The Feathered Phalanx: When the Australian Army Declared War on Emus and Lost

Facing economic ruin from 20,000 crop-destroying emus, Australian farmers in 1932 called in the army. The result was a military operation so inept and a foe so unexpectedly resilient that it became a national laughingstock and a victory for the birds.

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An Unlikely Declaration of War

In the harsh, unforgiving landscape of Western Australia in 1932, farmers faced a perfect storm of desperation. They were veterans of the Great War, settled onto marginal lands by a grateful government, now staring down the financial abyss of the Great Depression. As if plummeting wheat prices weren't enough, a new enemy appeared on the horizon. Not a foreign army, but a native one: an estimated 20,000 emus, migrating inland after their breeding season, descended upon the fragile wheat crops of the Campion district. The birds, enormous and seemingly indestructible, flattened crops and smashed through fences, allowing plagues of rabbits to follow in their destructive wake.

The farmers, many of them ex-soldiers, petitioned the government for a military solution. They knew the destructive power of the Lewis machine gun, and they wanted it turned on this new feathered menace. In a decision that would soon enter the annals of absurdity, Australia's Minister for Defence, Sir George Pearce, agreed. The military would go to war with the emus.

The Cavalry Arrives

The command of this strange expedition fell to Major G.P.W. Meredith of the Royal Australian Artillery’s 7th Heavy Battery. Accompanied by two soldiers armed with a pair of Lewis guns and 10,000 rounds of ammunition, Meredith arrived in Campion with a sense of professional purpose. A cinematographer was even brought along to capture what was expected to be a swift and decisive victory for man and machine over beast. The plan was simple: use the machine guns' rapid fire to mow down the large, slow-moving birds. The reality, however, would prove to be anything but simple.

The First Humiliation

The first engagement on November 2 was a disaster. A group of about 50 emus was spotted, and the local settlers attempted to herd them into an ambush. The birds, however, refused to cooperate. They split into small groups and ran, their erratic movements and surprising speed making them impossible targets. The first volley of gunfire was useless. A second attempt later that day yielded a "number" of birds killed, but the expenditure of ammunition was already becoming a concern. Two days later, Meredith planned a more direct ambush near a local dam. Over 1,000 emus were spotted heading for the water. This time, the gunners waited until the birds were at point-blank range. The moment the guns opened fire, the birds scattered. One of the Lewis guns jammed after firing just a few rounds. By the end of the day, a mere twelve emus were dead.

Guerrilla Birds of the Outback

Major Meredith began to develop a grudging respect for his enemy. He discovered the emus were not the dim-witted creatures he had assumed. They seemed to adopt guerrilla tactics, splitting into small, leaderless groups the moment danger appeared. He reported that each pack seemed to have a leader, a tall, black-plumed bird that would keep watch while the others engaged in destruction, giving a warning call that sent the group scattering in all directions. His frustration was palpable in his official reports.

“If we had a military division with the bullet-carrying capacity of these birds it would face any army in the world... They can face machine guns with the invulnerability of tanks.”

This was not a war of attrition; it was a farce. The army tried mounting one of the guns on a truck to keep up with the fleet-footed birds, but the ride was so rough it was impossible to aim, and they failed to score a single hit. The truck wasn't even fast enough to keep up, and at one point crashed through a farmer's fence.

A Strategic Withdrawal

After nearly a week of failure and mounting public ridicule, the first phase of the operation was called off. The press had a field day, with one report noting the emus had "won every round." Despite the initial withdrawal, the farmers' pleas continued, and Major Meredith was sent back into the field for a second attempt. While this second expedition was marginally more successful—claiming 986 kills with 9,860 rounds, an abysmal ratio of 10 bullets per confirmed kill—it was clear the military operation was an expensive and inefficient failure. On December 10, the troops were recalled for good. Major Meredith was left to lament the emus' uncanny ability to survive grievous wounds and run on.

The "Great Emu War" was over, and the emus had won. The government, learning its lesson, shifted tactics. It instituted a bounty system, which proved far more effective in controlling the population over the next several decades. The war itself became a legendary footnote, a bizarre tale of human hubris clashing with the chaotic resilience of nature. It serves as a potent and deeply comical reminder that not every problem has a military solution, and sometimes, the most sophisticated weapons of man are no match for the simple, stubborn will to survive—even that of a flightless bird.

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