lives: the uprising in Russia, the dispute over Crete, the Kaiser Wilhelm’s ill-timed visit to Tangier, the revelation of Germany’s plans to expand its navy – but such matters were of no importance to the members of the Hungarian Parliament. Even events closer to home, such as the rabble-rousing speech of an Austrian politician in Salzburg urging revolt among the German-speaking minorities in northern Hungary, or the anonymous pamphlet, which appeared in Vienna and revealed the total unpreparedness of the Austro-Hungarian forces compared with those of the other European powers, went unnoticed in Budapest. Naturally when Apponyi made a speech in favour of Deszo Baffy’s proposal to limit the demand for Hungarian commands in the army to using Hungarian only in regimental matters, everyone listened and discussed it as if their very lives depended on it.

The whole brigade took a queer, perverse pride in the regimental band of the 6th Wisconsin—not because it was so good, but because it was so terrible. It was able to play only one selection, something called “The Village Quickstep,” and its dreadful inefficiency (the colonel referred to it in his memoirs as “that execrable band”) might have been due to the colonel’s quaint habit of assigning men to the band not for musical ability but as punishment for misdemeanors—or so, at least, the regiment stoutly believed. The only good thing about the band was its drum major, one William Whaley, who was an expert at high and fancy twirling of his baton. At one review, in camp around Washington, the brigade had paraded before McClellan, who had been so taken with this drum major’s “lofty pomposity” (as a comrade described it) that he took off his cap in jovial salute—whereupon the luckless Whaley, overcome by the honor, dropped his baton ignominiously in the mud, so that his big moment became a fizzle.4

Major General Leonard Wood Leonard Wood was an army officer and physician, born October 9, 1860 in Winchester, New Hampshire. His first assignment was in 1886 at Fort Huachuca, Arizona where he fought in the last campaign against the fierce Apache warrior Geronimo. He was awarded the Medal of Honor for carrying dispatches 100 miles through hostile territory and was promoted to the rank of Captain, commanding a detachment of the 8th Infantry. From 1887 to 1898, he served as a medical officer in a number of positions, the last of which was as the personal physician to President William McKinley. In 1898 at the beginning of the war with Spain, he was given command of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry. The regiment was soon to be known as the “Rough Riders." Wood lead his men on the famous charge up San Juan Hill and was given a field promotion to brigadier general. In 1898 he was appointed the Military Governor of Santiago de Cuba. In 1920, as a retired Major General, Wood ran as the Republican candidate for the presidency of the United States, losing to Warren Harding. In 1921 following his defeat, General Wood accepted the post of Governor General of the Philippines. He held this position from 1921 to 1927, when he died of a brain tumor in Boston, on 7 August 1927, at 66 years of age after which he was buried, with full honors, in Arlington National Cemetery.

Roderick Sutton, Earl of Westerham, owner of Farleigh Place, a stately home in Kent Lady Esme Sutton, Roderick’s wife Lady Olivia “Livvy” Sutton, twenty-six, the Suttons’ eldest daughter, married to Viscount Carrington, mother of Charles Lady Margaret “Margot” Sutton, twenty-three, the second daughter, now living in Paris Lady Pamela “Pamma” Sutton, twenty-one, the third daughter, currently working for a “government department” Lady Diana “Dido” Sutton, nineteen, the fourth daughter, a frustrated debutante Lady Phoebe “Feebs” Sutton, twelve, the fifth daughter, too smart and observant for her own good Servants at Farleigh (a skeleton staff) Soames, butler Mrs. Mortlock, cook Elsie, parlourmaid Jennie, housemaid Ruby, scullery maid Philpott, Lady Esme’s maid Nanny Miss Gumble, governess to Lady Phoebe Mr. Robbins, gamekeeper Mrs. Robbins, gamekeeper’s wife Alfie, a Cockney boy, now evacuated to the country Jackson, groom Farleigh Neighbours Rev. Cresswell, vicar of All Saints Church Ben Cresswell, the vicar’s son, now working for a “government department” At Nethercote Sir William Prescott, city financier Lady Prescott, Sir William’s wife Jeremy Prescott, Sir William and Lady Prescott’s son, RAF flying ace At Simla Colonel Huntley, formerly of the British Army Mrs. Huntley, the colonel’s wife Miss Hamilton, spinster Dr. Sinclair, doctor Sundry villagers, including an artist couple, a builder, and a questionable Austrian Officers of the Royal West Kent Regiment Colonel Pritchard, commanding officer Captain Hartley, adjutant Soldiers under command At Dolphin Square Maxwell Knight, spymaster Joan Miller, Knight’s secretary At Bletchley Park Commander Travis, deputy

He made a costly error in judgement and sent an entire regiment into a virtual slaughterhouse. It happens frequently. Officers risk their troops' lives for the sake of a promotion. Not my father. He valued the life of every man under his command, from his officers to the humblest fresh recruit. When he realized what had happened, he was devastated. He couldn't ever forget that his error had cost the lives of so many men, created so many widows and orphans..." "But, Lyon, measured against his valor, one mistake is forgivable." "To us, yes. Not to him. He was sickened that the battle was hailed as one of the turning points of the war. He was decorated for it. It was considered a great victory, but it defeated him as a soldier, as a man. When he came home and was hailed a hero, he couldn't stand the conflict within himself. He didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a traitor." "That can't be!" "Not a traitor to his country, but to the men who had trusted his judgement and leadership. It was a conflict he never could reconcile, so he retired from the Army and came here and shut out the world and all reminders of the lie he was living." They were quiet for a moment before she said,"No one would have thrown stones at him, Lyon. he was a respected man, a hero, a leader at a time in history when America needed heroes and leaders. It was a battleground that spread out for miles. Admist all the chaos he may have thought he made a mistake when he actually didn't." "I know that, Andy, and you know that, but since the time I was old enough to understand his reclusiveness, I was never able to convince him of it. He died still regretting that one day in his life as though he had live no other. It didn't matter what the public would have thought if they had known. He judged himself more severely than anyone else could have." "How tragic for him. He was such a lovely man, Lyon. Such a lovely man.

Bram stared into a pair of wide, dark eyes. Eyes that reflected a surprising glimmer of intelligence. This might be the rare female a man could reason with. “Now, then,” he said. “We can do this the easy way, or we can make things difficult.” With a soft snort, she turned her head. It was as if he’d ceased to exist. Bram shifted his weight to his good leg, feeling the stab to his pride. He was a lieutenant colonel in the British army, and at over six feet tall, he was said to cut an imposing figure. Typically, a pointed glance from his quarter would quell the slightest hint of disobedience. He was not accustomed to being ignored. “Listen sharp now.” He gave her ear a rough tweak and sank his voice to a low threat. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as I say.” Though she spoke not a word, her reply was clear: You can kiss my great woolly arse. Confounded sheep. “Ah, the English countryside. So charming. So…fragrant.” Colin approached, stripped of his London-best topcoat, wading hip-deep through the river of wool. Blotting the sheen of perspiration from his brow with his sleeve, he asked, “I don’t suppose this means we can simply turn back?” Ahead of them, a boy pushing a handcart had overturned his cargo, strewing corn all over the road. It was an open buffet, and every ram and ewe in Sussex appeared to have answered the invitation. A vast throng of sheep bustled and bleated around the unfortunate youth, gorging themselves on the spilled grain-and completely obstructing Bram’s wagons. “Can we walk the teams in reverse?” Colin asked. “Perhaps we can go around, find another road.” Bram gestured at the surrounding landscape. “There is no other road.” They stood in the middle of the rutted dirt lane, which occupied a kind of narrow, winding valley. A steep bank of gorse rose up on one side, and on the other, some dozen yards of heath separated the road from dramatic bluffs. And below those-far below those-lay the sparkling turquoise sea. If the air was seasonably dry and clear, and Bram squinted hard at that thin indigo line of the horizon, he might even glimpse the northern coast of France. So close. He’d get there. Not today, but soon. He had a task to accomplish here, and the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could rejoin his regiment. He wasn’t stopping for anything. Except sheep. Blast it. It would seem they were stopping for sheep. A rough voice said, “I’ll take care of them.” Thorne joined their group. Bram flicked his gaze to the side and spied his hulking mountain of a corporal shouldering a flintlock rifle. “We can’t simply shoot them, Thorne.” Obedient as ever, Thorne lowered his gun. “Then I’ve a cutlass. Just sharpened the blade last night.” “We can’t butcher them, either.” Thorne shrugged. “I’m hungry.” Yes, that was Thorne-straightforward, practical. Ruthless. “We’re all hungry.” Bram’s stomach rumbled in support of the statement. “But clearing the way is our aim at the moment, and a dead sheep’s harder to move than a live one. We’ll just have to nudge them along.” Thorne lowered the hammer of his rifle, disarming it, then flipped the weapon with an agile motion and rammed the butt end against a woolly flank. “Move on, you bleeding beast.

