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A young officer’s insightful, detailed and steadfast devotion to the Union Navy—told in his own words. 

On May 18, 1862, Henry Willis Wells wrote a letter to his mother telling her in clear terms, “I am fighting for the Union.” Since August 1861, when he joined the US Navy as a master’s mate he never wavered in his loyalty. He wrote to his family frequently that he considered military service a necessary and patriotic duty, and the career that ensued was a dramatic one, astutely and articulately documented by Wells in more than 200 letters home, leaving an invaluable account of daily life in the Union Navy.

Wells joined the navy shortly after the war began, initially on board the Cambridge, attached to the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron, which patrolled the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. He witnessed the Battle of Hampton Roads and the fight between the ironclads CSS Virginia and the USS Monitor. Next, the Cambridge assisted in the blockade of Wilmington, North Carolina. In one instance, the warship chased the schooner J. W. Pindar ashore during her attempt to run the blockade, and Confederate forces captured Henry’s boarding party. After a short prison stay in the infamous Libby Prison in Richmond, his Confederate captors paroled Henry. He travelled back to Brookline, and soon thereafter the Navy Department assigned him to the gunboat Ceres, which operated on the sounds and rivers of North Carolina, protecting army positions ashore. Henry was on board during the Confederate attempt to capture Washington, North Carolina. During this April 1863 attack, Henry was instrumental in the town’s defense, commanding a naval battery ashore during the latter part of the fight.

His exceptional service gained him a transfer to a larger warship, the USS Montgomery, again on the blockade of Wilmington. Later the service assigned him to the Gem of the Sea, part of the East Gulf Blockading Squadron. Through his hard work and professionalism, he finally earned his first command. In September 1864, he became the commanding officer of the Rosalie, a sloop used as a tender to the local warships. Later he commanded the schooner Annie, also a tender. At the end of December 1864, however, the Annie suffered a massive explosion, killing all hands, including Wells. He was twenty-three years old when his life and career ended tragically. Wells’s letters document both his considerable achievements and his frustrations. His challenges, triumphs, and disappointments are rendered with candor. I Am Fighting for the Union is a vital and deeply personal account of a momentous chapter in the history of the Civil War and its navies.
 

In the heart of the DMZ, one Marine faced the war—and the truth behind it.

Impact Zone documents Marine First Lieutenant James S. Brown's intense battle experiences, including those at Khe Sanh and Con Thien, throughout his thirteen months of service on the DMZ during 1967-68. This high-action account also reflects Brown's growing belief that the Vietnam War was mis-fought due to the unproductive political leadership of President Johnson and his administration. Brown's naiveté developed into hardening skepticism and cynicism as he faced the harsh realities of war, though he still managed to retain a sense of honor, pride, and patriotism for his country.

Impact Zone is a distinctive book on the Vietnam War because it is told from the perspective of an artilleryman, and the increasingly dangerous events gain momentum as they progress from one adventure to the next. Impact Zone is not only an important historical document of the Vietnam conflict, but also a moving record of the personal and emotional costs of war.

This provocative book begins with a question about the Vietnam War. How is it, asks Robert D. Dean, that American policymakers—men who prided themselves on “hardheaded pragmatism” and shunned “fuzzy idealism”—could have committed the nation to such a ruinous, costly, and protracted war? The answer, he argues, lies not simply in the imperatives of anticommunist ideology or in any reasonable calculation of national interest. At least as decisive in determining the form and content of American Cold War foreign policy were the common background and shared values of its makers, especially their deeply ingrained sense of upper-class masculinity.

Dean begins by examining the institutions that shaped the members of the U.S. foreign policy establishment—all-male prep schools, Ivy League universities, collegiate secret societies, and exclusive men's clubs—that instilled stoic ideals of competition, duty, and loyalty. Service in elite military units during World War II further reinforced this pattern of socialization, eventually creating an “imperial brotherhood” imbued with a common global vision. More than that, according to Dean, the commitment to tough-minded masculinity shared by these men encouraged the pursuit of policies that were aggressively interventionist abroad and intolerant of dissent at home.

Applying his gendered analysis to the McCarthy era, Dean reveals how the purge of suspected homosexuals in the State Department not only paralleled the repression of the political left, but also reflected a bitter contest for power between the foreign policy elite and provincial Congressional conservatives. He then shows how issues of manliness similarly influenced the politics and policies of the Kennedy and Johnson administrations. Just as programs like the Peace Corps were grounded in ideals of masculine heroism, decisions about intervention in Vietnam were inextricably bound up with ideas about male strength and power. In the end, Dean makes a persuasive case that these elite constructions of male identity fundamentally shaped the course of American foreign policy during the early decades of the Cold War.

Examining how claims of necessity have reshaped American liberty in times of war.

Though the war on terrorism is said to have generated unprecedented military situations, arguments for the Patriot Act and military tribunals following 9/11 resemble many historical claims for restricting civil liberties, more often than not in the name of necessity.

