I had been around our sun almost fifty times when 2023 rolled around. To celebrate this milestone, I wanted to head off to the southeast corner of the Caribbean to a little island called Barbados. Thoughts of surfing, offshore fishing and relaxing with my wife and kids sat in my mind while contemplating five decades on this planet but there was a problem. Barbados is closer to Venezuela than it is to Texas. Flights to the island are rare, expensive and packed full of multiple stops. Long story short, my dreams of chilling out on the beach while I celebrated the “big five-Oh” were dashed. With that target out of range, I shifted my position to a new target where I would be able to visit a sacred place in Marine Corps history; Europe.
I was no stranger to Europe; I had been across the pond a few times to the continent my forefathers’ escaped generations before. Truth be told, Europe is a beautiful place to visit, rich in history and culture. My wife and I brought our kids so that they could experience places like France, England and my favorite European country, Switzerland.
For those that haven’t been to Switzerland, I highly recommend it. It’s extremely beautiful, filled with gorgeous scenery, affable locals, good food and great beer. One of my primary concerns traveling to Europe was safety. This wasn’t an issue in Switzerland. Unlike many other European countries, Switzerland doesn’t put up with nonsense. The streets are safe, regardless of the time of day. We didn’t see any vagrants or refugees; no one was begging for money or a handout. As a bonus, Switzerland is home to Alaia Bay, a world class wave pool situated in a valley near Sion, flanked by majestic snowcapped mountains.
We spent a few days in Sion where one of my birthday gifts was a few surf sessions at Alaia Bay. My two sons joined me while my wife and daughter went shopping and explored the town. How many people can say they’ve surfed in Switzerland? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I took full advantage of it. After a few joyous days in Switzerland, we jumped on a train and headed to France where the next four days would be filled with copious amounts of gratitude, pride, and melancholy.
We spent the next few nights in Bayeux, a small little town in Normandy. If you’re an American, I highly recommend taking the time to see this historical area where the allied invasion of Europe occurred in 1944. This is sacred ground. Thousands of men died along these beaches and in the hedgerows trying to push the Germans out. It was important to my wife and I that our kids see the American cemetery with its almost incomprehensible number of white crosses and the occasional Star of David. Young American men, as well as their allies, fought on this land and died trying to rid this continent of the scourge of national socialism. If there was one thing I wanted my children to see while in Europe, it was this sacrifice endured by young men and their families so that we may live free.
Finally, the day had arrived for the one excursion I was truly looking forward to. We threw our bags in the little rental car, said goodbye to Normandy and headed east. About an hour-and-a-half outside of Paris and four hours east of Normandy, was a tiny spec of land in the middle of picturesque rolling farmland and tree covered hills called Belleau. To the United States Marine Corps, it is known only as Belleau Wood.
In the spring of 1918, the Germans were rushing to overwhelm the British and French before the Americans could pour hundreds of thousands of fresh troops into the fight in what is known as Kaiserschlacht or the Ludendorff Offensive. Lenin, the revolutionary Marxist leader of Russia, had recently signed a peace accord with Germany after the Bolsheviks had overthrown the Czar. This treaty freed up five German divisions that were to be used to beat the Frogs and the Brits before the Yanks could intercede. By the end of May 1918, the German army had pushed the Brits and French back 40 kilometers through at least five lines of defense using the sturmtaktik, a new doctrine “emphasizing close support by artillery, rapid movement, and fluid attacks that bypassed centers of resistance,” according to First to Fight: The U.S. Marines In World War I.
In early June, the 4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade, consisting of the 5th and 6th Marine Regiments, as part of the American Expeditionary Force, took up positions southwest of Belleau and the town of Torchey-en-Valios. The Germans were moving south and had to be stopped. They were on the verge of taking Paris. This was where the marines and soldiers, from the 2nd Infantry Division, would make a stand.
As the marines were digging in, French soldiers poured through their lines in full retreat. They warned the Americans that the boche, ally slang for German soldiers meaning cabbage head, were coming. A French Colonel urged the marines to pullback or face death. It was around this time when Capt. Lloyd Williams, a company commander with 2nd Battalion 5th Marines, made the famous statement “Retreat, hell! We just got here!”
The men could hear artillery fire as the French rear guard tried to hold the boche off. When the Germans attacked, the marines held their ground and didn’t give an inch. The Marine Corps’ emphasis on marksmanship opposed to massed fires proved effective. German troops were getting killed by extremely accurate rifle fire as the marines engaged with their Model 1903 Springfield bolt-action rifles. The boche were getting hit as far off as 800 yards with old military iron sights. Finally, the Germans ran into a brick wall and that brick wall was the United States Marine Corps. They would get no closer to Paris until the second world war. Licking their wounds, the Germans retreated into the tree covered hills of Belleau but they were far from finished.