Schuster, 1983. ———. The Supreme Commander: The War Years of General Dwight D. Eisenhower. New York: Doubleday, 1970. Ambrose, Stephen E., and Richard H. Immerman. Ike’s Spies: Eisenhower and the Espionage Establishment. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1981. Ankrum, Homer. Dogfaces Who Smiled Through Tears. Lake Mills, Ia.: Graphic Publishing, 1987. Armstrong, Anne. Unconditional Surrender. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1961. Arnbal, Anders Kjar. The Barrel-Land Dance Hall Rangers. New York: Vantage Press, 1993. Ashcraft, Howard D. As You Were: Cannon Company, 34th Infantry Division, 168th Infantry Regiment. Richmond, Va.: Ashcraft Enterprises, 1990. Astor, Gerald. The Greatest War: Americans in Combat, 1941–1945. Novato, Calif.: Presidio, 1999. Auphan, Paul, and Jacques Mordal. The French Navy in World War II. Trans. A.C.J. Sabalot. Annapolis: United States

New York’s J. Pierpont Morgan took advantage of the conflict to sell defective weapons to the army, while Brooks Brothers produced such shoddy uniforms for the local regiments that public rage forced the clothier to replace them free of charge. More troubling, though, was the growing chasm between the city’s rich and poor. While the war boom created many jobs, severe inflation had caused a drop in working-class spending power. Meanwhile, the number of millionaires in New York jumped from a dozen to more than three hundred, with the top one percent of the pyramid accounting for close to 60 percent of the city’s wealth. The resentment over poor soldiers fighting and dying in the midst of such avarice grew with each new luxury paraded by the rich. In terms of class conflict, a fuse had been lit. —

The new C.R.A. seemed a sound man. These people— a little dull though some of them might be— were the kind with whom one liked consorting. Socially, the army had its advantages. Once cited as co-respondent by Hawk Wethered, one would be barred from a good many of those advantages. This house, for instance, might no longer be open to one.

There are armies of women who kill men in battles so fierce the moon itself hides from the ribbons of shed blood. They cut off their right breasts to ease the arrow shots of their long bows to lethal precision. For this they are called No-Breast or A-Mazon and must remain virgins until after the first time they kill a man. With male blood they stain their hair and with his bone they sharpen their arrowheads. Whole regiments fall before them. They rule wooded nations and desert kingdoms. Waters and precious stones have their names. I have seen them and marveled at their war skills.

1899, the 24th Mounted Infantry, an African American army regiment, was entrusted with the protection of Yosemite, Sequoia, and Kings Canyon National Parks in California. For a long time people forgot their presence in the parks’ history, until Shelton Johnson found a picture.

In the midst of a grueling all-night march on October 6, the men of the 10th Indiana demonstrated that they had not lost their high spirits. They were taking a brief midnight break, many of them sleeping where they had stopped on either side of the road, when "General" Charles Gilbert came riding through with his staff and demanded that the exhausted troops form up and salute him properly. Colonel William Kise told Gilbert that after marching day and night for a week, "he would not hold dress parade at midnight for any d-d fool living'; the only salute the men offered was to jeer and apply their bayonets to the hindquarters of the horses of Gilbert and his staff, who continued down the road rather more promptly than they had come.

Fear is managed better in some soldiers and is trickier to master in others; shame and consequences loom large. The general goes on to elucidate further: The one who shows fear is lost; he has lost his honor and his reputation, and he will be taken to task. His promotion may be blocked. It’s the same concept at home. You try many ways to fix your child—many times he does things that you cover for him. Because you fear that you [the regiment] will be shamed if people find out. . . . The senior officer might try and encourage him, so he may say “Get up, child, it’s okay; shabash shabash [verbal encouragement implying in this context ‘come, come’].” If he still doesn’t move, then the commander will become harsh. He will push him, kick him, and drag him, and he will ask two other people to take the weapon from him. He will be verbally abused, and they will shame him by calling him a coward, a woman.

Two Arm Kettlebell Swing Start Position—Stand one foot behind kettlebell, grasping KB with both hands, loading the hamstrings with a good athletic posture Execution—Throw KB in a 'hiking' motion between the legs maintaining a good athletic posture. This loads the body. Then triple extend the hips, knees, and ankles in an explosive manner. At this time, the arms should serve as a tether, only guiding the KB to about eye level. The height of the KB is dictated by the explosiveness of the lower body. Return—Lower the KB by using gravity to control the KB back into the athletic position with the KB high in the crotch (ie. a witch on a broomstick)

The differences in the army’s treatment of African and West Indian soldiers, in the same regiment, were not lost on Fanon. Once, he would recall in Black Skin, White Masks, “a nest of enemy machine guns had to be wiped out,” and the Senegalese riflemen were sent out by themselves three times, only to be forced back on each occasion. When one of them asked “why the toubabs didn’t go,” Fanon no longer knew who he was, “toubab or native.” For many West Indians, however, this absurd situation seemed “completely normal. That would be the last straw, to put us with the nègres!” The European soldiers “disdained the African infantrymen, and the Antillean ruled over the négraille [the Black rabble] as the undisputed master.

The best thing to do," said one of the malingerers, "is to sham madness. In the next room there are two other men from the school where I teach and one of them keeps shouting day and night : 'Giordano Bruno's stake is still smoldering ; renew Galileo's trial !'” “I meant at first to act the fool too and be a religious maniac and preach about the infallibility of the Pope, but finally I managed to get some cancer of the stomach for fifteen crowns from a barber down the road." "That's nothing," said another man. "Down our way there's a midwife who for twenty crowns can dislocate your foot so nicely that you're crippled for the rest of your life.” “My illness has run me into more than two hundred crowns already," announced his neighbor, a man as thin as a rake. "I bet there's no poison you can mention that I haven't taken. I'm simply bung full of poisons. I've chewed arsenic, I've smoked opium, I've swallowed strychnine, I've drunk vitriol mixed with phosphorus. I've ruined my liver, my lungs, my kidneys, my heart—in fact, all my insides. Nobody knows what disease it is I've got." "The best thing to do," explained someone near the door, "is to squirt paraffin oil under the skin on your arms. My cousin had a slice of good luck that way. They cut off his arm below the elbow and now the army'll never worry him any more.” “Well," said Schweik, "When I was in the army years ago, it used to be much worse. If a man went sick, they just trussed him up, shoved him into a cell to make him get fitter. There wasn't any beds and mattresses and spittoons like what there is here. Just a bare bench for them to lie on. Once there was a chap who had typhus, fair and square, and the one next to him had smallpox. Well, they trussed them both up and the M. O. kicked them in the ribs and said they were shamming. When the pair of them kicked the bucket, there was a dust-up in Parliament and it got into the papers. Like a shot they stopped us from reading the papers and all our boxes was inspected to see if we'd got any hidden there. And it was just my luck that in the whole blessed regiment there was nobody but me whose newspaper was spotted. So our colonel starts yelling at me to stand to attention and tell him who'd written that stuff to the paper or he'd smash my jaw from ear to ear and keep me in clink till all was blue. Then the M.O. comes up and he shakes his fist right under my nose and shouts: 'You misbegotten whelp ; you scabby ape ; you wretched blob of scum ; you skunk of a Socialist, you !' Well, I stood keeping my mouth shut and with one hand at the salute and the other along the seam of my trousers. There they was, running round and yelping at me. “We'll knock the newspaper nonsense out of your head, you ruffian,' says the colonel, and gives me 21 days solitary confinement. Well, while I was serving my time, there was some rum goings-on in the barracks. Our colonel stopped the troops from reading at all, and in the canteen they wasn't allowed even to wrap up sausages or cheese in newspapers. That made the soldiers start reading and our regiment had all the rest beat when it came to showing how much they'd learned.

