By the time American forces launched their first major offensive at St. Mihiel on September 12, 1918, the First World War had already ravaged Europe for nearly four years.
General John J. Pershing, commander of the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF), sought to capitalize on the momentum of that success with a far more ambitious push: the Meuse-Argonne Offensive.
What followed would become the largest American operation of the war — and a stage for remarkable acts of heroism, particularly from the skies.
As the American “Doughboys” advanced into the dense Argonne Forest, they met fierce resistance from the German Fifth Army.
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Over the course of a grueling six-week campaign, the AEF relied increasingly on air support — an area in which the U.S. military was still in its infancy.
Among the aircraft deployed was the De Havilland DH-4, the first American-made military airplane, albeit built under license from a British design. Only 198 of these reached the front, supplemented by French-built Salmson 2A2s.
It was during this campaign that two American aviators, 1st Lt. Harold E. Goettler and 2nd Lt. Erwin R. Bleckley, demonstrated unmatched valor in one of the war’s most desperate moments — the effort to save the now-legendary “Lost Battalion.”
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Harold Goettler, born in Chicago on July 21, 1890, joined the Signal Enlisted Reserve Corps shortly after the U.S. entered the war in April 1917.
By early 1918, he had completed flight training and joined the 50th Aero Squadron in France that August.
Erwin Bleckley, born in Wichita, Kansas on December 30, 1894, was a bank teller before the war.
He enlisted in the Kansas National Guard’s artillery unit in June 1917, earned a commission, and later transferred to the 50th Aero Squadron, where he was paired with Goettler.
The two quickly became one of the unit’s most reliable flight teams during the St. Mihiel Offensive.
But their most defining mission came during the Argonne campaign, which bogged down quickly amid harsh terrain and well-entrenched German positions.
On October 3, 1918, more than 500 soldiers of the 77th Infantry Division became isolated in a ravine along the Charlevaux road. Though the unit was neither technically a battalion nor truly “lost,” its plight was dire.
Surrounded by the German 76th Reserve Division, the men under Maj. Charles W. Whittlesey were cut off from reinforcements, short on food, water, and ammunition, and unable to communicate with headquarters.
Efforts to reach the trapped soldiers on the ground had already failed, with over 200 casualties sustained in just two rescue attempts. That’s when the 50th Aero Squadron was called upon to airdrop vital supplies.
With makeshift packaging of blankets, straw, and cardboard, Goettler, Bleckley, and other pilots flew dangerous missions over enemy lines, attempting to locate the ravine and deliver relief.
Initial attempts met with heavy German fire. Ground forces tried to mislead the Americans with false markers, and many supply bundles missed their target altogether. Nevertheless, Goettler and Bleckley pressed on.
After several flights, their aircraft had to be taken out of service for repairs. But on October 6, they mounted one last mission before nightfall.
Flying low — at treetop height — over the suspected location of Whittlesey’s men, the pair dropped several more supply bundles. As they circled for another pass, enemy fire struck their DH-4.
Despite his wounds, Goettler managed to crash-land the aircraft behind Allied lines.
French troops found him dead in the cockpit. Bleckley, gravely wounded, survived long enough to relay critical location information for artillery support before succumbing to his injuries.
The next morning, reinforced American units finally reached the “Lost Battalion.” Only 194 of the original 554 remained.
In total, the 50th Aero Squadron dropped over 1,200 pounds of supplies in just 18 hours — an extraordinary feat and the first such aerial supply operation ever undertaken by the AEF.
The cost was high: two men dead, one wounded, and many others risking their lives under constant fire. Yet the impact of their actions — and the heroism they embodied — cannot be overstated.
For their sacrifice, both Goettler and Bleckley were posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor. Their citations praised their “highest possible contempt of personal danger, devotion to duty, courage and valor.”
Their story stands as a powerful testament to the bravery of those who flew in flimsy aircraft over deadly terrain, not just to fight, but to save their fellow soldiers.
More than a century later, the names of Goettler and Bleckley endure — symbols of the extraordinary lengths to which ordinary men will go in service of others.
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