Michael McKernan’s The Strength of a Nation is an ambitious attempt to tell the Australian story of the Second World War as a national experience rather than simply as a succession of military campaigns. Covering the years from 1939 to 1945, McKernan places Australians fighting overseas alongside the men and women whose lives at home were transformed by the demands of war. It is a broad approach that attempts to bring the military, political, economic and social experiences of wartime Australia together within a single narrative.
The great strength of McKernan’s approach is that he refuses to separate the battlefield completely from Australian society. North Africa, Greece, Crete, the Mediterranean, Singapore, New Guinea and the Pacific are certainly important, but they form only part of the story. The Royal Australian Navy, the Royal Australian Air Force and the merchant navy also receive attention, while developments overseas are continually connected with political decisions and the mobilisation of Australian society. The result is less a conventional military history than a history of Australia during wartime in which military operations form one important component of a much larger national experience.
This approach is particularly effective in demonstrating the extraordinary scale of the Australian commitment. The country entered the war while the social and economic consequences of the Great Depression remained fresh and memories of the First World War continued to influence attitudes towards another major conflict. Yet within a remarkably short period Australia was required to raise and sustain large armed forces, expand industrial production, support operations conducted thousands of kilometres from home and prepare for the possibility that the war might eventually reach Australia itself. The entry of Japan into the conflict dramatically increased these pressures as Australia attempted to maintain existing commitments while confronting a much more immediate strategic threat in the Pacific.
McKernan is particularly effective when examining the ordinary people caught within these enormous events. His history is not dominated entirely by generals, politicians and strategic decisions, although all remain important to the narrative. Individual experiences repeatedly bring the larger story back to a human scale, allowing the consequences of government policy and military events to be understood through the experiences of those required to live with them. This people centred approach makes what could easily have become a dense national history considerably more accessible.
The political dimension is equally important. Robert Menzies, John Curtin, General Thomas Blamey and General Douglas MacArthur inevitably occupy significant places within the story, but McKernan does not present Australian wartime leadership as a simple procession of wise decisions made by heroic national figures. Successes sit alongside mistakes, political calculations, personality conflicts and decisions made with incomplete information. This is important because Australian participation in the Second World War has generated its own collection of national legends, particularly concerning 1942, the supposed abandonment of Australia by Britain and the development of the relationship with the United States.
I particularly appreciated McKernan’s willingness to avoid turning Australian participation in the war into a comfortable patriotic narrative. Australians fought extremely well in many circumstances, including North Africa and New Guinea, but military achievement does not mean that every command decision was correct, every political decision was wise or every operation was necessary. McKernan allows room for achievement without requiring unquestioning admiration for everyone responsible for directing the Australian war effort.
His treatment of the home front is central to the book. The strength of a nation cannot be measured simply by counting divisions, aircraft or warships, and McKernan gives considerable attention to those Australians whose contribution took place far from the battlefield. Industrial workers, farmers, families, women entering new areas of employment and the countless Australians adapting their lives to shortages, restrictions and government controls were all part of the same national effort. The distinction between the fighting front and home front consequently becomes much less rigid than it often appears in histories concerned primarily with campaigns and battles.
This broader perspective also helps demonstrate how profoundly the war affected Australia itself. The conflict altered government, industry, employment, family life and expectations about the responsibilities of the state. It also contributed to a gradual reconsideration of Australia’s strategic position and its relationships with Britain, the United States and the countries of the Pacific region. These changes did not occur simply because Australian troops fought particular battles. They emerged from the interaction between events overseas and the pressures experienced within Australia.
There are, however, inevitable limitations to such a broad approach. A book attempting to cover six years of Australian political, social, naval, air and military history cannot explore every campaign or controversy in the depth available in more specialised studies. Readers already familiar with Tobruk, Greece, Crete, Singapore, Kokoda or the later New Guinea campaigns may occasionally find themselves wanting greater operational detail. Important military events sometimes move past relatively quickly because McKernan must return to developments elsewhere and maintain the broader national narrative.
For the serious military history reader this can occasionally become frustrating. There are points where a campaign, command decision or operational problem seems worthy of much greater examination, only for the narrative to move back towards political developments or life on the home front. This is not necessarily a fault in the book because McKernan is clearly attempting something different from a detailed campaign history, but it does affect the experience of readers whose principal interest lies in military operations.
The principal weakness of The Strength of a Nation, at least for me, therefore arises from the same approach that will probably make the book attractive to many other readers. McKernan has deliberately written a broad national history in which the fighting overseas, political leadership, economic mobilisation and experiences of Australians on the home front are brought together within a single narrative. This gives the book considerable breadth, but it inevitably comes at the expense of the detailed military and operational history that I generally prefer. Campaigns and battles sometimes pass more quickly than I would have liked, while social and domestic aspects of the war receive considerably more attention.
This is very much a matter of personal preference rather than a fundamental criticism of McKernan’s work. The approach is a good one, and there is considerable value in examining the Second World War as an experience involving the whole Australian nation rather than simply those Australians who served in uniform. Separating the battlefield from the society that supplied the soldiers, manufactured their equipment, supported their families and dealt with the political and economic consequences of war can produce an equally distorted picture. McKernan’s broader perspective provides an important corrective to histories that concentrate almost exclusively upon military operations.
Ultimately, however, The Strength of a Nation was not quite my cup of tea. I found myself wanting more detail about campaigns, units, commanders and military decisions and somewhat less about the broader social experience of wartime Australia. That does not make the book unsuccessful. Quite the opposite, since McKernan largely achieves what he sets out to do and produces an accessible account of Australia’s war that places the battlefield within a much wider national context. Readers interested in the Australian home front and the relationship between war and society are likely to appreciate it considerably more than I did. I can recognise the value of the approach, even if it is not the approach to Australian military history that most appeals to me.
Been back from Thailand a little over a week and still haven’t recovered. The holiday was great. Getting home requires counselling.
For those following the condo saga from my previous post, we arrived to discover the builder hadn’t finished. Now I am not naive, I know there is “builders time” and “Thai” time so coming fact to face with “Thai Builders time” was not a surprise. The new completion date is 30 November just in time for Christmas with no flights available – great choice! Based on experience, I’m confidently predicting a February finish. Just not sure which year.
Then came the flight home, which somehow made the flight over look like pure bliss.
We couldn’t get business class and had to fly via Sydney. A double whammy before we’d even left the ground.
About five hours in, a passenger suffered a heart attack. Thankfully, the cabin crew and two passengers who were nurses managed to stabilise him. A frightening experience for everyone involved, and I hope he’s recovering well.
We diverted to Jakarta, where it took about an hour to get the poor fellow off the plane, followed by a couple of hours sorting out whether we’d continue, and refuelling and resupplying. By then I was wondering whether our condo might be finished before we got home.
Eventually we headed off again, arriving in Sydney hours late and missing our connecting flight.
But Sydney Airport still had a little farewell gift for us.
We landed near the domestic terminal, which was exactly where we wanted to be. Unfortunately, we first had to get to the international terminal and clear customs. With only two runways operating and planes landing about every 90 seconds, we joined a queue of aircraft waiting to cross.
Forty minutes sitting there, looking at the general direction we needed to go. So close, yet so Sydney.
Eventually, 24 hours into what should have been a nine-hour flight, we arrived home. Even our luggage needed a lie-down.
And after that much time sharing cabin air, we apparently brought home everyone else’s bugs as souvenirs. Coughs, sniffles and penicillin now abound. We’d planned to bring back happy memories, but seem to have collected the entire plane’s medical history as well.
Despite all that, we had a wonderful time in Thailand. I took loads of photos for a couple of books I’m planning, while Maree went on a wildlife safari: patting tigers, bottle-feeding a three-month-old lion cub that was already massive and ridiculously powerful, riding an elephant and patting capybaras.