I didn’t take up my commission after Sandhurst simply because they had suddenly decided to mechanize the army, and a lot of my pals and I decided that we didn’t want to be glorified garage hands, and that the great days of the cavalry regiments were passing, or shortly would be ended forever

His anxiety had translated into hiding in corners with books, arming himself with information—not this…inertia. Not a childhood waiting out childhood, passing the time with no thoughts or ambitions. Neither of his children was interested in anything other than videogames. They didn’t read. They weren’t curious about the world. When they were done shooting up soccer arenas or igniting armies of trolls against regiments of elves—and they were only ever done because their mother had limits on their game console’s use—they took out their phones and submitted passively to a stream of a hodgepodge of random entertainment created by other people.

Probably the biggest laugh of all that rainy night was at the expense of Private T.C. Green of the Second Regiment. Before the battle Green had been outspoken in the number of Federals he intended killing, and at day's end went through the camp recounting how many of the enemy he had shot before something went wrong with his gun. When a messmate examined the weapon, he found that the gun had not been fired at all, but was full of unexploded charges. In his excitement Green had gone through the motions of loading and firing, but had omitted some essentials, such as changing caps and pulling the trigger, and hence had done absolutely no harm to the enemy.

Many who read this, especially in these peaceful times, may suppose this was a cruel and unnecessary severity under the dreadful and harassing circumstances of that retreat; but I, who was there, and was, besides, a common soldier of the very regiment to which these men belonged, say it was quite necessary. No man but one formed of stuff like General Craufurd could have saved the brigade from perishing altogether; and, if he flogged two, he saved hundreds from death by his management. I detest the sight of the lash; but I am convinced the British army can never go on without it.

If they had not died on April 15, 1912, almost all the musicians would have had to fight in France and perhaps half of them wouldn’t have returned. When Roger Bricoux didn’t respond to the French call-up in 1914, he was registered as a deserter even though he had been dead for two years. At the age of thirty-six, Frederick Nixon Black of C. W. & F. N. Black found himself in the British army, first with the Royal Defence Corps in Hereford, and then after the war, with the Manchester Regiment handling German prisoners. Theo Brailey, had he lived, would have been called back to the Lancashire Fusiliers.

The line between the Rebel and Union element in Georgetown was so marked that it led to divisions even in the churches. There were churches in that part of Ohio where treason was preached regularly, and where, to secure membership, hostility to the government, to the war and to the liberation of the slaves, was far more essential than a belief in the authenticity or credibility of the Bible. There were men in Georgetown who filled all the requirements for membership in these churches. Yet this far-off western village, with a population, including old and young, male and female, of about one thousand—about enough for the organization of a single regiment if all had been men capable of bearing arms—furnished the Union army four general officers and one colonel, West Point graduates, and nine generals and field officers of Volunteers, that I can think of. Of the graduates from West Point, all had citizenship elsewhere at the breaking out of the rebellion, except possibly General A. V. Kautz, who had remained in the army from his graduation. Two of the colonels also entered the service from other localities. The other seven, General McGroierty, Colonels White, Fyffe, Loudon and Marshall, Majors King and Bailey, were all residents of Georgetown when the war broke out, and all of them, who were alive at the close, returned there. Major Bailey was the cadet who had preceded me at West Point. He was killed in West Virginia, in his first engagement. As far as I know, every boy who has entered West Point from that village since my time has been graduated.

No one works harder at perfection than the Third (3d) United States Infantry Regiment known as The Old Guard.

their bloody way to Vinchiaturo. Their main opposition had come at first from Kampfgruppe Heilmann, which included 3rd Parachute Regiment with a battalion of 1/67th Panzer Grenadier Regiment, later replaced by a battalion from 2/67th Panzer Grenadiers.

And what’s happened to you?” Patton asks the young man. His name is Pvt. Paul Bennett. He has been in the army four years, serving with C Battery of the Seventeenth Field Artillery Regiment. He is just twenty-one years old. Until a friend died in combat, he had never once complained about battle. But he now shakes from convulsions. His red-rimmed eyes brim with tears. “It’s my nerves, sir. I can’t stand the shelling anymore.” “Your nerves, hell. You’re just a goddamned coward.” Bennett begins sobbing. Patton slaps him. “Shut up,” he orders, his voice rising. “I won’t have these brave men here who’ve been shot see a yellow bastard sitting here crying.” Patton hits him again, knocking off Bennett’s helmet, which falls to the dirt floor. “You’re a disgrace to the army and you’re going back to the front to fight,” he screams. “You ought to be lined up against a wall and shot. In fact, I ought to shoot you right now.” Patton

An enterprising shortwave radio operator managed to pick up the Army–Notre Dame football game and broadcast it to the 16th Infantry Regiment over the ship’s public address system.

Today, I have a different offer in mind,” he said. “But first, my mother would tell me introductions must be made. Cinderella-who-has-no-curiosity, allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Friedrich of the First Regiment of the Dragon Army.” Cinderella

The Union men at Front Royal were the 1st Maryland. Jackson also had a regiment of 1st Maryland (Confederate). Maryland was a border state, and like all border states, it had regiments in both armies. This was the case with the Southern states as well. When the war broke out, loyalists from all across the South formed their own Union regiments. These were often quickly crushed, or had to flee to the North and fight far from their home territories.

Jackson, on the other hand, would be reinforced with several regiments, bringing his total force to 18,500. Robert E. Lee wrote to tell him, “Your recent successes have been the cause of the liveliest joy in this army as well as in the country.” He added that the reinforcements were so he could crush the Union armies in the Shenandoah, unaware at this point they were in the process of being recalled. Jackson was to leave the Valley and support the Confederate center above Richmond by cutting Union communications. Jackson

During World War I, Oakley offered to train a regiment of women sharpshooters, but the government ignored her. Instead, she set out to assist the war effort by performing at army camps to fund-raise for the Red Cross.

The chief musician-a sergeant-led the twelve-nuan regimental band that provided entertainment as well as the music to which the army marched and fought.

Along with explosive and tactical training, our training on small arms began. The NCO instructors conducted the weapons training but they were not comfortable dealing with university students. Often tricky situations would arise. Two examples would illustrate the nature of the problem. In the Pakistan Army, soldiers of the East Bengal Regiment were taught their craft in Roman Urdu. The NCOs tried to teach us just as they were taught. They began with kholna-jorna (stripping and assembling). Our NCO instructor started the class by saying "Iss purza ko kehta hae..." (this part is known as ...) in Urdu. "Why are you speaking in Urdu?" we protested immediately. "Urdu is the army’s language!" "The Pakistan Army's language! This is the Bangladesh army! No Urdu here! And if you don't speak in Bangla we won’t listen to you!" we told him. The complaint reached the Subedar Major. He was not pleased with our 'mutiny' and said the Dacca University boys don’t listen to their ustad (teacher). "You have to listen to them," he told us. We told him the same thing; why was the NCO speaking to us in Urdu? "We are Bengalis. He is from Noakhali, and if he wants he can even speak in his dialect and we’ll try our best to understand, but no Urdu!" When the Subedar Major’s intervention didn’t work, the matter went up to Khaled Mosharraf who was greatly amused. "Shalara, they are such fools! It has not yet dawned on them that they no longer have to speak in Urdu!" he said, laughing. He immediately issued an order: Henceforth there would be no more communication in Urdu.

