In November 1956, there was fighting over the Suez Canal, the vital artery for Europe's oil supplies. Long owned by Britain and France, Egyptian dictator Gamal Abdel Nasser had nationalized it, and British Prime Minister Anthony Eden had decided that he and his French allies would not stand for this humiliation. The initial plan was to use an Israeli attack on Egypt as a pretext for intervention, with the two nations then acting to "secure the Canal" in the face of this threat. Nassar was unwilling to play along, and starting on October 31st, they began a sustained air campaign that wiped out the Egyptian air force and cleared the way for a ground invasion. Worried by mounting diplomatic pressure, the first wave were landed from the air on November 5th, securing vital areas on the outskirts of the city.

The landing beaches in Port Said

Finally, on November 6th, the Anglo-French force was ready to go ashore in strength. Pre-landing bombardment began shortly before 6, although it was restricted to a thousand rounds from the 4.5" guns of the destroyers for fear of collateral damage. Half an hour into the bombardment, the LSTs disgorged their cargo of LVTs loaded with the Marines of 40 and 42 Command for the 30-minute run to the beach. The bombardment continued as the amtracks swam in, pausing occasionally to clear the way for airstrikes, before lifting just before they crawled up onto the beach. It had done its work, and resistance on the beaches was minimal, with the main dangers being sniper fire and exploding weapons caches. Follow-on waves quickly followed in LCAs, which beached offshore. Fortunately, the troops already ashore had drawn the attention of what Egyptian defenders there were, so the process of wading to the beach was pretty straightforward. Read more...

Here we start Morison's account of the Mediterranean theater, one of the more overlooked of the war, at least so long as we're counting places Americans served.

This chapter seemed somewhat disordered, which isn't surprising, as it was drawing from three different books in the original, including all of Operations in North African Waters, which I remember as one of the more interesting books in the series. I also don't love the amount of time spent discussing allied strategy, and the (probably related) short shrift given to what may have been the only naval battle Morison himself witnessed. As a describer of strategy, Morison is not particularly brilliant, and I really wish we'd gotten more detail on the actual landings.

But he goes a long way to redeem himself at Sicily (helped by the fact that the account is quite a bit longer), where I really enjoyed the combination of "introduction to WWII amphibious operations" and the anecdotes about the landings (featuring my own hometown 45th Infantry Division). In particular, the callout to the landing craft crews felt appropriate, although he didn't mention that many of those were crewed by the Coast Guard.

The inclusion of a lot of the Battle of the Atlantic stuff was is particularly weird, and is making me wonder about the way this was written. There's no particular reason that the stuff here shouldn't have been in Chapter 5 except for length, and it was really weird to switch from amphibious operations to convoy battles and then back to amphibious warfare. My only real guess is that Morison was trying to keep the chapter lengths roughly equal, and couldn't afford to make Chapter 5 any longer than it already was. While that's handy for what we're doing, I think it makes the book weaker overall. Particularly weird is that the submarine campaign against Japan ended up shoehorned into the Philippines chapter.

A couple of other notes: first, the LCVPs were wood, not steel, and that's another error on the list of "that should have been easy for a competent proofreader to catch", and we see him again diving into politics c.1963 with the discussion on "Unconditional Surrender", although that one has aged better than most of the other examples we've seen, given that it's still live today. (I think he has the right of it, as the Japanese were proposing terms that amounted to "we're going to do this again in 10-20 years" right up until the end. But that's an issue for a later chapter.)

In 1956, war broke out in the Middle East. Britain and France had long owned the Suez Canal, and relied on it for much of their oil, but Egyptian dictator Gamal Abdel Nasser had nationalized it. After diplomatic efforts proved fruitless, the two nations, humiliated and concerned about their energy supply, came up with a plan to recapture it in cooperation with Israel, who hoped to preempt an Egyptian attack. An Israeli invasion of the Sinai would give the two great powers the chance to issue an ultimatum demanding both sides withdraw, and when Nasser refused, they would have their opening to invade.

Initially, things went according to plan. The Israeli invasion kicked off on October 29th, and the other two powers quickly directed both sides to withdraw. Nasser was predictably unwilling to suffer the humiliation of bowing to his former colonial overlord, and two days later, the British and French began a sustained air campaign from carriers and nearby land bases, swiftly wiping out the Egyptian air force and clearing the way for a ground invasion. Read more...

Coming off the heels of Midway and Coral Sea, our book club for Samuel Eliot Morison's The Two-Ocean War, a history of the USN in WWII, heads to the South Pacific for our longest chapter yet, an account of the string of naval battles around Guadalcanal. While each is individually less famous, there's a strong argument that the whole campaign was even more pivotal than the actions discussed in the previous chapter, as well as the last time the two navies met on equal terms.