Between the two of us, we came home with some wonderful memories, plenty of photos and a deeply personal grievance against air travel.
Great trip. Sh#t flights.
Next time I might ask the builder to organise our return journey. We’d never leave Thailand.
In the next little while I will collate the photos and share some of the really “cool stuff” like battlefield memorials, prehistoric sights, statues showing Thai military uniforms etc.
Thanks again to Open AI for help with the “toon”.
Stay safe and remember never, I repeat never, never, never, – got that – travel with us!
Another batch of casualty figures has joined my Dracula’s America collection, the second of four lots intended to make the aftermath of our various gunfights, supernatural encounters and general disagreements look suitably unpleasant. The first batch proved that a few bodies scattered around the table add considerably to the atmosphere, so naturally the obvious response was to paint some more.
I much prefer replacing a casualty with a proper fallen figure rather than simply removing the miniature from the table. As a game progresses, the casualties begin to tell their own story. A body beside a building suggests somebody did not quite make it to cover, while another lying in the middle of the street is fairly convincing evidence that charging directly towards several armed opponents was perhaps not the finest tactical decision of the day.
Once again I have added my very sophisticated blood effects, which consist of pools cut from red cardboard. They cost virtually nothing, take only minutes to make and, once slipped beneath a casualty figure, provide exactly the suitably gruesome effect I wanted. There are undoubtedly far more elaborate ways of producing blood effects, but these work perfectly well for me and can be moved around the table as required.
Casualty figures also have the advantage of recording how the battle has developed. By the end of a particularly bloody encounter the tabletop itself becomes a visual record of where the serious fighting occurred. A cluster of bodies and blood pools around a doorway, barricade or objective tells you rather more about what happened there than an empty piece of scenery ever could.
Of course, there remains one small complication. This is Dracula’s America, where being shot, stabbed, mauled or otherwise rendered inconveniently deceased does not necessarily constitute a permanent career setback. With necromancers, zombies and assorted supernatural unpleasantness wandering around, a body lying quietly on the ground should never be regarded with complete confidence.
Still, this second batch appears to be behaving itself.
So far.
The two lots of causalities so far on their movement/storage tray.
The first of four lots of casualty figures for my Dracula’s America collection has now been completed. With all the supernatural creatures, resurrected Confederates, zombies, witches, cultists and assorted things that really should have remained buried, I realised that I was actually rather short of something much more mundane. Ordinary dead people.
These figures are intended primarily as casualty markers, allowing me to replace a fallen model with something a little more atmospheric than simply laying the original miniature on its side. It is a small detail, but one that I think adds considerably to the appearance of the tabletop. A gunfight looks much more convincing when the unfortunate participants remain where they fell rather than mysteriously disappearing the moment somebody fails a save.
For a little more atmosphere I have also added blood pools, simply cut from pieces of red cardboard and placed beneath or around the casualty figures. There is nothing particularly sophisticated about them, but combined with the fallen figures they certainly make the aftermath of a gunfight look considerably more unpleasant.
Sometimes the simplest bits of scenery are the most effective, and a few pools of blood scattered along a dusty street leave little doubt that negotiations have not gone particularly well.
This is the first of four batches that I am painting, giving me enough casualties to scatter around the battlefield as the fighting develops. They will also be useful as scenario markers, victims of previous encounters, unfortunate townsfolk, evidence of some particularly unpleasant supernatural activity, or simply as a warning that perhaps walking down that particular street is not such a good idea.
Of course, this being Dracula’s America, describing them as dead may be slightly premature. In most games a casualty figure marks the end of a character’s involvement in proceedings. Around here it might merely indicate that he is having a short rest before somebody with questionable morals and a working knowledge of the Dark Arts decides that his services are still required.
I have also glued a MiniBits 8 mm dice frame to each base, giving the casualty figures another potential use. If I want to use one as a unit casualty marker in another game, I can simply place a die in the frame and use it to keep track of the number of casualties suffered. It makes the figures rather more versatile than simple battlefield decoration and, more importantly, gives me another excuse for having painted so many dead people. I have an assortment of different dice to record status quality units etc as required.
For the moment, however, these unfortunate souls are staying exactly where they fell.
My exploits into the Dark Confederacy in Dracula’s America have renewed my interest in Confederate cavalry during the American Civil War. As often happens with wargaming, painting a few figures soon leads me back to the history behind them, and before long I found myself wondering what I already had on the shelves. A search through my library produced Stephen B. Oates’s Confederate Cavalry West of the River. If I have read it before, I cannot remember doing so, which either says something about the length of time it has been sitting there or, perhaps more worryingly, something about my memory.
First published by the University of Texas Press in 1961, Confederate Cavalry West of the River remains one of the comparatively few studies devoted specifically to Confederate mounted forces operating in the Trans Mississippi theatre.¹ Its geographical range is ambitious, embracing Missouri, Arkansas, Texas, Indian Territory and parts of Louisiana, an enormous region in which distance, inadequate communications, uncertain supply and widely varying military circumstances imposed demands quite different from those experienced by Confederate cavalry east of the Mississippi.² Oates attempted to recover the history of forces that have traditionally been overshadowed by the more celebrated cavalry commands associated with J. E. B. Stuart, Nathan Bedford Forrest and other commanders in the eastern and central theatres.
More than sixty years after its publication, the book remains useful, but it is no longer possible to regard it as a comprehensive history of Confederate cavalry operations west of the Mississippi. Indeed, subsequent scholarship has identified a significant contradiction between the breadth suggested by the title and the actual coverage of the book. Oates devoted considerable attention to recruitment, organisation, supply, equipment and horses, particularly during the formative period of 1861 and 1862, but his operational coverage is much less comprehensive. Later scholarship has noted that Oates treats only four of the Confederate cavalry raids into Missouri, provides relatively brief narratives of them, largely passes over cavalry operations during 1863 and 1864, and omits the cavalry’s important role in the Red River Campaign.³ This is a substantial limitation and one that needs to be recognised when assessing the book today.
Nevertheless, these shortcomings should not obscure Oates’s achievement. When he wrote, the Confederate Trans Mississippi remained a neglected field of Civil War scholarship. His book was therefore an important attempt to reconstruct an institution about which comparatively little coherent historical work had been undertaken. It remains valuable precisely because Oates was interested not merely in cavalry charges and famous commanders but in the less glamorous foundations upon which mounted operations depended.
Organisation, Men and Horses
The structure of Confederate Cavalry West of the River immediately reveals Oates’s priorities. After examining recruitment in 1861 and organisation during 1862, he devotes separate chapters to food and clothing and to arms and mounts before turning to campaigning at Cane Hill and Prairie Grove, raids into Missouri and the final stages of the war.⁴ The three appendices list Confederate cavalry regiments and battalions raised in the Trans Mississippi, estimate their overall strength and provide the organisation of Price’s Cavalry Corps.⁵ This concentration upon the machinery supporting cavalry operations is one of the enduring strengths of the book.
Figure 1. Confederate Cavalryman, 1861–65
Description: An unidentified Confederate cavalryman photographed during the Civil War, wearing his uniform and carrying a cavalry sabre. The portrait is particularly useful because it shows the appearance of an ordinary mounted soldier rather than one of the better known Confederate generals.
Source: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Liljenquist Family Collection of Civil War Photographs. Ambrotype, c. 1861–65.
Oates presents the western Confederate horseman as a distinctive military type. Many recruits came from communities in which horses and firearms were familiar parts of everyday life. This gave Confederate commanders men who could often ride extremely well before receiving military training, but horsemanship did not automatically make them cavalrymen. Military cavalry required discipline, collective manoeuvre, reconnaissance, communications, care of horses and the ability to operate as part of a larger force.