Quite often, people inaccurately comment about the villains of the South and the heroes of the North. Such statements cause bitter debates. Thus, it is important to recognize the good and the bad from both the Confederate and Union armies. The fact is, the war stripped many men of their inhibitions and their immoral behaviors detrimentally affected all fellow Americans.

Everyone thought Jake’s act was a last gesture of defiance, a refusal to admit that he was beaten. In reality, Jake had been laid up with malaria when the war ended, and he hadn’t wanted his men waiting around for him to get better, when they might be on their way home. Jake said, “There’s a regiment of cavalry up the road. The army might tolerate me bein’ in town—my status is a technicality, like you say—but there’s no way they can overlook me if I’m marshal. They’ll have to come

Those lightning fast moves were not right. And those later comments about being a squaddie? No squaddie she’d ever met had that kind of reflexes. And they were always proud of their regiment, far more so than their place in the police force. That was why they were often disliked, because their allegiance was always, first and foremost, the army. And Joseph wasn’t like that at all.

Weale had joined the Scouts from the regular army within a few weeks of it being formed. The regiment’s ethos was inspired by the British SAS, with whom several of its senior officers had served, either during the Second World War or in the Malayan emergency or both, but the selection process was even more gruelling: it took seventeen days, the first five of which required living entirely off the land at a training camp on the shores of Lake Kariba. On the fifth day, candidates were given the rotten carcass of a baboon as a reward for making it that far. The few who remained after that – usually around 10 per cent – were given the most meagre of rations to survive the rest of the course to supplement their diet of living off the land. A further four weeks’ training followed, during which they were still monitored for suitability. Successful recruits therefore started out with a strong sense of camaraderie and great pride, as each man knew that the others had also gone well beyond the norms of human endurance and behaviour to become a Selous Scout.

Another senseless practice, that of appointing honorary colonels-in-chief from the ranks of European royalty, reached ludicrous heights in 1914 when the British regiment known as the Royals went off to fight against Germany. The honorary colonel-in-chief of the regiment was none other than Kaiser Wilhelm II himself! The

He nodded. “I know. Many, many Leningraders sent their boys there yesterday.” His face was blank. “Alexander, the Germans are down in Crimea,” said Tatiana. “Comrade Molotov said so himself. Didn’t you hear his speech?” “Yes, they are in Crimea. But we have a border with Europe that’s two thousand kilometers long. Hitler’s army is on every meter of that border, Tania, south from Bulgaria north to Poland.” He paused. She didn’t say anything. “For right now, Leningrad is the safest place for Pasha. Really.” Tatiana was skeptical. “Why are you so sure?” She became animated. “Why does the radio keep talking about the Red Army being the strongest army in the world? We have tanks, we have planes, we have artillery, we have guns. The radio is not saying what you’re saying, Alexander.” She spoke those words almost as a rebuke. He shook his head. “Tania, Tania, Tania.” “What, what, what?” she said, and saw that Alexander, despite his serious face, nearly laughed. That made her nearly laugh herself, despite her own serious face. “Tania, Leningrad has lived for so many years with a hostile border with Finland only twenty kilometers to the north that we forgot to arm the south. And that’s where the danger is.” “If that’s where the danger is, then how come you’re sending Dimitri up to Finland where, as you suggest, all is quiet?” Alexander was silent. “Reconnaissance,” he said at last. Tatiana felt he left something unsaid. “My point is,” he went on, “all of our precautionary defenses are focused in the north. But south and southwest, Leningrad does not have a single division, a single regiment, not one military unit deployed. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” “No,” she said, a little defiantly. “Talk to your father about Pasha,” he repeated.

finished their compulsory training under universal service and were between the ages of twenty-three and thirty-four were classed as reserves. Upon mobilization the youngest classes filled out the regular army units to war strength; the others were formed into reserve regiments,

Where complaints are made of the soldiers, it almost always turns out that the women have insulted them most grossly, swearing at them, and the like. One unpleasant old Dutch woman came in, bursting with wrath, and told the whole narrative of her blameless life, diversified with sobs:— “ ‘Last January I ran off two of my black people from St. Mary’s to Fernandina,’ (sob,)—‘then I moved down there myself, and at Lake City I lost six women and a boy,’ (sob,)—‘then I stopped at Baldwin for one of the wenches to be confined,’ (sob,)—‘then I brought them all here to live in a Christian country’ (sob, sob). ‘Then the blockheads’ [blockades, that is, gunboats] ‘came, and they all ran off with the blockheads,’ (sob, sob, sob,) ‘and left me, an old lady of forty-six, obliged to work for a living.’ (Chaos of sobs, without cessation.)

Among these little affairs was one which we called “Company K’s Skirmish,” because it brought out the fact that this company, which was composed entirely of South Carolina men, and had never shone in drill or discipline, stood near the head of the regiment for coolness and courage,—the defect of discipline showing itself only in their extreme unwillingness to halt when once let loose. It was at this time that the small comedy of the Goose occurred,—an anecdote which Wendell Phillips5 has since made his own. One of the advancing line of skirmishers, usually an active fellow enough, was observed to move clumsily and irregularly. It soon appeared that he had encountered a fine specimen of the domestic goose, which had surrendered at discretion. Not wishing to lose it, he could yet find no way to hold it but between his legs; and so he went on, loading, firing, advancing, halting, always with the goose writhing and struggling and hissing in this natural pair of stocks. Both happily came off unwounded, and retired in good order at the signal, or some time after it; but I have hardly a cooler thing to put on record.

In Colonel Montgomery’s hands these up-river raids reached the dignity of a fine art. His conceptions of foraging were rather more Western and liberal than mine, and on these excursions he fully indemnified himself for any undue abstinence demanded of him when in camp. I remember being on the wharf, with some naval officers, when he came down from his first trip. The steamer seemed an animated hen-coop. Live poultry hung from the foremast shrouds, dead ones from the mainmast, geese hissed from the binnacle, a pig paced the quarter-deck, and a duck’s wings were seen fluttering from a line which was wont to sustain duck-trousers. The naval heroes, mindful of their own short rations, and taking high views of one’s duties in a conquered country, looked at me reproachfully, as who should say, “Shall these things be?” In a moment or two the returning foragers had landed. “Captain——,” said Montgomery, courteously, “would you allow me to send a remarkably fine turkey for your use on board ship?” “Lieutenant——,” said Major Corwin, “may I ask your acceptance of a pair of ducks for your mess?” Never did I behold more cordial relations between army and navy than sprang into existence at those sentences. So true it is, as Charles Lamb7 says, that a single present of game may diffuse kindly sentiments through a whole community.

partial contrast to these images of disintegration stands the fact that most of the French combat units managed to maintain a modicum of cohesion and reach safety more or less intact. During the entire pursuit, the Prussians failed to capture even one Eagle, a sign that, at least as far as its regimental standards were concerned, Napoleon’s army did not in fact disintegrate. Moreover, the French brought along on their retreat a large number of Allied prisoners, who were not set free until many days or even weeks later. One of them, Lieutenant Wheatley, had

The Union Army in the American Civil War began to allow black soldiers to enlist in 1863. However, whereas a white solider was paid $13 a month, a black solider was only paid $10, and furthermore was deducted $3 for clothing. In protest at this, a number of black regiments refused to accept their salaries - but still continued to fight heroically. Eighteen months later, when black soldiers made up an amazing ten per cent of the army’s troops, the high command accepted they were wrong to discriminate, raised their pay to be equal, and backdated it to the day they had enlisted.