As usual, we'll begin with the recitation of the errors. Here, Morison spends less time on the Hudson that spotted the Japanese on the way to Savo Island than he did in The Struggle for Guadalcanal, and as such is less unfair to the crew. (In that one, he's so unfair to the crew that the US Navy officially apologized decades later.) Second, there's the bashing of Fletcher that we talked about last time, which is often hilariously over the top. We also see him disliking someone else, Capt. Bode of Chicago, although with somewhat greater justification. Still, it's kind of weird to see him speaking highly of Callaghan, who screwed up far worse than Fletcher ever did. I'm also confused by his claim about there being shells on the decks of the Japanese battleships in the opening stages of First Guadalcanal, which does not match my understanding of what happened there. I was under the impression that the Japanese initially opened fire with the bombardment shells, but couldn't find confirmation in later accounts either way. In any case, I can't see how you'd end up with shells out on deck while trying to get them back to the magazines, and suspect Morison got carried away here.

Beyond that, it's a very solid account of the battles, although with effectively no analysis of why they turned out the way they did, which gives me something to talk about. The Japanese, knowing they would be outnumbered in a war with the US, had sought to equalize this by fighting at night, and it had been a major pillar of their training in the interwar years. The Americans had not taken this nearly as seriously, and while their advantage in radar should have been enough to compensate, they were still figuring out how to use it. Also barely gestured at is the superiority of Japanese torpedoes, which were significantly larger than their American counterparts, and ran on pure oxygen for greater range and speed. These "Long Lances" (a name coined by Morison himself) had also been the beneficiaries of an extensive (and expensive) test program, which the Americans hadn't bothered with for their torpedoes. We'll see even more of this in future chapters.

And of course I would be remiss if I didn't say a few words about the battleship action we see here, one of only three times in the war when US battleships fought their Axis counterparts. South Dakota suffered a power loss due to the shock of her guns firing, and with the radar cut off, maneuvered into a position that silhouetted herself against a burning destroyer, turning her into a punching bag for the Japanese fleet and exacerbating the power loss as hits lead to shorts throughout the superstructure. And we have more exciting battleship combat to look forward to next week, when we go back to the Atlantic.

In 1956, Egyptian dictator Gamal Abdel Nasser nationalized the Suez Canal, imperiling European access to oil and humiliating Britain and France, who had previously controlled it. Diplomatic efforts to solve the crisis failed, and the two nations came up with a plan to recapture it by force in cooperation with Israel, who hoped to preempt an Egyptian attack. Israel would invade the Sinai, and the two powers would issue an ultimatum for both sides to withdraw from Suez. When Nasser refused, they would have their pretext for an attack.

Eagle, Albion and Bulwark together

The Israeli invasion kicked off on October 29th, and Britain and France quickly issued their directive for both sides to withdraw. As expected, Nasser was entirely unwilling to suffer the humiliation of backing down in the face of Egypt's former colonial overlord, allowing the military plan to go into effect. Unfortunately, the plan was rather hindered by the lack of bases. While Britain had extensive bases in Cyprus, there was no harbor on the island suitable for the invasion force to assemble, forcing them to stage out of Malta, about four days steaming from Egypt. Read more...

It's time for our monthly open thread. Talk about whatever you want, so long as it isn't Culture War.

Overhauls are Classes, Weather at Sea, Auxiliaries Part 0, Revolt of the Admirals Part 1, Modern Propulsion Part 4, The Nimitz Class and for 2025, my reviews of the Naval Aviation Museum and Alabama, Measuring Fleets and Iowa and Kahoolawe.

After a brief detour into the Atlantic, our book club for Samuel Eliot Morison's The Two-Ocean War, a history of the USN in WWII, returns to the Pacific to cover the pair of carrier battles that are probably the most prominent of the Pacific War.

We open with the briefest descriptons of the Battle for Wake Island, which brings up one of the (mercifully short) list of major flaws that Morison has. Normally, he's extremely positive on US leaders, to the point that I was sort of expecting his half-page word kiss to Admiral Nimitz to end with "and he walked to work across Pearl Harbor without even getting his shoes wet". But for reasons that nobody has ever worked out, he really disliked Frank Jack Fletcher. The tonal dissonance this provokes in the main series is actually pretty amusing, where he goes out of his way to shower everyone else with praise, while Fletcher cannot do a single thing right. Obviously, this is an area where modern historians have taken a rather different approach, most notably in John Lundstrom's Black Shoe Carrier Admiral. Current views are that Fletcher was generally a competent and effective admiral, and in particular that he really did need to fuel before approaching Wake. Read more...

