The Somme

“Somme.  The whole history of the world cannot contain a more ghastly word.” ~Friedrich Steinbrecher, German officer, 1916

Those were the days...

Much of military history works like this: our clan of god-chosen, handsome hunter-gatherers fights your clan of butt-ugly, savage barbarians with maces.  There is clobbering on both sides, and gnashing of teeth.  Then, my clan invents the Longer Mace.  Now we can clobber you before you can clobber us.  Our casualties drop, yours rise.  Victory!

Cut to World War I.  The “longer maces” of the time are defensive.  Barbed wire, trenches, and machine guns have made every general’s favorite infantry charge ineffectual.  And not just ineffectual, but frequently horrific.  One of the many tragedies of World War I was the piss-poor adaptation of offensive infantry tactics to these new realities.  But you can’t have a war if nobody is attacking (or so thought much of Western Europe), so generals employed 19th century infantry charges against 20th century defensive fortifications.  The Somme was a particularly egregious example.

Machine guns? Gizmos! Harrumph!

The Battle of the Somme took place from July to November, 1916, along a 12-mile front near the River Somme in Northern France.  Field Marshall Douglas Haig, commander of the British Expeditionary Force, planned the Somme offensive to relieve pressure against the French forces at Verdun, and to break the German lines in Northern France.  The British and French’s numerical superiority at times reached seven-to-one.  Matching that advantage with intelligence, innovative thinking, and flawless execution, a breakthrough may have been possible.  Unfortunately, Haig possessed none of those characteristics.

The infamous first week of the battle was particularly illustrative.  Traditional infantry tactics involved the shelling of the enemy position, followed closely by an infantry charge.  So, the battle began with a week-long British bombardment using 1.5 million shells.  Unfortunately, the vast majority of this fire was ineffectual, either missing the German lines or doing insufficient damage to the fortified German bunkers.  Then, on the scheduled day for the first assault, communication problems led to a ten-minute pause between the end of the shelling and the charge.  This gave the Germans time to emerge from their bunkers and man the machine guns.  The infantry went “over the top,” sometimes at a walking march, into the strafing fire of the German machine guns.

A regiment of these would have helped

Of the 110,000 men who attacked that first day, 60,000 were killed or wounded.  It was the highest single day of casualties in the long history of the British Army.  Despite some French success at various points along the line, the fighting continued for months without decisive results.  Haig’s suspicion that horses were not particularly susceptible to gunfire(!) proved to be untrue.  Fighting petered out in November with the onset of winter.  All told, the British and French captured a little less than six miles of ground at the farthest point from the original lines, at a cost of 620,000 men to Germany’s 450,000 casualties.  Both sides were decimated by the monumental casualties.  The battle came to represent a profound moment of disillusionment for Britain, as many of the men lost were the nation’s most patriotic, enthusiastic, and educated volunteer soldiers.  To the British infantry who survived the battle, it gained the moniker, “The Great Fuck Up.”

Some of the literature dealing with WWI and its effect upon those who fought.

In retrospect, there are several bitter pills to swallow.  Numerous opportunities on both sides were squandered because of poor communication.  September saw the debut of the tank, the weapon that would eventually end trench warfare and provide the “longer mace” that the offense so desperately needed.  At the time, however, tanks were lumbering behemoths doing more good for British morale than for Britain’s strategic goals.  Thirty of the forty-nine tanks broke down before seeing combat.  And finally, a 27-year old Adolf Hitler was one of the German soldiers to survive the battle.

Drink: Tank of the Somme (The Great Fuckup)

[ingredients:]

• 40 oz bottle Olde English malt liquor
• 8 oz Pimms

[preparation:]

1. Waste 1/5th of the population of the Olde English bottle onto the ground.
2. Fill remainder of bottle with upper-class Pimms.
3. Shake to mix and tank slowly.
4. Bitterly realize the toll drinking takes upon the world.

The Aeneid

In America today, we write about the actions and intentions of our Founding Fathers in history books, Supreme Court decisions, and National Treasure movie scripts. Two thousand years ago, they wrote epic poems. The opportunistic poet Virgil (the Michael Bay of the Roman Empire), composed The Aeneid to tell the blockbuster foundation story of the Roman Empire.

