The Paths of Heaven

The Evolution of Airpower Theory

by

The School of Advanced Airpower Studies

Edited by

Col Phillip S. Meilinger, USAF

Air University Press

Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama

1997
Disclaimer

Opinions, conclusions, and recommendations expressed or implied within are solely those of th

authors and do not necessarily represent the views of Air University, the United States Air Force

the Department of Defense, or any other US government agency. Cleared for public release

distribution unlimited.

Library of Congress Cataloging–in–Publication Data

The paths of heaven : the evolution of airpower theory / by the School of Advance

Airpower Studies ; edited by Phillip S. Meilinger.

 p. cm.

 Includes index.

1. Air power. 2. Air warfare—History. I. Meilinger, Phillip S., 1948– . II. A

University (U.S.). Air Command and Staff College. School of Advanced Airpowe

Studies.

UG630.P29 1997

 358.4—dc21 97–2453

CI

ISBN 1-58566-027-2 

First Printing 1997

Second Printing 1998

Third Printing 1999

Fourth Printing March 2001

ii
Contents

Chapter Pag

DISCLAIMER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

FOREWORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . v

ABOUT THE SCHOOL OF

ADVANCED AIRPOWER STUDIES . . . . . . . . i

INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . x

 1 Giulio Douhet and the Origins of

Airpower Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Col Phillip S. Meilinger

 2 Trenchard, Slessor, and Royal Air

Force Doctrine before World War II . . . . . . . . 4

Col Phillip S. Meilinger

 3 Molding Airpower Convictions: Development

and Legacy of William Mitchell’s Strategic

Thought . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

Lt Col Mark A. Clodfelter

 4 The Influence of Aviation on the Evolution

of American Naval Thought . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

Dr. David R. Mets

 5 Airpower Thought in Continental Europe

between the Wars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Dr. James S. Corum

 6 Interwar US Army Aviation and the

Air Corps Tactical School: Incubators

of American Airpower . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

Lt Col Peter R. Faber

iii
Chapter Pag

 7 Alexander P. de Seversky and American

Airpower . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23

Col Phillip S. Meilinger

 8 Strategic Airpower and Nuclear Strategy:

New Theory for a Not-Quite-So-New

Apocalypse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

Dr. Karl P. Mueller

 9 Air Theory, Air Force, and Low Intensity

Conflict: A Short Journey to Confusion . . . . . . 32

Prof. Dennis M. Drew

 10 John Boyd and John Warden:

Airpower’s Quest for Strategic Paralysis . . . . . . 35

Lt Col David S. Fadok

 11 An Ambivalent Partnership: US Army and

Air Force Perspectives on Air-Ground

Operations, 1973–90 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

Dr. Harold R. Winton

 12 The Evolution of NATO Air Doctrine . . . . . . . . 44

Col Maris “Buster” McCrabb

 13 Soviet Military Doctrine and Air Theory:

Change through the Light of a Storm . . . . . . . 48

Lt Col Edward J. Felker

 14 Ascendant Realms: Characteristics of

Airpower and Space Power . . . . . . . . . . . . 52

Maj Bruce M. DeBlois

 15 Reflections on the Search for Airpower Theory . . 57

Dr. I. B. Holley Jr.

CONTRIBUTORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60

INDEX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60

iv
Illustrations

 Figure Pag

 1 Boyd’s OODA Loop . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

 2 Boyd’s Theory of Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

 3 Warden’s Five Strategic Rings . . . . . . . . . . . 37

 4 Warden’s Theory of Strategic Attack . . . . . . . . 37

 Table

 1 The Changing Atmospheric Medium . . . . . . . 55

 2 Characteristic Advantages of Airpower

and Space Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56

v
Foreword

For the past half century, the United States Air Force ha

been responsible for controlling and exploiting the air an

space environment to meet the needs of the nation. We ar

America’s Air Force—the only service that provides airpowe

and space power across the spectrum, from science an

technology, research and development, testing and evaluation

to fielding and sustaining forces.

Although the men and women of the Air Force hav

recorded some outstanding accomplishments over the past 5

years, on the whole, our service has remained more concerned

with operations than theory. This focus has produced man

notable achievements, but it is equally important for airmen t

understand the theory of airpower. Historian I. B. Holley ha

convincingly demonstrated the link between ideas an

weapons, and in the conclusion to this book, he cautions tha

“a service that does not develop rigorous thinkers among it

leaders and decision makers is inviting friction, folly, an

failure.”

In that light, The Paths of Heaven is a valuable means o

increasing our expertise in the employment of airpower. I

offers an outstanding overview of airpower theories since th

dawn of flight and will no doubt serve as the basic text on thi

vital subject for some time to come. The contributors, all from

the School of Advanced Airpower Studies (SAAS) at Maxwel

AFB, Alabama, are the most qualified experts in the world t

tackle this subject. As the home of the only graduate-leve

program devoted to airpower and as the successor to the Ai

Corps Tactical School, SAAS boasts students and faculty wh

are helping build the airpower theories of the future.

In explaining how we can employ air and space forces t

fulfill national objectives, this book enriches the Air Force an

the nation. Airpower may not always provide the only solution

to a problem, but the advantages of speed, range, flexibility

and vantage point offered through the air and spac

environment make airpower a powerful instrument fo

vii
meeting the needs of the nation. Understanding thes

advantages begins by knowing the ideas behind th

technology.

RONALD R. FOGLEMAN

General, USAF

Chief of Staff

viii
About the School of

Advanced Airpower Studies

Established in 1990, the School of Advanced Airpower Studie

(SAAS) is a one-year graduate school for 27 specially selecte

officers from all the services. The mission of SAAS is to develo

professional officers educated in airpower theory, doctrine

planning, and execution to become the air strategists of th

future. SAAS achieves this mission through a uniqu

educational process that blends operational expertise an

scholarship in an environment that fosters the creation

evaluation, and refinement of ideas. The goal is thus twofold: t

educate and to generate ideas on the employment of airpower in

peace and war. SAAS is part of Air Command and Staff College

located at Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama.

The SAAS curriculum consists of a series of courses tha

emphasize military and airpower theory, political science

economics, history, and technology. Civilian academics an

high-ranking military officers are frequent visitors. All student

must write a thesis and undergo an in-depth oral examination

by the faculty. In addition, students participate in war game

and joint exercises which hone their skills as airpower thinker

and planners. The faculty implementing this curriculum i

composed of eight members—four military and fou

civilian—who are chosen for their academic credentials (a

doctoral degree), teaching abilities, operational experience

desire to write on topics of military concern, and dedication t

SAAS and its students. Strict academic and professional criteria

are used to select students for SAAS, and volunteers ar

ultimately chosen by a special board of senior officers. Th

typical student is an aviator who has an outstanding militar

record, has been promoted ahead of his or her contemporaries

already holds a master’s degree, and has a strong desire to learn

and to serve his or her country. Upon graduation with 

master’s degree in airpower art and science, officers return t

operational assignments or are placed in impact positions on

higher headquarters staffs in the Pentagon and around the world

ix
Introduction

Col Phillip S. Meilinger

In greater skill the paths of heaven to ride.

—Gordon Alchin 

Airpower is not widely understood. Even though it has com

to play an increasingly important role in both peace and war

the basic concepts that define and govern airpower remain

obscure to many people, even to professional military officers

This fact is largely due to fundamental differences of opinion

as to whether or not the aircraft has altered the strategies o

war or merely its tactics. If the former, then one can se

airpower as a revolutionary leap along the continuum of war

but if the latter, then airpower is simply another weapon tha

joins the arsenal along with the rifle, machine gun, tank

submarine, and radio. This book implicitly assumes tha

airpower has brought about a revolution in war. It has altered

virtually all aspects of war: how it is fought, by whom, agains

whom, and with what weapons. Flowing from those factor

have been changes in training, organization, administration

command and control (C 2), and doctrine. War has bee

fundamentally transformed by the advent of the airplane.