The city of Gath was the earliest Philistine settlement in Canaan. It had a large urban populace on one hundred and twenty-five square miles of land. As the furthest inland stronghold, nearest the Valley of the Terebinth, it maintained a strong siege system that made it impregnable to hostile forces. The walls were thirty feet high, surrounded by a man-made siege trench and an earthen embankment called a “berm” that made approach to the walls by besiegers extremely difficult. It was guarded by a threefold entrance gate to the city, watched over by a regiment of Gittite warriors. All this fortification would be useless against the six figures who rode their horses to the city entrance. They would not be besieging the walls, and they would not be fighting the army of Gittites. They were simply nomadic travelers on a personal quest. They did not hide themselves, because they were not recognizable to any human inhabitants. They were archangels. Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael, Saraqael, Raguel, and Remiel walked their horses through the large Phoenician carved gates and into the city. They made no attempt to disguise themselves from the gods of the Philistines because they wanted the gods to know they had arrived. They wanted a showdown.

The beginning of December, less than half a year from the start of the Russo- German war, the Germans were deep inside Russia. Thousands of prisoners of war, entire regiments, armies were encircled. Some regiments openly surrendered to the fascists, in the vain hope that their lives would be spared. However, the Germans despised the Slavs to such an extent that even when they deserted, professing their hate for communism, it did not endear them to the conquerors. Prisoners of war were mistreated, thousands killed, their golden teeth pulled out, their uniforms and boots stripped and their bodies left to rot in the fields.

The historian Major-General Sir David Stewart of Garth described them as an ‘excellent, orderly regiment of well-behaved serviceable men, fit for any duty’ and the novelist Sir Walter Scott used his journal to call them a ‘regiment of Sutherland giants’. (One of their number was Samuel McDonald, a native of Lairg, who was seven feet four inches tall. Throughout the army he was known as ‘Big Sam’.)

Pershing responded by reassigning the Fifteenth to serve alongside French soldiers. The French Army desperately needed troops. If Hayward’s men were so anxious to fight, they could exchange their American-issued weapons for French ones and fight under French commanders.22 Hayward and his soldiers reported to Givry-en-Argonne, where they were taught to use French grenades, rifles, and machine guns. The New Yorkers also learned sufficient French in short order. The French high command renamed the Fighting Fifteenth le 369 ième Régiment d’Infanterie États Unís.23 “We are now a combat unit,” Hayward excitedly wrote, “one of the regiments of a French Division in the French Army, assigned to a sector of trenches.”24 Because the black soldiers seemingly had been abandoned by their own army, the French called them les enfants perdus— the lost children.

The boundary between the Fifth and Sixth Panzer Armies bisected the 14th Cavalry Group area by an extension south of Krewinkel and Manderfeld. North of the line elements of the 3d Parachute Division, reinforced by tanks, faced two platoons of Troop C, 18th Cavalry Squadron, two reconnaissance platoons and one gun company of the 820th Tank Destroyer Battalion, plus the squadron and group headquarters at Manderfeld. South of the boundary the 294th and 295th Regiments of the 18th Volks Grenadier Division, forty assault guns, and a reinforced tank destroyer battalion faced Troop A and one platoon of Troop C, 18th Cavalry Squadron. On no other part of the American front would the enemy so outnumber the defenders at the start of the Ardennes counteroffensive.

PART TWO I IN October 1805 the Russian army was occupying the villages and towns of the Archduchy of Austria, and yet other regiments freshly arriving from Russia were settling near the fortress of Braunau and burdening the inhabitants on whom they were quartered. Braunau

But I want you lads to think of me as, let’s say … your kindly uncle. Anything you need. Anything extra. Anything to make this army life of ours worth living.’ He leaned in closer and gave the suggestive eyebrows. ‘Anything. You can come to me.’ Lederlingen held up a hesitant finger. ‘Yes?’ ‘We’re cavalrymen, aren’t we?’ ‘Yes, trooper, we are.’ ‘Shouldn’t we have horses?’ ‘That’s an excellent question and a keen grasp of tactics. Due to an administrative error, our horses are currently with the Fifth, attached to Mitterick’s division, which, as a regiment of infantry, is not in a position to make best use of them. I’m told they’ll be catching up with us any day, though they’ve been telling me that a while. For the time being we are a regiment of … horseless horse.’ ‘Foot?’ offered Yolk. ‘You might say that, except we still …’ and Tunny tapped his skull, ‘think like cavalry. Other than horses, which is a deficiency common to every man in the unit, is there anything else you need?’ Klige

To try to influence my superior, a young woman party member, not to put me on any list to the North, I brought her my only good woolen pullover as a present. She liked it and asked me to help her with her hairdo, to look more attractive. I did that, too, while I saw lice crawling on her head. But I was scared to go home in the evenings, a regiment of Don Cossacks, who had come to town, came into homes, at night, and took able-bodied women into the army. A bookkeeper, an elderly man, which whom I had worked compulsory work during the Romanian occupation and was also working for the railroad, offered to let me stay inside the office during the night. He had keys to the office. After work, I went up. He left me inside and locked the door. Well, in June, if you sit all night in a chair and shiver with fright - life is awful. After two nights there, my parents and I decided that I would hide at home.

Un pluton se compune doar din zece oameni şi e neutru când e vorba să provoace o emoţie. Inima nu începe să bată decât la vederea unei companii. Manevrele unui batalion te zăpăcesc, iar o brigadă reprezintă o armată cu drapele. Fiorul produs de ele, după câte ştiu din Cântarea cântărilor, echivalează cu a fi îndrăgostit. Fiorul e direct proporţional cu numărul. ... Un regiment e mai impresionant decât o mulţime. O armată cu drapele echivalează cu dragostea numai când e perfect instruită. Pietrele folosite la o construcţie sunt mai frumoase decât un morman de pietre. Instrucţia şi uniformele impun mulţimii o arhitectură. O armată e splendidă. Dar asta nu-i totul. O armată se adresează atât unor instincte josnice, cât şi instinctului estetic. Spectacolul forţelor omeneşti reduse la automatism satisface pofta de putere.(Philip Quarles)

There never was a Scottish national identity. It was always Highlanders and Lowlanders, clans. National identity only came into existence after it became part of Britain. A lot of it was invented by Sir Walter Scott, this kind of theme-park identity we have now. That kilt everybody wears at weddings – it’s an eighteenth-century thing; that wedding look is based on the formal dress of a Highland regiment of the British Army.

Lt. Col. Arthur Freemantle, a British observer with Lee’s army at Gettysburg, noted that “in the rear of each regiment were from twenty to thirty negro slaves.” The Blacks who accompanied the army were slaves, not the mythical Black soldiers who rallied to the Confederacy, as Lost Cause proponents allege: “Tens of thousands of slaves accompanied their owners to army camps as servants or were impressed into service to construct fortifications and do other work for the Confederate army.

There it was again, the treasonous little notion Ulienne couldn’t quite shake. Horus was a hero, the Warmaster of the Imperium, the pacifier of the galaxy. Of course she’d followed him. The Legio Audax had willingly worn his colours and cast their fate with his. But what would be left after this war? What would be left of Terra and the armies fighting to take it? Surely even now, quiescent alien kingdoms at the Imperium’s edges were reawakening, daring to cast jealous eyes at the worlds they’d lost in the Great Crusade. Would there be enough of the Warmaster’s hosts left to hold the Imperium in its entirety? And what would those hosts look like, with all order and discipline and humanity raked out of them? The Legiones Astartes were already blood-maddened and fighting by the side of those… those things. The regiments of Imperial Army wearing the Warmaster’s Eye were no better. Ulienne Grune didn’t want peace. Peace was boring. Peace was for the weak. She wanted wars she could win.

