The Pound: Devil Dog's War in Nicaragua

By LtCol David B. Brown

Despite the unpopularity of the war in Nicaragua, the Marines experience a wide variety of activities and learn many lessons in a small wars environment, which will serve them well into the next century. Fighting insurgents, forming a host-nation's police force and army, ensuring safe elections, providing medical assistance for the rural population, building roads, constructing airfields, and organizing earthquake disaster relief will occupy the years from 1928 to 1933 for the Devil Dogs. If you ever hear a Marine say, "This is a lousy war, but it's the only one we have," you'll understand the mentality of the men in The Pound: Devil Dogs' War in Nicaragua.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684562695

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mule Train Ambush

Midway Between Yalí and Condega, Nicaragua

February 27, 1928, 1:30 p.m.

A shot rang out in the jungle air. Followed rapidly by multiple rounds, the first bullets missed First Lieutenant Ed O’Day’s campaign hat by inches. They struck his jefe mulero’s right shoulder and the head of the mule the jefe was riding almost simultaneously. As the mule and mule handler fell, the six small hills on the right side of the trail exploded from hundreds of rifles firing. Meanwhile dynamite bombs, thrown harmlessly from the closest hill seventy-five yards away, landed far short of their intended targets, kicked up mounds of stones and dirt.

Under attack, the packtrain’s ninety-five mules, twenty-two muleros, and thirty-five mounted Marines—their lines staggered below the other hills about 200 yards away—remained in clear view of their attackers above them. At least 300 bandits, tense after waiting with great anticipation for a day such as this, pummeled the convoy with machine guns and rifles. The instant slaughter and wounding of men and animals would have devastated others. The ambushed Marines reacted as they were trained.

Pack mules that could sprint away from the thunderous noise scattered in multiple directions. Mounted and unmounted muleros grabbed the reins of the panicked mules and ran, dragging them behind the three small hills on the left, or southwestern, side of the trail. Those men and animals were not fired at directly. The bandits targeted only the Marines. A few Marines instantly returned fire from their positions on the trail and then joined the others in seeking firing positions just to the rear of the ridgeline that ran along the top of three hills.

O’Day’s second in command, Gunnery Sergeant Henry Howard, was under fire at the column’s rear, as O’Day was up front. Even after the column closed up, the two leaders were separated by at least 200 yards. O’Day glanced over to the hills across the trail, desperately trying to access the situation. As he did, he saw the bodies of two Marines and twenty-plus dead or wounded animals. One wounded mule raised her head, attempting to get up, when a round fired from the hill to O’Day’s right—occupied by about eight Marines—hit the mare, snapping her head forward onto the dirt. O’Day estimated that the bandits outnumbered his Marines twenty to one. He moved left to the center hill and saw that Gunnery Sergeant Howard was attempting to move from behind to O’Day’s position.

Connelly! Connelly! Gol damn, Doc, where are you? shouted Corporal Felix Hertz in a voice mostly masked by the gunfire and exploding dynamite bombs. The newly joined Hertz was attempting to stop the blood gushing from the back of a young private from Newark, Ohio. Again, in desperation, he yelled, Somebody pass the word for Doc Connelly to get his ass over here.

The sun-filled, blue-sky day reached a comfortable temperature in the upper sixties by 2:20 p.m. The day seemed perfect for the march through the mountains of Nueva Segovia. The packtrain left Yalí, where the it provided supplies for the fifty Marines of the outpost, bypassed the normal route through Darailí, and was now, halfway to the village of Condega, seven miles to the northwest to resupply the 2nd Battalion 11th Regiment’s headquarters. Seems like a pleasant and logical shortcut. Except now, the column was in a fight for its life.

Northern Territory, Nicaragua -Staff Sergeant Adel Abudayeh, USMC (Ret.)

Gunnery Sergeant Howard was nearly fifty yards from O’Day, the six-foot-tall, strikingly lean lieutenant from Manchester, New Hampshire. It was O’Day’s first combat experience. The supply lieutenant looked pale, stunned by the ongoing attack. Howard, an infantry leader from the 5th Marines, had been in-country since the previous January, thirteen months earlier. He was transferred to assist the packtrain leader with combat-related matters. This attack clearly qualified as a combat-related matter.