Billy Mitchell defined airpower as “the ability to d

something in the air. It consists of transporting all sorts o

things by aircraft from one place to another.”1 Two British ai

marshals, Michael Armitage and Tony Mason, more recentl

wrote that airpower is “the ability to project military force b

or from a platform in the third dimension above the surface o

the earth.”2 In truth, both definitions, though separated in

time by almost six decades, say much the same thing

Interestingly, however, most observers go on to note tha

airpower includes far more than air vehicles; it encompasse

the personnel, organization, and infrastructure that ar

essential for the air vehicles to function. On a broader scale, i

xi
includes not only military forces but also the aviation

industry, including airline companies and aircraft/engin

manufacturers. On an even broader plane, airpower include

ideas—ideas on how it should be employed. Even before th

aeroplane was invented, people speculated—theorized—o

how it could be used in war. The purpose of this book is t

trace the evolution of airpower theory from the earliest days o

powered flight to the present, concluding with a chapter tha

speculates on the future of military space applications.3

Attempting to find the origins of airpower theory, trace i

expose it, and then examine and explain it, is no easy task

Perhaps because airpower’s history is short—all of it can b

contained in a single lifetime—it lacks first-rate narrative an

analytical treatments in many areas. As a result, librar

shelves are crammed with books about the aerodynamics o

flight, technical eulogies to specific aircraft, and boys

adventure stories. Less copious are good books on airpowe

history or biography. For example, after nearly five decades

we still do not have an adequate account of America

airpower in the Southwest Pacific theater during World War II

or the role of George Kenney, perhaps the best operational

level air commander of the war. Similarly, we need 

biography of one of the most brilliant thinkers and planners in

US Air Force history; the only airman ever to serve a

Supreme Allied Commander Europe, and the third younges

general in American history—Lauris Norstad. Nor do we hav

a complete, official history of airpower’s employment in the wa

in Southeast Asia. Much needs to be done to fill such gaps.

The second roadblock to an effective concept of airpowe

employment in an evolving world is the lack of a serious stud

of airpower’s theoretical foundations. For example, each of th

two editions of Makers of Modern Strategy, the classi

compendia of military theory, includes only a single chapte

out of two dozen that deals with air theory—and neither i

comprehensive.4 Admittedly, however, the list of great ai

thinkers is not large, and in some cases the list of thei

writings is surprisingly thin. Nonetheless, even before th

invention of the airplane, some people imagined flight as on

of mankind’s potentially greatest achievements. Flight would

not only free people from the tyranny of gravity and its earthl

xii
chains, but it would liberate them mentally, socially, an

spiritually. This linkage of the airplane and freedom wa

prevalent in much of the literature of the first decades of thi

century. This spirit dovetailed with the growing fascination

with all things mechanical. The machine became synonymou

with modern man, who saw the airplane as the ultimat

machine. Certainly, it was capable of causing great harm—th

scientific fantasies of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne anticipated

this clearly—but, paradoxically, the airplane and its pilot wer

held up as a symbol of courage and nobility. Once in th

clearness and pristine purity of the sky, the dirt an

meanness of earthbound society were left behind. This wa

heady stuff, bespeaking the callowness of a forgotten era.

Although most military men dismissed such fantasies

arguing instead for more traditional means and methods o

war, others quickly saw the airplane’s potential as a weapon

Perhaps the most important air theorist was Giulio Douhe

When studying him, however, one is struck by how little ha

been written about the man and his ideas. No biography o

Douhet has been published in English (although a usefu

doctoral dissertation on him appeared nearly 25 years ago)

and little is known about his life. Analyses of his works ar

also surprising in both their superficiality and their paucity in

number. Most amazing of all, although Douhet wrot

prodigiously, very few of his works have been translated from

his native Italian. His prewar writings, war diaries, an

numerous articles and novels composed in the 1920s ar

unknown in English. Indeed, fully one-half of the first edition

of his seminal The Command of the Air remains untranslated

and virtually forgotten.

Nonetheless, the available writings clearly place Douhet in

the top rank of air theorists. He was one of the first to thin

and write seriously and systematically about the air weapon

and the effect it would have on warfare. Like the other earl

airmen, he was profoundly influenced by the carnage of World

War I. Douhet was a believer in the future of airpower eve

before the war, and his experiences during the Great War an

the horrendous casualties suffered by the Italian army on th

Austrian front hardened his views even further. His basi

precepts—that the air would become a violent and crucia

xiii
battlefield; that the country controlling the air would als

control the surface; that aircraft, by virtue of their ability t

operate in the third dimension, would carry war to all people

in all places; and that the psychological effects of ai

bombardment would be great—have proven accurate

Unfortunately, however, he also had a distressing tendency t

exaggerate the capabilities of airpower—an endemic affliction

among air theorists. He grossly overestimated the physica

and psychological effectiveness that bombing would have on

civilian populations. Douhet’s hyperbole should not, however

allow us to ignore his very real contributions to the earl

development of airpower theory.

Another of the early thinkers who had a similarly grea

impact on the evolution of the air weapon was Hugh

Trenchard. Widely recognized as the father of the Royal Ai

Force (RAF), Trenchard was both more practical and les

inclined to exaggerate claims for the air weapon than was hi

Italian counterpart. As commander of the British air arm in

war and peace, he was responsible not only for imparting 

vision for the use and future of the air weapon, but also fo

carrying out the sobering task of organizing, equipping

training, and leading a combat organization on a day-to-da

basis. Initially not a strong advocate of strategic airpower

Trenchard soon became a passionate proponent. Specifically

he was convinced that air bombardment of a country’

industrial infrastructure would have a devastating an

decisive psychological effect on the morale of the civilia

population. His emphasis on morale, regrettably, was ofte

misunderstood as a brief for population bombing. Unlik

Douhet, Trenchard never advocated such an air strategy.

A major reason for this misunderstanding was an unwilling

ness or an inability to fully articulate his ideas on airpower

One can count the number of Trenchard’s published writings

none longer than 10 or so pages, on the fingers of one hand

Added to this were his notoriously poor speaking skills

seemingly, he was not a very good communicator—although i

must be said that the RAF certainly seemed to divine his drif

Thus, attempting to reconstruct his views on air warfare is no

an easy task. Indeed, to write a history of RAF thought betwee

the world wars, one must mine the fairly modest collection o

xiv
essays written by serving RAF officers (mostly junior) tha

were published in the occasional book or in the pages of th

RAF Quarterly and RUSI [Royal United Services Institute

Journal.

No individuals dominate this field, with the possibl

exception of John Slessor. But even his intellectual reputation

is based largely on, first, his book Air Power and Armies, tha

contains a collection of his lectures at the British Army Staf

College in the early 1930s, and, second, his later fame as 

marshal of the RAF and the relatively prolific (for an airman

literary legacy that he accumulated after retirement. On

should also note that there is no history of the RAF Staf

College—what Trenchard called “the cradle of our brain,

where airpower doctrine was formulated and promulgated

between the wars. Moreover, there is not even a complet

collection of Staff College lectures extant that can give us 

definite picture of what was taught there.

Excavating the intellectual foundations of the US Army Ai

Corps can also be a challenge. We certainly have available th

extensive writings of Billy Mitchell, who published five book

dozens of articles, and scores of newspaper op-ed pieces

Unquestionably, Mitchell dominated the early years of th

American air arm just as Trenchard did the RAF. Like hi

British counterpart, this influence was due not simply to hi

administrative position but also to his ability to impart 

vision of airpower to an eager group of subordinates. The me

who would lead the Army Air Forces in World War II—Ha

Arnold, George Kenney, Carl Spaatz, Frank Andrews, an

others—considered him their intellectual father.

Mitchell achieved this status through the strength of hi

personality and through his incessant writing and speakin

efforts, bringing the message of airpower to the America

public. Unfortunately, Mitchell’s writings become almos

embarrassingly repetitious after 1925 or so. Moreover, hi

inordinate and near-neurotic hatred of the Navy distorted

much of his writing, confused his message, and left a legacy o

animosity between the two services that has never full

healed. One could certainly argue, both paradoxically an

heretically, that because of his incessant attacks, the Nav

was forced to adapt in ways it otherwise might not have

xv
Consequently, Mitchell may have been the father of both nava

aviation and interservice rivalry. If this hypothesis is accurate

one could further argue that precisely because of hi

enormous popularity and influence within the Air Service

Billy Mitchell was both one of the best and one of the wors

things that ever happened to American airpower.

Undoubtedly, many naval aviators would resent th

implication that the rise of their branch was somehow due t

the rabble-rousing of Billy Mitchell. Naval aircraft ha

participated in the Veracruz operation of 1914, and thei

record in World War I was sound if not glorious. After the wa

farsighted naval airmen like John Towers and Ernie Kin

pushed hard for the development of aircraft carriers and 

change in naval doctrine and organization to accompany thos

carriers. In 1921 the Navy formed the Bureau of Aeronautic

and placed Adm William Moffett in charge.