His discovery of Europe happened more than a decade earlier, in 1221, during Genghis Khan’s invasion of central Asia, when Subodei and Jebe had circled the Caspian in pursuit of the Khwarizm sultan. After the sultan’s death, they asked and received permission to continue to see what lay to the north. There they discovered the small Christian kingdom of Georgia, ruled by Giorgi III the Brilliant. Jebe led the probe of their defenses. After centuries of warfare with the Muslims around it, Georgia boasted a highly skilled and professional army, and operating on their home territory, the defenders moved out to meet the attacking Mongols as they had met numerous Turkic and Muslim armies before them. Jebe’s Mongols charged the Georgians, fired a few volleys, and then turned to flee in what appeared to the Georgians to be a panicked rout; but, of course, it was no more than the Dog Fight strategy of the feigned retreat. The overconfident Georgian forces broke ranks and began to eagerly chase the Mongols, who barely managed to stay ahead of their pursuers. The Georgian horses gradually began to tire under their heavy loads and the strain of the long pursuit; they began to thin out as the weaker ones fell farther behind. Then, suddenly, with the Georgian forces spread out and beginning to tire, Jebe’s retreating warriors led them straight into the ranks of the other Mongol regiment waiting under Subodei’s command. While Subodei’s men began to pick off the Georgians, Jebe’s soldiers mounted fresh horses and struck out to rejoin the fight. Within hours, the Mongols had completely destroyed the Georgian army and the small nation’s aristocracy. Subodei made the country a vassal state, the first in Europe, and it proved to be one of the most loyal and supportive Mongol vassals in the generations ahead.

The following is the order of battle of the military units presently quartered at Fort Knox. Of the 3rd Armored Division, there is only the Spearhead, but there are also the 6th Armored Cavalry Regiment, the 15th Armor Group, the 160th Engineer Group and approximately half a division from all units of the United States Army currently going through the Armored Replacement Training Center and Military Human Research Unit No 1. There is also a considerable body of men associated with Continental Armored Command Board No 2, the Army Maintenance Board and various activities connected with the Armored Center. In addition there is a police force consisting of twenty officers and some four hundred enlisted men. In short, out of a total population of some sixty thousand, approximately twenty thousand are combat troops of one sort or another.

Almost as famous as Wallenstein himself is his dictum: It is easier to maintain an army of one hundred thousand men than one of twelve thousand. And the army of which we are speaking consisted largely of men under his command who had laid waste to Germany in the course of the war so celebrated for itself and for its effects, later known, for its duration, as the Thirty Years’ War, which was then in its eleventh year. There was also Wallenstein’s own regiment, led by one of his lieutenants. Most of the other condottieri had served under his command, including more than one who, four years later, would contribute to his meeting the sorry end that everyone knows.[*8]

Returning to active duty, [Pershing} was sent to Montana, promoted to first lieutenant, and put in charge of the 10th Cavalry Regiment. Buffalo Soldiers: black soldiers. Two years later, he was appointed an instructor of tactics at West Point. He was strict; the cadets didn't much care for him. They mocked his previous posting, dubbed him "N*gger Jack." Eventually, they toned it down to "Black Jack." He was said to be quite proud of the sobriquet.

The house seems quite hopeful, and we are on the point of taking it for six months when it becomes known that Tim is an officer in His Majesty’s Army. This immediately precludes any possibility of the house being let to us, and we are shown out of the door with all possible dispatch. I am too cold and wet to be really angry, but Tim is boiling with rage. Conversation too lurid to record.

Left-hand neighbour turns to me and remarks, ‘I am always so sorry for army people – so dreadful to be moved away from a place when you are fond of it.’ Reply that there is some consolation in the fact that you are also moved away from places you are not fond of.

Because these people are the propagandist’s predestined victims. In an old-fashioned, prescientific democracy, any spellbinder with a good organization behind him can turn that twenty percent of potential somnambulists into an army of regimented fanatics dedicated to the greater glory and power of their hypnotist. And under a dictatorship these same potential somnambulists can be talked into implicit faith and mobilized as the hard core of the omnipotent party. So you see it’s very important for any society that values liberty to be able to spot the future somnambulists when they’re young. Once they’ve been spotted, they can be hypnotized and systematically trained not to be hypnotizable by the enemies of liberty. And at the same time, of course, you’d be well advised to reorganize your social arrangements so as to make it difficult or impossible for the enemies of liberty to arise or have any influence.

At Vicksburg 31,600 prisoners were surrendered, together with 172 cannon about 60,000 muskets and a large amount of ammunition. The small-arms of the enemy were far superior to the bulk of ours. Up to this time our troops at the West had been limited to the old United States flintlock muskets changed into percussion, or the Belgian musket imported early in the war—almost as dangerous to the person firing it as to the one aimed at—and a few new and improved arms. These were of many different calibers, a fact that caused much trouble in distributing ammunition during an engagement. The enemy had generally new arms which had run the blockade and were of uniform caliber. After the surrender I authorized all colonels whose regiments were armed with inferior muskets, to place them in the stack of captured arms and replace them with the latter. A large number of arms turned in to the Ordnance Department as captured, were thus arms that had really been used by the Union army in the capture of Vicksburg.

However, in an attempt to rouse the dejected spirits of the troops, he directed that a ration of whiskey be issued to all ranks. Somehow the barrels were brought up in the night and the distribution made next morning. The result, in several cases - for the officers poured liberally and the stuff went into empty stomachs - were spectacular. For example, rival regiments from Pennsylvania and Massachusetts promptly decided the time had come for them to settle a long-term feud, and when a Maine outfit stepped in to try and stop the scuffle, the result was the biggest three-sided fist fight in the history of the world.

Back on land he headed for the pub to forget the kill. The Army had taught him how to handle that as well. How to suspend human feelings in combat, to refuse the blame for all the deaths, the pain, suffering, horror. Greg had never woken screaming like others in the regiment had.

He showed us films. Obviously we loved teachers showing films: nap time, makeout time if applicable. But this one, Jesus, you needed to see how it came out. Men calling a strike, the company calling in the army to force them back to work, the miners saying guess what, we’ve got guns too. Serious shit. Battle of Blair Mountain, that turned into the biggest war in America ever, other than the civil one. Twenty thousand guys from all over these mountains, fighting in regiments. They wore red bandannas on their necks to show they were all on the same side, working men. Mr. Armstrong said people calling

was a second lieutenant in an artillery regiment of the French Army.

The footage I have seen shows the civilians uncomfortably close to the paratroopers.  Stones or objects may have been thrown or Army officers feared would be thrown very soon.  The very presence of Nationalist minded marchers close to British Soldiers does not generate confidence in the security of those foot Soldiers and their arms for their officers.  The possibility of hand to hand fighting and guns being seized by nationalist civilians could not be ruled out.  As a result of Internment (introduced in August 1971) and its adverse impact on Catholics (imprisonment but not by proper and due Judicial process) there was a fierce resentment amongst Catholics in Londonderry to the British Crown and her armed forces and in particular her line Regiments who kept order on the streets.  You do not need a lot of imagination to realize with one injured civilian, there could be a direct attack on the ranks of 1 Para.  Why did this not happen?  On account of the prompt and firm actions of those 1 Para Junior and middle ranking officers to order firing by live rounds to disperse a highly volatile and dangerous situation.  They held the line until the unrest ceased and order was restored.  Without doubt those 1 Para Lieutenants and Captains and NCO’s were confronted with an uncertain and antagonistic group of civilians in one shape or another particularly after firing began.  Who are we to stand in Judgement over those Junior officers themselves acting under orders? The British Army in the 1970’s did not constitute a brutal and inhuman military unit.  There were strict rules to follow before opening fire with live rounds – I doubt they were breached on 30 January 1972 (Rules of Engagement) always difficult to interpret with the panicky running, shouting and extreme disquiet before the eyes and ears of 1 Para

During this operation the Third Army moved farther and faster and engaged more divisions in less time than any other army in the history of the United States…No country can stand against such an army.

...the word of a regimental commander, once again figuratively speaking, is worth its weight in gold, no man rises to so high a rank in the army without being right in everything he thinks, says and does.

