Carnage and Culture: Landmark Battles in the Rise of Western Power (33 page)

Rorke’s Drift (above) had almost no defensive advantages; yet within a few hours the British crafted a redoubt of bags and boxes that proved unassailable. The chief mistake of King Cetshwayo (below left) was underestimating the strength of his enemies; only later when he visited London himself did he appreciate England’s enormous resources. The three-pronged attack on Zulu power centers conceived by Lord Chelmsford (below right) resulted in the complete destruction of a vast kingdom in less than a year.

Nearly the entire 24th Regiment was wiped out at Isandhlwana, but B company was assigned to “easy duty” at Rorke’s Drift. Above, fifty survivors of B company a few days after their harrowing ordeal. Lieutenant Bromhead is at lower right. The Zulu warriors below were the terror of southern Africa, but proved incapable of breaking even small numbers of British riflemen in squares or behind fortifications.

In Griffin Baily Coale’s watercolor of Midway, both the
Kagi
and the
Akagi
are set afire by the first wave of American dive bombers. Japanese Zeros plunge into the sea, gunned down by the surprise appearance of high-flying Wildcat fighters far above. The gassed and armed planes on the wooden Japanese decks ensured that even a few American bomb hits could envelop the carriers in flames. Pilots later reported that the rising suns painted on the Japanese decks made natural targets.

Wounded by Japanese dive and torpedo bombers, the
Yorktown
(above) was finally doomed by torpedoes from a Japanese submarine. Earlier, the miraculous repair of the
Yorktown
—severely damaged at the Battle of Coral Sea—at Pearl Harbor (below) ensured that there were three, not two, American carriers at Midway. Had the Japanese shown similar ingenuity, they would have had six carriers, an overwhelming force.

By 1942, American SBD and TBD bombers were both obsolete. Yet at Midway the screeching dives of the SBDs (above) proved lethal and went unopposed—due to the unplanned and tragic sacrifice of the TBD torpedo planes far below. Rear Admiral Tamon Yamaguchi was probably the most capable leader in the imperial fleet. He is shown below, thanking his staff as he prepares to go down with his flagship, the
Hiryu.

None of the pilots in Torpedo Squadron 8 of the
Hornet
(above) had flown a combat mission before Midway. All were killed in the first minutes of fighting except Ensign George Gay (front row, fourth from left), who was shot down and watched the battle from a small raft on the water. Of the eighty-two TBD Devastator crewmen who took off from the three American carriers, only thirteen survived, and not a single torpedo hit a target. The torpedo planes approached the fleeing enemy carriers at no more than seventy miles an hour and were riddled by Zero fighters diving from above at speeds of over 300 miles an hour.

Fighting under close media scrutiny in dense urban centers, unable to distinguish the enemy from neutral civilians, American soldiers like those at left nevertheless crushed local communist resistance during the Tet Offensive of 1968. Keys to the American success were devastating armor and artillery attacks, constant air support, and the discipline and ferocity of small companies of marines. Above, marines hold a tower position in the stone fortress of Hué.

Barbarigo’s troops made it a point to butcher every dumbfounded and by now mostly defenseless Ottoman sailor and soldier they found, as they freed thousands of shackled Christian galley slaves—15,000 in all were eventually liberated at Lepanto. Italian and Spanish accounts repeatedly glorify the salvation of the European slaves, yet only in passing acknowledge that most of the Turkish dead at Lepanto were probably killed in cold blood as they begged for mercy on deck or floated helpless among the debris on the water. Still, the cost of preserving Don Juan’s left wing was high. Most of the cream of the Venetian naval leadership—Marino Contarini, Vincenzo Querini, and Andrea Barbarigo, nephew of Agostino—were shot down in the ordeal.

Only on the right wing, under the veteran Genoese Gian Andrea Dorea, were the Christians still in any danger. As he drifted far to the right, Dorea appeared dilatory and sluggish in maintaining the Christian front intact. The Holy League’s admirals would swear that Dorea was heading laterally, more away from Don Juan’s center than forward toward the Turkish fleet. Was the crafty Venetian, as was later alleged, hoping to save his own ships from possible destruction? In any case, the Christian galleys that had just engaged Ali Pasha’s center were alarmed that if Dorea kept rowing to the right to prevent his national contingent from being outflanked and attacked by the legendary and dreaded corsair Uluj Ali, their own flanks would soon be exposed.

Within minutes their worst fears were realized. A gap opened in the Christian front between the right and center. Uluj Ali and a dozen Ottoman galleys, reminiscent of Alexander at Gaugamela, immediately streamed into the chasm and headed for the flanks and backs of the exhausted Christian center. Here occurred most of the Christian losses in the battle. The surprised galleys were hit broadside without opportunity to turn and fire. Uluj’s corsairs greedily began to tow away his prizes; the decks of the outnumbered Venetian and Spanish galleys—among them three manned by the Knights of Malta under the command of the legendary Pietro Giustiniani—were littered with killed and wounded. But unfortunately for the Ottomans, Uluj’s last-ditch effort was governed by greed as he paused to tow prizes rather than press on to ram and blast apart more enemy galleys.

Two of the League’s bravest admirals—Juan de Cardona and Alvarode Bazán, the marquess of Santa Cruz, leading the uncommitted Christian reserve of over forty galleys—were ready for just such a contingency. With help from the victorious galleys in the Christian center, the reserve ships began firing away at Uluj. Within minutes the Christian cannon drove the corsair off. Had he not cut his towlines and fled, his contingent would have been blown apart. Still, Dorea’s timidity cost the Christians dearly. The escape of Uluj was more grievous still: he was the last veteran Turkish admiral in the Mediterranean still alive, and would supervise the rebuilding of the sultan’s fleet the next year and oversee the successful capture of Tunis in 1574.