Moffett was certainly no friend of the outspoken Mitchel

and people of like mind. But the former battleship captain

realized that a sea change was in the offing in naval warfar

and moved to alter his service’s thinking to accommodate tha

change. In this regard, he was assisted by the Washington

Naval Conference of 1921–22 that placed strict limits on th

tonnage of capital ships. If battleships could not be buil

under the treaty, aircraft carriers certainly could, and by th

end of the decade the Langley, Lexington, and Saratoga wer

in commission. Although surface seamen still dominated thei

service in the interwar years, the role of the aircraft carrie

was becoming increasingly prominent. Everyone recognized

that air superiority over the fleet was essential, but surfac

admirals saw the main decision in battle still residing with th

big guns. Naval airmen quietly disagreed, thinking instead of 

fleet based around aircraft carriers as the decisive arm.

The war in the Pacific, heralded by the destruction of th

battleship fleet at Pearl Harbor, to a great extent fulfilled th

hopes of the naval airmen. Although initially seeing their rol

as fleet defense and then as air support during amphibiou

operations, by the end of World War II their sights were se

higher. In 1945 “targets ashore” increasingly became th

objectives of carrier air. Thus, it was a small step in th

postwar era to move from air attack of land targets to strategi

xvi
bombardment, using nuclear weapons, of objectives deep

inside enemy territory. Once a small and weak youngster

naval airpower became the dominant force within its service in

the space of a generation. Traditional sea power had given wa

to airpower employed from the sea. The most interestin

aspect of this transformation is that it was accompanied b

surprisingly little internal bloodshed. Naval aviators saw

themselves as sailors first; there was little talk of divorce. Th

Navy had no Billy Mitchell—and obviously has not regretted it

Perhaps it is not surprising that Britain and the United

States, traditional sea powers, embraced strategic airpowe

more vigorously than did other countries. Similarities exis

between the type of long-term—and long-range—economi

warfare characterized by a naval campaign and the aeria

bombing of a country’s centers of gravity. The broad, strategi

thinking required of sailors was akin to that required o

strategic airpower advocates. On the other hand, the fou

major continental powers in interwar Europe—Italy, France

the Soviet Union, and Germany—were traditional land powers

Logically, they saw airpower from a ground perspective. Giulio

Douhet was an exception; most of his countrymen ha

different ideas on the proper use of airpower.

Amedeo Mecozzi was a decorated combat air veteran wh

rejected Douhet’s calls for an emphasis on strategic airpower

Instead, he stressed the need for tactical aviation to cooperat

with the army. His ideas were adopted by the Italian ai

minister, Italo Balbo, and the composition of the air arm took

on a balance that Douhet would have found dismaying. I

mattered little. A combination of poor leadership, politica

indecision, corruption, and financial constraints resulted in 

weak and ineffectual air force at the outbreak of World Wa

II—despite il duce’s exhortations to the contrary.

The story in France was similar. At the close of World War I

the French air force was one of the largest and most wel

respected in the world. The psychic paralysis that gripped th

army, however, was transmitted to the entire defens

establishment. With the exception of Air Minister Pierre Co

and a handful of his disciples, the French were simply no

interested in a defense policy that advocated offensiv

operations—especially strategic air operations that migh

xvii
bring retaliation down on French cities. As in Italy, whe

World War II broke out, the French air force was hopelessl

outclassed by the Luftwaffe. Moreover, French doctrine, whic

emphasized the primacy of defensive air operations, made th

air arm almost an irrelevancy.

One finds a different story in the Soviet Union. When th

Russian Empire collapsed in 1917, the country’s air arm wa

weak and outmoded. For the next few years, this downward

trend continued but began to change in the mid-1920s, whe

revolutionaries started rebuilding their military forces. Mikhai

Tukhachevski, army chief of staff, articulated the concept o

“deep battle” that was to dominate Soviet military thinking fo

the next several decades. Airpower played a major role in thi

type of warfare, mainly via interdiction of enemy troops an

supplies. The predilection for tactical airpower was reinforced

by the Soviets’ close relationship between the wars with th

German military, which also emphasized tactical ove

strategic airpower. Although the Soviets did not neglec

bombardment doctrine or the development of bomber aircraf

by the outbreak of war, the Soviet air force had a distinctl

tactical focus.

The rise of the Luftwaffe from the ashes of defeat makes fo

a remarkable tale. Field Marshal Hans von Seeckt was th

intellectual progenitor of what would soon be called blitzkrieg

In this type of war, reminiscent of the ideas then bein

espoused by Tukhachevski, airpower was of great importance

More so than in any other country, the actions of the groun

and air arms were closely linked—doctrinally an

organizationally. The experience of the Spanish Civil Wa

bolstered these beliefs. As a result, although the Luftwaff

flirted with the idea of strategic bombing in the 1930s, for 

variety of reasons, the Germans never built a long-range ai

force. It is certainly debatable whether or not that was a wis

decision. In any event, Germany, prostrate in 1919, had th

strongest and most capable air arm in the world 20 year

later.

The intellectual center of the American air arm during th

1930s was the Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS). A coterie o

exceptional individuals at Maxwell Field, Alabama, devised

and disseminated the doctrine of high-altitude precisio

xviii
bombing of an enemy

s industrial centers. This was th

“industrial web” concept that the Army Air Forces followed in

World War II. Nonetheless, we must not forget that ou

knowledge of these men and their work is most unusual.

First, they published very little at the time: the Air Corp

had no professional journal equivalent to the RAF Quarterly 

The closest thing to it on this side of the ocean was US Ai

Services, an intelligent monthly magazine that dealt wit

aviation matters in both the military and civilian sectors. I

often contained articles by American military airmen, bu

these were generally short and dealt with technical or tactica

matters. Published herein and elsewhere were articles b

George Kenney, Ken Walker, Claire Chennault, Hugh Knerr

and others. As in Britain, their names call to us from th

pages of the 1930s, not really because of what their article

contained, but because of who they later became.

How then do we know in such detail the nature of America

airpower thought in the 1930s? Thankfully, we have 

remarkable collection of lectures, written and delivered a

ACTS, carefully stored away, and often containing appendices

notes, and comments by later lecturers. Most of ou

knowledge and understanding of American airpower theory i

based on these documents—a fact that is both comforting an

dangerous. It is comforting because we have a readil

accessible, discrete, limited, and authoritative cache o

information that, once mastered, gives a remarkably clea

view of what went on at ACTS. But does that picture reflec

thinking throughout the Air Corps as a whole? Therein lies th

danger.

Generally, historians base their chronicles on the writte

evidence at hand; if there is no written evidence, there is n

history. Because of this rather simple but ironclad rule, w

know precious little of what doctrinal innovation wa

occurring at airfields and operational units around th

country. Airmen were too busy “operating” to be encumbered

with writing down what they did. Their story, though crucial

is little known and thus overshadowed by that copious, clear

discrete, and “authoritative” cache referred to above. In shor

do we give a disproportionate share of emphasis and credit t

the thinkers and instructors at ACTS merely because the

xix
were the ones who had the time and opportunity to write al

the books? Do we really know the extent of their impact on th

contemporary Air Corps? Did anyone in the field actuall

listen to them?

There are no such doubts regarding Alexander P. d

Seversky (who liked to use his reserve rank of major), 

prodigious writer and speaker who had an enormous influenc

on the American public. De Seversky was perhaps the mos

effective popularizer of and propagandizer for airpower in

history. He wrote three books—one of which, Victory throug

Air Power, was a Book of the Month Club selection, reportedly

read by five million people and even made into an animated

movie by Walt Disney. He also wrote scores of articles fo

magazines as diverse as Ladies’ Home Journal, Look, Reader’

Digest, Mechanix Illustrated, and Air University Quarterl

Review . Finally, he gave hundreds of radio addresses an

wrote hundreds more press releases for the news media. Al

were devoted to the same theme: the importance of airpowe

to American security.

Because he was a civilian, he did not have to worry abou

angering his military superiors, as did Douhet, Mitchell

Slessor, and others, and because he was a successful aircraf

engineer and manufacturer, he spoke with formidabl

technical authority. Significantly, the target audience of d

Seversky’s message was the American public and its elected

representatives. He decided that the civilian and militar

leadership of the country—including that in the Army Ai

Forces—was too conservative and too dominated by vested

interests to be receptive to new ideas. The major, himself 

simple and straightforward man, wanted his unfiltere

message to reach average Americans so, collectively, the

could put pressure on the country’s leadership to chang

defense policies.

