The Lost Battalion

It was in the mid-1840’s when Thomas Brennan stepped off the ship that brought him and his wife from Ireland to Ellis Island. They, like several hundred other Irishman, fled their homeland to start a new life in America

Several million people in Ireland died while the disease ruined the potato crops which were a main staple of their diets. Ireland was starving and its people were dying.

Their only hope was America, the land of opportunity that promised so much.

Most of the Irish population that arrived in American, arrived with only the clothes on their backs. They had no money and nowhere to live.

Directed to do so, they searched for and found a few Irish communities that welcomed them, often offering them shelter in extremely small spaces; commonly two or three families were cramped into a two-room apartment. It wasn’t easy but they were still grateful for what they had.

For whatever reason, the Irish people were hated and shunned yet were persistent. They took whatever jobs were made available to them, which weren’t many. Businesses took advantage of them, giving them the most dangerous and/or lowest paying jobs they had which were eagerly accepted by the Irish. To them, it was a way up, a new beginning.

With their living condition, they found they were able to help each other. Several were lucky enough to set aside a few extra dollars and move into a better neighborhood. While they moved in, with the hatred still rampant, other families moved out giving other Irish families the opportunity to move into better neighborhoods. It was a vicious cycle that remained for many years yet gave the Irish population room to spread and grow.

While it took several years to overcome those hardships and prejudices, that was the beginning of a better life for many.

Thomas’ family grew and as teens became young adults, they accepted many jobs to help support the family. Yet, Thomas gave his sons one requirement, “Serve your country.” He meant serve your 'new' country - the one that gave us a new beginning.

As the boys came of age, they enlisted in the various branches of the United States military. That started a Brennan tradition.

The young men married and as their children grew, they also served in the American military.

James served in the Civil War, Harold, WWI, Thomas (who was killed in action) and James Jr, in WWII, and Richard in the Korean War. There were many other sons in the Brennan Family who served but this is about Harold, my father-in-law.

As I said previously, Harold served in World War 1 as a Private in the 308th Infantry. Yes, like his siblings and relatives before him, enlisted. He was proud to serve. However, his nightmare was about to begin.

He and his battalion of about 600 men fought bravely following the orders given to their leader, Major Charles Whittlesey. They carried two forms of communication: radio and pigeons. They were headed to the Argonne Forest to push the German army back and regain control for France. They were flanked by the French soldiers on one side and the English on the other – or so they thought.

The Argonne battle ensued on October 2, 1918.

The Germans thought the Americans would never fight for something that didn’t belong to them and pushed on. The Germans fought hard; our American troops fought harder. The Germans sent their best snipers. They weren’t good enough as so many Americans were able to elude them. Then they were gassed. While hundreds of American troops died, others forged on. The Germans sent in their “storm troopers” with flame throwers to either discourage or kill the American soldiers.

The Americans persisted.

One thing you need to remember here is that our American troops consisted of foreign-born men who emigrated to America, swore the oath of citizenship, and proudly volunteered to serve their new country. As one soldier uttered: “We’re mutts! But proud mutts!”

Harold was not born in another country but nonetheless, he was proud to serve.

The American troops suffered horrific confrontations with the enemy. They were also hungry, thirsty, and were running out of ammunition. The stench of rotting bodies permeated the air.

They radioed their command post but received no answer. They tried again. Same result. A scout was sent out only to find the radioman KIA, the lines cut, and the radio box destroyed. They soon realized – they were alone – alone in a foreign land with the enemy surrounding them.

They had one hope left. Cher Ami! A baby pigeon with truly little experience in “homing travel,” but they had to try.

After attaching a brief message to her leg, they kissed her beak and let her fly. They watched as the bullets from the German rifles soared in the air strategically aiming at the little bird. Finally, they lost sight of her. Some of the solders prayed while others began to lose hope.

Major Whittlesey took a headcount. About 194 soldiers were still standing. The others were either killed, captured, or missing. He took inventory of the remaining weapons. Approximately fourteen rifles were in working order, but they only had about six bullets left.

As Major Whittlesey was about the sit down with his men and report his findings, when he realized everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Was the enemy approaching so quietly they went undetected?

From which direction was the enemy coming?

Were they still surrounded?

Suddenly, the major heard what sounded like vehicles. Vehicles? The Germans wouldn’t approach with trucks and or tanks, would they?

Then he heard his name. “Major! Major Whittlesey!”

The voice was American.

The Major stood and saw his commanding officer, General Alexander heading towards them with other men, jeeps, and a transport truck.

The battle for the forest was over. The Germans, underestimating the Americans, retreated.

Let’s now fast-forward a few years.

Harold was a survivor. I know this because he was my husband’s father. If he had not survived, my husband, like his siblings, would not be here.

Yes, Harold made it home. But not without emotional, mental, and physical scars. He suffered from nightmares, Often, he’d sit at the dinner table and stare. The doctors attributed the condition of spending eight days in the company of the dead and rotting bodies and all the bacteria they emitted to PTSD, formally known as "shell shock".

Trying for a normal life, Harold married his fiancé in 1819 and soon welcomed their first child, Harold Jr. Not long after, his health began to wane. He coughed, wheezed, and often struggled for breath. He was diagnosed with tuberculosis. He was sent to a facility for six months for treatment. Home again, he was ordered not to dine or interact with his wife and son. Close contact was forbidden for another six months. His dishes were not allowed to be washed with those the family used. His clothes had to be washed separately. Once the doctors felt he was regaining his health, his normal activities resumed, but so did the nightmares.

Even with all this going on his is life, he still insisted that his sons enlist in some form of military. Harold had six sons, some of whom joined the Navy, a few, the Marines, and a few the Army.

For six days, he had no idea if he would live or die in the heavily vegetated forest in France. He sat, slept, ate, and breathed in the damp cold atmosphere with dead bodies strewn around him. And yet, he still insisted that his sons serve the country that he loved.

While every one of his sons came home unscathed, one was MIA for almost three months and to the joy and enthusiasm of his family was found unwounded and returned to his battalion with the others who had gotten lost as well.

The Brennan Tradition stopped there. Yes, a few of Harold’s grandsons joined the military, but not all. Some went to college; others joined the workforce and immediately started their families.

Whatever courses their lives had taken, not one will ever forget the horrors that Harold encountered while being part of the Lost Battalion.

While I never met Harold, he passed away due to a massive heart attack before I met my husband, I will always admire the bravery he and his fellow soldiers demonstrated in France.

Truly, they are all heroes.