# Scribner's Magazine/Volume 37/Number 1/New Features of War

New Features of War
As Illustrated in the East
By Thomas F. Millard
he war now raging in Manchuria affords the first thorough and comprehensive test of up-to-date weapons and equipment since the general reorganization and rearmament which followed the war between France and Germany. Russia’s conflict with Turkey was fought under practically the same conditions that obtained in 1870, before the lessons of the Franco-German War had been shaped into revised equipment and tactics, and the war between Spain and the United States contributed but little upon which any broad conclusions about land operations could be based. South Africa was not without interesting and significant demonstrations; but there, again, inequality of force and equipment, and the almost total lack of military organization of one of the belligerents, left criticism without standards and limited its scope.
But in Manchuria are two carefully organized modern military machines, with the arms and equipment of such, in as great numbers as are likely to be contiguously employed in wars of the future, brought into collision under circumstances which submit all their parts to the test of variable conditions, both in severalty and in combination. Here is the opportunity for which the military world has been waiting, in order to see approved or disproved theories about the future of war so freely advanced in recent years. It is, perhaps, too soon to adopt definite conclusions concerning some important matters; but many significant phases have already developed sufficiently to indicate certain tendencies, and these one may venture to discuss without posing as a prophet.
It may be superfluous to state that only one of the two grand divisions of the art of war is materially affected by improvements in weapons. Strategy is much the same as in the days of Alexander or Hannibal. However, since there is a popular tendency to confuse the two, it may be well to define strategy and tactics. To quote from memory an accepted definition, strategy is the art of manœuvring an army within the theatre of operations so as to increase the probability of victory, increase the consequences of victory, and decrease the consequences of defeat. Tactics is the art of handling and directing the fighting of troops on the battlefield. The disposal of troops upon the battlefield, with such shifting of position as may be necessary during an engagement, is usually called grand tactics, to distinguish from the actual fighting, which is termed minor tactics. While strategy, which embodies a principle the same in all ages, remains comparatively unaffected, tactics, which involves a condition, is amenable to every change in armament, and can never remain the same for two successive generations unless invention sleeps. Thus the art of war is ever new, and nations which aspire to military excellence as a means to defend their interests or advance their ambitions must be constantly alert.
The present war has realized some striking modifications of grand tactics. In olden times, it required some subtlety to distinguish between grand and minor tactics. Armies were able to approach so close to one another without becoming actually engaged that grand tactics consisted of little more than placing troops in certain formations and giving orders for their advance, or passively awaiting the onslaught of the enemy. The whole field was directly under the eyes of the commanders, who could see almost at a glance the course the fight was taking. The constantly widening range of projectiles long ago eliminated those conditions, until now armies are able to inflict great damage upon each other at distances beyond discriminating human vision, even when artificially aided. As battlefields have grown larger, the gap which severs grand from minor tactics has widened, until to-day they stand as almost distinct branches of the art. Never has this been so well demonstrated as in Manchuria.
​In this war we have seen battles with a fighting front extending more than forty miles. Using the terms “fighting front” in this connection, I do not mean that the opposing armies were simultaneously, or even occasionally, engaged along every mile of this distance. As a matter of fact, they came actually into collision only at certain points. But they were, nevertheless, in contact, tactically speaking, along the whole front; which means that any advance of either combatant must quickly result in direct collision with the enemy. Even thirty years ago a commander would have found it impossible to keep in tactical touch with an army so widely distributed. The efficiency attained by modern field telegraph and telephone systems offers the explanation. Formerly a commander took his position during the progress of a battle, if possible, on an eminence from which a comprehensive view of the field could be had. Frequently this position could be reached by hostile fire, and it was never so far removed as to put the commander out of direct contact with his troops. So stationed, surrounded by his staff, he would observe the progress of the battle, receiving from time to time reports from his subordinates, and directing them through his aids, who carried the messages on horseback.