Oates is particularly effective in demonstrating the tension between individual competence and military discipline. His western horsemen could be independent, self reliant and highly mobile, qualities that were useful in scouting and raiding, but the same characteristics could create difficulties when commanders attempted to impose conventional military discipline. Oates describes troops who resisted formal drill, disliked excessive distinctions between officers and men and brought civilian attitudes towards horses, firearms and personal independence into military service.⁶
Figure 2. Private Stephen Pollard, Confederate Cavalry
Description: Private Stephen Pollard of Companies B and L, 7th Confederate States Cavalry Battalion, photographed in uniform with an Model 1855 Springfield pistol carbine and pistols. This is an excellent image for the review because the weapons are clearly visible and directly complement Oates’s discussion of the arms carried by Confederate mounted troops.
Source: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Liljenquist Family Collection of Civil War Photographs, LC-DIG-ppmsca-31697. Hand coloured sixth plate ambrotype.
There is, however, a tendency towards romanticisation in this portrait. Oates characterises the Confederate cavalrymen as brave and patriotic and places them within the broader legend of Confederate endurance and battlefield prowess. He also makes broad claims about Confederate superiority over Federal mounted troops in the Trans Mississippi.⁷ Such judgements were considerably less unusual in Civil War writing when the book appeared in 1961, but they require more qualification today. The quality of both Union and Confederate cavalry varied enormously according to time, place, leadership, experience and supply. Oates is strongest when he demonstrates these material realities and less convincing when he resorts to general assertions about Confederate martial superiority.
Cavalry That Often Fought Without Horses
One of the book’s most valuable contributions is its demonstration that Confederate cavalry performed a much broader range of duties than the popular image of mounted warfare suggests. Cavalry screened armies, guarded trains, carried messages, conducted reconnaissance, raided communications and fought dismounted. At Pea Ridge and Prairie Grove, mounted troops could effectively become infantry when circumstances demanded it.⁸
This is an important corrective to the romantic image of Civil War cavalry as men perpetually charging with sabres and revolvers. Horses provided operational mobility, but they did not dictate the manner in which cavalry necessarily fought once it reached the battlefield. The distinction between mounted movement and dismounted combat is particularly important in the broken and wooded terrain encountered across much of Arkansas and Missouri.
For the military historian, and particularly for the wargamer, this is one of the most useful lessons to emerge from Oates. A Confederate cavalry regiment should not automatically be treated as conventional European cavalry. Its battlefield role could change according to terrain, mission, weaponry and tactical circumstances. The horse was frequently the means by which the soldier reached the battlefield rather than the platform from which he actually fought.
Logistics as the Real Enemy
The chapters dealing with food, clothing, arms and horses are arguably the strongest sections of the book. Oates recognised that cavalry effectiveness depended upon considerably more than bravery or horsemanship. Every mounted soldier required a serviceable horse, saddle and associated equipment, while the horse itself required forage, water and rest. Horses became exhausted, sick or injured and had to be replaced. Saddles and equipment deteriorated, while weapons required ammunition that had to reach units operating across enormous distances.
The problem became increasingly serious as the war continued. The Mississippi River became not merely a geographical boundary but an increasingly effective strategic barrier, separating the Trans Mississippi Department from the principal industrial and logistical resources of the Confederacy. The western Confederacy therefore had to depend increasingly upon its own limited resources, local production, captured Federal equipment and requisitioning from civilians.
Oates’s evidence concerning horses is particularly revealing. His examination of the supply of mounts and the number of horses available to Confederate formations demonstrates that the horse itself was a military resource that could be consumed by campaigning almost as surely as ammunition.⁹ This is an area in which Oates’s work has aged particularly well. His emphasis upon material constraints prevents the history from becoming merely a succession of colourful raids and battlefield anecdotes.
There is an apparent contradiction at the centre of Confederate mounted warfare west of the Mississippi. Individual units could possess considerable tactical and operational mobility while the military system supporting them remained extremely fragile. A regiment might travel rapidly across Arkansas or Missouri, but the wider Confederate command could not necessarily replace its horses, weapons or equipment or transform a successful raid into a permanent strategic gain.
Oates is at his best when exposing this contradiction.
Cane Hill and Prairie Grove
The campaigning around Cane Hill and Prairie Grove provides Oates with an opportunity to examine cavalry within conventional operations rather than merely as raiders. He devotes an entire chapter to these campaigns, making them the principal sustained example in the book of cavalry operating alongside larger conventional forces.¹⁰
Here the flexibility of the Confederate mounted forces becomes apparent. Cavalry could reconnoitre, delay an enemy advance, screen friendly movements and fight on foot when required. At the same time, the campaign exposed weaknesses that courage and individual horsemanship could not overcome. Tactical competence could not indefinitely compensate for deficiencies in command, supply and strategic coordination.
The chapter is therefore useful, but it also illustrates one of the book’s structural problems. Cane Hill and Prairie Grove receive substantial attention because they fit the chronological concentration upon the formative years of Confederate cavalry, while major mounted operations later in the war receive much less attention. The result is an account that is detailed in particular places but cannot be regarded as a balanced operational history of Confederate cavalry throughout the entire Trans Mississippi war.
Missouri and the Problem of Irregular War
The Missouri material is among the most interesting sections of Oates’s study, but it is also one of the areas in which a modern reader must exercise considerable caution. The distinction between regular Confederate cavalry, partisan forces, guerrillas and armed civilians could become remarkably uncertain in Missouri, where conventional operations occurred alongside an intensely violent internal conflict. Richard S. Brownlee’s pioneering study of guerrilla warfare demonstrated the scale and brutality of this struggle, while later historians, particularly Michael Fellman, have examined its political, social and psychological dimensions in considerably greater depth.¹¹
Figure 3. William Clarke Quantrill, Missouri Cavalry
Description: Contemporary carte de visite portrait of William Clarke Quantrill, photographed between 1861 and 1865. The Library of Congress identifies him as a Confederate soldier, guerrilla leader and leader of the Lawrence Massacre. His inclusion is particularly appropriate to the review because Quantrill illustrates the difficulty of drawing a clear boundary between regular Confederate cavalry, partisan forces and guerrilla warfare in Missouri.
Source: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Liljenquist Family Collection of Civil War Photographs, LC-DIG-ppmsca-56450. Albumen print, c. 1861–65.
Oates was primarily interested in Confederate cavalry as a military institution. His narrative consequently concentrates upon commanders, units, movements, equipment and battlefield performance. This remains valuable, but it provides only part of the story. Mounted forces operated within communities divided by political allegiance, slavery, guerrilla warfare and personal loyalties. Military operations were accompanied by requisitioning, destruction of property, forced displacement, reprisals and cycles of retaliatory violence.¹²
The problem is compounded by the limited extent of Oates’s operational coverage. Despite the apparent breadth of the title, his chapter on Confederate raids into Missouri considers only four raids and does so relatively briefly.¹³ This is not merely a criticism imposed retrospectively because historians now expect more social and political context. It represents a substantive limitation in the military history itself. A book purporting to examine Confederate cavalry west of the Mississippi cannot provide a complete operational account while treating such a major area of mounted warfare so selectively.
There is also a methodological reason for treating individual tactical details cautiously. Oates necessarily drew upon the Official Records, regimental histories, memoirs and postwar recollections.¹⁴ These sources are indispensable, particularly where contemporary documentation is incomplete, but retrospective testimony requires careful comparison with reports written closer to the events. Memories changed, veterans defended reputations, and postwar accounts could transform confused actions into much more coherent events than they had appeared to participants.
This does not establish that Oates’s operational narrative is generally unreliable. Rather, it means that the book should be regarded as the beginning of an investigation rather than its final authority. Where the precise course of a particular engagement matters, Oates should be checked against contemporary Union and Confederate reports and more recent campaign scholarship.