De Seversky made “victory through airpower” and “peac

through airpower” household terms in America during th

1940s and 1950s. He certainly did not originate ideas abou

global airpower, its dominance over surface forces, or massiv

retaliation, but, to a very great extent, he explained and sold

those ideas to the public. Despite de Seversky’s man

xx
exaggerations, his repetitiveness, and his missteps, there ha

never been a more effective spokesman for airpower.

After de Seversky, airpower thought fell into a funk, where i

lay for several decades—not that people ignored the subjec

but theorists were writing little that was fresh or innovative

No major figures emerged as airpower thinkers, for a fairl

apparent reason. Atomic weapons—and then nuclea

weapons—appeared to throw traditional concepts of warfar

and strategy out the window. This was virgin territory, and n

one quite knew his way—no experience or historical model

seemed relevant to this new era. As a result, a new breed o

strategists invented a new field of study, related to—but no

identical to—traditional airpower thought. Men like Bernard

Brodie and Herman Kahn, civilian academicians rather tha

uniformed professionals, took the fore in thinking and writin

about nuclear strategy.

These civilians had significant advantages over the airme

who preceded them. Before World War I, airpower had bee

largely untested, and its impact on war speculative. For many

therefore, it was easy to dismiss the ideas of the air advocates

In the decades after Hiroshima, however, the nuclear theorist

had no such problem; everyone recognized the deadl

seriousness and import of the new weapon. In addition

although the complexities of conventional war took a lifetim

of study, the principles of nuclear theory—assured

destruction, deterrence, mutual assured destruction, and s

forth—were relatively straightforward. As one of th

contributors to this book wryly puts it, any above-averag

graduate student can learn the rudiments of this disciplin

merely by watching the movie Dr. Strangelove or: How 

Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Although a

exaggeration, this comment has more than a little truth to it.

The product of the labors of these new thinkers was 

substantial literature grounded more in the social science

than in history. Models and case studies replaced historica

narrative. Because there was virtually no experience extant on

the subject of nuclear war and its effects on a population o

its leaders, the new theorists wrote of models and logic

Precisely because there was no experience, there was no proof

and no one could say whether the academicians were right o

xxi
wrong. These were exercises in Aristotelian logic. Thus, th

new thinkers were in much the same position as Douhe

Mitchell, Trenchard, and others several decades earlier—or

for that matter, as the medieval theologians who debated how

many angels could dance on the head of a pin.

During the decades of the 1950s and 1960s, this new breed

dominated strategic thinking. Some people would claim tha

this domination was most unfortunate for the country

because thinking about conventional warfare—especiall

conventional air warfare—atrophied. Airmen like Douhe

argued that war, though inevitable and total, would b

mercifully short and decisive due to airpower. The nuclea

theorists offered a more positive future: major war was now s

horrible and thus “unthinkable” that it might no longer occur

Unfortunately, it did. As a result, this new breed planned an

articulated, to a great extent, the strategy (or nonstrategy) o

Vietnam. Military leaders, having lost their preeminence in th

realm of military strategy, largely through their ow

intellectual lethargy, now received schemes designed by “whi

kids” and had to implement them. By necessity, airmen in th

United States were forced to grapple, however tentatively, wit

the issue of the role of airpower in what was euphemisticall

referred to as low intensity conflict (LIC).

LIC is not a subject most airmen readily discuss. Indeed

most military officers prefer not to treat with the subject. LIC

is a nasty and brutish affair, not conducive to the gaining o

either glory or military force structure. A standard response o

military leaders is to assume away the problems involved in

this type of warfare, believing that preparation for general wa

will ensure automatic coverage of “lesser” forms of war. Thi

was certainly the attitude in the US Air Force. Despite the hin

of things to come, represented by guerrilla insurgencies in th

Philippines, Malaysia, and French Indochina during th

decade following World War II, airmen focused on the majo

nuclear threat emanating from the Soviet Union. Thi

absorption was so pronounced that not even the Korean War

although largely conventional, could shake the belief tha

such conflicts were peripheral, aberrant, or both. The lack o

interest generated in the subject of airpower in LIC i

illustrated by the fact that during the entire decade of th

xxii
1950s, despite the four conflicts noted above, only two article

on the subject appeared in the Air Force’s professiona

journal, the Air University Quarterly Review .

Quite surprisingly, this institutional reluctance to engag

with the subject of airpower in LIC continued, even as th

country found itself ever more deeply involved in Vietnam

during the 1960s. Not until 1964 did official doctrine manual

seriously discuss the subject—and then it received a scan

two pages. As the war struggled into the 1970s, this disregard

increased rather than decreased. Never a popular topic, LIC

became even more disdained as the Vietnam War shuddered

to its unhappy conclusion. The role of airpower in LIC carried

with it an odor of defeat—not a scent of victory. On the othe

hand, although the disaster of Vietnam had many such negativ

outcomes, one of the positive aspects was a resurgence o

strategic thinking within the services.

Realizing that war was too important to be left to scholars

the “generals” began to reassert themselves. In the America

Air Force, this trend began with John Boyd, a semilegendar

cult figure in the fighter community. Boyd had flown F-86s in

the Korean War and was struck by the 10-to-one kill ratio tha

US aircraft had enjoyed in combat with the Soviet-buil

MiG-15. The smaller, quicker, and more maneuverable MiG

should have performed better. Although most observer

attributed the Sabre’s advantage to the superior quality o

American pilots, Boyd thought otherwise. He theorized tha

the hydraulic flight controls of the F-86 were the key factor

because they allowed the pilot to move from one attitude t

another more quickly than his MiG counterpart.

Upon returning to the Fighter Weapons School, Boy

continued to study what he termed “fast transient maneuvers

a concept that evolved into his famous OODA Loop. Battle wa

governed by the continual cycle of observing, orienting

deciding, and acting. Pilots who were able to outthink thei

opponents—to get inside their OODA Loop—would b

successful, just as the Sabre could physically maneuver insid

the MiG’s decision cycle. More importantly, Boyd hypothesized

that the OODA Loop concept applied at the strategic level o

war as well as the tactical. Countries that could plan, decide

and carry out military operations more rapidly than thei

xxiii
opponents would so disorient and confuse them that victor

would become inevitable. At the same time, Boyd focused on

the primacy of the “orient” portion of his loop, arguing tha

modern war demanded broad, interdisciplinary thinking tha

could continually extract ideas and fragments of ideas from

diverse sources and then reconstruct them in new an

original ways. This process of “destruction and creation” lay a

the heart of “orienting” oneself in an increasingly comple

world.

These theories and their implications for a rapid, paralyzin

method of warfare were particularly suited to airpower

Unfortunately, Boyd has never really put his thoughts on

paper, relying instead on extremely long briefings composed o

scores of slides—some containing only a single word or phrase—

that last for up to eight hours. As a result, his theories remain

vaguely known and understood by the military and academi

communities.

Another American fighter pilot who began questionin

conventional wisdom emerged in 1986 at National Defens

University (NDU). There, a young colonel, John A. Warden III

wrote a thesis titled “The Air Campaign: Planning for Combat

an unusual and controversial piece. Whereas most of the Ai

Force seemed polarized between those who saw war largely a

the nuclear level and those who concentrated instead on th

tactical air battle, Warden dared to consider the possibility o

strategic, conventional operations. Fortunately and fortuitously

the president of NDU at the time was Maj Gen Perry McCo

Smith, who as a young officer was himself accused of being 

controversial and therefore troublesome writer in matter

concerning his service.5 Smith encouraged and backed

Warden in his efforts, and the thesis became a book.

Warden expanded on his theory of airpower, characterized

by visualizing a society as a series of concentric rings. Th

most important of these rings, the center, was enem

leadership, because leaders make decisions regarding peac

and war. The military, therefore, should direct its actions

both physical and psychological, towards removing, blinding

confusing, or disorienting the enemy leadership. This in tur

would lead to paralyzing indecision and inaction. Although

many critics have disagreed with Warden’s theories, his book’s

xxiv
importance lies in the fact that it is one of the very few work

about airpower theory written by a serving American office

since World War II. More importantly, Warden would

eventually end up at the Pentagon as the deputy director fo

war-fighting concepts development, a position he held whe

Saddam Hussein decided to move south. His superiors the

gave him the opportunity to translate his theories into 

workable air campaign plan that served as the blueprint fo

the air war against Iraq.