To-day circumstances place a commander completely out of sight of his army. He is usually located at least ten or fifteen miles from the firing line, and in many instances is even farther away. He sits in a room, whence radiate telephone and telegraph lines to the remotest portions of the field, placing him in instantaneous communication with his principal subordinates. The famous painting of Napoleon at Austerlitz represents, in the popular eve, a commanding general directing a great battle. But it belongs to the warfare of the past. The artist who aspires to depict the direction of a modern battle must show a man seated at a table on which is spread a huge map dotted with little flags indicating the location of the opposing forces, with an ordinary desk telephone at his elbow. In an adjoining room is a switchboard, where sit alert operators ready to connect the commander with any of the field headquarters. From this room, also, comes the steady clicking of a score of telegraph instruments, busily receiving and sending messages. But for the military uniforms of the messengers and the going and coming of staff officers the man at the table might be a stock operator directing, through his brokers, a deal in steel or railroad securities. Even the stenographer at his elbow is not lacking, but sits quietly taking messages under dictation, to be transmitted presently by telegraph. Other officers copy these messages and file them away, after putting them under a time-recording stamp, to show the hour they were sent, so that afterward delinquencies may be located and responsibilities fixed. Thus, apart from the excitement and horrors of the battlefield, a general sits at a desk and calmly directs the battle. He hears that this attack has been repulsed, that reënforcements are needed here, that ammunition is running low there, that this division has been cut into pieces, that those troops have been two days without food, and so on, along his forty miles of front, and takes his measures accordingly. This picture is not fanciful. With due allowance for the fallibility of all human devices when subjected to the strain of abnormal conditions, it is substantially correct.
Another striking development is the prolongation of battles. In even the most recent wars three days’ fighting have been enough to exhaust armies, and some commentators have ventured predictions that battles of the future would be quickly decided. Quite the contrary has happened. In this war we have seen battles which lasted ten days, almost without cessation. Of course, it must not be assumed that the same troops fought all the time; but, for that matter, neither did they in prolonged battles of the last great wars. One of the great battles in Manchuria might be called a series of battles. For instance, in the fighting around Liao-Yang there were at least half a dozen distinct engagements, some of them fought many miles distant from each other, and by entirely different troops. Yet it is quite correct to speak of these engagements as one battle, since they were fought by troops under the same general command and with the same general objective. All great battles include many minor collisions, attended by widely varying success, yet it is only the general result that counts. The principle is the same, regardless of the area involved. The tactical variations possible on a battlefield extending forty miles are no ​greater, setting aside differences in the terrain, than on one covering only a few miles. In both cases the opposing generals, with a definite object in mind, seek to take advantage of any opportunities which the opponent’s errors or failures may afford. These conditions are what make grand tactics so largely hinge upon opportunity, and a general must never be caught asleep. During the fierce fighting around Liao-Yang, when the situation of his army was for a time so perilous, General Kuropatkin slept, when he did sleep, with a telephone, which could be connected with all his corps commanders, beside his bed. Thus he kept pace with Oyama’s enveloping movement, and timed the counter-attack which so nearly cut off Kuroki’s force from the rest of the Japanese army. But Oyama, equally vigilant, quickly detected his opponent’s design and was able to concentrate enough troops at the threatened point to defeat the movement and reëstablish touch with his own right wing. Was not this action a manifestation of grand tactics under modern battle conditions, which compel commanders to see the actual fighting through the eyes of their lieutenants, but leave the general direction in their hands?
The reasons for this unexpected prolongation of battles are various, and a minute discussion of them is not possible in an article of moderate length, but some of the principal ones may be mentioned. Primarily, the enormous extent of the fighting front has a decided influence. This operates against the spread of demoralization caused by disaster in one part of the field to other parts of an army; and, owing to the great distances involved in the tactical operations, makes possible a rallying and readjustment of partially defeated forces before a success can be decisively followed up. It is practically impossible, under modern conditions, to stampede a disciplined army by a dramatic coup on some part of the field, as formerly frequently happened. No panic can ever involve more than a small part of a great army, for the major part of the troops on both sides will know nothing about it, probably, until hours or days after it is all over. Even after a great battle is decided, many of the strategical units of a defeated army remain comparatively undemoralized, having, perhaps, held their own on their part of the field and withdrawn in good order. Thousands of Russian troops who fought at Liao-Yang think to-day that General Kuropatkin’s retreat was purely strategical and scout the idea of their having been defeated; and they are perfectly sincere in this opinion, which their officers, naturally, do nothing to disturb. Also owing to the extent of the fighting front, the marching evolutions involved in the grand tactics of a battle consume more time, while the waits upon supplies and munitions cause delays not formerly to be reckoned with. Then the exhaustion of the fighting energy of troops, through losses in action, is much less in porportion to the time they are under fire than in former great wars; and this, with the recuperations afforded by more frequent rest periods, prolongs what may be termed the consecutive fighting life of tactical units.