The Missing Years and the Red River Campaign
The most substantial criticism made by later scholarship concerns what Oates did not cover. A later study of the Confederate Army of the Trans Mississippi describes Oates as an excellent starting point but argues that he concentrates predominantly upon organisation and cavalry supply during the early war, treats Missouri raiding only briefly, largely ignores cavalry operations during 1863 and 1864 and omits the Red River Campaign.¹⁵
The omission of the Red River Campaign is particularly significant. Mounted forces played an important role in the manoeuvre, reconnaissance, pursuit and harassment associated with the campaign, while the operations themselves demonstrate precisely the relationship between mobility, geography, logistics and command that Oates otherwise handles so effectively. Its absence creates a substantial gap between the book’s stated geographical scope and its operational coverage.
This criticism changes how the book should be classified. It is more satisfactory to regard it as a thematic study of the organisation, material condition and selected operations of Confederate cavalry west of the Mississippi than as a comprehensive operational history.
Judged on those terms, the book remains highly valuable. Judged as a complete history of Confederate cavalry operations in the Trans Mississippi, it is inadequate.
Price’s Missouri Campaign
Sterling Price’s 1864 Missouri campaign demonstrates the limitations of Confederate cavalry power particularly clearly. Confederate mounted forces could still penetrate considerable distances, disrupt Federal arrangements and create considerable alarm, but operational movement was not synonymous with strategic achievement.
Later scholarship has considerably expanded our understanding of the campaign. Albert Castel provided an important study of Price and the Civil War in the West, while Mark A. Lause subsequently produced a modern reassessment of the 1864 invasion.¹⁶ These studies place the campaign within a broader political and strategic framework than was available in Oates’s relatively compressed treatment.
Figure 4. Major General Sterling Price, C.S.A.
Description: Portrait of Major General Sterling Price, whose 1864 Missouri expedition provides one of the major examples of large scale Confederate mounted operations in the Trans Mississippi. Price’s army depended heavily upon cavalry, and the deterioration of its horses, supplies and cohesion during the campaign illustrates the distinction between mobility and sustainable operational effectiveness discussed in the review.
Source: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Civil War Photographs Collection, LC-DIG-cwpb-07527. Photograph from a glass negative, c. 1860–70
Price’s expedition illustrates a broader weakness already visible in Oates. Horses, supplies, discipline and cohesion deteriorated during prolonged operations. Capturing supplies could temporarily alleviate shortages but could not substitute for a functioning logistical system. Moreover, successful movement through enemy territory was useful only if it contributed towards an achievable strategic objective.
This distinction between mobility and strategic effectiveness is essential. Confederate cavalry west of the Mississippi remained capable of impressive marches and occasional tactical successes long after the Confederacy had lost much of its ability to exploit those successes strategically.
The Lost Cause and the Age of the Book
The historiographical age of Confederate Cavalry West of the River is most apparent in its treatment of the Confederate soldier and the political context of the war.
Oates was writing in 1961, when much American Civil War historiography still carried assumptions inherited from veterans’ accounts and the Lost Cause tradition. His introductory portrayal of western Confederate cavalrymen uses language celebrating their bravery, patriotism, endurance and military effectiveness.¹⁷
It would nevertheless be unfair to dismiss Oates as a simple Lost Cause historian. Much of his own evidence works against romantic interpretations. He discusses indiscipline, inadequate organisation, shortages, seizure of civilian property and the progressive deterioration of Confederate military power. His concentration upon the mundane realities of horses, clothing, weapons and food frequently produces a much harsher picture than the heroic language occasionally employed to describe the men themselves.
The more serious problem is what lies outside his analytical framework. Slavery and the political purposes of the Confederacy receive little sustained consideration. The experiences of enslaved people, Native American communities, Unionist civilians and other inhabitants of the contested Trans Mississippi region are similarly peripheral to the military narrative.
These omissions matter because cavalry did not manoeuvre across an empty battlefield. Armies depended upon civilian populations for information, food, horses and shelter. Requisitioning could shade into plunder, while guerrilla warfare and counter guerrilla operations created cycles of violence that profoundly affected communities. Later historians have therefore expanded the history of the Trans Mississippi conflict beyond the movements of conventional military formations.¹⁸
The difference does not necessarily make Oates wrong. It makes his historical perspective incomplete.
An Uneven Operational History
The strongest modern criticism of Oates is therefore not that the book has become useless, but that its title promises more than its contents deliver.
The structure itself makes the imbalance apparent. Four substantial thematic chapters deal with recruitment, organisation, food and clothing, and arms and mounts. Only three chapters then carry the operational narrative through Cane Hill and Prairie Grove, Missouri raiding and the closing stages of the war.¹⁹
Later scholarship confirms the consequences. Oates concentrated heavily upon organisation and supply, provided only limited coverage of Missouri raids and failed to examine important cavalry operations during 1863 and 1864, including the Red River Campaign.²⁰
This criticism should be incorporated into any modern assessment of the book because it changes the basis upon which Oates should be judged. As a study of how Confederate cavalry was raised, organised, mounted, armed, supplied and maintained west of the Mississippi, it remains remarkably useful. As a comprehensive operational history of Confederate cavalry throughout the theatre, it falls considerably short.
The distinction is important because it allows Oates to be criticised without undervaluing what he actually accomplished.
The Appendices and Reference Value
One reason the book continues to deserve a place on the military historian’s shelf is its supporting material. Oates provides a list of Confederate cavalry regiments and battalions from the Trans Mississippi, estimates of the total strength of cavalry units raised there and the organisation of Price’s Cavalry Corps.²¹
These appendices are particularly useful when trying to move beyond the famous personalities of the theatre and understand the scale of Confederate mounted forces. They also provide useful starting points for tracing individual formations through other sources.
As with the narrative, however, they should now be used as guides rather than unquestioned authorities. Subsequent archival work and specialised regimental studies allow individual units to be investigated in considerably greater detail than was practical when Oates was writing.
Value to the Military Historian and Wargamer
For the military historian, Oates remains valuable because he continually reminds the reader that cavalry effectiveness was determined by more than battlefield performance.
For the wargamer, the lesson is even more direct. Confederate cavalry west of the Mississippi should not simply be represented as Union cavalry with better morale or superior combat factors. Its advantages and disadvantages were considerably more complicated.
Its strengths could include operational mobility, individual horsemanship, local knowledge, scouting ability, raiding and the capacity to fight effectively dismounted. Its weaknesses should include supply difficulties, horse exhaustion, inconsistent equipment, problems of discipline and command, and the difficulty of replacing losses during extended operations.
A campaign system based entirely upon battlefield casualties would therefore miss much of what Oates demonstrates. Horses should deteriorate. Ammunition and supplies should matter. Extended movement should impose costs. Capturing Federal equipment might temporarily restore effectiveness. A tactically successful raid might nevertheless become an operational failure if exhausted horses, casualties and logistical difficulties prevented the raiders from exploiting their success.
In this respect, some of the supposedly less exciting chapters of Oates are actually the most valuable. His discussion of mounts and supply offers a basis for understanding how cavalry really functioned rather than merely how it fought.
Overall Assessment
Confederate Cavalry West of the River deserves its status as an important early study of mounted warfare in the Trans Mississippi, but important should not be confused with definitive.
Oates’s greatest achievement was to recognise that the history of cavalry involved organisation, horses, weapons, food, clothing and supply as much as charges, raids and colourful commanders. His reconstruction of the material foundations of Confederate mounted warfare remains the strongest element of the book. He also helped draw scholarly attention towards a theatre habitually overshadowed by Virginia and the major campaigns east of the Mississippi.
The weaknesses are now equally clear. The treatment of irregular warfare is narrower than modern scholarship permits. The political, racial and social environment of Confederate operations remains largely outside the narrative. Some of Oates’s characterisation of Confederate fighting qualities reflects the romantic vocabulary of an earlier generation of Civil War historiography.