In some ways Warden was responding to a tendency he saw

developing in the Air Force since the end of the Vietnam War

the increasing emphasis placed on tactical air operations

Institutionally, the US Army and the US Air Force emerged

from Vietnam with much closer ties to each other than ha

existed before the war. As the senior leadership in the Ai

Force slowly changed from officers with bomber background

to those with fighter backgrounds—the men who had born

the brunt of air combat in the Vietnam War—this closenes

increased, especially in the sphere of doctrine. Significantly

because the Army has always taken the subjects of theory an

doctrine most seriously, and because it formed a Training an

Doctrine Command (TRADOC) in 1973, the Army took the lea

in evolving new concepts and methods of achieving air-groun

cooperation.6 A strengthening of Warsaw Pact forces in th

Central Region in Europe spurred this move. Outnumbered

North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) forces needed t

maximize the efficiency and punch of their combat units.

The initial Army response, partly induced by the traum

still lingering from Vietnam, entailed an emphasis on

defensive operations. But by the early 1980s, this posture wa

already moving towards a far greater concentration on th

offense—specifically, deep operations employing airpower an

highly mobile maneuver units that could attack second- an

third-echelon forces. This concept developed into the Army’s

AirLand Battle doctrine, acknowledged and approved by th

Air Force. In solving one set of problems, however, other

arose. For decades the main area of disagreement betwee

land and air forces has been command and control—

ownership of airpower over the battlefield. In truth, the issu

of the tactical battle was easily solved: the ground commande

xxv
clearly had a dominant influence in matters regarding clos

air support of troops in contact. Similarly, the dee

battle—strategic attack—was reserved for the air commander

The contentious issue became the area in between, wher

interdiction tended to occur. The development of new

weapons—attack helicopters and surface-to-surface missiles—

that allowed the Army to strike deeper than it had previously

aggravated this disagreement.

The interesting aspect of the debate was its surprisingl

amiable resolution. Personalities—close personal compatibilit

between senior Army and Air Force leaders—were instrumenta

in forging a partnership between the two services. Even thes

close ties could not, however, completely resolve underlyin

tensions that emerged from the services’ operating in tw

vastly different media. Nonetheless, the mutual trust an

respect evident between Army and Air Force leaders in th

period from Vietnam to the Persian Gulf War stand in marked

contrast to the Air Force leadership’s traditionally mor

stormy relationship with its naval counterparts. Personalitie

have been crucial in both instances.

A particular and unique strain of airpower theory evolved in

Europe as a result of NATO. The mission of the alliance was t

keep the peace in Europe. However, the peculiar demands o

each member nation ensured that military strategy wa

dominated by political imperatives to an unusually hig

degree. For example, in order to project the image that NATO

was purely defensive, military planners were not allowed t

plan for offensive operations outside alliance territory. I

Warsaw Pact forces attacked, they would merely be drive

back. NATO had no intention of liberating even East Germany

much less Eastern Europe. In addition, the requirement tha

military decisions, doctrine, and policy have unanimity amon

all the member nations put a high premium on compromis

and consensus building.

Analysts recognized early in the 1950s that NATO could

never match the size of the Warsaw Pact forces opposin

them. In geographic terms, this translated into a realization

that West Germany—and perhaps the low countries a

well—would be difficult to hold in the event of Soviet attack

To counter this deficiency, NATO relied on several factors

xxvi
technological superiority, nuclear weapons, energeti

commitment to maneuver warfare, and airpower. In truth, al

of these factors were directly related to airpower. Thi

realization led to a number of doctrinal initiatives tha

stressed, among other things, centralized command an

control of air assets. It also led to a long and spirited debat

between and within member nations regarding the relativ

importance of strategic air attacks, air interdiction, and clos

air support.

The nations attained consensus, but it took many years—

and it carried a price. In order to maximize the effectivenes

and efficiency of NATO airpower, nations have had t

specialize in those areas most useful to the overall good. In

some cases, this has resulted in hopelessly unbalanced ai

forces: excellent interceptors, but with no ground attack

capability; or perhaps a strong tactical airlift fleet, but n

tankers, strategic airlifters, or ability to project power

Nonetheless, the imperative of a serious, technicall

sophisticated, and numerically superior foe has forced 

resultant and beneficial emphasis on quality, efficiency

standardization, and professionalism.

The Soviet Union—the object of all these doctrina

evolutions both within the United States and in NATO—wa

undergoing its own metamorphosis. Understanding the Sovie

and then Russian, experience requires first that one recogniz

that doctrine and theory have a political component quit

different than that operating in the West. To the Russians

military doctrine is neither a general theory nor the view o

individuals. Rather, it is a system of official state views shaped

and responsive to the ideological imperatives of the leadership

Although the Marxist-Leninist prism has been tarnished an

discredited to a great degree, the political underpinnings o

military doctrine represented by that ideology have not. Th

result is a relatively dogmatic approach to warfare: politica

objectives drive military doctrine, and that doctrine is no

open for debate.

Nonetheless, change has occurred in Russia, and sinc

1989 that change has been dramatic. The collapse of th

Soviet Union signaled both massive external and interna

changes. Not only did the entire strategic situation chang

xxvii
with the loss of ally/buffer states in Eastern Europe, but th

privileged position and economic priority of the military within

the state ended as well. The greatest external shock, however

occurred in 1990–91, when the Russians saw the astoundin

ability of the West to project power on a global basis and the

employ that power in an overwhelmingly decisive way

Russian military leaders were mesmerized by the effectivenes

of airpower in the Gulf War. The combination of mobility

accuracy, stealth, rapid communications, intelligenc

gathering and dissemination, target analysis, C2 channels

and simple professionalism had a profound impact on

Russian military leaders. In their view, airpower had becom

the dominant factor in modern war. The challenge, however, i

not only for Russia to modernize its military forces on th

Western model within the constraints of its faltering economy

but more importantly, within the parameters of a

increasingly volatile political situation. Reconciling militar

reality with political ideology will be extremely difficult.

One should note that, until recently, most airpowe

theorists around the world tended to equate strategic bombin

with strategic airpower. Consequently, differences betwee

theorists have generally focused on which set of targets i

most appropriate to achieve a given strategic objective

Although the Berlin airlift of 1948–49 demonstrated that on

can wield strategic airpower without firing a shot, mos

airmen have focused on the “fire and steel” side of operations

Over the past decade, this has changed—due partly to 

dramatic lowering in tensions between the superpowers

partly to increased capabilities that allow the employment o

air and space assets in varied and discrete ways, and partly t

heightened sensitivities over the use of force, emphasizing les

loss of life and less collateral damage. This more peaceful us

of strategic airpower has become a much debated an

explored topic of late.

One of the main foci of that debate has been space-based

assets and capabilities. In truth, it is interesting to note tha

for most of the past century, ideas about airpower have bee

far in advance of the technology needed to carry them ou

Many people argue that only today are capabilities finall

catching up to the predictions of the early air theorists. In th

xxviii
case of space, however, just the opposite is true: the technolog

is far in advance of the doctrine and concepts regarding it

employment. Because this situation is beginning to change, i

is time to examine more fully the fundamental issue o

whether air and space are one and the same—or if indeed the

are two separate realms. This issue is fraught with political

economic, military, and bureaucratic minefields. The Ai

Force, perhaps in an attempt to solidify its hold on space an

keep the other services at bay, argues forcefully that space i

merely a place, one that is akin to the atmosphere—which i

to say it is fundamentally different from the places where lan

and sea forces routinely operate. The Air Force’s share of th

space budget, generally 90 percent, fortifies this strongly held

belief by putting money where the talk is. Even airmen

however, are questioning that postulate, precisely because th

cost of space is increasing dramatically, as are the capabilitie

it promises. In order to address this issue most dispassionately

one must examine the basic characteristics of both air an

space. Once that is done, a more logical and verifiable answe

will be forthcoming to the question, Whither space?

Theory and doctrine are not subjects that airmen readil

take to. As Carl Builder has noted, airmen tend to be doers

not thinkers. 7 That is not a healthy trait. Unfortunately, th

most recent major conflict has not helped the situation. In th

Persian Gulf War, the abundance of available airpower allowed

us to use it redundantly and even inefficiently in order t

avoid irritating service and allied sensitivities. Doctrinal an

theoretical differences were therefore papered over. But forc

drawdowns may not permit inefficiencies and doctrina

vagueness in future conflicts. The double bind for the future i

that interservice rivalry will heighten as a result of budge

cuts at precisely the time decreased forces and capabilitie

make any such rivalry unacceptably dangerous. Key issue

such as command and control, theater air defense, the join

use of strategic tanker aircraft, the employment concepts o

attack helicopters, the effectiveness of land-based versu

sea-based airpower, the emerging field of information warfare

the organizational structure for employing space assets, and 

host of other such issues must be addressed and resolved

Moreover, this must be done in peacetime; when a crisi

xxix
erupts, it is too late to begin thinking through basic premises

It is the hope of the contributors, all associated with th

School of Advanced Airpower Studies—the descendant of th

Air Corps Tactical School—that this book will serve as 

primer and an analytical treatment of airpower theory fo

fellow students of modern war.