Throughout most of June 1918, the marines from the 4th MEB and soldiers from the 2nd Infantry Division, battled the Germans in and around what is now known as Belleau Wood. The marines had initially been forced to attack across open ground in large scale assaults without supporting artillery fire. Marine riflemen and machine gunners were unable to suppress German positions. As a result, the Marine Corps initially suffered horrific casualties. During the first day of fighting, around the beginning of June, the Marine Corps had suffered more marines killed in action than in the entire history of the Marine Corps up to that point.
For three weeks, the men of the 5th and 6th Marine Regiments fought for every square inch of those sacred woods. The marines were relentless in their attacks, overcoming position after position, pushing the boche back further and further. Fighting would eventually become hand to hand combat with bayonets and trench knives as the marines dislodged the Germans that were dug in like ticks on a dog. Out of the 9,500 US Marines that fought in Belleau Wood, over a 1,000 were killed in action and another 4,000 were wounded. The French government would eventually rename the battle ground Bois de la Brigade de Marine in honor of the sacrifices made by the Marine Corps. The members of the 5th and 6th Marine Regiments were also awarded the French Fourragere which active members wear to this day. I know this because in the early 90s, I was a rifleman with Lima Company, 3rd Battalion 5th Marine Regiment.
One hundred and five years later, my family and I made our way to Belleau Wood situated in the beautiful rolling farmland of France. The trenches, artillery positions, and machinegun nests are no longer there. What stands in their place is the solemn Aisne-Marne American Cemetery and Memorial located just south of the small village of Belleau. On that day in 2023, we walked through the memorial’s gate. The large white Chapel sits at the base of the oak covered hill surrounded by white crosses from the fallen American marines and soldiers. Unbeknownst to me, as I planned this excursion, a ceremony marking the 105th anniversary of the battle was taking place. French soldiers and US Marines in their dress uniforms stood in formation as various battle hymns and songs were played by marine and French bands. Officers and dignitaries made speeches to commemorate the battle.
Since the ceremony had already started, we walked slowly towards the pomp and circumstance feeling inadequate with our shorts and flip-flops. The warm sun stood high in the spring sky; a cool breeze swept across the formations of US Marines and French soldiers. My family and I just stood quiet and aloof trying not to draw attention to ourselves. As the Marine’s Hymn played, I stood at attention, something I had not done since I left the Marine Corps in 2008. Under my breath, I sang that song to myself, ashamed that I had forgotten a couple verses. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about the “gun club” called the Marine Corps and the sacrifices the men of the 5th and 6th Marine Regiments made so that Europeans could be free from tyranny.
Once the ceremony had ended, we watched the Marines march out of the memorial. Sharp and in perfect step, the marines glided by, proud and stoic. Finally, we were able to walk around the memorial and gaze upon the endless white crosses. I made small talk with a marine Colonel wearing his dress blue uniform. He suggested that I make my way into the woods past the white Chapel. There, in Belleau Wood, were old trenches, craters created by artillery barrages and another memorial. However, he warned, the gates might be locked. If it was, he suggested I simply negotiate the obstacle. I didn’t travel thousands of miles to this sacred battle field to be locked out by a 5-foot-high government fence.
My two sons and I, Jesse and Grant, broke away from my wife and daughter for our own little mission. Past the white chapel, we climbed a stone path deep into the woods. The atmosphere was thick, not from humidity or heat, but from the reality of what occurred here over one-hundred years ago. A thousand marines would never leave these woods. Their blood and sweat are now part of this land as are an unknown number of German soldiers.
About fifty meters past the end of the stone trail stood the old hunting lodge. This octagonal shaped building was originally part of the hunting preserve owned by local lords before the war. During the battle, it had changed ownership numerous times as the marines and Germans slugged it out.
Both sides used the structure for observation as well as a headquarters. It would eventually be damaged by a 155mm artillery round later in the battle. Then, around the 26th of June, the marines pushed the Germans away from the lodge for good during some extremely brutal hand-to-hand fighting.
The boys and I walked around this building quietly. The well-manicured grass, green full trees and birds chirping belied the reality of long ago. I tried to image the events that took place over a hundred years prior. Needless to say, it wasn’t easy. Combat during “The Great War”, as it was called then, was vicious and at times within very close range. This was the scene of an assault where marines stormed through the woods and killed, captured or ran off the Kaiser’s men, then the Germans would push them back until finally the marines held on for good. The area had been shelled by both sides; the trees were shredded. According to the American Battle Monuments Commission, some of the oaks, called Veterans, still stand.