In the first century BC, Virgil was a hot young Roman poet and a marketing genius. The amphitheater receipts for Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad were legendary, and Virgil saw room for a spinoff. He selected Aeneas as his central character, the Trojan hero destined to found Rome. Aeneas was a smaller character in Homer’s Iliad - a principal Trojan lieutenant and the son of the goddess Aphrodite. A solid leading man.

Then: "But you won't escape my blade, whirling in my right hand! No, this sword and the man who wields it, the wounds they deal are fatal!"

Today: "Hasta la vista, baby!"

Virgil made some key choices to spruce up the script. First, he included the best parts of Homer’s poems: the wandering sea voyages, and lots of war. Then, knowing that every kid already had a Zeus pillowcase and an Aphrodite wineskin, he used the Roman names for those gods. Finally, seeing a lack of dynamic female characters, he introduced the virgin warrior princess Camilla, a role model for the young girl demographic. Throw in about 1,000 attempts at sweet (if overlong) death-blow catchphrases, and you have the makings of a blockbuster epic poem.

So what of the war that founded Rome? Aeneas arrived in Italy with his displaced Trojan soldiers after the famous horse-related fiasco in Troy. Aeneas asked local King Latinus for land and Latinus’s daughter. Certainly a bold howdy-do. But Aeneas’ coming had been prophesied, so Latinus was on board with this. So, too, was Turnus, a strapping lad and potential suitor for the King’s daughter.

Bros before hos, right?

What prevented the implementation of this progressive immigration policy? Jealous goddesses, as usual (Virgil loved the deus ex machina). Trojan-hating Juno (Hera in the prequels) sent a Fury to drive Turnus and Latinus’s wife crazy with hatred for the Trojans, and everybody went to war.*

The fighting was ferocious, as the Trojans defended their beachhead against the Latin attacks, and besieged the capital city when they gained the advantage. Several times the Latins were on the verge of defeating the Trojans. Turnus, who wrecked shop from the moment the Fury’s hell-serpent introduced frenzy into his heart, nearly routed the Trojan camp while Aeneas was away courting allies. The constant meddling of goddesses on both sides of the conflict prevented any definitive resolutions (and conveniently prolonged the story, sending the audience back for more popcorn).

A scene from the mythological version of Pimp My Armor

Poor Turnus. By all accounts a stand-up guy, he probably would have gotten along fine with Aeneas if not for the Fury-induced madness. But you just don’t win against the Most Pious Half-Immortal Soldier Ever. Mommy Venus (Aphrodite) gave her son armor forged by the god smith Vulcan (Xzibit), and from there it was only a matter of time.

Aeneas was not fated to found Rome (spoiler alert!). His descendants, Romulus and Remus, would found the actual city. The shield given him by Venus depicted Rome’s future greatness, but to Aeneas it was merely pleasant artwork (imagine putting on a condom with a picture of your grandson on it). Wearing his god-forged unbreakable armor, Aeneas lead the battle against the Latins until he faced Turnus. Jupiter (Zeus) ordered all goddesses to clear out, and Aeneas killed Turnus.

Careful Aeneas! He has a knife in his sock--oh wait, you're half-immortal. Nevermind

Virgil ended the poem there, but the end credits explained that Juno extracted from Jupiter the concession that the Latins would keep their name, even as the Trojans intermixed with the local populace. Thus Rome, the world’s greatest empire, was built on the pious strength of a legendary soldier (later made immortal by his goddess mother) and his unbreakable, god-forged armor. Concessions and merchandise are available for purchase in the courtyard.

*Interesting that Hera, the Goddess of Childbirth and Marriage, would hate the Trojans.

**ed. note: Translations from R. Fagles.

Drink: The Romefather

[ingredients]:

• two parties
• lots of red wine
• unlubricated Trojan condom
• moxie

[preparation]:

1. Leave one party and find another you’ve heard about but never seen.
2. Ask for an unreasonable amount of wine from your generous host.
3. Piss off a friend of the host.
4. Ignoring a wild-haired, athletic virgin, pour the wine into an un-lubricated Trojan condom.
5. Poke a hole in the condom and drink like a wineskin.