That morning before they left Yalí, the outpost commander, First Lieutenant William Melton, confided to Howard his concern about his friend and World War battle mate. O’Day is a great officer—one of the best. We served together in the 6th Machine Gun Battalion. So stay sharp, Hank, because you have no machine guns with you.

Now approaching O’Day, Howard declared, Man, sir, if these bastards ever went to a rifle range, we’d all be dead.

Gunny, what do you think? O’Day asked nervously.

Raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the weapons, Howard bellowed, I have the men concentrating their fire on the two machine guns to the right over there. I need to get to the hill you just came from and have those men focus on the two guns forward. We’ll just ignore the rifles and dynamite bombs for the moment. I’ll be back in a jiffy.

Howard disappeared down the line of Marines returning fire with their M1903 Springfield rifles, relaying his orders as he moved. The sound of constant gunfire and dynamite concussions echoed across the terrain, deafening the men trapped in place by the enemy barrage. By 2:30 p.m., the incessant fire slowed. The intense firefight had been waged nonstop for over an hour.

Here they come! shouted Howard, back again on the center hill.

A hundred or so bandits advanced in a line of skirmishes across the trail. Passing the dead animals and two dead Marines, they reached the bottom of the three hills, precisely where the twenty-five highly trained and heavily armed Marines opened up. Until that point, the bandits had impressed Howard with their bravado. However, once fired on, they retreated, taking anything easy to grab off the dead animals. By 3:00 p.m. they had disappeared from sight.

At 6:30, as night crept in and daylight faded, a second assault was launched. This time the bandits effectively used a machine gun to provide cover. Nevertheless, at the foot of the three hills, the Marines fired as they did earlier, and the bandits retreated.

Darkness engulfed the combatants. Two bandits filled the air with slurs and insults in broken English directed at the Marines during firing lulls.

Having survived five and a half hours under fire, O’Day was a far more confident officer than he’d been during the first hour of the ambush.

Hey, Gunny, what’s most likely to happen now? he asked.

Hell if I know, Lieutenant, Howard confessed. Could be anything. At Ocotal, they attacked a couple of times in the night. Up there, most of the bandits only had machetes. These bastards all have two or three rifles.

The lull in the firing brought an eerie stillness. For the bandit leader, it was time to compliment the patriotic revolutionaries. His youthful tenor voice filled the air. Complimenta todos soldados por buen trabajo.

Cheers erupted up and down the bandits’ front lines. These were followed by bombs erupting outside their lines. Immediately, an echoed chant evoked even louder cheers. ¡Viva Sandino! ¡Viva Sandino! ¡Viva Sandino!

In the bandits’ minds, the conquest of the Marine column was mostly achieved. A smaller group of bandits could finish them off in the morning. Comprised of men from several villages, some of the bandit force could be released. The bandit leader began to dismiss the no-longer-needed portions of his force, beginning with the men from the village of La Concordia. His tenor voice took over once again. Bueno Concordia.

Cheers could be heard from a portion of the line as men began leaving on mules. Ten minutes later, shouts of Adios Condega and Adios Jinotega were heard as the second and third detachments were excused from the battle arena.

Soon sporadic firing began once again.

Route 3, Four Miles West of Darailí

February 27, 1928, 10:30 p.m.

Sir! a young private called out to Captain Bill MacNulty, commanding officer of the 57th Company. MacNulty’s boss, 2/11’s commanding officer, Major Harold Pierce, was complying with Brigadier General Feland’s new guidance by secretly deploying large patrols at night, establishing ambushes by dawn, and attacking any enemy in front of the ambushes during the day. For that reason, MacNulty and the 57th had departed Condega at 5:34 p.m. and were en route to Yalí by way of Darailí.

Sir, the breathless private repeated, I have Corporal Provost here from our intel section. He escaped from a huge ambush. The bandits caught the packtrain flat-footed. They were on the trail between Yalí and Condega. He said a couple of Marines were killed and about ten were wounded.

MacNulty dismounted, took one look at the exhausted corporal, and called for his pharmacist mate. Then he called Second Lieutenant Chappell and Marine Gunner Alien to his position, while formulating a plan of action.

Soon the company’s lead element arrived at Darailí and met with local citizens. Among them, Señor Gonzales verified that he heard a lot of gunfire from 1:30 in the afternoon until 8:30 that evening. He pointed in the direction of the gunfire and said it was just west of the village of El Bromaderos. Other than that, Gonzales hadn’t seen or heard anything.