Most importantly, the book is not a comprehensive operational history of Confederate cavalry west of the Mississippi. Its concentration upon the formative period and upon organisation and supply leaves significant gaps. The limited treatment of Missouri operations, the relative neglect of cavalry campaigning during 1863 and 1864 and particularly the omission of the Red River Campaign substantially weaken its operational coverage.²²
Yet this criticism actually helps define the continuing value of the book. Oates should be read for what he does exceptionally well rather than for a comprehensiveness he never achieved.
As a study of the organisation, supply, equipment and character of Confederate cavalry in the Trans Mississippi, I would rate it four stars out of five. As a comprehensive operational history of Confederate cavalry west of the Mississippi, it merits closer to three stars.
On balance, I am inclined towards the four star rating because the parts of the book that Oates does cover remain useful, particularly for someone interested in how cavalry actually operated rather than simply in accounts of battles and famous commanders. It has also done what a good historical book should do. It has sent me back to other books, raised questions and made me want to know more about the subject.
Perhaps that is the best recommendation I can give it. My excursion into the supernatural Dark Confederacy of Dracula’s America led me back to the very real Confederate cavalrymen of the Trans Mississippi. Oates may not provide the complete story, but more than sixty years after publication he still provides a very good place to begin.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
Footnotes
Stephen B. Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1961).
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, introduction.
Kyle Sinisi, “The Last Hurrah: Sterling Price’s Missouri Expedition of 1864” and subsequent scholarship on the Trans Mississippi provide substantially broader operational treatment than Oates. See also Jeffrey S. Prushankin, A Crisis in Confederate Command: Edmund Kirby Smith, Richard Taylor, and the Army of the Trans Mississippi (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2005).
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, contents.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, apps. A–C.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, introduction and chaps. 1–2.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, introduction.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, chaps. 1–5.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, chap. 4.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, chap. 5.
Richard S. Brownlee, Gray Ghosts of the Confederacy: Guerrilla Warfare in the West, 1861–1865 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1958); Michael Fellman, Inside War: The Guerrilla Conflict in Missouri during the American Civil War (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989).
Fellman, Inside War; Kristen Tegtmeier Oertel, Bleeding Borders: Race, Gender, and Violence in Pre Civil War Kansas (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2009).
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, chap. 6. For the limitations of Oates’s operational coverage, see later scholarship on the Confederate Army of the Trans Mississippi and the Missouri campaigns.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, bibliography; United States War Department, The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, 128 vols. (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1880–1901).
Jeffrey S. Prushankin, A Crisis in Confederate Command, provides a considerably broader treatment of command and campaigning in the Trans Mississippi. See also Ludwell H. Johnson, Red River Campaign: Politics and Cotton in the Civil War (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1958).
Albert Castel, General Sterling Price and the Civil War in the West (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1968); Mark A. Lause, Price’s Lost Campaign: The 1864 Invasion of Missouri (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2011).
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, introduction.
Brownlee, Gray Ghosts of the Confederacy; Fellman, Inside War; Oertel, Bleeding Borders.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, contents.
Prushankin, A Crisis in Confederate Command; Johnson, Red River Campaign; Mark M. Boatner III, The Civil War Dictionary (New York: David McKay, 1959), relevant campaign entries.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River, apps. A–C.
Oates, Confederate Cavalry West of the River; Prushankin, A Crisis in Confederate Command; Johnson, Red River Campaign.
Bibliography
Primary Sources
United States War Department. The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies. 128 vols. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1880–1901.
Secondary Sources
Boatner, Mark M., III. The Civil War Dictionary. New York: David McKay, 1959.
Brownlee, Richard S. Gray Ghosts of the Confederacy: Guerrilla Warfare in the West, 1861–1865. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1958.
Castel, Albert. General Sterling Price and the Civil War in the West. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1968.
Castel, Albert. William Clarke Quantrill: His Life and Times. New York: Frederick Fell, 1962.
Castel, Albert, and Thomas Goodrich. Bloody Bill Anderson: The Short, Savage Life of a Civil War Guerrilla. Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1998.
Cutrer, Thomas W. Ben McCulloch and the Frontier Military Tradition. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993.
Fellman, Michael. Inside War: The Guerrilla Conflict in Missouri during the American Civil War. New York: Oxford University Press, 1989.
Johnson, Ludwell H. Red River Campaign: Politics and Cotton in the Civil War. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1958.
Lause, Mark A. Price’s Lost Campaign: The 1864 Invasion of Missouri. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2011.
Oates, Stephen B. Confederate Cavalry West of the River. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1961.
Oates, Stephen B. “Supply for Confederate Cavalry in the Trans Mississippi.” Military Affairs 25, no. 2 (Summer 1961): 94–99.
Oertel, Kristen Tegtmeier. Bleeding Borders: Race, Gender, and Violence in Pre Civil War Kansas. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2009.
O’Flaherty, Daniel. General Jo Shelby: Undefeated Rebel. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1954.
Prushankin, Jeffrey S. A Crisis in Confederate Command: Edmund Kirby Smith, Richard Taylor, and the Army of the Trans Mississippi. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2005.
Reid, Thomas. Spartan Band: Burnett’s 13th Texas Cavalry in the Civil War. Denton: University of North Texas Press, 2005.
Contemporary Review
Hall, Martin Hardwick. Review of Confederate Cavalry West of the River, by Stephen B. Oates. Louisiana History: The Journal of the Louisiana Historical Association 3, no. 2 (Spring 1962): 158–61.
Having painted quite a few North Star Miniatures Dracula’s America figures now, I thought it was about time I gave you some idea of my thoughts on the range. As my recent posts probably demonstrate, I have accumulated a fair number of them, although that is mainly because I was fortunate enough to pick up a large collection at a bring and buy sale. Had I been buying them individually at normal retail prices, I suspect I would have been rather more selective.
My biggest criticism is the inconsistency in scale. Some of the figures are approaching heroic 32mm proportions, while others are barely what I would regard as a genuine 25mm figure. This becomes particularly noticeable when models from different packs are placed beside one another. Within a skirmish game, where individual characters are meant to have their own identity, a little variation in height is hardly a problem, but the differences here can sometimes look more like changes of scale than natural differences between people.
The casting is also somewhat disappointing. I have not encountered many large pieces of flash, but there are numerous small, needle like projections that need to be carefully removed. None of this is especially difficult, but cleaning a figure becomes more tedious than it ought to be, particularly when preparing a substantial number of models at once.
One definite positive is that most of the figures are single castings, with only a relatively small number requiring parts to be glued together. This makes preparation straightforward once the flash has been dealt with and removes much of the fiddling around that can come with more complicated multipart figures.
Another disappointment is that the figures do not come with bases. This may once have been fairly common, but with many miniature ranges now supplying suitable bases as standard, their absence feels increasingly noticeable. Bases are hardly an expensive item individually, but when buying several packs the additional cost and inconvenience begin to add up, particularly when you simply want to clean, assemble and start painting.
The sculpted detail is adequate rather than exceptional. Faces, clothing, weapons and equipment are clear enough and the models take paint well, which is ultimately important for gaming figures. Once painted and based they generally look quite respectable on the table, and the unusual characters and supernatural subjects certainly suit the atmosphere of Dracula’s America.
The problem for North Star is that there are now a great many Wild West miniature ranges competing for the same space, including some very good ones. When these figures are judged not simply as part of the Dracula’s America range, but against the broader selection of Western miniatures currently available, they do not always stack up particularly well. The inconsistent scale, average detail, lack of supplied bases and rather annoying cleanup work become more noticeable when there are so many alternatives on the market.