Isaac, the black body servant of Colonel John Nisbet of the Sixty-sixth Georgia, joined his master in the breastworks from time to time to try his hand at shooting Yankees. Amos Rucker was technically a body servant in another Georgia regiment, but it was "well known that he was in the fights around Atlanta on several occasions". When Rucker died many years later, his former comrades-in-arms saw to it that he was laid to rest in the uniform of the Confederate States Army.

Munson was a member of the unit to which Corporal Gault assigned me after I flew my tenth mission back home to Rampont, a unit that would soon be known throughout the world as part of the Lost Battalion. That summer it was still simply the 1st Battalion of the 308th Regiment of the United States Army’s 77th Infantry Division, under the command of newly minted Major Charles White Whittlesey.

China is indeed favored by the gods to have such a lovely blossom grace its throne.” Out of the corner of her eye, Mulan saw Shang’s expression darken. She too heard the insult in those words. Flowers were beautiful and delicate. Ornamental. She bared her teeth in a thin smile. “I’m quite fond of flowers myself. After your’e settled in the state guesthouses, you must tour the imperial gardens. There’s a particular variety called snow lace, a white blossom with rose-tinged petals. I collected it myself from the Tung-Shao Pass. Are you familiar with that region?” The ambassador’s smirk froze on his face. The Tung-Shao Pass was where Mulan’s regiment had defeated Shan Yu’s men. There were already multiple ballads commemorating how Mulan used a rocket to trigger the avalanche that buried his entire army. “Yes, I am familiar with that pass.” “I’m glad,” said Mulan. “It’s the mark of a good ambassador to know his host nation’s land and history, and I’m sure you are one of the very best.

I am Nikolai Lantsov, Major of the Twenty-Second Regiment, Soldier of the King’s Army, Grand Duke of Udova, and second son to His Most Royal Majesty, King Alexander the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne, may his life and reign be long.

Higginson served until 1864, and recorded his adventures in a book based on a diary he wrote while campaigning in the South, Army Life in a Black Regiment (1870). The book is a classic of Civil War literature.

The Third Army commander's last instruction to his commanders reflected the admonition against a dribbling attack given by General Eisenhower: he (General Patton) favored an attack in column of regiments, "or in any case lots of depth." As usual Patton was optimistic. He felt certain that the enemy was unaware of the storm about to break, that German intelligence had not spotted the appearance of the 26th Division in the area, and that it did not know the exact location of the other two divisions. "Drive like hell," said Patton.

was in the front rank, but didn't fire. I preferred to wait for a good opportunity, when I could take deliberate aim at some individual foe. But when the regiment fired, the Confederates halted and began firing also, and the fronts of both lines were at once shrouded in smoke. I had my gun at a ready, and was trying to peer under the smoke in order to get a sight

called Defence of Fort McHenry, which he set to the music of To Anacreon in Heaven, a British drinking song. When it was later sold as sheet music, the publishers used a different title for Key’s ditty, and in 1931 it was chosen to be America’s national anthem. Yes - The Star Spangled Banner is based on a British drinking song! The Union Army in the American Civil War began to allow black soldiers to enlist in 1863. However, whereas a white solider was paid $13 a month, a black solider was only paid $10, and furthermore was deducted $3 for clothing. In protest at this, a number of black regiments refused to

Marx observed that by organizing native regiments in their Indian Army the British had unwittingly created ‘the first general centre of resistance which the Indian people was ever possessed of’.

It was interesting to us in the Waffen SS that the American army, fighting as they claimed for their ‘democracy,’ should segregate its black men and white men into separate regiments, with no black men being allowed to use the white Americans’ facilities! The young men from Mississippi and Alabama experienced more equality as prisoners of the Reich than they did serving in the US Army, that is a fact.

The British had four distinct armies in India. The smallest consisted of the purely British ‘Queen’s Regiments’. The other three were the racially mixed ‘presidency’ armies

I grabbed Finnegan’s Magic 8 Ball from behind the cash register. My thumb went for the red scuff mark on the back of the ball, trying to rub it out like I always did whenever I got bored. Tucker was now preoccupied with lining up a pepper shaker cavalry across from a hostile regiment of saltshaker footmen. ... While Tucker stepped out back for his break, I commandeered his condiment armies. Gus’s cigarette smoke wafted toward the ceiling, pulled into the vent. The oscillating fan on the wall made the papers on the employee bulletin board flutter. Halfway through my recreation of the Battle of the Bulge, I shook Finnegan’s Magic 8 Ball to find out if the German saltshaker would be successful in his offensive. Ask again later. Useless thing. If the Allies had taken that advice, the Axis would have won the war.

As we can not do without a large native army in India, our main object is to make that army safe; and next to the grand counterpoise of a sufficient European force, comes a counterpoise of natives against natives." The committee goes on to observe that, "Different races mixed together do not long preserve their distinctiveness: their corners and angles and prejudices get rubbed off, till at last they assimilate." To prevent this the system of local recruitment based on caste was evolved and regiments of Dogras, Sikhs, Rajputs, etc., were created as mutually exclusive units which could never, it was, hoped, make common cause on any national issue.

The Union army's southward march-especially in the Mississippi Valley-stretched supply lines, brought thousands of defenseless ex-slaves under Union protection, and exposed large expanses of occupied territory to Confederate raiders, further multiplying the army's demand for soldiers. On the home front, these new demands sparked violent opposition to federal manpower policies. The Enrollment Act of March 1863 allowed wealthy conscripts to buy their way out of military service by either paying a $300 commutation fee or employing a substitute. Others received hardship exemptions as specified in the act, though political influence rather than genuine need too often determined an applicant's success. Those without money or political influence found the draft especially burdensome. In July, hundreds of New Yorkers, many of the Irish immigrants, angered by the inequities of the draft, lashed out at the most visible and vulnerable symbols of the war: their black neighbors. The riot raised serious questions about the enrollment system and sent Northern politicians scurrying for an alternative to conscription. To even the most politically naive Northerners, the enlistment of black men provided a means to defuse draft resistance at a time when the federal army's need for soldiers was increasing. At the same time, well-publicized battle achievements by black regiments at Port Hudson and Milliken's Bend, Louisiana, and at Fort Wagner, South Carolina, eased popular fears that black men could not fight, mitigated white opposition within army ranks, and stoked the enthusiasm of both recruiters and black volunteers.

The Germans were further confused by the dummy parachutists dropped by the two SAS teams Captain Foote had organized. One party went in just before midnight between Le Havre and Rouen. An hour or so later, the commandant at Le Havre sent an agitated telegram to Seventh Army headquarters, repeated to Berlin, saying there had been a major landing upstream of him and he feared he was cut off. The second party dropped its dummies and set up its recordings of firefights southeast of Isigny. The German reserve regiment in the area, about 2,000 men strong, spent the small hours of June 6 beating the woods looking for a major airborne landing that was not there. For the Allies this was an extraordinarily profitable payoff from a small investment.

The plan was to create a Negro training regiment, parallel to the regular training regiment, in order to provide promotional opportunities for Negro officers. A meeting of all Negro officers stationed at the TC was called, and the plan was explained. The whole thing sounded very good -at least to the most junior officers. Lots of questions were asked, but the answers were not very satisfactory to a few of us. I remember that meeting very well for a number of reasons. I had been raised in the southern United States, and I knew that there was no such thing as separate but equal, so I objected to such an organization, pointing out that although it appeared to afford opportunity, there was an extremely low ceiling on where we could go. The top would be reserved for whites; I had seen it happen too many times. When I asked who the commanding officer of this regiment would be, I was informed that as ranking Negro officer I would have that assignment. My response was that I wanted no part of it and was informed that I had no choice. "I will not command such an outfit." "Would you disobey a direct order?" I was asked. "I want to make it as a WAC officer and not as a Negro WAC officer. I guess this is the end because I will not be the regimental commander." The meeting was over. Each and every officer, including the ones who had been closest to me and those for whom I had done the most, walked out of that assembly without a word to me. I was hurt that none understood that I was thinking of all our futures and that my position had not deprived them of any chances. I finally walked across the post to my office all alone-and I had learned one of life's greatest and hardest lessons: do not depend on the support of others for causes. Later my friends did express some agreement for my stand, explaining that the plan had seemed such a marvelous chance at the time. I have never forgotten.