Charge of the Light Brigade

I'm going to immortalize the shit out of this

You don’t need to be a Victorian poet to appreciate that a 19th century battle involving feuding commander-in-laws, tragic battlefield misunderstandings, the “Valley of Death,” at least three types of knitwear, and heroic French cavalry is going to be a total disaster. These were the ingredients of the Battle of Balaklava.

The Crimean War began in 1853, with the British, French and Ottomans fighting the Russians for control of the fading Ottoman Empire. Modern historians consider it the first modern war, due to the involvement of telegraphs, repeating rifles, and high-explosive artillery. How hilarious, then, that perhaps its most famous military action involved horses, sabers, and verbal misunderstandings.

Attack the Russian nuns? Where are the nuns?!?!

On October 25, 1854, English and French troops were attempting to capture the Black Sea Russian port of Sevastapol. Their 4,500 soldiers faced 25,000 Russians across a U-shaped valley. While these odds may seem extreme, the Russians never approach a battle without waaaay too many soldiers. And, recall, that it was the first modern war. So everybody was excited and unsure of what, exactly, would be required of them in this bold new day.

Take the whosiewhatsits to the placeahmahut! Post haste!

Let’s cut to the charge. The British commander, Lord Raglan, kept giving his cavalry, commanded by Lord Lucan, confusing orders. The fourth, and worst of the bunch, was carried to Lucan by a snotty Captain named Nolan.

“Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front, follow the enemy, and try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns. Horse artillery may accompany. French cavalry is on your left. Immediate.”

Besides sounding like a Mad-Libs battle command, it seemed to Lucan to have nothing to do with the battle whatsoever. The only guns he could see were the Russian artillery at the other end of the valley, more than a mile away (and what the hell are ‘horse artillery’?). Lucan asked for clarification. Nolan vaguely swept his hand across the valley and said contemptuously, “There my lord, there are your guns.”

I couldn't have won this award without the help of...Cardigan's sister! Ba-zing!

Second place.

Lucan took this order to Earl Cardigan, his direct subordinate and commander of the Light Cavalry. Lucan also happened to be Cardigan’s brother-in-law and, if that were not sufficiently galling, had just won the regiment’s coveted “Most Luxurious Muttonchops Award.” A reluctant Cardigan led his 600-odd men on a one-mile charge across the entire battlefield, being fired upon from three sides by Russians who probably felt like they were hunting buffalo in “Oregon Trail.” Tragically, the charge may have succeeded if Lucan had followed with the heavy cavalry (or at least the featherweight or welterweight cavalry). Instead, Cardigan’s Light Cavalry roughed up the Russians until the Russians realized they vastly outnumbered the British, at which point they sent the Light Cavalry back across the same one-mile gauntlet of artillery and rifles.*

Somehow this guy survived, hat intact.

The Light Cavalry were probably saved from total annihilation by a flanking movement from the French Chausser’s d’Afrique, who sufficiently engaged one side of the Russian guns to cover the British charge and retreat. The whole action took 20 minutes. Of the approximately 660 British who participated in the Charge of the Light Brigade, 110 were killed, 161 wounded or captured, and 375 horses killed. Nolan was among the dead. Cardigan survived and argued bitterly with Lucan about who was at fault for the suicidal order.

Cardigan got the last muttonchop-quivering laugh when he had the button-front sweater named for him. Indeed, knitwear was thrown about after the battle like purple hearts. The town of Balaklava got its name attached to ski masks, Raglan ended up with a namesake sweater, and trendy trousers were named after British officer Duke Skinnyjeans. Lord Tennyson honored them all with his famous poem Charge of the Light Brigade, and his lesser-known essay, Totally Sweet Cavalry Charges, Poetry, and You.

Thanks, Battle of Balaklava!

*This strategy for chasing a superior enemy force was later made famous by Han Solo’s charge in the Battle of the White Subhallway in Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.

Drink: The Valley of Death

[ingredients]:

• chilled Russian vodka
• currant liqueur
• French champagne
• one copy of Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade

[preparation]:

1. In a narrow champagne flute, pour one ounce of chilled Russian vodka.
2. Mishearing something, recklessly pour one ounce of currant liqueur into the flute.
3. Top off the glass with French champagne, stirring gently to mix until the concoction becomes poetic.
4. Read Tennyson’s poem aloud, taking a sip every time you come across the word ‘death.’