Overall, I would describe the range as serviceable rather than outstanding. They paint up well and look perfectly acceptable in a finished posse, and there are some useful and characterful models for representing the more unusual inhabitants of the Dracula’s America setting. Neither the sculpting nor the casting quality, however, makes them something I would write home about. At the bargain price I paid for my collection I am quite happy with them, but at full retail price I would certainly judge each pack rather more carefully before buying.
Matina Jewell’s Caught in the Crossfire is one of those books that sits somewhere between military memoir, personal survival story and an examination of the difficulties of modern peacekeeping. Jewell was an Australian Army officer serving as a United Nations military observer in Lebanon during the 2006 conflict between Israel and Hezbollah. What began as a peacekeeping deployment became something considerably more dangerous when fighting erupted around the observers and the protections supposedly provided by their United Nations status became increasingly uncertain.
Jewell came to the mission with considerable military experience. She was not an inexperienced officer suddenly exposed to the realities of conflict, and this background gives greater weight to her description of the deterioration of the situation around her. She understood military risk, operational procedures and the limitations under which peacekeepers worked, yet the conflict placed the United Nations observers in circumstances where their ability to influence events was extremely limited.
One of the great strengths of the book is its depiction of peacekeeping as something considerably more complicated than the term sometimes suggests. There is a tendency to imagine peacekeepers operating between two sides that have already decided, however reluctantly, to stop fighting. Jewell’s experience demonstrates the very different reality faced when international observers remain in an area where the participants are actively conducting military operations. United Nations markings might identify an observer, but they cannot provide physical protection when artillery, missiles and air strikes are being employed nearby.
The military observer’s position was particularly difficult because observation depended upon remaining close enough to events to understand what was occurring while avoiding becoming part of those events. Jewell describes an environment in which the boundaries between observer, participant and potential casualty became dangerously thin. Decisions that might appear straightforward when considered from a distant headquarters became much more complicated when made by individuals surrounded by an active conflict and possessing only a limited understanding of what might happen next.
The central event around which much of the book revolves is the destruction of the United Nations observation post at Khiam in southern Lebanon in July 2006. Four United Nations military observers were killed when the position was struck during Israeli operations. Jewell knew the men involved and had herself served at the post, giving the incident a personal dimension that cannot be obtained simply by reading an official report or a conventional history of the conflict. The deaths are not merely statistics within a larger war but the loss of colleagues and friends whose personalities and relationships mattered to those who survived them.
Jewell’s own situation was already extremely serious. She suffered severe injuries while attempting to leave her position during the fighting and subsequently faced a difficult evacuation. Her description of injury, vulnerability and dependence upon others provides some of the most powerful material in the book. The military environment that had previously been understood through training, procedure and professional responsibility suddenly became intensely personal, while survival depended not simply upon competence but upon circumstance, assistance and the willingness of others to take considerable risks on her behalf.
There is also a valuable multinational dimension to the story. United Nations operations bring together personnel from different armed forces, cultures and military traditions and require them to work within a common structure. Jewell demonstrates how quickly professional relationships can become intensely personal when individuals face danger together. Nationality becomes less important than competence, trust and the knowledge that the person beside you may eventually be responsible for keeping you alive.
The book is particularly useful because it raises uncomfortable questions about the practical limitations of United Nations peacekeeping. Observers can report violations, record military activity and provide information to higher headquarters, but their ability to stop determined belligerents is often extremely limited. The presence of international personnel does not necessarily prevent escalation, nor does it guarantee that those personnel will remain outside the conflict. Jewell’s experience provides a stark demonstration of the distance that can exist between the theoretical purpose of a peacekeeping mission and the circumstances encountered by those expected to carry it out.
Another important part of the book concerns what happened after Jewell returned to Australia. Physical survival did not mark the end of her experience. Serious injury brought rehabilitation and the difficult process of rebuilding a life that had been dramatically altered. The transition from operational soldier to injured veteran forms an important part of the narrative because it reminds the reader that the consequences of military service frequently continue long after an individual has been removed from immediate danger.
It was this personal dimension that I found particularly effective. Military history understandably tends to concentrate upon campaigns, commanders, formations and outcomes, but those structures can sometimes obscure what war actually does to individuals. Jewell’s account brings that individual experience to the foreground without losing sight of the military environment that created it. Her recovery is therefore not an appendix to the story of Lebanon but part of the same story.
The greatest strength of Caught in the Crossfire is its immediacy. Jewell was there, knew the people involved and experienced the consequences personally. Her account is particularly effective when dealing with uncertainty and the limited information available to individuals on the ground. War is rarely experienced with the clarity that later histories sometimes impose upon it. Decisions have to be made before all the information is available, dangers are not always recognised until they have become immediate, and apparently routine circumstances can deteriorate with frightening speed.
Normally I tend to prefer military history that provides considerable detail about operations, units, commanders and command decisions, and Caught in the Crossfire is not that sort of book. The wider strategic objectives of Israel and Hezbollah, the political background to the conflict and the detailed conduct of military operations provide the setting rather than the principal subject. Yet in this case I did not find that a significant weakness. The narrower personal perspective is precisely what gives the book its strength.
Indeed, attempting to turn Jewell’s account into a comprehensive history of the 2006 Lebanon War would probably have weakened it. There are plenty of other works in which the broader political and military dimensions of the conflict can be explored. What Jewell provides is something different: an understanding of what those larger events looked like to one Australian officer who suddenly found herself caught within them.
I also appreciated the fact that the story does not conveniently finish with evacuation from Lebanon. Jewell follows the consequences home, where recovery created another struggle of a very different kind. The movement from an operational environment into rehabilitation could easily have felt like a separate story, but instead it reinforces one of the book’s central messages. Military service can continue to shape an individual’s life long after the shooting has stopped.
I enjoyed this very much. Caught in the Crossfire combines military experience, peacekeeping, survival and personal reflection without pretending to be a conventional campaign history. I found Jewell’s account engaging precisely because the larger conflict is viewed from ground level, where information was incomplete, control was limited and the consequences of decisions were immediate and personal.
Matina Jewell has produced a powerful account of an extraordinary experience, but its value extends beyond the remarkable circumstances of her own story. The book provides an insight into the vulnerability of peacekeepers caught between forces they have neither the authority nor the military power to control, while also reminding us that the human consequences of conflict continue long after an individual has left the battlefield. I enjoyed Caught in the Crossfire considerably and would readily recommend it, particularly to readers interested in the Australian military experience, modern peacekeeping and the human realities that sit behind the more familiar histories of campaigns and operations.
The strategic bombing campaign against Germany remains one of the most heavily studied and fiercely debated aspects of the Second World War, yet within that enormous literature there are particular operations that deserve to be considered separately because they represented important changes in the way the Allied air forces fought the war. Operation Argument, better remembered as Big Week, was one of these. In February 1944 the United States Army Air Forces and the Royal Air Force launched a concentrated series of attacks against the German aircraft industry, while American long range fighters increasingly challenged the Luftwaffe for control of the skies over Germany. Bill Yenne’s Big Week: Six Days That Changed the Course of World War II examines this brief but extraordinarily violent period and argues for its importance in the wider struggle for air superiority before the invasion of Normandy.
Yenne approaches the subject primarily as a narrative historian, and this is both one of the book’s greatest strengths and the source of some of its limitations. He understands that Big Week cannot be explained simply by listing targets, bomb tonnages and aircraft losses. The operation emerged from a much longer struggle over the theory and practice of strategic bombing, particularly the American belief that heavily armed bomber formations could penetrate deep into enemy territory during daylight and destroy carefully selected elements of Germany’s industrial system. By early 1944 experience had demonstrated just how expensive that proposition could be when bombers operated without adequate fighter protection.