At the beach called Utah on the day of the invasion, Lt. Robert Brewer of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, U.S. Army, captured four Asians in Wehrmacht uniforms. No one could speak their language; eventually it was learned that they were Koreans. How on earth did Koreans end up fighting for Hitler to defend France against Americans? It seems they had been conscripted into the Japanese army in 1938—Korea was then a Japanese colony—captured by the Red Army in the border battles with Japan in 1939, forced into the Red Army, captured by the Wehrmacht in December 1941 outside Moscow, forced into the German army, and sent to France.

As a medical student, I read the lore of Joseph Bell, the Scottish surgeon on whom Sherlock Holmes was based. Bell, who taught Arthur Conan Doyle during his medical training at a hospital in Edinburgh, was famously observant, with an “eerie trick of spotting details.” From sailors’ tattoos he could know where they had traveled; from the lilt of a man’s accent, the calluses of his hands, the uneven way the legs of his trousers or the breast pocket of his jacket had faded, he could deduce the man’s hometown, his profession, his vices. “Most men have a head, two arms, a nose, a mouth and a certain number of teeth. It is the little differences—the ‘trifles’—such as the droop of an eyelid, which differentiates men,” Bell told his students. “Use your eyes.”II For his students, he would demonstrate the importance of “trifles,” meeting a patient for the first time and deciphering a sort of autobiography from their body in a theatrical performance. From one man’s elephantiasis—a parasitic infection that clogs the lymphatics and swells the legs—and military habit of never taking off his hat, Bell deduced that he was a Highland regiment officer who had been stationed in Barbados. From another’s military swagger and short stature—too short for a soldier—Bell deduced that he had played in a Highland regiment band. When the man replied that he was a cobbler and had never been in the army, Bell had two particularly burly trainees restrain and undress the man to find the tiny blue D, “deserter,” branded on his skin, the truth written indelibly on his body and his fears exposed, the doctor unmasking the denial.

What was remarkable was that unspeakable treatment did not cause the internees to turn against the country that had treated them so shabbily. Instead, many Japanese internees shamed the nation with their patriotism. In 1943, the War Department finally decided that native-born Americans of Japanese descent were perhaps not “enemy aliens” and were eligible to participate in the war effort. Not in the Pacific, of course—Japanese Americans could not be trusted that much. But the army asked for volunteers for a unit to be assigned to Europe. Almost immediately thousands of young men from both Hawaii and the mainland volunteered. The 442nd Regimental Combat Team, composed of these volunteers, was sent to Italy and fought with astonishing bravery, with more than eight hundred dying for their country and hundreds more wounded.

by spring 1862 it became universal throughout Confederate regiments for the soldiers to elect their leaders from colonel down to sergeants, the very imposition of military democracy that would lead some to bemoan the demagoguery and wire-pulling with the men in order to seek election.

The Communist view that the writer was a recruit into the army of history carried with it the traditional Communist faith in empty celebration and rhetorical posture. By its rules, the writer must be a member of a community of the orthodox; he must belong to an organization of writers and it must unfurl banners like those of the army’s other regiments.

But this one, Jesus, you needed to see how it came out. Men calling a strike, the company calling in the army to force them back to work, the miners saying guess what, we’ve got guns too. Serious shit. Battle of Blair Mountain, that turned into the biggest war in America ever, other than the civil one. Twenty thousand guys from all over these mountains, fighting in regiments. They wore red bandannas on their necks to show they were all on the same side, working men. Mr. Armstrong said people calling us rednecks, that goes back to the red bandannas. Redneck is badass.

In what was meant to be a touching example of interracial goodwill, Algerian women joined the predominantly European crowd on the square, but their credibility was somewhat strained by my discovery that some of them were from the Algiers Casbah's many maisons de tolerance. Others were in regimented squads with carefully prepared "integration" banners. Indeed, lurking behind almost every women's contingent was a French "special affairs" army officer, recognizable by his pale-blue kepi.

He was struck too, so he said, by the number of Jews in clerical positions – ‘nearly every clerk was a Jew and nearly every Jew was a clerk’ – compared with how few of them were serving at the front.139 (In fact, this was a base calumny: there was as good as no difference between the proportion of Jews and non-Jews in the German army, relative to their numbers in the total population, and many served – some in the List Regiment – with great distinction.140)

In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy's country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good. So, too, it is better to recapture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them.

The regiment attracted adventurous spirits from everywhere. Our chief trumpeter was a native American, our second trumpeter was from the Mediterranean--I think an Italian--who had been a soldier of fortune not only in Egypt, but in the French Army in Southern China. Two excellent men were Osborne, a tall Australian, who had been an officer in the New South Wales Mounted Rifles; and Cook, an Englishman, who had served in South Africa.

At around 11.30, a group of East Berliners pushed aside the screen fence in front of the border crossing and everyone swarmed into the checkpoint area en masse. Checkpoint commander Lieutenant-Colonel Harald Jäger decided that he was not prepared to risk the lives of himself and his soldiers. He ordered his men to stop checking passports, open up fully, and just let the crowd do what it wanted. And the crowd knew what it wanted. Within moments, thousands began to pour through the checkpoint. They simply walked or, in most cases ran, into West Berlin. The sensation of running freely over the bridge, of crossing a border where such an action, just days or even hours before, would have courted near-certain death, brought a surge of exhilaration that, if we are to believe those who were there, all but changed the chemical composition of the air and turned it into champagne. Large crowds had already gathered on the Western side. They greeted the Easterners with cries of joy and open arms. Many improvised toasts were drunk. By midnight, all the border checkpoints had been forced to open. At the Invalidenstrasse, masses ‘invaded’ from the West and met the approaching Easterners in the middle. It was now twenty past midnight, and the entire East German army had been placed on a state of heightened alert. However, in the absence of orders from the leadership, the 12,000 men of the Berlin border regiments remained confined to barracks. The night passed, and the orders never arrived.

Captain Frank Sterbing believed that the majority of the soldiers of the 121st Pennsylvania were lying on the ground by this point, and the remainder would be soon enough if they remained in their position for another minute. Biddle reached the same conclusion and ordered the broken regiment back to Seminary Ridge. The speed with which the troops crossed back to the seminary was, according to one of the men who made the dash, "remarkable, probably the best on record." (page 102)

The most effective move would be to send the tanks with infantry west of Bolshaya Belozerka” Commander Smirnov proposed. “Enemy units there are nearly destroyed — we could threaten a real encirclement.” “That won’t be possible,” the chief of staff objected. “A combat order has just arrived from фронт headquarters: the 15th Tank Brigade, the 530th Anti-Tank Artillery Regiment, and the 30th Cavalry Division are are redeployed to support the 12th Army near Pavlograd, where the situation is critical.” Smirnov turned pale, then his eyes filled with blood. “Damn it!” he slammed his fist on the table. “We needed just two more days. Without tanks now, we’re helpless. — Volodymyr Shablia, Stone. Book Two Context note: In 1941, rigid bureaucracy and centralized command in the Red Army often prevented commanders from exploiting battlefield opportunities. Delays, reassignments, and fear of independent decisions frequently led to disastrous outcomes.

The companionship which Adam the second is seeking is not to be found in the de-personalized regimentation of the army, in the automatic coordination of the assembly line, or in the activity of the institutionalized, soulless political community. His quest is for a new kind of fellowship, which one finds in the existential community. There, not only hands are joined, but experiences as well; there, one hears not only the rhythmic sound of the production line, but also the rhythmic beat of hearts starved for existential companionship and all-embracing sympathy and experiencing the grandeur of the faith commitment; there, one lonely soul finds another soul tormented by loneliness and solitude yet unqualifiedly committed.