First Battle of Bull Run

“You are green it is true, but they are green, also; you all are green alike.” ~ President Lincoln, addressing a general’s concern about the unpreparedness of their troops before the First Battle of Bull Run.

In July 1861, spirits in the United States were high.  Sure, a Civil War was about to break out, but both the North and the South anticipated a short, glorious affair.  Political leaders on both sides pooh-pooh’d their generals’ concerns about unprepared troops, and demanded action.  The Civil War Bowl Committee selected the fields outside of Manassas, Virginia as the site of the inaugural battle.

The South won the coin flip and elected to defer their charge to the second half.

Despite the supposed neutrality of the Bowl Committee’s selected site, Manassas was a sensitive location for both sides.  For the South, its railroad junction connected the Shenandoah Valley to areas farther South.  For the North, Manassas’s proximity to Washington D.C. (merely 25 miles) allowed the Union a considerable advantage in the number of spectators who turned out to watch the battle on Bowl Sunday, July 21st.

Yes, that’s right. Members of the Washington elite, including congressmen and their wives, came to picnic and watch the battle.

Some showed up as early as 3 am to tailgate in their coach-and-fours, drink champagne, and grill cucumber sandwiches.

The Union forces elected to kick off, and it looked like they had the early advantage.  Confederate General Pierre Gustave Beaugard deployed his Confederate forces anticipating a Union attack near the railroad bridge over Bull Run.  The Union forces, led by George McDowell, instead attacked the Southern bench a few miles upstream.  Outnumbered and caught in the middle of a chalk talk with their offensive line coach, the Confederate troops nevertheless managed to slow the Northern assault sufficiently to avoid a rout.  But by the end of the first quarter, the Confederates had been driven back towards the railroad junction.

The event led to Jackon's famous moniker "Stonewall Jackson," replacing his previous nickname, "Silky Sweet Jackson."

The momentum swung early in the second quarter when a brigade of Virginian troops, led by one Thomas J. Jackson, stopped the Northern advance in their tracks.  A Southern general exclaimed, “There is Jackson standing like a stone wall!  Rally behind the Virginians!  Ten, tango, globetrotter vixen eight, hike!”

At halftime, the Union troops still appeared to have the advantage, and the Union bleachers were yelling “Scoreboard!” at the few Confederate fans who had driven up in a rally bus.  Things went south for the North in the second half, however.

The hastily-scheduled inaugural Civil War battle (designed to get high telegraph ratings during the summer re-run season) meant that the South did not have time to design new uniforms, or even a flag.  After all, everybody had been in the same Army just a few months prior.  So the Union and Southern forces were both wearing blue uniforms (Lincoln confused his greens and blues).  This caused Union artillery to mistake Jackson’s charging troops for reinforcements.  No one picked up Jackon’s lead blocker, and the Union artillery were annihilated (some historians believe that the Union artillery were confused by the Confederate sideline’s chant of “C-S-A! C-S-A!” which sounded similar to the Union sideline’s ”U-S-A! U-S-A”).

"I say, Methias, those blokes a'comin this way sure look peeved. And the crowd's goin' nuts!"

Contractual issues also turned the tide against the North.  Whereas the Southern troops were mostly rookies years away from arbitration, many Union soldiers were nearing the end of their 90-day enlistments.  When the South gained the upper hand in the afternoon, these troops decided they wanted to live to see their free agency, and fled in rather spectacular fashion.  Shedding their weapons and supplies, they ran past the Union cheering section, who booed them for cowardice even as the spectators themselves fled the field, leaving behind half-finished scorecards, giant foam fingers, and weak-ankled Congressional secretaries.

While the Southern press jubilantly celebrated the victory (and the Southern troops did the “Confederate Shuffle” at midfield), generals on both sides realized that the war would not be over as quickly as the civilian populations hoped.  The South’s disorganization prevented it from pressing its advantage toward Washington D.C., and it was months before the North even considered moving back into Virginia.  For the moment, however, the South beat the spread on casualties and claimed the top spot in the Civil War Power Rankings.