Breaking away from the Hunting Lodge, we walked deeper into the woods. Just as the marine Colonel had warned, the gate was locked and secured. Past the gate, about a hundred meters, I could see the back side of the Marine Corps monument and an assortment of old artillery pieces. We looked around the area sheepishly. Ten seconds later, I was over the fence helping Jesse and Grant scale the obstacle. My two sons looked at me slightly confused. Grant, my 10-year-old son, looked at me and asked, “are we allowed to do this?” I bent down and smiled trying to reassure him, “it will be ok son, I didn’t come all this way to be turned back by a gate.” They looked at each other and smiled knowing that there was a lot more to their father than they knew.
As we walked towards the monument, the old trench line and artillery craters drew our attention. A hundred and five years ago, this place was hell on earth for both the Americans and Germans. My imagination, based on the knowledge I had of this battle, brought me images of marines rushing under machinegun and artillery fire as they jumped into German fighting positions. The explosions and death, peppered with screams in English and German, must have been deafening and disorienting but the men kept coming. The nature and culture of the Marine Corps – the esprit de corps – proved to be their center of gravity. These weren’t special forces or “operators” but US Marines that had proven time and time again that they could overcome almost any obstacle, defeat any foe so as not to diminish their corps.
Finally, we arrived at the center piece to this shade covered battlefield. The Iron Mike memorial of the United States Marine Corps read “in recognition of the courageous action of the 4th United States Marine Brigade in the seizure of this wood in the face of determined German resistance.” The depiction of a rough shirtless marine with rifle and bayonet in attack mode stood as the center piece to this tribute. The same artist that created the Marine Corps Memorial in Washington DC, Felix Weihs de Weldon, sculpted this effigy in 1955. Not wanting to ruffle any French feathers, we paid our respects to this monument and made our way back to my wife and daughter at the memorial chapel.
Thoughts of what this sacred ground means to the Marine Corps weighed heavily on me. This battle is a corner stone to Marine Corps pride and tradition. It’s part of a long line of famous battles, paid in blood and death, such as Iwo Jima, Guadalcanal, Chosin Reservoir, Hue City, Khe Sanh, and Fallujah just to name a few. The nickname “Devil Dog” or “Teufelhunden” arose after the battle. In Marine Corps lore, this name was given to the marines by the Germans because of their ferocity in combat. While specific details are few, the moniker has embedded itself in the everyday life of marines.
Back at the Chapel, the family and I entered through the large majestic doors. Like thousands of other churches, this chapel was beautiful with a solemn edge to it. We talked in hushed whispers while gazing upon the names etched into the marble walls. Names like Private John F. Blalock from the 5th Marine Regiment and Guy McCarty from the 16th Infantry Regiment adorn the large vertical walls. These men died in France, never to return or see their families again. Their short lives snuffed out during brutal combat in 1918. We remember and say their names so that these men do not vanish from existence but live on through the memorial because of their sacrifice and service to the country and corps.
While I reflected on the fifty years I’ve spent on earth, this trip to Belleau Wood revigorated me. Instead of focusing on what I’ve lost, such as youth and time, it pushed me to focus on what’s truly important in my life like family and goals. Standing on the grounds of the Belleau Wood memorial, I told myself that life wasn’t over at fifty. While my youth has faded, I knew I wasn’t done doing everything I could and experiencing all that life has to offer. I was to continue challenging myself both physically and mentally in ways that these men were unable to do after falling in combat. I will not fall victim to reliving days gone by at the expense of the future. My family, and our lives together, are too important and mean too much to me. Men like marine Private John Blalock were never able to live out their dreams, get married or have a family. He died in battle. I owe it to myself, my wife and kids, as well as to the men that fell on Belleau Wood to be the best man I can.
As my family and I left Belleau Wood, I hoped that my kids would understand what had really happened here all those years ago. Truth be told, there isn’t anyone alive that can truly understand what Belleau Wood was and is, not anymore.
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Jason Angell is a former Marine Corps Captain with over ten years of active service, both as an enlisted marine and commissioned officer. Jason participated in three combat deployments to Iraq to include the initial 2003 invasion. During these deployments, he fought in the Rumaila Oil fields, Baghdad, Ramadi and Al Hit. He has a bachelor’s degree from California State University, Fullerton and a master’s degree from the University of Houston-Downtown. Jason is the author of the book Running Towards Gunfire: Courage and Brotherhood in Ramadi, which is due to be published in August 2024.
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