In this war the closer relation of logistics to tactics has been noticeable. Usually logistics (that branch of military art that has to do with the transportation and supply of armies) is considered as more nearly associated with strategy, and this is still true, but it is becoming closely interwoven with grand tactics under modern battle conditions. Formerly, after strategy had got an army into position where it should or must fight a battle, logistics took a back seat until the issue of the struggle was decided and it became necessary to advance or retreat. In those days, a soldier went into battle supplied with enough food and ammunition to see him through the contest. It has been found necessary, in the greater actions of this war, to repeatedly supply the troops with food and ammunition without withdrawing them from the fighting line. This has been a new emergency for the supply departments to meet, on a large scale, and has virtually carried logistics on to the firing line. At Liao-Yang, Russian commissary carts distributed food to the soldiers under a severe artillery fire, and supplies of ammunition were frequently distributed under the same conditions.
The enormous expenditure of ammunition is one of the features of this war. The Russian soldier carries 120 rounds of rifle ammunition into battle, and this will seldom last through a single day’s fighting if the troops become seriously engaged. At Liao-Yang some Russian regiments expended more than 800 rounds per man in the course ​of the battle. As this computation was based on the strength of the regiments when they entered the fight, and as many of them came out of it sadly depleted, it is estimated that many soldiers must have fired as many as 1500 rounds. In the Russian organization, the supply of rifle ammunition per man, including the field and reserve parks and the supply carried in the flying artillery parks, is only 422 rounds for infantry, and much less for mounted troops. The expenditure of artillery ammunition has been as excessive. At Liao-Yang some Russian batteries fired more than 600 rounds per gun. Russian field artillery carries in its limbers and battery wagons only from 108 to 150 rounds, according to the character of the gun, while the total visible supply, including the divisional, flying, and reserve parks averages about 475 rounds per gun. These figures will give some idea of the strain put upon the supply departments during a great battle. More ammunition has been used in a single day in Manchuria than was required to fight the Spanish-American War. Besides the items of food and ammunition, the wastage of other forms of war material is enormous, and constitutes an unprecedented drain upon logistical resources. The officers who direct this important branch of the art rarely receive the credit that is due them.
Turning from grand to minor or fighting tactics, the first arm of the service to be considered is, naturally, the infantry. Nothing has occurred in this war to cause this arm to lose prestige. Infantry is still the fighting backbone of an army, and must bear the brunt of all great battles. Apparently it is still the only arm that can accomplish, unaided, decisive results. Infantry tactics in this war is that commonly taught in all modern armies, and described as “extended order tactics” to distinguish it from the old close formations. Anyone who pays the slightest attention to military matters knows that soldiers no longer fight shoulder to shoulder, but are spread out with a view to presenting as poor a target as is possible to the destructive and accurate fire of modern weapons. We saw the highest possible development of extended order fighting in the South African War. No great numbers of troops can ever be brought to a state of efficiency in this tactics equal to that attained by the Boers. The problem has been to determine how far, with ordinary material and training, extended order tactics can be carried without losing control over troops. Many contradictory speculations have been indulged in pending a practical demonstration. In Manchuria we have seen this tactics employed in actual war on a huge scale, and it only remains to state the results so far as they have appeared.
I may as well say now that the superior individual intelligence of the Japanese soldier, coupled with an assiduity in perfecting their military organization not approached elsewhere in the world during the last decade, have combined to produce in this war a fighting machine capable of carrying the modern theory of infantry tactics as near to perfection as can probably ever be reached on a large scale, under conditions which surround military service in most countries. While, on the other hand, the Russian army falls below an average standard, it in my opinion comes nearer representing average results. In this war both belligerents have acted on the theory that where sacrifice of human life is necessary to secure decisive results it should be made without hesitation. It was the failure of British generals to act upon this accredited military principle that made the Boer War so lacking in satisfactory tests. I have no hesitation in saving that the Russian infantry tactics in this war has probably been as good as most great armies would have displayed, and in this estimate I include our own. In making this statement I assume that our officers would employ the tactics they have been taught, and that our army would be principally composed of and officered by volunteers. In infantry tactics the Russian officers have simply followed, in most cases, a prescribed routine, which admonished them to move upon the enemy in certain formations, to be varied at stated intervals of proximity. The instructions governing this tactics do not differ materially from those prescribed in the British, German, and American armies. These dispositions are the result of experience and deductions from it.