At 12:45 a.m., MacNulty again called his leaders together, briefed them, and soon afterwards began moving along a trail toward the battle scene under a bright, full moon..

At 2:15 a.m., the 57th neared the southern side of the ambush site. MacNulty held the company. A few native calls could be heard. Slowly, he led the company to within 500 yards of the ambush site. Moonlight revealed the killing field. There, quite visibly, lay the dead animals, one Marine campaign hat, and a sketching board and map case.

Hey, Gunner, MacNulty whispered loud enough for Alien to hear him. See those two mules running toward a hill over there?

I do.

I’m sure the one in the back is loaded with ammo. Can you get it?

Can do easy, sir. Alien responded.

Within forty seconds, the gunner fired his rifle and the mule fell at the base of the hill.

Immediately a deep baritone voice came from the bush at the right of the trail. Who’s there?

Captain MacNulty with the Fifty-Seventh.

Out of the clearing came the lanky and rather worn First Lieutenant Ed O’Day.

Jesus, Ed. You look like shit, MacNulty said.

O’Day briefed MacNulty about the enemy on the hills in front of them and his own men scattered on the three hills just across the wide trail.

MacNulty moved a few yards away from the other officers and stared at the hill in front of him for a moment. Then he signaled Chappell, Alien, and O’Day to join him.

Here’s my plan. As Ed said, the enemy is on six hills to our front. We are going to attack on line, taking one hill at a time without stopping until we reached the sixth hill. We’ll take this first hill then swing right and begin taking the others one at a time. Chappy, your platoon will be on the left flank. Ed, he said, surprising the supply officer that he would be included in the attack, I’m going to give you a platoon, and you will be on the right flank. I will be in the center to control the attack.

McNulty looked around to ensure that the lieutenants comprehended their mission. Then he looked at the gunner and said, Al, have your guns lay down a base of fire so the bandits can’t disrupt our movement. Once we take a hill, we’ll hold until you’re able to join us and lay the base of fire for our next objective.

Scanning his leaders once again, MacNulty said, All right, we’ll kick this thing off in a couple of hours—at 0645—just when the sun is coming up. Be at the line of departure at that time. Any questions?

The men voiced no questions, their grim calm his only answer. Each man readied himself for the surprise attack they would stage at sunrise.

At precisely 6:45, the blast from Gunner Alien’s machine gun pierced the silence emanating from the southern firing position. Rebel yells from the charging 57th Marines followed, causing Alien and his assistant gunner to pack up their gun and follow the platoons. The surprised enemy scattered from the hill, leaving behind their dead and wounded.

As the Marines formed for a second assault, Alien and his assistant gunner arrived at the hill’s crest, assumed a prone position, and began laying down a base of fire on the next hill. Progressively, the hills became slightly higher with less bandit resistance. Finally, by 8:20 a.m., after a bit over an hour and a half later, there was no more bandit activity.

One severely wounded Marine died in Doc Connelly’s arms during the night. The two who died during the initial ambush had been dragged from the trail by the bandits, their heads split wide open by large bolo knives. All three men were given a field burial near Bromaderos.

Improvised stretchers made from mule lead ropes, branches, and anything the men could find helped the Marines load up their wounded. The 57th Company and the remnants of the packtrain, including eight injured Marines and one hurt mulero, departed Bromaderos at 1:00 p.m., almost twenty-four hours after the ambush. By the time they arrived at Darailí to meet the waiting battalion commander, a fourth Marine had died.

MacNulty reported to Major Pierce that his assault resulted in heavy losses to the enemy: ten dead and thirty wounded. At least seven of their mules perished in the battle.

Darailí

February 29, 1928, 8:00 a.m.

Having been up and fighting for a day and a half, First Lieutenant Ed O’Day had crashed near the road beside his men at 7:30 p.m. and did not move for twelve hours. Now awake and up, he looked just about like his men, disheveled and in definite need of a shave. The coffee MacNulty gave him worked, and he seemed to realize that both he and his men, vastly outnumbered, had fared quite well against a superior force the day before.

Thank God for the 57th and for Corporal James Provost, he said to himself. He needed to write his report of the ambush as well as combat citations for Provost, Gunnery Sergeant Howard and a few others. He set out to do that as soon as he cleaned up. Minutes later he heard others arrive on horseback from the south and MacNulty talking. Then he heard someone say, Where’s O’Day?. He looked up to as someone approached.