Notes

1. William Mitchell, Winged Defense: The Development and Possibilities o

Modern Air Power—Economic and Military (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Son

1925), xii.

2. M. J. Armitage and R. A. Mason, Air Power in the Nuclear Ag

(Urbana, Ill.: University of Illinois Press, 1983), 2.

3. When the term airpower is used in this book, it refers not only t

terrestrial assets, but space assets as well. The term aerospace, intende

explicitly to include both regimes, is inelegant and has never achieve

universal acceptance.

4. The first edition, Makers of Modern Strategy: Military Thought from

Machiavelli to Hitler, was edited by Edward Mead Earle and published b

Princeton University Press in 1943. The modern edition, Makers of Moder

Strategy: From Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age, containing new essays bu

covering largely the same people, was edited by Peter Paret and publishe

by Princeton in 1986.

5. Smith’s controversial dissertation from Columbia University wa

published as The Air Force Plans for Peace, 1943–1945 (Baltimore: John

Hopkins Press, 1970).

6. Predictably, the Air Force responded with technology—developing th

A-10 ground attack aircraft.

7. Carl H. Builder, The Icarus Syndrome: The Role of Air Power Theory i

the Evolution and Fate of the U.S. Air Force (New Brunswick, N.J

Transaction Publishers, 1994).

xxx
Chapter 1

Giulio Douhet and the

Origins of Airpower Theory

Col Phillip S. Meilinger

Gen Giulio Douhet of Italy was among the first people t

think deeply and write cogently about airpower and its role in

war, methodically and systematically elevating an idea to 

level of abstraction that could be considered a theory. Many o

his ideas and predictions were wrong, but echoes of his basi

concepts are still heard more than 60 years after his death

Indeed, the overwhelming victory of the coalition in th

Persian Gulf War in 1991 is an example of what Douhe

predicted airpower could accomplish. Specifically, his formul

for victory—gaining command of the air, neutralizing an

enemy’s strategic “vital centers,” and maintaining th

defensive on the ground while taking the offensive in th

air—underpinned coalition strategy. Certainly, not all war

have followed or will follow this model, but unquestionably

Douhet ’s theories of airpower employment have become mor

accurate as time has passed and as the air weapon ha

become more capable. The purpose of this chapter is t

reexamine the theories of this first great air theorist, analyz

them based on their own internal logic, and reassess them.

Giulio Douhet was born in Caserta, near Naples, on 30 Ma

1869. His father came from a long line of soldiers, and hi

mother was from a family of teachers and journalists. H

performed well in school, graduating first in his class at th

Genoa Military Academy. Giulio was then commissioned int

the artillery in 1888 at the age of 19. Soon after, he attende

the Polytechnic Institute in Turin and continued his studies in

science and engineering. His performance continued to b

excellent, and his graduate thesis, “The Calculation o

Rotating Field Engines,” became a standard text at the school

Douhet ’s professional ability was also evident, and as 

captain in 1900, he was assigned to the General Staff. There

1
he read closely all reports regarding the Russo-Japanese War

which broke out in 1903. Early on, he predicted that Japan

would emerge victorious, but few Westerners agreed with him

at the time. Also while on the General Staff, he continued hi

technological bent and wrote several papers advocatin

mechanization of the Italian army. In 1901 he published 

series of lectures titled “Mechanization from the Point of View

of the Military,” and three years later he wrote a pamphlet on

the subject—“Heavy and Military Mechanization.” Significantly

although Douhet saw a role for heavy trucks to move men an

supplies in a theater of operations, he did not predict th

development of armored vehicles for use on the battlefield. In

addition, he viewed mechanization solely in terms of Italy ’

peculiar geographic, economic, and political limitations

Technology would compensate for Italy ’s inherent weaknesse

in manpower and natural resources. This theme would late

repeat itself in his writings on airpower.1

In 1905 Italy built its first dirigible , and Douhet immediately

recognized its possibilities, becoming a keen observer of wha

he believed was a revolution in military technology. H

followed aeronautical events closely, and when Italy ’s firs

airplane flew in 1908, he commented, “Soon it will be able t

rise thousands of feet and to cover a distance of thousands o

miles.”2 Two years later—only seven years after Kitty Hawk—

Douhet predicted that “the skies are about to become 

battlefield as important as the land or the sea. . . . Only b

gaining the command of the air shall we be able to derive th

fullest benefit from the advantage which can only be fully

exploited when the enemy is compelled to be earth bound.”

However, the superiority of the airplane over the dirigible wa

not yet obvious to everyone. Douhet’s superior, Col Maurizio

Moris of the aviation inspectorate, was a staunch supporter o

the airship. He and Douhet had several clashes over the issue

most of which Douhet lost. In fact, as late as 1914, Italy wa

still spending 75 percent of its aviation budget on dirigibles .

4

At the same time, Douhet realized that the aircraft could

become a dominant weapon only if it were freed from th

fetters of ground commanders who did not understand thi

new invention. He therefore advocated the creation of 

separate air arm, commanded by airmen.5 During this period

2
he became close friends with Gianni Caproni, a bright youn

aircraft engineer who held similar views on the future o

aircraft. The two men teamed up to vigorously extol th

virtues of airpower in the years ahead.

In 1911 Italy went to war against Turkey for control of Libya —

a war that saw aircraft used for the first time. Amazingly

aircraft were used not only for reconnaissance but also fo

artillery spotting, transportation of supplies and personnel

and even bombing of enemy troops, supplies, and facilities—

both day and night. In short, most of the traditional roles o

airpower employment were identified and attempted durin

the very first year aircraft saw combat.6

The following year, Douhet , now a major, was tasked with

writing a report on the meaning of the Libyan War for th

future employment of aircraft. Perhaps because his superior

and colleagues were less enthusiastic about airpower than h

was, Douhet’s comments were muted. Most of his report deal

with the organization, training, and equipping of the Italian

air arm. He did note, however, that although some people

thought the primary role of aircraft was reconnaissance

“others” believed that aircraft should be used for “high altitud

bombing.” As for who would control airpower, Douhe

suggested that aviation units be assigned to each army corp

but slyly added, “This would not prevent, where necessary

grouping such flights with the Army Group, or for that matter

the formation of independent air units.” Further, the majo

called on Italian industry to embrace the new invention and t

develop its potential for both commerce and national security

The relationship between the civilian aircraft industry and th

strength of a country’s military defense was an importan

subject, one to which he would later return. Finally, when

discussing the types of aircraft the air force should have

Douhet suggested that a “general purpose type of aircraft” b

developed that could fulfill the roles of reconnaissance, ai

combat, and bombardment. 7 Significantly, this aircraft should

be capable of carrying a heavy load of bombs. Overall, thi

report left interesting clues about the direction Douhet’s idea

on airpower would soon take.

Also in 1912, Douhet assumed command of the Italian

aviation battalion at Turin and soon wrote “Rules for the Us

3
of Airplanes in War,

 one of the first such manuals in any ai

force. Interestingly, however, his superiors made him delete al

passages referring to the airplane as a “weapon”; to them i

was merely a “device” to support the surface forces—nothin

more. 8 Douhet’s incessant preaching on such matters irke

his superiors, and he soon became known as a “radical.

Moreover, in early 1914 he ordered, without authorization, th

construction of several Caproni bombers. In truth, Douhe

had tried to go through proper channels, but his superior

Colonel Moris —who was still enamored with the dirigible—

dragged his feet. Characteristically, Douhet became impatien

and took matters into his own hands. Such presumption

coupled with a personality variously described as dogmatic

assertive, persistent, impatient, tactless, and supremely

self-confident, earned him exile to the infantry. 

Unfortunately, Douhet’s methods for advancing the cause o

airpower tended to work at cross-purposes to his goals.

Douhet was serving as a division chief of staff at Edolo

when Europe blundered into World War I in July 1914. H

was unable to resist a prophecy. In August, barely a month

after the beginning of the conflict, he wrote an article title

“Who Will Win?” In it, he stated that modern war had becom

total war. Moreover, because the industrial revolution of th

previous century allowed the mass production of weapons, th

quick wars of annihilation predicted by many people ha

become a thing of the past. Douhet warned instead that th

new war now begun would be long and costly. Nonetheless, h

concluded that in the long run, the difficulties of fighting on

multiple fronts would spell defeat for the Central Powers.