The experience of this war seems to indicate that these dispositions should be radically revised. The practice of attacking in a triple-line formation, however extended, with a few hundred yards separating the firing line, supports, and reserves, merely ​serves, it seems to me, to increase the destructiveness of the enemy’s fire, especially at long ranges. In this war there has been more long-range rifle firing than ever before. The increased range of the infantry weapon is, of course, primarily responsible for this, and it has been found to be exceedingly effective. Variations in a rifle fire, even when directed at near-by objects, are very great, and at long range they are even greater. Thus a long-range infantry fire, even when directed at a conspicuous object, will sweep a large space. Then the distances within which troops are permitted to employ marching formations should be considerably extended. This may seem at first to be impractical, as occupying too much time in the attack, but I see no other solution of the problem of bringing an attacking force close to the enemy without having its morale too much shaken. In fact, this war has demonstrated that direct assaults upon established positions now occupy days, even weeks. Troops are pushed forward slowly and gradually, entrenching themselves, protected by the fire of their own artillery, as they advance, until near enough to deliver an effective assault. The Japanese required days to carry some of the Russian positions in recent battles, when most of their advances were made at night. Sometimes, when daylight attacks were attempted, hours would be required to advance a few hundred yards, gained by crawling from cover to cover. Rarely, even then, could strong positions be taken by frontal assault until a successful flanking movement had rendered them untenable. The continual use by the Japanese generals of flanking and counter-flanking movements shows that they regard frontal attacks more as a device to hold the opposing army than an effectual means to dislodge and defeat it. The losses sustained in such attacks seem justified by the damage inflicted upon the enemy when he is finally compelled to abandon his position and retreat unprotected. A major part of Russian losses in Manchuria were incurred while the troops were retiring from tactical positions.
Naturally, many delinquencies in fighting tactics on the part of the Russians have occurred, some of them reprehensible enough. I have seen infantry marched in close column formation to within 1,000 yards of Japanese artillery before being deployed. I have seen infantry stand for hours in close formation, while waiting for other troops to get into position, suffering all the time slight losses from a scattering rifle fire, and with adequate cover near at hand. Under these circumstances, the officers seemed to think that an attitude of indifference and bravado met the requirements of the situation. The Russian officers cling to the old theory of the officer’s part in tactics. He must show himself, encouraging his men by his demeanor. It may be that the Russian soldier, having been taught to expect this attitude in an officer, would be demoralized by its absence. If this is true, the sooner he is taught differently the better. Japanese officers are educated in the new school, and are extremely careful to take cover. The modern soldier must be directed rather than led. If he is well trained he does not need visible leadership. But he must have direction.
In this connection, I may say that certain conclusions based upon the Boer War will have to be modified. It then seemed that the whole tendency of modern warfare was toward a greater development of personal initiative in the soldier. I think even now that in any war the army which has developed the highest degree of personal initiative in its soldiery will win. But a large part of modern war is on too great a scale to give much opportunity for individual initiative. Soldiers can rarely tell what is going on, even in their immediate vicinity. They cannot always see the enemy they are firing at, and where they can see the object of their fire such important matters as range, and even direction, cannot be left to them. A great battle is bewildering, and troops left to their own initiative would soon expend their ammunition, and perhaps much of the time he shooting at their own comrades. Troops are clothed so much alike nowadays that it is very difficult to distinguish friend from foe at 500 yards, and large bodies of troops rarely get that close to each other in modern war while there is light enough to see clearly. Smokeless powder and devices for making troops less visible, together with long-range weapons, render targets often largely a matter of guesswork, even to officers provided with powerful glasses and special instruments for determining distances. Broadly speaking, both artillery and rifle fire are now handled largely with a view to general results, and their direction can only ​be intrusted to officers. Even the line officers, who must transmit orders to the men on the firing line, must follow implicitly instructions received from superior officers, who are cognizant of the whole situation on that part of the field and know the object to gain which the whole plan is calculated. Thus, more than ever, the officer is necessary to secure good results, and he should be taught to expose himself as little as possible. Officers need not fear that any soldiery, however unintelligent, will be unable to distinguish between caution and cowardice. At any rate, a soldiery which cannot make this distinction is not likely to be very formidable in future wars.