The disasters suffered during earlier deep penetration missions therefore provide an essential background to Yenne’s account. The American bomber offensive had demonstrated considerable destructive power, but it had also revealed the vulnerability of even large formations of heavily armed bombers when confronted by determined fighter opposition. The expansion of long range fighter escort transformed the situation. Aircraft such as the P 51 Mustang increasingly allowed American fighters to accompany the bombers deep into German airspace, while changing operational priorities encouraged those fighters to seek out and destroy German aircraft rather than merely remain close to the bomber formations.
This is where Yenne’s treatment of Big Week becomes particularly interesting. The significance of the operation did not rest entirely upon the physical destruction inflicted upon German aircraft factories. German industry proved more resilient than Allied planners had sometimes expected, while production could be dispersed, repaired or reorganised. The more important consequence was that attacks on aircraft production compelled the Luftwaffe to respond. German fighters had to rise to challenge the bomber formations, and when they did so they increasingly encountered American escort fighters operating under conditions that favoured an offensive battle for air superiority.
Big Week therefore became something larger than a bombing campaign against factories. It was also a deliberate attempt to force the Luftwaffe into sustained combat and inflict losses upon a fighter force that Germany could increasingly struggle to replace in qualitative terms. Aircraft could be manufactured in impressive numbers, but experienced pilots required time, fuel and training. The loss of veteran aircrew consequently represented a form of attrition that could not simply be corrected by increasing factory output.
Yenne handles this relationship between bomber operations and fighter combat effectively. The reader is repeatedly reminded that the bombers were not operating in isolation and that the battle was being fought simultaneously in factories, headquarters, bomber formations, fighter cockpits and training establishments. The result was a campaign in which industrial warfare and aerial attrition became closely connected. Allied bombers attacked the means by which Germany produced aircraft, while Allied fighters attacked the pilots and machines sent to defend those means.
The human dimension is equally important to Yenne’s narrative. Strategic bombing is easily reduced to statistics because the scale of the campaign encourages historians to discuss hundreds of bombers, thousands of sorties and enormous quantities of explosives. Yenne regularly brings the discussion back to the men inside those aircraft. American bomber crews faced flak, fighter attack, mechanical failure, freezing conditions and the knowledge that damaged aircraft might have hundreds of kilometres still to travel before reaching safety. German fighter pilots faced their own increasingly difficult circumstances as Allied numerical and technological advantages grew.
This emphasis makes the book highly readable. Yenne is particularly good at conveying the scale and tempo of the operation without allowing the narrative to become overwhelmed by operational detail. The six days provide the book with a natural structure, while the movement between command decisions and individual combat experiences gives the account considerable momentum. Readers interested in aviation history will find much that is familiar, but the concentration upon a relatively short period allows familiar aircraft, commanders and formations to be placed within a particularly important operational context.
There is nevertheless a danger in presenting any short military operation as a decisive turning point, particularly when the subtitle describes six days as having changed the course of the war. Big Week was unquestionably important, but the decline of the Luftwaffe was neither created nor completed during those six days. German fighter forces had already suffered serious attrition in several theatres, while the increasing material superiority of the Allies resulted from industrial, economic and training systems that had been developing for years. The subsequent battles of 1944 were also essential in completing the process by which the Western Allies obtained overwhelming air superiority.
For this reason, Big Week is perhaps better understood as an acceleration and concentration of developments already under way rather than as a sudden transformation produced by six days of combat. The availability of long range escort fighters, increasing American aircraft production, improved operational experience and a growing willingness to use fighters aggressively against the Luftwaffe had already altered the balance. Operation Argument brought these developments together on an unprecedented scale and demonstrated what their combined effect could achieve.
The German side of the story also deserves careful consideration. German aircraft production did not collapse as a straightforward consequence of Big Week, and later production figures demonstrate the danger of judging strategic bombing solely by the destruction visible immediately after a raid. German industry adapted through dispersal, substitution and extraordinary efforts to maintain output. Yet production totals alone can be misleading because an aircraft sitting on an airfield was of limited value without sufficient fuel, maintenance capacity and a properly trained pilot. By 1944 Germany increasingly faced shortages in precisely those areas that industrial statistics could conceal.
A more sustained examination of these German responses would have strengthened Yenne’s argument. The operational narrative is compelling, but the broader economic and institutional dimensions of the campaign sometimes receive less attention than the dramatic events in the air. There is consequently room for a deeper discussion of whether the attacks achieved their intended industrial objectives and how German production organisations adapted to the damage. Such an analysis would not necessarily undermine Yenne’s conclusions, but it would make the distinction between destroying aircraft production and destroying German air power even clearer.
There is also the wider moral question surrounding strategic bombing. Big Week was principally directed against industrial targets connected with German aircraft production, but bombing conducted on this scale inevitably affected the towns, cities and civilian populations surrounding those targets. Any history of the strategic air offensive sits within the larger debate concerning bombing accuracy, civilian casualties and the relationship between military objectives and the destruction caused in attempting to reach them. Yenne’s primary purpose is operational history rather than an extended ethical examination of strategic bombing, which is a legitimate choice, although readers looking for a comprehensive treatment of the controversy surrounding the Allied bombing campaign will need to look beyond this volume.
Where Big Week succeeds particularly well is in explaining why February 1944 mattered to what happened several months later over Normandy. The Allied invasion of Western Europe required far more than ships, landing craft and divisions assembled in Britain. The Luftwaffe had to be prevented from seriously interfering with the invasion fleet, the beaches and the enormous logistical system upon which the armies ashore depended. Big Week contributed substantially to the process that made this possible by forcing the German fighter arm into a battle of attrition that increasingly favoured the Allies.
There is an important irony here. The bomber had originally been conceived by many advocates of strategic air power as a weapon capable of independently striking decisive targets deep inside enemy territory. Yet one of the most important achievements of the bomber offensive was its ability to create circumstances in which German fighters could be brought into combat and destroyed by Allied fighters. The bombers remained essential, but the struggle for air superiority became increasingly dependent upon the interaction between bombers and escorts rather than upon the independent power of either.
Yenne tells this story with considerable skill. His writing is accessible without becoming simplistic, the operational narrative moves at an appropriate pace, and the scale of the air battles is communicated effectively. Readers seeking a deeply analytical examination of German industrial organisation, bombing policy or the moral debate surrounding strategic bombing may find the treatment less comprehensive than specialist studies devoted specifically to those subjects. As an operational history of Big Week itself, however, the book provides a strong introduction to both the events and their significance.
Ultimately, the subtitle probably claims slightly too much. Six days did not by themselves change the course of the Second World War, nor did Big Week single handedly destroy the Luftwaffe. What those six days did was demonstrate that the balance of power in the skies over Germany had changed profoundly. American bombers could now penetrate German airspace with increasingly effective fighter protection, while the Luftwaffe could no longer attack them without risking losses that became progressively more difficult to absorb.
That distinction makes Big Week no less important. Indeed, it makes the operation historically more interesting because its significance lies not in a simple claim of decisive victory but in the convergence of technology, industrial capacity, operational doctrine and accumulated combat experience. Bill Yenne succeeds in making that complex aerial struggle understandable while retaining the human drama of the men who fought it. Big Week is therefore a worthwhile addition to the literature on the Allied air offensive, particularly for readers interested in understanding how the Western Allies achieved the air superiority that would become one of their greatest advantages during the campaigns of 1944.
Sometimes buying miniatures individually makes perfect sense. Sometimes you look at the price of a monster pack, compare it with buying all the creatures separately, and discover that economics has already made the decision for you. That was the case with the Dracula’s America monster pack. It was cheaper to buy the whole pack, even though doing so left me with one small problem: a second Pale Rider.
I had already found a rather different use for my first Pale Rider miniature. He became Colonel Augustus Beauregard Saint Clair, the risen commander of my 27th Virginian Cavalry Regiment and an increasingly important character in the story surrounding my Dark Confederacy posse. The miniature worked perfectly for Augustus, particularly once I had developed the story of his final charge, death and decidedly unnatural return to command.