Although Italy had at that point declined to enter the war on

the side of the entente, Douhet called for a military buildup—

especially in airpower—in case the effort to maintain

neutrality failed. Even in his peripatetic position in Lombardy

Douhet , now a colonel, peppered his superiors with ideas on

airpower. In December 1914 he wrote that Italy should build

an air force whose purpose was “to gain command of the air

so as to render the enemy “harmless.” According to Douhet

“To gain command of the air is to be able to attack with

impunity any point of the enemy’s body.”1 0 In another essay

he suggested that five hundred bombers be built to strike “th

4
most vital, most vulnerable and least protected points of th

enemy’s territory.”1 1 He maintained that such an armad

could drop 125 tons of bombs daily.

After Italy plunged into the war in 1915, Douhet was s

shocked by his army’s incompetence and unpreparedness tha

he frequently wrote his superiors, suggesting organizationa

reform and increased use of the airplane. He filled his diar

with angry, sarcastic, and frustrated remarks regarding hi

superiors and their war strategy. Rejecting the offensively

oriented ground strategy of the General Staff, he commente

ruefully, “To cast men against concrete is to use them as 

useless hammer.” In another entry, he noted the existence o

reports that Italian soldiers at the front did not even hav

rifles. Perhaps, he offered, “if an enemy attacks they could

always beg a mule to kick him.”1 2 In yet another memo to hi

superiors, the colonel advocated that a bomber force drop on

hundred tons of explosives on Constantinople each day unti

the Turkish government agreed to open the Dardanelles t

Allied shipping. 13 Typically, he even wrote Gen Luigi Cadorna

the Italian commander in chief, about his concerns and wa

twice reprimanded for his intemperate remarks.

Beginning in 1916, Colonel Douhet started correspondin

with several government officials, including Leonida Bissolati

a cabinet minister known to be an airpower advocate. Hi

letters to the minister were especially candid, even for Douhet

In one, he roundly criticized the Italian conduct of the war

noting that “we find ourselves without a reserve, in a crisis o

munitions, with all our forces engaged in an offensive alread

halted, with the rear threatened by old and new enemies

exposed to being attacked at any moment and overcom

decisively in the shortest moment.”14 Unfortunately, a copy o

Douhet ’s scathing missive reached General Cadorna , wh

labeled it “calumnious.” As a result, in September 191

Douhet was arrested and court-martialed for “issuing fals

news . . . divulging information differing from the officia

communiqués . . . diminishing the prestige and the faith in

the country and of disturbing the public tranquillity.”1 5 He did

not deny writing the letter to Bissolati but insisted he wa

motivated strictly by love of country and a desire to see Italy

win the war. But his reputation as an agitator had precede

5
him, and the court found him guilty. Douhet was sentenced t

a year in jail at the fortress of Fenestrelle, beginning hi

incarceration on 15 October. One can only speculate on

whether Douhet was actually relieved to have finally brough

matters to a head. In a mood that echoes of resignation

mingled with frustration, he confided in his diary, “They [th

government] can no longer say that they were not warned.”1 6

Colonel Douhet continued to write about airpower from hi

cell, finishing not only a novel on air warfare but suggesting in

a letter to the war minister that a great interallied air fleet b

created. He envisioned a fleet of 20,000 airplanes, mostly

provided by the United States , whose role would be to gain

command of the air and carry out a decisive air attack on th

enemy. 17

Meanwhile, the fortunes of the Italian army continued t

plummet, culminating in the disaster of Caporetto in Octobe

1917, when the Italians lost three hundred thousand men

Released from prison that same month, Douhet returned t

duty, and, because calamity breeds change, he soon becam

central director of aviation at the General Air Commissariat

where he worked to strengthen Italy’s air arm. He als

continued his close relationship with Caproni, and it is likely

the two had a role in determining the force structure an

philosophy of the new American Air Service .

Shortly after entering the war in April 1917, the Unite

States sent a mission to Europe headed by Col Raynal Bollin

to decide which aircraft were most suitable for construction in

America. A member of the Bolling team, Maj Edgar Gorrell

had several talks with Caproni, who persuaded him t

purchase the rights for several hundred of his heavy bomber

for construction in America. Soon after, Gorrell wrote Capron

requesting information on German industrial targets for us

in planning Allied bombing missions. Douhet probably helpe

Caproni compile this information, since Douhet also wa

collecting intelligence on the location of German factories

Although the Caproni bomber contract was not fulfilled, th

relationship established among these men planted the seed

for American airpower.18

At the same time, Caproni provided Gorrell with a copy of 

polemic written by Nino Salvaneschi, an Italian journalist an

6
friend of Douhet . Titled 

Let Us Kill the War, Let Us Aim at th

Heart of the Enemy!” this propaganda pamphlet accused th

Germans of endless atrocities, thereby justifying any and al

actions taken to defeat Germany. Although Germany quit

clearly had attempted to bomb Britain into submission b

zeppelin attacks, the airship could not achieve decisiv

results. Now, however, the Allies had large aircraft (no

coincidentally, Capronis ) capable of carrying tons of bombs

These aircraft, termed “battle planes” by Salvaneschi, mean

that “the sky is the new field of combat and death which ha

unbarred her blue doors to the combatants.” The purpose o

these battle planes was “to kill the war,” not by destroying th

enemy army but by destroying its “manufactories of arms.

This in turn would leave the enemy with insufficient strength

to carry on the war. 19

Gorrell was quite taken with Salvaneschi’s piece an

distributed numerous copies of it within the American Ai

Service . Over the months that followed, Gorrell wrote 

remarkably farsighted memo on the desirability and feasibilit

of strategic bombing. Perhaps not surprisingly, stron

similarities existed among Gorrell’s memo, Salvaneschi’

piece, and the ideas then being expounded by Douhet.

20

In June 1918 Douhet retired from the army, disgusted with

the inefficiency and conservatism of his superiors, an

returned to writing. Soon after the armistice, he became upse

with the government for not dealing adequately with veteran

of the war. He therefore started Duty, a newspaper that deal

largely with domestic, economic, and political issues. In thi

position, he learned that the government had launched an

official investigation into the battle of Caporetto. The repor

concluded that defeat resulted from deficiencies in organization

and leadership, many of which Douhet had noted. The retire

colonel therefore petitioned to have his court-martia

reexamined. When the judges perceived the accuracy of hi

criticisms and predictions, they decided that Douhet ha

indeed been primarily interested in the safety of hi

country—not in personal gain. The verdict was overturned in

November 1920, and he was promoted to general.2 1

Rather than returning to active duty, Douhet continued hi

literary efforts. In 1921 he completed his most famous work

7
The Command of the Air, published under War Departmen

auspices—an indication of how completely his reputation ha

been restored. During this same period, Douhet became 

supporter of the Fascist party and Benito Mussolini, even

participating in the “March on Rome” in October 1922. When

Mussolini assumed power soon after, he endorsed Douhet’

ideas and appointed him commissioner of aviation. Douhe

was unhappy as a bureaucrat, however, hoping to b

appointed as chief of the air force. The offer was no

forthcoming, so after only a few months, the general retired 

second time to devote himself to writing.

This he did for the next eight years, publishing dozens o

essays and articles on airpower, as well as several novels an

plays. Unfortunately, few of his many works have been

translated into English. Indeed, fully one-half of the firs

edition of The Command of the Air, comprising a length

appendix discussing the principles of flight and technica

details of aircraft and seaplane construction, has never been

translated and remains largely forgotten.22 Giulio Douhet die

of a heart attack on 15 February 1930, while tending hi

garden at Ceschina, near Rome.

Douhet was profoundly affected by the trench warfare o

World War I. Like most of his generation, he was appalled b

the carnage and feared that such a catastrophe would recur

He believed that wars were no longer fought between armie

but between whole peoples. All the resources of a country—

human, material, and psychological—would focus on the wa

effort. Whereas Napoléon sometimes gained victory with 

single battle, the effort now required a series of battles and 

series of armies. Indeed, the nation would have to b

exhausted before it would admit defeat. But reaching this poin

became increasingly more difficult in an age of industrialization

when factories could produce the implements of war in 

seemingly inexhaustible supply.