I have noted two results of the use of smokeless powder. It makes the tactical handling of troops easier, since officers can now always see the men under their immediate command. General officers can no longer mark the progress of a battle by means of the smoke, which formerly revealed distinctly the positions of the lines, but must depend upon other means to follow the fortunes of the day. The prediction that the revelation of battlefield horrors, formerly screened by smoke, would demoralize troops has not been realized.
The old dispute about the bayonet is still unsettled. Enough use has been made of it in this war to justify its retention, especially since it involves so little added weight and bulk. Instances of bayonet use have been too insignificant to throw much light upon its actual value as a weapon, but it has been conclusively demonstrated that, notwithstanding the range and accuracy of weapons, it is still possible for considerable bodies of troops to come into physical collision. This war has demonstrated that the old-fashioned open trench is poor protection for infantry against modern artillery projectiles. The new shrapnel does considerable execution from overhead, and the longer range of artillery makes it difficult to lay out an entrenchment so that some of it cannot be partially enfiladed. Military engineers will find scope for their invention in designing an entrenchment for infantry capable of being quickly constructed and which will afford protection from modern shrapnel.
Little use of cavalry, as such, has been made in this war so far as it has gone; which will bear out those who have long predicted that modern weapons had practically destroyed the tactical utility of this picturesque and once formidable arm. In the few occasions where cavalry has fought in this war it has been used as mounted infantry. There has been no use of cavalry against cavalry of sufficient magnitude to be significant. It seems certain that cavalry cannot hope to successfully engage infantry or artillery except under conditions that rob those arms of their ordinary effectiveness. It must be admitted, however, that both armies have been deficient in cavalry. Both the Russian and Japanese cavalry are armed with the infantry rifle, and in rearming the American army this plan has also been adopted. In the service of security and information mounted troops are still, as ever, invaluable, and in this war such troops have performed their usual functions neither so well nor badly as to attract special notice. Armies must have mounted troops, but the inclination to throw away sabre and lance seems to be gaining ground. Still, it is too soon to rule cavalry off the battlefield, and experience must discredit the arm more than it has before this will happen.
Artillery has, in this war, not lost the impulse given by its effective use in the war between France and Germany, when the arm took on new life. It has again conclusively demonstrated its tactical importance, and it is clear that the limit of development has by no means been reached. Longer range, increased rapidity of fire, and improved projectiles have greatly added to the effectiveness of artillery. The field-guns used in this war have an extreme range of about four miles, the Russian weapon being slightly superior in this respect to that used by the Japanese. As range has increased, there has been a revolution in the tactical use of artillery. The old dashing use of artillery, like that of cavalry, is no longer possible. Nearly all that was formerly so spectacular in its tactics has vanished. We no longer see batteries dashing at full gallop across a battlefield, the limbers and guns bounding madly after the excited animals, to take up a new position. It is seldom that any considerable part of an army’s artillery changes position during an action, or if such a move becomes necessary, it is usually undertaken at night.