So what was I going to do with another one?
After considering various possibilities, the obvious answer eventually occurred to me. Perhaps I could do something radical and use the Pale Rider miniature as the Pale Rider.
This time, however, I wanted him to look quite different from Augustus and also rather different from the way the Pale Rider is usually depicted. I have therefore painted him in much more ghostly shades, with both horse and rider intended to look like spectral apparitions rather than a resurrected cavalryman. Augustus may be dead, but there is still something recognisably human about him. The Pale Rider is something else entirely, a supernatural manifestation summoned through forbidden ritual for the specific purpose of vengeance.
That difference also means that, despite using the same basic miniature, the two models should be immediately distinguishable on the tabletop. Augustus is a character with a name, a regiment, a family history and unfinished business. The Pale Rider does not need any of that. Somebody performs the ritual, somebody is marked for death, and the Rider comes looking for them.
The Pale Rider in Dracula’s America
The Pale Rider is a ghostly horseman wreathed in spectral fire, summoned through forbidden ritual to exact vengeance upon a chosen victim. He uses a 40mm base, has a Move of 6 inches and Grit D8.
His special rules make him considerably more interesting than those basic numbers might suggest. He has the Entity, Ethereal and Fearsome traits, emphasising that this is not simply a particularly unpleasant cavalryman but a supernatural creature.
Most importantly, when the Pale Rider appears, one non NPC model is randomly selected as the Rider’s Prey. From that point onwards the Rider has only one concern. He always moves 8 inches towards his chosen victim, wherever that model happens to be on the table.
Note: there is a 6″/8″ contradiction is in the rules not in Guru’s mind! I think this is a typo as on page 39 of the rules all mounted move 6″.
I intend to use 8″ for the Pale Rider’s compulsory movement towards its chosen victim. The reason is that the specific Pale Rider rule should override the generic profile value. That also fits the creature concept where he is identified as a supernatural horseman summoned specifically to pursue a chosen victim.
There is also a wonderfully nasty consequence to becoming the Rider’s Prey. If the unfortunate victim becomes a casualty, the Pale Rider immediately disappears and is removed from play. On the other hand, simply knocking the victim down will not save them. If the Rider finishes a move in contact with the Prey while that model is Down, the victim is killed outright, regardless of the normal protections that might otherwise have saved them. Having completed his purpose, the Rider then immediately vanishes.
This makes the Pale Rider rather more than another monster to throw into a gunfight. Once he appears, the game suddenly acquires a little supernatural subplot of its own. One particular model has been marked, the Pale Rider is coming for them, and everyone at the table knows exactly where he is going.
There is something particularly satisfying about that mechanic because it fits the miniature so well. He does not wander around looking for convenient targets or become distracted because somebody else happens to be standing closer. He has been summoned for vengeance. He has a victim. He rides.
In the end, therefore, getting a duplicate Pale Rider in the monster pack turned out to be no problem at all. In fact, I am rather pleased that it happened. The same miniature has now given me two completely different figures for my Dracula’s America collection. One is Colonel Augustus Beauregard Saint Clair, risen commander of the 27th Virginian Cavalry Regiment. The other is a spectral instrument of vengeance whose entire existence revolves around finding one unfortunate soul.
When Augustus rides onto the table, at least you know who he is.
When the Pale Rider appears, the more pressing question is who he has come for.
There are plenty of names spoken with pride at Blackthorn Hall. There are also a few that are not spoken at all. Thaddeus Mordecai Saint Clair belongs firmly in the second category.
Thaddeus was a distant cousin of Lucien and Augustus Saint Clair, although the precise branch of the family tree connecting him to Blackthorn Hall has traditionally been left unexplored. Even before the war he had acquired a reputation that made respectable members of the family uncomfortable. He possessed neither Lucien’s intellect nor Augustus’s sense of duty, and whatever advantages education, wealth and family connections might have provided were largely wasted upon him. Thaddeus preferred gambling houses, saloons and questionable company, drifting through Virginia and the neighbouring states while hiring out his pistol whenever somebody was prepared to pay.
What he lacked in character he compensated for with extraordinary ability with a firearm. Thaddeus was fast, but more importantly, he was deadly. Men who faced him frequently discovered that they had badly underestimated the difference between reaching for a pistol and actually using one. He possessed the unnerving ability to remain completely calm while everyone around him panicked, and there were persistent stories that he occasionally engineered confrontations simply because he enjoyed discovering whether the other man was as fast as reputation suggested. Usually he was not.
The war gave Thaddeus an opportunity to practise his talents on a considerably larger scale, although nobody could ever be entirely certain which cause he considered himself to be serving. He rode occasionally with Confederate irregulars, worked as a scout when the money suited him and disappeared for weeks at a time when some more profitable opportunity presented itself. There were rumours of robberies, killings and scores settled under cover of military operations. Augustus regarded him as an embarrassment to both the family and the Confederacy and repeatedly refused Thaddeus’s requests for a formal place within the 27th Virginia Cavalry Regiment.
Thaddeus survived the war but not the violent world in which he had chosen to live. The exact circumstances of his death remain uncertain. One version involved a card game, another a woman, while a third claimed that three men had finally decided to confront him simultaneously because none was willing to try alone. Whatever happened, his body eventually found its way back to Virginia. Family loyalty apparently extended far enough to provide him with a grave near Blackthorn Hall, although his stone was placed discreetly towards the edge of the burial ground. Lucien eventually found it.
At first he intended to raise Thaddeus alongside the other dead gathering at Blackthorn Hall. A man with such extraordinary ability with a pistol would certainly be useful, and Lucien had already demonstrated that death need not prevent a Saint Clair from continuing to serve the family.Then, unusually, Lucien thought better of it.
The problem was not whether Thaddeus would return with his abilities intact. The problem was what else might return with them. Thaddeus had been dangerous when alive, when imprisonment, injury and death still provided at least some restraint upon his behaviour. A permanently risen Thaddeus, freed from even those modest concerns and wandering Blackthorn Hall between battles, presented possibilities that even Lucien found disturbing. There were Ragged Veterans who remembered him. None volunteered to share quarters with him. Lucien therefore devised a compromise. Thaddeus Mordecai Saint Clair would be called back only when he was needed.
When battle approaches and Lucien requires the particular talents of his disreputable relative, Thaddeus is summoned from the grave. Death has changed remarkably little about the man himself. He remains every bit as tough, fearsome and unpleasant as he was in life, but it has done something altogether more disturbing to his pistol. The weapon returns with him as a spectral reflection of the gun he once carried, cold and insubstantial until Thaddeus pulls the trigger, when its report seems to come from somewhere considerably further away than the battlefield.
Against ordinary mortal opponents the effect is particularly terrifying. The spectral ammunition seems to care little for the protection offered by the material world, giving non supernatural opponents a minus 1 Save modifier when struck. Thaddeus appears delighted with the improvement. For the duration of the fighting he is given precisely what he always wanted, enemies, ammunition and almost complete freedom to indulge himself, while remaining just as difficult to put down and every bit as fearsome as he was before death claimed him. Afterwards Lucien always sends him back.
It is an arrangement that suits almost everyone. Lucien gains the services of one of the most dangerous gunfighters ever produced by the Saint Clair family without having to worry about what he might do during the long evenings at Blackthorn Hall. Augustus does not have to acknowledge him as a permanent member of the 27th, while the Ragged Veterans can sleep without wondering whether Thaddeus has become bored and decided that a little target practice might enliven the night.
Most importantly, the Saint Clair family can continue its long standing tradition concerning Thaddeus Mordecai Saint Clair. Nobody talks about him, that is until Lucien needs him once again.