I didn't comment on the latest conflict between the US and Iran last week for two reasons. First, it broke out on Saturday, and that didn't leave me a lot of time to write something up. Second, in that time, the fog of war was still pretty dense, and I didn't see anything I could say where I would add value above and beyond what you'd get following the news.

But that changed pretty dramatically on Wednesday, when the Pentagon announced that an Iranian frigate had been sunk by a US attack submarine, revealed on Friday to be USS Charlotte, one of old Los Angeles class boats.¹ This is only the second time in the history of the nuclear submarine that torpedoes have been used in anger, and the first in over 40 years, since HMS Conqueror put General Belgrano on the bottom of the Atlantic. Even better, we have video of the torpedo hit, and I thought there was enough interesting stuff going on there that it was worth dedicating this week's post. Read more...

Chapter 5 of Samuel Eliot Morison's The Two-Ocean War, a history of the USN in WWII, pivots from the Pacific to the Atlantic, covering the "second happy time" and the early stages of the war against the U-boats.

I got a surprise on the first page of this chapter. I had not previously heard about the Chicago Tirbune publishing the leaked warplans on December 5th, and it makes Hitler's decision to declare war on the US, previously extremely high on my "what were they thinking" list for WWII, make at least a bit more sense.

Beyond that, this is the first chapter that was really what I was hoping this book would be, a condensation of the best bits of The Battle of the Atlantic, with Morison's superb prose and ability to sample the entire picture really coming to the fore. Everything from a beautifully evocative picture of a convoy under attack to the German campaign against American coastal shipping to a discussion of the operations research teams that I love so much to a paragraph on the Civil Air Patrol, which has long been one of my markers for how much Morison covers in the main books. Yes, there's a bit of halo-polishing on King, and I think he's unfair to criticize the lack of units in the Eastern Sea Frontier, which was stripped because there simply weren't enough destroyers to go around. But on the whole, it's an excellent, lovely description of the early battle with the U-boats.

One thing that isn't mentioned in this chapter, and that I should talk about, is ULTRA. For those who don't know, ULTRA was the codename for British efforts to decrypt the German Enigma machine, and it played a significant part in the Battle of the Atlantic. However, it remained classified until 1974, a decade after this book was written. Morison was aware of it, having been cleared for it in 1956, but obviously couldn't include it here. This oversight has since been rectified, and if anything, ULTRA is probably overdiscussed relative to its contribution to the war. All that said, this chapter would have been largely unaffected. The German Navy introduced a new, more sophisticated Enigma in February 1942, and it wasn't broken by the British until December. They were able to struggle on with direction-finding data and the work of the OIC, which comes up late in the chapter. Here, I'm pretty sure that when Morison talks about HF/DF, he actually means it, but in later chapters, it's often a code for ULTRA.

Relevant Naval Gazing Posts:

• ASW in WWII - Forces
• ASW in WWII - Sensors
• ASW in WWII - Weapons
• Liberty Ships

One of the great and generally unsung wonders of the modern world is the array of submarine cables that knit together continents, carrying everything from news and fiscal transactions to this very text. Up until 170 years ago, messages between America and Europe moved at the speed of ships. For centuries this hadn't been different from anywhere else. Messages had always moved only at the speed of people carrying them, with only very limited exceptions. Signal fires and flags could be used to convey a message if the recipient could see the sender, but these messages tended to be simple and with extremely rare exceptions couldn't go over the horizon.² It wasn't until 1792 that the first large-scale system for moving messages faster than a horse was created, when the Revolutionary French government built a system of towers with arms on top that could pass complex messages across France in hours rather than days. Similar systems were built in other countries, but building and maintaining a tower every 5-10 miles was expensive, it only worked in daylight and the need to repeat the message so frequently made it somewhat prone to error.

A French optical telegraph

The discovery of electricity, and the realization that it moved through wires far faster than anyone could measure, quickly sparked interest in using it to send signals. A number of different efforts were made, although most were hindered by attempts to send each letter separately and unambiguously, which in turn meant lots of wires and complex machinery. The first commercial electric telegraph was of this type, but it was an American painter, Samuel Morse, who finally devised a truly practical system. Morse's great innovation was less in what he did than what he didn't do. Instead of multiple wires and complicated equipment, he used a single wire³ and a manually-operated "key" to start and stop the flow of current, relying on a trained operator and a code he had devised to send and receive messages.⁴ Read more...