Hardly any opportunity for initiative ​remains to battery commanders. Nowadays positions for the artillery are selected by military engineers, after a careful and comprehensive survey of the field and a consideration of the possibilities of the terrain in connection with the general plan of the action and the part assigned to the arm. When this plan is determined, staff officers conduct the batteries to their positions, instruct them as to their targets, the firing ranges, the character of ammunition to be used, and other details. In selecting the positions, the engineers carefully study the terrain with a view to concealing their guns, giving their fire the widest possible scope without changing position, and giving protection from the enemy’s fire not only to the batteries, but to the caissons and reserve ammunition parks. During the battle only the artillery chiefs comprehend what is going on. Battery officers simply see that their guns are handled according to instructions. They regulate the time, speed, objective, and range as ordered. If the action is a large one, they are even denied the satisfaction of observing the effects of the fire of their own guns, for they cannot, even when their target is visible, distinguish it from that of other near-by batteries. The effects of the fire are observed by officers appointed to that duty, stationed at various parts of the field, often miles and miles apart, and who are in constant communication with the chief of artillery by telephone. By the reports of these observers the chief directs the fire of his hundreds of guns. A mounted aide brings a battery commander an order: “Raise your range 500 yards and double the rapidity of your fire.” He obeys without question. Perhaps half an hour later another order will read: “Change your objective to Lone Tree Hill—direction southeast by east—range 4500 yards—use shrapnel.” He changes accordingly. Probably this battery is located on the opposite slope of a hill from the enemy, firing at an angle over the ridge. As likely as not the guns are buried in “gowliang” twelve to fifteen feet in height, with a firing outlet cut by the sabres of the drivers. The battery officers know nothing of the progress of the battle; probably cannot see fifty feet in any direction. Only the ranges give them an occasional clew to the drift of the fight. An order to increase the range argues that the enemy is losing ground, and an order to shorten the range indicates that he is advancing. Even that is mere conjecture. The battery officers and gunners attend to their levelling instruments, see that the range is kept right, watch that the guns do not get too hot, keep close tab on the ammunition, and report concerning it at regular intervals to their divisional chief. If they are being reached by the enemy’s fire there are other matters to attend to. This gun has a wheel smashed; the extra one must be brought from the caisson and the piece got into action again. A breech-block becomes jammed; the battery mechanics must repair it. A caisson is blown up, killing a number of men and horses; others must be brought quickly from the reserve parks. An aide of the divisional chief comes riding along. “General Blank says that your fire seems to be striking slightly to the left of your object. Correct it.” The correction is made. Oh, yes; there is plenty to do, and to do it well requires knowledge and ability. But where is the splendid, dashing artillery of former wars? Gone; and, I think, never to return.
In a previous article I mentioned the growing use of indirect firing, and illustrated it by some incidents. This development was anticipated, and the Japanese have managed it with great skill. They have been able to employ indirect firing to somewhat better advantage than the Russians, because the method is more adaptable to the offensive, which has been the usual attitude of the Japanese so far. It is not always possible to use indirect firing on the defensive, owing to the necessity of employing the fire against advancing infantry, which requires an outlook covering minutely all the approaches to a position. This frequently causes the engineers to place artillery in sky-line positions and on slopes facing the enemy. When this is necessary, fortifications are required. In preparing fortifications for their artillery in this war the Russian engineers have displayed as little intelligence as they did in constructing their infantry fortifications early in the war. A great improvement in the latter is already noticeable, and no doubt this improvement will in time be extended to the artillery. As a rule, the Russians have used old-fashioned fortifications of the open redoubt type to protect their guns. They not only give inadequate protection from a long range, ​high-angle shrapnel fire, but they make fine targets for the Japanese gunners. Only lately has there been any systematic attempt to disguise these redoubts. Where artillery must be placed on slopes facing and in full view of the enemy, I think it should be protected by bomb-proof fortifications, so constructed as to make it hard to distinguish them from the rest of the landscape. Sky-line positions should never be employed. They can always be avoided. Latterly the Russians have shown better judgment in selecting their artillery positions, and their use of the arm shows decided improvement as the war progresses. In the later battles they have given the Japanese considerable trouble, and their tactics has been in striking contrast to that employed at the Yalu and Wa-feng-goa. They show a growing disposition to concentrate their fire, instead of scattering it all over the place, as formerly. The weapon, personnel, and strength of the Russian artillery are such that it must become formidable as soon as it is employed with reasonable skill, and when this comes to pass one important item of Japanese superiority will terminate. Many errors are still noticeable. There is a tendency to station the caissons and reserve ammunition parks along the roads and near the villages. Of course, adjacency to a road is an advantage in itself; but time after time it has been demonstrated that the Japanese, owing to their excellent maps of the country, are able to locate even the cart roads and place a few batteries where their fire can sweep them. The Japanese seem to have discovered this propensity of their opponents, and use their knowledge to considerable advantage. I have seen reserve parks left absolutely exposed when fairly secure positions for them could have been found within a short distance. The longer ranges of guns, which enable their fire to reach to the rear of elevations at obtuse angles, increases greatly the difficulty of manœuvring reserves of troops and supplies in the vicinity of the firing line; in fact, a large percentage of losses are incurred this way. But this only emphasizes the need for precaution. In such matters, as in most of the details of handling a great modern military machine, the superiority of the Japanese is apparent, and it accounts for much of their success.