NOTE: The Union referred to the battle as the “First Battle of Bull Run,” while the Confederacy called it the “First Battle of Manassas.”  Least used is the technically-correct name, ”The Robert T. Goodfellow and Sons Haberdashery and Fine Dry Goods Emporium Bowl.”

Drink: The Picnic Sprint

[Ingredients:]

• lemonade
• champagne
• corn whiskey
• cucumber sandwiches
• picnic blanket [optional]

[Preparation:]

1. Mix two parts champagne and lemonade in an elegant champagne flute.
2. Sip your beverage while enjoying cucumber sandwiches, preferably while sitting on a red and white checkered picnic blanket.
3. When half of drink is finished, unceremoniously pour in a shot (or two) of corn whiskey.
4. Pound the remainder of the drink, grab the last cucumber sandwich, give a rebel yell and take off running.
5. Insult the manhood and question the honor of anyone you blow past.

Battle of Austerlitz

It’s easy to find an excuse to drink a Brandy Alexander. It is, after all, delicious. But what do you say? You say it is approaching Napoleon’s birthday? Or his death day? Or you just watched Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure and you’ve got Napoleon on the mind? Well, let us offer a twist on the Brandy Alexander, and turn it into a commemoration of one of his greatest tactical victories: the Battle of Austerliz.

He's small, but I still couldn't swallow him whole while wearing this neck ruff

So in the early 1800s, when mention of France still induced thoughts of military competency, Napoleon was busy shoving the French Revolution down everybody else’s neck ruff-enclosed throats. Austria and Russia’s sprawling, feudal, multi-ethnic empires were not compatible with Frenchified idees of liberte, egalite et fraternite. Styling themselves the defenders of the Ancien Regieme, Emperors Frances II (Austria) and Alexander I (Russia) joined up with Portugal (headed by…somebody) and joined Britain’s war already in progress with France.

Battle. Of. Austerlitz. By October 1805, Napoleon had already captured more than 60,00 Austrian troops in that year’s campaign, putting him over the legal catch limit and triggering a large fine from the Infantrymen & Artillerymen Gaming Commission. The remaining Austrian forces, led by Emperor Francis II, regrouped and joined Alexander I’s advancing Russian army. Together they met Napoleon on December 2nd, 1805 at a small village called Austerlitz (whose tourism bureau thanked their Roman Catholic saints that something notable was happening in their little shit hamlet).

Napoleon goaded his numerically-superior opponents into attacking his flank, tacticizing (‘tacticizing’ is what you do when you theorize about tactics) that the Allied troops would weaken their center in their zeal to outflank Napoleon. In a fit of haughty confidence befitting a second-rate Hollywood movie, young Tsar Alexander attempted this flanking maneuver against the advice of his one-eyed, hard drinking field commander, Kutuzov. Napoleon meanwhile kept a bulk of his forces back, hidden by topography and mist. Sure enough, the Austro-Russian center was weakened. Napoleon famously exclaimed, “One sharp blow and the war’s over,” and sent his infantry on a totally sweet march uphill out of the mist.

Somethin' don't smell right, Tsar.

Here’s the takeway: always trust the advice of one-eyed, hard drinking field commanders.

“One sharp blow” turned into hours more of tough fighting, but eventually the Austrian-Russian center broke and the Allied troops were routed. The French suffered 8,500 casualties to the Allied 30,000 (triggering another Gaming Commission fine and the one-year suspension of Napoleon’s Austrian troop hunting license).

Napoleon’s Austerlitz is considered a tactical masterpiece (although some French today are backing away from commemorating it, as if maybe by distancing themselves from tactical brilliance they’ll rediscover it or something). Regardless, you can celebrate a brilliant display of military tactics with the following modified Brandy Alexander. Swap the brandy for the more French-appropriate cognac, add some cinnamon to reference the British hanging out in the background of the conflict (the British controlled Asia’s largest cinnamon-producing estate at the time of the battle), and house some Austrian apple strudel.

Drink: Tsar “Brandy” Alexander

[Ingredients:]

• cognac
• creme de cacao
• half and half
• cinnamon
• nutmeg
• apple strudel

[Preparation:]

1. Mix one part cognac, one part brown creme de cacao, and one part half and half in a chilled cocktail shaker.
2. Mix and pour into a martini glass.
3. Sprinkle the top with cinnamon and nutmeg.
4. Serve drink with a warm slice of apple strudel.

