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In this account of the naval aspect of Hernando Cortés's invasion of the Aztec Empire, C. Harvey Gardiner has added another dimension to the drama of Spanish conquest of the New World and to Cortés himself as a military strategist. The use of ships, in the climactic moment of the Spanish-Aztec clash, which brought about the fall of Tenochtitlán and consequently of all of Mexico, though discussed briefly in former English-language accounts of the struggle, had never before been detailed and brought into a perspective that reveals its true significance. Gardiner, on the basis of previously unexploited sixteenth-century source materials, has written a historical revision that is as colorful as it is authoritative.

Four centuries before the term was coined, Cortés, in the key years of 1520–1521, used the technique of "total war." He was able to do so victoriously primarily because of his courage in taking a gamble and his brilliance in tactical planning, but these qualities might well have signified nothing without the fortunate presence in his forces of a master shipwright, Martin López.

As the exciting story unrolls, Cortés, López, and the many other participants in the venture of creating and using a navy in the midst of the New World mountains and forests are seen as real personalities, not embalmed historical stereotypes, and the indigenous defenders are revealed as complex human beings facing huge odds. Much of the tale is told in the actual words of the protagonists; Gardiner has probed letters, court records, and other contemporary documents. He has also compared this naval feat of the Spaniards with other maritime events from ancient times to the present.

Naval Power in the Conquest of Mexico as a book was itself the result of an interesting combination of circumstances. C. Harvey Gardiner, as teacher, scholar, and writer, had long been interested in Latin American history generally and Mexican history in particular. During World War II, from 1942 to 1946, he served with the U.S. Navy. As he relates: "One day in early autumn 1945, while loafing on the bow of a naval vessel knifing its way southward in the Pacific a few degrees north of the Equator, my thoughts turned to the naval side of the just-ended conflict, and in time the question emerged, 'I wonder how the little ships and the little men will fare in the eventual record?' Then, because I was eager to return to my civilian life of pursuit of Latin American themes, the concomitant question came: 'I wonder what little fighting ships and minor men of early Latin America have been consigned to the oblivion of historical neglect?' As I began later to rummage my way from Columbus toward modem times, I seized upon the Mexican Conquest as the prime period with pay dirt for the researcher in quest of the answer to that latter question."

American forces entered World War I combat in October 1917, but it was not until July 1918 that they went on the offensive for the first time. Among the units selected for this operation was the 42nd Division, or the “Rainbow Division” as it was known popularly. This division, which was composed of National Guard units from twenty-six states, including Joyce Kilmer’s 69th New York Infantry, would spend 164 days in combat, a number exceeded by only two other American divisions. However, it was the nine days from July 25 to August 2, 1918 that were the most terrible and heroic in the division’s history. General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, who served as the division’s chief of staff, later said of the Rainbow Division’s fighting during those pivotal days, “There was neither rest nor mercy.” During those nine days, the Rainbow Division would spearhead the Allied attack in the Aisne-Marne region, the final phase of the Second Battle of the Marne, which saw the last major German offensive on the Western Front defeated. Unfortunately, American leadership proved to be completely unprepared for a dynamic war of maneuver. Basing decisions on wildly inaccurate information about the Germans, senior commanders ordered the men of the Rainbow Division to make ill-advised assaults again and again with little support. Facing an enemy who was determined to hold itspositions, these National Guardsmen fought with courage and determination to gain what was often only yards of ground, and did so at a deadly cost. 

On Tuesday, October 24, 1944, nearly three years after the United States entered World War II, over 2,600 Americans perished—more than on any other single day of the conflict—yet the day remains overshadowed by more widely remembered dates in WWII history. Drawing from the accounts of men from diverse backgrounds who served in the U.S. Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Corps, Rona Simmons offers a gripping retelling of the fateful day, hour by hour and incident by incident. The book begins with Army Private First Class Paul Miller’s demise in a prisoner of war camp and ends with the death of Navy Seaman Second Class Wanza E. Matthews after the Japanese submarine I-56 attacked his ship off New Guinea. The sinking of the Japanese “hellship” Arisan Maru—a lesser-known tragedy of the war—looms large, deftly interwoven through each part of the narrative.
 
Perhaps the most compelling aspect of No Average Day is its attention to the human side of conflict, telling the stories of ordinary individuals—clerks, radio operators, cooks, sailors, machinist mates, riflemen, and pilots and their air crews—as they grapple with the horrors of the war. Despite its narrow focus, or perhaps because of it, No Average Day reveals the vastness of World War II through a consideration of the largely overlooked events that unfolded on what, for members of the US Armed Forces, was its deadliest day.

When the Adjutant General's Office published Raphael Thian's "notes" on U.S. military geography in 1880, it produced an invaluable research tool for generations of military historians to come. In this single documented reference volume, Chief Clerk Thian traced the confusing mutations through which the divisions, departments, and districts of the Army's command had evolved since 1813.

The volume is divided into three parts, beginning with the names of the United States Army Continental Commands, the date and authority for their creation, location of the headquarters, geographical changes and discontinuances, and other details including the geographical boundaries embracing each division, department, and district. Part II is filled with background information on states and territories, and Part III lists the maps contained in The Military Atlas of the United States.

The Addenda to this edition expand and update Thian's work. Notes made by Francis B. Heitman to keep his personal copy current are included, as is the Memorandum published by the government in 1906. This addition lists all changes from 1898 through 1905.

As Threat reveals, both groups viewed their circumstances with the Army Nurse Corps as a civil rights matter. Each conducted separate integration campaigns to end the discrimination they suffered. Yet their stories defy the narrative that civil rights struggles inevitably arced toward social justice. Threat tells how progressive elements in the campaigns did indeed break down barriers in both military and civilian nursing. At the same time, she follows conservative threads to portray how some of the women who succeeded as agents of change became defenders of exclusionary practices when men sought military nursing careers. The ironic result was a struggle that simultaneously confronted and reaffirmed the social hierarchies that nurtured discrimination.