Well, to hell with Chattanooga, let’s talk mounted infantry.
While a horse is a hansom and noble beast imbued with all the aura of knight errantry it is a terribly inefficient and troublesome military instrument, what with its constant need for large quantities of forage (hay) and grain, which must be carried along, stockpiled or rustled up en route, and their need for large amounts of fresh, clean water, the need to keep them shod, their annoying habit of going lame, developing colic, sore backs and saddle sores, and just falling over dead for no apparent reason. Soldiers, like farmers, were happy to dump the horse in favor of the much more reliable internal combustion engine. Diesel fumes may not be as romantic as horse farts, but life with a jeep is a lot easier than life with a 1000 lb hay-burner that needs to be fed twice a day, watered three times, brushed and curried every night and morning and will step on your feet as often as it possibly can.
How old am I? Old enough to know to stay out of open-ended political arguments. Old enough to remember when everybody hated Harry Truman. Old enough to wear a Taft for President button to school. Old enough to remember the Army-McCarthy hearings and a televised nuclear detonation. Old enough to qualify as an expert with the M-1 rifle. Old enough to have actually carried on real conversations with a woman who smelled the smoke from the Great Chicago Fire. As old as dirt, but a bit younger than Senator McClain.