Glancing into the future, the tendency of artillery is toward still more powerful guns. The small calibre machine gun is apparently of little use on the battlefield, and its practical utility is confined, so far as land operations are concerned, to fixed fortifications. The weakness of the small machine gun in the field is that its range is only equal to that of the infantry rifle, which places field artillery beyond its reach, and when its fire is able to reach infantry the infantry fire can also reach it. Observation in South Africa convinced me that, by telling off a few marksmen for the purpose, any machine gun can quickly be silenced. During certain stages of an assault it can, perhaps, add to the volume of fire, but its effectiveness over the magazine rifle is open to doubt.
I think a field-piece of smaller calibre and longer range will be the weapon of the immediate future. By reducing the calibre to 2.5 inches (most modern field-guns have calibres ranging from 3.2 to 3.6 inches) greater rapidity of fire can be gained. Reducing the calibre has, also, a tendency to increase the range, which can further be increased by lengthening the barrel of the piece. A reduction of the size of the bullets in shrapnel would give the same probability of hits, besides having a humane bearing. From such study as I have been able to make of artillery fire, I think that decisive results with this arm are only obtained by concentration at critical moments. Even if, in the matter of shrapnel fire, it was found necessary to use fewer bullets in the composition of the shells, the theoretical loss of effectiveness would, it seems to me, be more than compensated by the increased rapidity of fire. My observation inclines me to believe that men are less shaken by large shells which come at considerable intervals than by smaller projectiles which come frequently. The intervals between the larger shells give men time to regain their presence of mind, while a fire so rapid as to be almost continuous leaves them no time to recover and will, if sustained, paralyze their efforts. This is the main object of field artillery fire, and a gun which can accomplish it will be the weapon of the future.
It is interesting to note certain humanitarian aspects of modern war as demonstrated in this conflict. I find myself fully confirmed in a conviction that has been growing for years, and which I have before expressed, that war is growing relatively less dangerous to human life. If this seems to ​run contrary to accepted theory, it is because of misconception of the fundamental principle involved and misunderstanding of some phases of modern conflict. By “relatively less dangerous,” I do not mean that as many men do not lose their lives in war as formerly. I mean that modern man-killing devices slay fewer men in proportion to the duration of engagements than at any previous time in the history of war. In regard to destruction of human life in the aggregate, war is much as it always was. There is no sound reason, that I have ever seen advanced, showing that humanity will endure less suffering of this kind than in the days, let us say, of Cæsar. To day, as always, troops will endure just so much carnage before abandoning a conflict; and it matters little, from a humanitarian standpoint, if that loss be inflicted in a few hours or be distributed through days. To compel an organized army to abandon the field it must be subjected to a certain amount of suffering and loss, and it makes no ultimate difference whether that loss is caused by battle-axes or by high explosives vomited from machine guns. The human mind grows accustomed to anything, and death is the same to a soldier in any form. In changing its form, war has not changed its objects nor its results. Disease is now the soldier’s worst enemy, slaving its thousands where bullet and shell kill hundreds.
The statement that magazine rifles, machine guns, and high explosives have not added to the dangers of war needs some explanation. It goes without saying, that if the same tactics was employed as was used in our civil war, the slaughter would be frightful. But as weapons change, tactics changes also. Troops no longer march in masses on the field of battle. They are scattered as much as possible, are taught to make every use of cover, are advanced slowly and with great circumspection, and whenever practicable are protected by intrenchments. The amount of ammunition required to disable a combatant has increased enormously. And after he is disabled, provided he is not killed outright, what then? The medical department takes him in hand, and its work is one of the most interesting phases of modern war.