The Soviet-Finnish War

Three months after Germany began World War II by invading Poland, the Soviet Union invaded Finland. Beginning on November 30, 1939, the Soviet Union’s initial invasion force of 630,000 troops and thousands of tanks rumbled across Finland, crushing the meager defenses and capturing Helsinki within two weeks.

Right? After all, the Soviet Union brought more than a million men, over 6,500 tanks, and more than 3,800 aircraft to bear against a Finnish army of only 250,00 men, 30 tanks, and 130 aircraft. Sure, it was one of the worst winters in the 20th century. But the Soviets were bolstered by the ideological contact high that was the Bolshevik Revolution. Surely it was a walk in a frozen park.

Um, no. Unfortunately for Stalin, but fortunately for fans of the underdog worldwide, the Finns ran circles (or, more accurately skied circles) around the darkly-clad-against-the-snow Soviet troops. The Russian Army was completely unprepared for fighting in the brutal cold and dense forests of Eastern Finland. The Finns, by contrast, were masters of their landscape, spirited in defending their homeland, and really damn hard to spot against the snow.

A colum of Soviet tanks, post-cocktail party

An examination of Finnish and Soviet tactics suggests proper strategies to employ in snowy forests with temperatures as low as negative-40 degrees Fahrenheit:

Finnish Tactics:

• Wear white.
• Travel by skis.
• Fight in the forests you grew up in.
• Use mobile units and double-envelopment techniques to divide up enemy columns for easier picking.
• Attack field kitchens, destroying enemy food and fuel supplies.

Soviet Tactics:

• Wear dark colors.
• Drive vulnerable tanks and trucks along forest roads with no escape routes.
• Use troops not experienced in cold or forests.
• Establish a military tradition of killing soldiers who retreat.
• Remove all your experienced officers in pre-war political purges.

A platoon of Finnish ski patrol soldiers

Of course, the Finnish military had ethanol, storm matches, skis and white snow pants at their disposal, so perhaps it was never a fair fight. At the outset of their illegal invasion, the Soviet propaganda machine asserted that they were dropping food, not bombs, on the Finns. The Finnish people, finding the shells filling but not nourishing, called the bombs “Molotov Bread Baskets” after Soviet diplomat and cheerleader Vyacheslav Molotov. To combat Soviet tanks, the Finns adapted a crude incendiary devise from the Spanish Civil War and called them “Molotov Cocktails”, or “a drink to go with the food.” The Finnish alcohol distributor Alko mass produced them for Soviet consumption: an ethanol, tar and gasoline mixture in a glass bottle, with two storm matches stuck to the side. Simply light matches and throw. The burning mixture stuck to vehicles, and the name stuck to the devise (the Soviet-coined name, “Improvised Proletariat Incendiary Device for the Unjust Opposition of Inevitable Glorious Bolshevik Soviet People’s Progress Device,” never really caught on).

The Finns held off the massive Red Army for five months despite being completely outnumbered and outgunned. They did so with some spectacularly one-sided snowy showdowns. In the Battle of Raate Road in January 1940, 3,600 Finnish troops decimated 25,000 Soviet soldiers. The Finns captured 43 tanks (more than Finland’s entire supply of tanks at the start of fighting), 71 heavy guns, 260 trucks, 6,000 rifles, and more horses, rifles, armored cars, ammunition, medical equipment, and volleyball nets than they knew what to do with. The Soviet commander who survived the battle was executed upon returning to Soviet lines. The Finns played a riotous game of sardines, with the stockpile of Soviet booty as home base.

Tactical comparisons of the two sides reveal just how far knowing-what-you’re-doing can take you. Finnish snipers would set up dummies to draw out Soviet snipers. Once the Soviet sniper had been located by shooting at the dummy (“Hey Yuri, watch me shoot this idiot Finn sticking his head out”), they would kill the sniper with a large anti-tank gun (“boom”).

Pystykorva rifle, $120 by Finnish manufacturing; winter coat, $400 by Patagonia

Perhaps the biggest Finnish advantage was a 5′ 3″ wrecking crew named Simo Hayha. Given the nickname “White Death” by the Soviets(!!!), the sniper killed somewhere between 505 and 800 Soviet soldiers in less than 100 days. Shot in the head on March 6, 1940, he picked up his gun and killed his attacker. Surviving his wound, Hayha was promoted straight from corporal to second lieutenant after the war, and from there to Finland National Bad-Ass, First Class.