Marouf Hasian Jr. examines the major legal cases that show how various generations have represented the need for military tribunals, and how officials historically have applied the term “necessity.” George Washington cited the necessity of martial discipline in executing the British operative Major André. Tribunals tried and convicted more than 200 Sioux warriors during the Dakota Wars. President Lincoln suspended habeas corpus for many civilian and military prisoners during the Civil War. Twentieth Century military and civilian leaders selectively drafted their own codes, leading to the execution of German saboteurs during World War II. Further, General MacArthur’s tribunal to investigate the wartime activities of Japanese General Yamashita raised the specter of “victor’s justice,” anticipating the outcry that attended the Nuremberg trials.

In those cases as in current debates about the prosecution of terrorists, Hasian argues that the past is often cited selectively, neglecting historical contexts and the controversies these cases engendered.
 

An original history of music in the lives of American soldiers.
 
Since the Civil War, music has coursed through the United States military. Soldiers have sung while marching, listened to records and armed forces radio, and packed the seats at large-scale USO shows. The bugle call “reveille” has roused soldiers in the morning, and “taps” has marked the end of a long day. Whether the sounds come from brass instruments, weary and homesick singers, or a pair of heavily used earbuds, where there has been war, there has been music, too.
 
Instrument of War is a first-of-its-kind study of music in the lives of American soldiers. Although musical activity has been part of war since time immemorial, the significance of the U.S. military as a musical institution has generally gone unnoticed. Historian David Suisman traces how the U.S. military has used—and continues to use—music to train soldiers and regulate military life, and how soldiers themselves have turned to music to cope with war’s emotional and psychological realities. Opening our ears to these practices, Suisman reveals how music has enabled more than a century and a half of American war-making. Instrument of War unsettles assumptions about music as a force of uplift and beauty, demonstrating how it has also been entangled in large-scale state violence.
 
From chanting “Sound off!” in basic training to switching on a phonograph or radio or cueing up an iPod playlist during a patrol, the sound of music has long resonated in soldiers’ wartime experiences. Now we all can finally hear it.
 

Beginning where most histories of the Vietnam War end, Invisible Enemies examines the relationship between the United States and Vietnam following the American pullout in 1975. Drawing on a broad range of sources, from White House documents and congressional hearings to comic books and feature films, Edwin Martini shows how the United States continued to wage war on Vietnam “by other means” for another twenty-five years. In addition to imposing an extensive program of economic sanctions, the United States opposed Vietnam's membership in the United Nations, supported the Cambodians, including the Khmer Rouge, in their decade-long war with the Vietnamese, and insisted that Vietnam provide a “full accounting” of American MIAs before diplomatic relations could be established. According to Martini, such policies not only worked against some of the stated goals of U.S. foreign policy, they were also in opposition to the corporate economic interests that ultimately played a key role in normalizing relations between the two nations in the late 1990s. 

Martini reinforces his assessment of American diplomacy with an analysis of the “cultural front”—the movies, myths, memorials, and other phenomena that supported continuing hostility toward Vietnam while silencing opposing views of the war and its legacies. He thus demonstrates that the “American War on Vietnam” was as much a battle for the cultural memory of the war within the United States as it was a lengthy economic, political, and diplomatic campaign to punish a former adversary.

A definitive study of strategy, river warfare, and Union triumph in the Mississippi Valley.

Island No. 10: Struggle for the Mississippi Valley is a deeply researched, narrative-driven history of the Civil War New Madrid–Island No. 10 campaign in 1862—an episode overshadowed by Fort Donelson and Shiloh yet vital to Union mastery of the Mississippi River. The authors argue that the campaign was far more consequential than its marginalization in traditional Civil War histories suggests, demonstrating that the fall of Island No. 10 consolidated Union control of the upper Mississippi, accelerated the collapse of Confederate fortunes in the West, and highlighted the transformative power of joint Army–Navy operations. 

The book’s strengths lie in its rich use of diaries, letters, official military records, and contemporary press accounts, weaving together strategy, engineering, naval innovation, politics, and the lived experience of soldiers. Vivid descriptions of fortification design, the ironclad flotilla, the dramatic night battery runs, and the grueling canal‑cutting operation offer readers a ground‑level and command‑level view of the campaign. Larry J. Daniel, an acclaimed Civil War historian and award‑winning author of Cannoneers in Gray and Soldiering in the Army of Tennessee, together with Lynn N. Bock, a historian, attorney, and longtime steward of New Madrid’s local history, bring scholarly authority and regional expertise to the subject. 

This book will captivate readers interested in Civil War military history, riverine warfare, engineering feats, and the Western theater. It is especially valuable for scholars, buffs seeking a fresh perspective on neglected campaigns, students of joint operations, and anyone exploring how geography, logistics, and technology shaped the course of the war.