I heard you look like shit. First Lieutenant Bill Melton, the officer in charge of the Yalí detachment, greeted O’Day with a big smile on his face.

I’ve been told that before, Bill, O’Day responded with a cynical twist of his lips and a twinkle in his eye, embracing his Basic Course buddy.

And you smell even worse, Melton added, staring into O’Day’s somewhat swollen eyes. Melton was an enlisted machine gunner with the 5th Regiment during the assault on Belleau Woods in France ten years earlier. There, he was wounded and discharged a year later. He returned to his home state to study at the Oklahoma Agriculture and Mining College. In his senior year, Melton realized he held no desires to be a farmer or rancher and yearned to return to the Corps. By 1924, he’d reenlisted. He was selected to receive a commission and attended the same Basic Course with Ed O’Day in 1925.

O’Day said, I should have taken you up on your offer to send an escort with us. I believe they would have smelled the ambush. We were caught flat-footed.

Next time you come through, we’ll definitely send a point guard with you.

Thanks, Bill. By the way, let me know when you’re coming to Managua. There’s going to be a new Marine Corps bar there next month. I’ll buy you a beer.

A Marine Corps bar? John Lejeune definitely remains my favorite commandant.

Nah, he has nothing to do with it. One of Top Billingsworth’s aviation mechs—a kid by the name of Wilson—got out, came back, and is setting the whole thing up. ‘Gonna call it Tun Tavern South or something like that. Anyhow let me know when you are coming to town, and I’ll roll out the red carpet.

Chapter 2

Bad Press

Commandant’s Office, Headquarters Marine Corps, Washington, D.C.

March 1, 1928 9:15 a.m.

General Lejeune, said Harriet Jenkins. Major McClellan from the publicity office is here to see you, sir. Do you want me to stay and take notes? Jenkins, an attractive 45-year-old from Alexandria, Virginia, had been ‘Lejeune’s personal secretary since he became commandant on July 12, 1920.

No thank you, Mrs. Jenkins. Not for this meeting, responded Major General Commandant John Archer Lejeune. We need a bit of privacy.

Jenkins opened the door wider, allowing Major Edwin McClellan to enter. Once he was inside, she closed the door. McClellan’s tall thin frame, coupled with his youthful face sporting wire-rimmed glasses, made him look like he’d just stepped off Princeton University’s campus. That appearance contrasted noticeably with the lightly etched lines on the face of the seasoned and stately warrior before him. Lejeune, arguably the father of the Marine Corps emerging from the Great War, had transformed the Corps from its ship-borne roots to an expeditious warfare organization ready to deploy the world’s only proven air-ground forces when needed.

May I offer you some coffee, Ed? Lejeune asked.

No thank you, sir.

The commandant was a thinking man, eager to anticipate future events to ensure that his Marine Corps would emerge on top, regardless of the challenge. Posted on the tripod briefing board beside his nearly empty desk were six editorial cartoons depicting Marine planes in Nicaragua, slaughtering civilians.

"Ed, what’s all this bad press about? Is it possible, with the economy reaching higher levels than ever, that the press has nothing else to complain about? Heavens, Ocotal was six months ago. In the month of January alone, between the St. Louis Post Dispatch, the Daily Worker, the Detroit News, and the Nation, there were twelve cartoons maligning the Corps in Nicaragua. It’s not so much Marines in particular, it’s our air power."

I am well aware of this, sir, McClellan said.

Did you get briefed on the supply train ambush that took place on the twenty-seventh?

I did, sir.

When the press gets ahold of that, they’ll report that we’re wholly inept on the ground as well as civilian-killers in the air. I know General Feland is doing a superb job in Nicaragua. He’s working closely with the people and the government … I use the term ‘government’ loosely, Lejeune said, a small smile appearing on his face.

McClellan smiled in agreement.

And he is stepping up working with the people, Lejeune added. The patrolling up north seems to be breaking up Sandino’s forces. Certainly they are confined to the northern departments. But with all the bad press and little good press, we’re not winning on the home front. You know, Ed, this bad press is eventually going to affect our budget, our recruiting, and our retention.