The fighting was a terrible embarrassment for the Soviets. Their losses have been estimated at nearly 2,260 tanks and 400,000 men killed, wounded or captured. Finnish loses were 26,000 dead and 43,000 wounded. Eventually the Finnish forces’ supplies of ammunition, spunk, and snow forts began to run low, and a peace treaty was signed on March 12, 1940. The terms were harsh (the Soviets were pissed), but the Finns’ successes had made the Red Army appear weak, and may have contributed to Hitler’s decision to invade the Soviet Union the following year.

Drink: Molotov’s Cocktail

[Ingredients:]

• one glass coke bottle
• Finnish or Russian vodka
• celery stalk
• sugar (optional)

[Preparation:]

1. Fill bottle with vodka.  Add sugar if desired for better sticking to tank iron.
2. Insert celery stalk into bottle and let sit until celery is saturated with vodka.
3. Eat celery and give bottle to party “tank” to drink.

The Battle of Chapultepec

“From the halls of Montezuma,
To the shores of Tripoli;
We will fight our country’s battles
In the air, on land, and sea;“
-The Marines’ Hymn

If you’re trying to be taken seriously as a military branch, you don’t want your keynote hymn to start, “There once was a man from Nantucket…” You need some gravitas, son! And nothing provides 3x the gravitas points like decisive military victories on the grounds of another nation’s symbolic military fortifications. It’s the military equivalent of a touchdown dance on the enemy’s logo. The US Marine Corps won such a victory at the Battle of Chapultepec in 1847.

The Mexican-American War was fought between 1846 and 1848. President James Polk, riding high on Manifest Destiny, sought a war as a means for a southwestern land grab. So he consulted the Big Playbook of Starting Wars, and went with excuse #1A: the old border dispute.

In 1845, Texas, having claimed independence from Mexico, agreed to annex itself to the United States. (The existing states said that they agreed to accept Texas’s annexation, which led to some big hats being tipped back and some squinty-eyed evaluatin’ across the room.) The United States offered to buy parts of Mexico, the Mexican government stopped its turmoil long enough to be offended, and shootin’ started.

Okay boys, let's make ourselves an anthem!

The Battle of Mexico City occurred in September 1847, and marked the last major battle of the war. The Battle of Chapultepec refers to the American capturing of the symbolically and strategically important Chapultepec Castle. The Castle, or ‘CC’ for short, housed Mexico’s national military academy, sat upon a sacred spot for prior tenants (the Aztecs), and was a strategic point in General Santa Anna’s defense of the Mexican Capital.

In the face of vastly superior forces, the Mexican defense was spirited. Some of its defenders were cadets as young as 13, who were evidently moody and prone to overly dramatic displays of angst. The last Mexican cadet remaining in the castle achieved national immortality by wrapping himself in the Mexican flag and leaping off the high castle walls, saving the flag from disgrace by an invader’s touch. (Historians gloss over the thrash metal song lyrics the cadet had written on the flag before jumping).

Unfortunately for Santa Anna but fortunately for future Marine Corps hymn writers , the US attacked with overwhelming numbers and a highly-coordinated assault. The US forces featured an all-star lineup of future Confederate generals (maybe there was something rebellious in the air). Stonewall Jackson, Joseph Johnston, Pierre Beauregard, Robert E. Lee, George Pickett, and Ulysses S. Grant (the one notable Yankee) all took part in the battle.

A spirited battle for a location symbolic to both sides (or at least to the US retroactively) should be commemorated with a shot. Something you can lift like a flag over the ramparts.

The Union? Well...let me get back to you on that.

Drink: The Halls of Montezuma

[Ingredients:]

• bourbon
• Kahlua

[Preparation:]

1. Pour half shot of bourbon into shot glass to represent the American Southern military tradition.
2. Fill the rest of the shot glass with Kahlua to represent the weaker but spirited Mexican defense.
3. Toast “Manifest Destiny” and the opportunistic nature of American foreign policy, and take shot.