Owing to the use of small calibre, antiseptic bullets, the number of men killed outright in battle is considerably less than formerly. Wounds that used to be fatal are now only disabling, and wounds that were formerly disabling now cause only slight inconvenience, and often are unnoticed in the excitement of battle. There is a great decrease of hæmorrhage, and by supplying the troops with “first-aid” packages they are usually able to check such bleeding as there is. Many wounds that would have formerly prevented locomotion do not now, thus increasing the proportion of wounded men who are able to get off the field without assistance, and to assist others to do so. Many a man who would in previous wars have lain unnoticed on the field until he expired is removed to where he can receive attention. Once in the hospitals, advanced surgery and the use of antiseptics give the patient an increased chance for recovery. In this war, the Russians have made splendid use of hospital trains, frequently running them into the fire zone to bring away wounded. Thousands of wounds that would have been considered serious thirty years ago are now classed as slight. Experience with the Russians in this war has shown that fifty per cent. of wounded are able to rejoin their commands within a month, and thousands are back with the colors in a week. The small calibre Japanese rifle is largely responsible for this. High explosive impact shell is terrifying, but does less execution than was expected of it. It is very effective in destroying cover, but against troops is less so. If a shell strikes a man it annihilates him, but if it strikes the ground it usually does nothing beyond scattering a cloud of dust and stones. The very power of the explosive used destroys much of its effectiveness by splintering the shell into such small bits that they do little damage a few feet away from their point of impact. Shrapnel wounds are far more dangerous, and the troops dread it most.
The results here indicated are doubtless highly gratifying to the humanitarian sentiment of the world. But what profits it? These men return to their commands only to again accept the hazard of battle. In the long run the usual proportion are killed or disabled for life. These manifestations are chiefly interesting for the light they throw upon certain theories advanced within the last few years, and which have been widely accepted. One of these theories is that ​modern weapons would make war so destructive and terrible that civilized nations would be compelled to abandon it, and would of necessity turn to arbitration to adjust their differences. No hope for universal peace need be based on this assumption. And the reason is clear enough. There will never come a time when human devices to destroy life can get the upper hand of the human instinct of self-preservation. The scheme of nature has not placed the race at the mercy of any human genius of destruction.
However, the pressure of the humanitarian spirit upon usages of war throws out signals here and there, even in Manchuria. Many of the barbarities attending upon armed conflict show unmistakable symptoms of amelioration. The situation of non-combatants is improved. Both belligerents have displayed more consideration to the Chinese population than might have been expected, and their conduct has shown a great advance beyond that of the allies in 1900. Such supplies belonging to the Chinese that have been consumed have, as a rule, been paid for, and a genuine attempt to subject non-combatants to as little inconvenience as possible has been made. This has been a necessary policy on the part of both armies. But that such a policy is becoming necessary is something. It is gratifying to see two great powers acknowledging by conduct as well as proclamation that the peaceful inhabitants of a country have rights which must be respected, especially when those inhabitants are Chinese.
We have heard less than usual about such conventional barbarities as abuse of prisoners and mutilation of the dead and wounded of the enemy. Early in the war a few mutilation stories were brought to us in Liao-Yang, but we, suspecting them to be a part of the “yellow peril” propaganda, demanded to be “shown,” and we heard no more of them. It should be stated that these reports were never given out officially. Both sides have been very careful about this abuse, and I think that such instances as have occurred may be regarded as sporadic. This could never have been truthfully said before about any war involving Russians and Asiatics. The use of artificial stimulants, once so common in armies, particularly the Russian, has been minimized in this war. I do not know whether the change is due to moral or practical reasons, but I am inclined to credit the latter. Stimulants cannot keep troops up to the mark during a week of fighting. It might be all right for a day or two, but the state of nerves superinduced by the after-effects of liquor or other stimulants hardly fit a man to endure prolonged physical and mental strain. Stories that the Japanese soldiers are given opium before entering battle are related among the Russians, but I have no information which would justify the charge. Such practices have been common enough among Asiatics in war. It yet remains for international law to place further limitations upon belligerents, with a view to confining the evils of war as nearly as possible to the actual combatants. Certain hopeful tendencies in this direction are not lacking.
The definite conclusions one may reach from all this are few. It is certain, however, that war is becoming more technical. This means that greater effort is required to create even passably good soldiers out of the average civilian. And no army can approach a first-class standard without carefully educated and practically trained officers—not merely a few, but many thousands. If the American people learn this single lesson from the desperate war now convulsing the Far East they will have acquired something valuable out of a regrettable affair.