Yes, sir. If the general wouldn’t mind, I’d like to develop a recommendation to address this issue so that we come out on top instead of being the pawns of the print media.

Thanks, Ed. How about getting back with me in a couple of weeks.

Chapter 3

Marine Mission In Nicaragua

2nd Brigade Briefing Room, Managua, Nicaragua

March 1, 1928, 9:30 a.m.

Welcome, General. Colonel Bill Rice, the 2nd Brigade’s executive officer opened the meeting. And to all you out-of-town area leaders, welcome. The room is a bit dark this afternoon so we can use our new lantern slide machine. Now, without further ado, let’s kick off our monthly meeting with our intelligence briefing. Major Schmidt?

Harry Schmidt, an athletic 42-year-old with a full head of prematurely white hair that contrasted sharply with his dark eyebrows, walked forward and stood behind the lectern.

Gentlemen, having just arrived here last month, I firmly believe that you all have a more in-depth understanding about what’s going on than I do, at least for this, my first briefing. Please fill in any gaps you may see. Schmidt turned to First Sergeant Harold Perkins, one of the heroes from the Ocotal battle the previous July and newly promoted. "All right then, let’s begin. Top, will you show the first slide?

Thanks. I want to start with the political climate in the country today, nine months prior to the November elections. In summary, it is much improved since the Accord of Tipitapa calling for the U.S. supervision of the election and since we cleared out El Chipote, Sandino’s mountain hideaway. Here is what we have today: As was formally agreed by all political factions except Sandino, the appointed Conservative President Diaz will remain in office until the November elections have been concluded. Diaz agreed not to run for office again. I wish to remind you that he actually was elected and served as president from 1911 to 1917.

As a side-note, Schmidt added, "In 1912, the Liberals were anxiously wanting to pull off a coup. Diaz called for the Marines. Major Smedley Butler and Colonel Joe Pendleton came to the rescue and quickly extinguished that fire. For now, we are expecting the Liberals will win this year’s November election, and General José María Moncada will become Nicaragua’s next president. Next slide please.

Here we see our American civilian leadership in Nicaragua. Minister Eberhardt’s been here since August 1925. In every sense, he is a huge supporter of our brigade. General McCoy, on the other hand, is President Coolidge’s personal representative and does not work for the State Department. He is here to monitor the November elections. In that capacity, President Diaz surprisingly appointed McCoy as the president of the National Board of Elections and commander of the Guardia Nacional. However, I personally feel that he intends to remain in-country after the elections. To do what, Schmidt said, shrugging his shoulders, I’m not sure.

I will keep you apprised on this, sir, he added, looking directly at Brigadier General Feland.

Feland smiled and nodded his head.

At this point, Schmidt continued, "I would like to discuss the whereabouts of General Sandino. Frankly, both he and his core group are a mystery, except that they seem to leave crumbs wherever they go. For example, after the ambush near Condega two days ago, we did learn that he uses local cells from nearby villages. But where, specifically, is this bandit? We’re not sure. After his escape from his mountain hideaway, El Chipote, in January, we thought he would surface in another part of the Northern Department. But there are no reports that he’s back in his old stomping grounds. Some reports indicate he’s recruiting in the Matagalpa coffee region. Perhaps he escaped into nearby Honduras. Our final thought is that he may have traveled eastward along the Coco River to recruit more men into his force. Our operations officer, Colonel O’Reilly, will be highlighting what information we do have on Sandino and what connects him to the Matagalpa area.

Staff Sergeant Adel Abudayeh, USMC (Ret.)

If he is using the Coco, we will have our hands full. Major Schmidt pointed to the map on the next slide. "For our purposes, the river skirts Ocotal, flows to the south, then northward from the mountains of Nueva Segovia to the border with Honduras. Finally, it empties into the Caribbean Sea on the east coast. As the crow flies, that’s nearly two hundred fifty miles; as the river flows, it’s about three hundred fifty miles. I needn’t tell you, but that is a very large and complex area with very limited means of travel, except by river and a few roads.

One final note. We are going to continue looking for the bandit during this dry season. That ends in April. But until then our operating forces, both Marine and Guardia, will be on patrol and should expect ambushes along the densely vegetated trails and roads such as this one. Schmidt pointed to a developed photograph displayed by the projector.

The Sandino Rebellion 1927-1934-Collection by Dr. Michael