In the Army, changes-of-command are, indeed, special events. The ceremony documents the physical and emotional turning over of leadership from one commander to the next. When our battalion commander announced his new assignment, he had very specific designs for his change of command. There we were a Field Artillery battalion on an Infantry installation. Something special was needed to mark the strong traditions of the Field Artillery.
The battalion commander called for a traditional parade with artillery caisson, marching band, and soldiers marching in tight formation. There would be flags, review stands, and hundreds of invited guests. Oh, and the weather had to be perfect, sunny and clear but not too hot. Immediate “Yes, Sirs” resounded in the conference room; we stood and saluted the boss; and he smiled, knowing his change of command would be one to be remembered.
The reality of the situation began to sink in. The excitement of the moment oozed away, and the steady nervousness associated with the enormity of the project overcame us all. We had eight short weeks to pull off a major event in relative isolation from the rest of the Field Artillery world – home base was hundreds of miles away. With a mission, 600 soldiers, and a deadline, we did the only thing we could do. Good weather was ordered; the conductor of the local military band was given his instructions; bleachers for the public review stands were located and moved to our site; plans and timelines were drawn up – in short we were a busy bunch of professionals, giving orders and carrying out the mission.
Suddenly, it dawned on us that the Infantry museum was not going to have the artillery caisson that we needed. We placed a call to the Field Artillery Association, back at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, to request the services of the world renowned horse-drawn caisson unit. The answer to our request was shocking --the caisson team could not travel to our location. Next, we called the Field Artillery museum and learned that we could borrow some unused piece parts of a caisson and some period uniforms. We agreed, and the component parts were scheduled for truck delivery to us at Fort Benning.
The event began to come together; the new battalion commander’s arrival date was confirmed; invitations were mailed; scripts were written; rehearsals for the parade started happening; soldiers did what soldiers do; but where was the caisson? Where were the horses trained to pull wagons? With three short weeks left before the event, a tractor trailer with wagon wheels, a disassembled caisson, and a rusty cannon with carriage arrived. We open a wooden crate to find a mix of leather harness, woolen shirts, canvas trousers, and “Smokey Bear” hats.
With 600 soldiers available, we found that we had a wealth of talent to make old stuff look good and work together. We found someone that knew wagons; wives volunteered to mend the old uniforms; and round-the-clock teams of GI’s began making the old cannon presentable. A team of soldiers was assembled and were given the mission to find horses in the area. We sent them to stables in a 50 mile radius of our location. In short order the team found four riding horses, whose owners agreed to have their horses learn to pull a wagon.
Two weeks to go and all attention turned to rehearsal. The band sent a bass drummer to practice with us. We formed our troops, and the soldiers re-learned to march to the beat of a drum. Everything had to be spit and polish, the steps, the turns, the salutes. All of these were requirements of a traditional military parade. On the third day of rehearsals the refurbished caisson and fresh team of horses arrived to join the practice. Needless to say, riding horses that have never pulled anything are spooky at best. But with patience and encouragement the horses and solders on the caisson team came together. The horses even adjusted to the beat of the drum. The procession was stately. We were all proud. More rehearsals and a couple of well deserved rest days for all, and we were ready.
The day of the event arrived – a glorious Saturday morning. The grandstands were bright in the sunlight. Red, white, and blue bunting decorated the fence lines and handrails. We began pre-positioning soldiers in their initial formations. The full military band and our traditional horse-drawn caisson arrived and took their positions. Guests took their seats, and the ceremony began.
As Adjutant, I had the responsibility to form the troops and have them march to their final positions in preparation for the upcoming parade. I took the responsibilities seriously. I even agreed, after much cajoling from my fellow officers, to perform the traditional adjutant’s walk. Originally designed to not delay the events of the day, the Adjutant’s walk is a fast walk-run that requires much stamina and physical agility. In preparation for the parade I mastered the walk. The goal was to move from the position, where I aligned the formations of soldiers, to my final parade position and announce that the solders were ready – all without falling down in the process.
I formed the troops, adjutant-walked to my position, and reported to the commander of troops that all was ready. Unknown to me the caisson team moved to a secluded wooded area to calm the nervous horses. The commander of troops reported to the old and new battalion commanders. The command we had all waited for was given, have the troops pass in review. The commander of troops performed an about face to echo the command. He turned pale as a ghost. The horses and caisson were no where to be seen. In doubt but without hesitation, the commander of troops executed his command, PASS-IN-REVIEW. The band struck up an energizing march and started the parade. The soldier formations turned and followed the band along the prescribed route.
Remember that we had practiced the marching with only a bass drum. The horses pulling the caisson, having never the heard the trill of flute and fife, were suddenly jolted from their relative calm. Just in front of the moving band, pine trees suddenly parted, and the entire team of horses, caisson, and cannon raced to a position in front of the parade. With solders hanging on for dear life, the horses galloped into view, bringing with them a certain unplanned bravado and thick clouds of dust. The spirited beasts made a few turns, and some how halted exactly in front of the review stands. The soldiers on the caisson managed a formal salute, faced back to the front, and then directed the horses to gallop away from the rest of the parade. The crowd went wild. No one had anticipated the expertise of the obviously well-trained crew.
The rest of the troops made their way past the review stands. In turn, each formation marched by and performed their required salutes. The parade was magnificent. My wife, who was sitting in the stands, overheard the following remark:
“How in the world did they get everything to move at once?”
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