What made the attritional war of 1914–18 more horrifyin

was advancing technology—specifically the machine gun—

that gave an overwhelming advantage to the defender. Defens

behind prepared positions had always possessed inheren

benefits, so an attacker required a preponderance of force t

ensure success—usually at least a three-to-one advantage

8
The world war proved to Douhet that new technology require

greater superiority for an attack to succeed (surely 

misnomer if it meant the slaughter of thousands). Although

convinced that technology had granted the defense 

permanent ascendancy in land warfare , he argued

paradoxically, that although technology had caused th

trench stalemate, technology—in the form of the airplane—

would end it. Only aircraft could overcome the fundamenta

problem of a prolonged war of attrition caused by mass armie

equipped with modern weapons.

Douhet argued that airpower was revolutionary because i

operated in the third dimension, unhampered by geography

Indeed, the weapon was not so revolutionary as the medium o

the air itself, which granted flexibility and initiative. Aircraf

could fly over surface forces, which then became of secondar

importance. If one no longer needed to control the ground

then the forces used to control it diminished in significance

Contrary to conditions on the surface, Douhet continued, th

aerial offense was stronger than the aerial defense becaus

the vastness of the sky made defense against the airplan

virtually impossible. In Douhet’s formulation, the speed o

aircraft relative to ground forces plus the ubiquity of aircraft—

the ability to be in so many places in a short period of time—

equaled offensive power.

Writing before the advent of radar, he argued that 

defender’s inability to know the exact time and location of an

attack gave an enormous advantage to the offense, virtually

assuring tactical surprise. On the other hand, defens

required a huge air fleet because each protected point neede

an air contingent at least the size of the attacking enemy. Thi

situation was precisely the opposite of the one on the ground

because it meant that successful air defense required th

preponderance of force, leading Douhet to term the airplan

“the offensive weapon par excellence .”2 3

Just as Douhet discounted the possibility of aeria

interception, so too did he dismiss ground-based air defenses

Further, he deemed antiaircraft guns wasteful because the

seldom hit anything. Douhet sarcastically conceded tha

ground fire might down some aircraft, much like muskets sho

in the air might occasionally hit a swallow, but it was not 

9
serious deterrent to air attack. People who believed tha

artillery was an effective counter to the airplane “had confuse

aircraft with snails.” Douhet stated flatly, “I am against ai

defense because it detracts means from the Air Force . . . I am

against it because I am absolutely convinced that . . . i

cannot achieve its aim.”24 Thus, in Douhet’s eyes, the bes

defense—indeed, the only defense—was a good offense. Fo

the same reason, he eschewed an air reserve . All aircraft wer

committed; holding forces in reserve exemplified the outdate

and defensive thinking of surface commanders. The speed an

range of aircraft created their own reserve because they wer

able to react quickly and engage in different locations lon

before surface forces could move there.

These beliefs regarding the nature of modern war and th

inherent characteristics of the airplane led Douhet to a theor

of war based on the dominance of airpower. His mos

fundamental precept2 5 was that an air force must achiev

command of the air—air supremacy in today’s parlance. 2

Without it, land and sea operations—even air operations—

were doomed. Moreover, a country that lost control of it

airspace had to endure whatever air attacks an enemy chos

to carry out. Command of the air meant victory.

Because predicting the specific time and place of an ai

attack was virtually impossible, Douhet saw little chance of an

air battle occurring. He reasoned that a stronger air forc

would be foolish to seek out its weaker enemy in the air

Rather, it should carry out the more lucrative task of bombin

the enemy’s airfields and aircraft industry—“destroying th

eggs in their nest.” The weaker force also had no incentive t

seek an air engagement that would likely lead to it

destruction. The only hope for the weaker side lay in strikin

even more violently at an enemy’s homeland. Douhet thu

envisioned a rather peculiar scenario in which opposing ai

forces studiously ignored each other while flying past t

destroy the other’s airfields and factories—something akin t

“mutual assured destruction” without nuclear weapons. H

realized, however, that achieving aerial dominance was not an

end in itself but an enabler that allowed airpower to conduc

its primary task of reducing an enemy’s will and capability t

wage war.

10
The objective of war had always been to impose one

s will on

the enemy by breaking the latter’s will to resist. This, in fact

happened to Germany, Austria , and Russia in the Grea

War—their armies were still largely intact in the fall of 1918

but the will of these nations to continue the fight ha

dissolved. In Douhet’s view, airpower could break a people’s

will by destroying or neutralizing a country’s “vital centers ”—

those elements of society, government, military, and industria

structure essential to the functioning of the state. Because o

their value—as well as their immobility and vulnerability—

these centers were protected by fortresses and armies. It wa

therefore necessary to defeat these armies and reduce thes

fortresses to expose the soft, inner core. Once disarmed, 

country would then usually surrender rather than suffer th

humiliation of an enemy occupation.

Over time, many people began to equate destruction of th

army with the objective of war, rather than merely as a mean

to an end. The Great War demonstrated that such a goal could

have catastrophic consequences. Douhet reminded hi

readers that the true objective in war was the enemy’s will

and only aircraft could strike it directly, overflying an

ignoring the surface conflict below. In short, aircraft could

obviate the bloody first step of destroying the enemy army

which now became superfluous.

Douhet was perhaps the first person to realize that the ke

to airpower was targeting, because although aircraft could

strike virtually anything, they should not attempt to strik

everything. One had to identify the most important objective

and hit them most forcefully. Choosing the proper target

would not be an easy task and would require great insight; in

this area, air commanders would prove their ability. Because th

choice of targets would depend on a number of circumstances—

economic, military, political, and psychological—it would b

variable. But Douhet identified five basic target systems as th

vital centers of a modern country: industry, transportation

infrastructure, communication nodes, government buildings

and the will of the people. 27

To Douhet, this last category was the most important

because the total wars of the new industrialized age were n

longer a contest between armed foes: all people wer

11
combatants—women and men alike—and their collective wil

would have to be broken. Douhet bluntly stated that on

could do this most effectively by urban bombing, which would

terrorize the population. But that is precisely why it would hav

such great effect: “Normal life could not be carried on in thi

constant nightmare of imminent death and destruction.”28 In

“The War of 19—,” which described a fictional war between

Germany and a French-Belgian alliance, Douhet had German

bombers striking cities immediately after the outbreak of wa

to make a “moral impression” on the population.2 9

Significantly, Douhet implied that one might not need such

terror bombing because gaining command of the air would b

so psychologically devastating that destruction of vital center

would be unnecessary. The side that lost control of its own

airspace would realize what was in store and surrender rathe

than face devastation. Thus, war would become so horrible i

would be humanizing, a paradox which generated in Douhet 

strange ambivalence about the righteousness of airpower tha

he never fully resolved. Also of interest is his emphasis on th

importance of gaining command of the air, which implied tha

this effort was comparable to clashes between opposin

armies, wherein a decisive battle meant victory in the war

“Once a nation has been conquered in the air it may b

subjected to such moral torture that it would be obliged to cr

‘Enough’ before the war could be decided upon the surface

(emphasis in original).30 In other words, he came close t

identifying the enemy air force as the key vital center. In 

sense, therefore, Douhet also stressed the need for a decisive

counterforce battle, as did the land-war theorists he s

decried.

Douhet did not advocate that aircraft attack or assis

surface forces. The strength of airpower lay in its use as 

strategic weapon, not a tactical one. He did concede, however

that the air campaign might take six days or six months

“depending on the intensity of the offensive and th

staunchness of the people’s hearts.” This meant that although

command of the air and the subsequent devastation of 

country’s vital centers would probably produce victory

airpower might still need to defeat the enemy’s ground force

if surrender were not immediately forthcoming. If all els

12
failed, ground troops would occupy enemy territory. T

Douhet , this last option would seldom be necessary; even th

need to defeat the surface forces was unlikely. 31 In reality, thi

prediction has yet to come true, because defeat of an arm

has a psychological as well as a physical effect. Now, as then

a country is generally unwilling to yield if its ground forces ar

still intact. The Persian Gulf War of 1991 seemed to indicat

that, for psychological reasons, defeating the Iraqi army wa

still necessary, but in this case airpower was able to do s

with incomparably greater efficiency and at lower risk than b

using ground forces .

Because Douhet thought air attacks on a country’s vita

centers were of primary importance, he saw little use fo

“auxiliary aviation ” (pursuit or attack aircraft). His ideas on

this subject grew more radical over time. In the first edition o

The Command of the Air (1921), he recognized the utility o

auxiliary aviation . However, in the second edition (1927)

Douhet went much further, stating that he had been

deliberately mild in his earlier edition so as not to cause to

much consternation, but now he had to be completely honest

He maintained that, in truth, auxiliary aviation was “useless

superfluous and harmful”32 and was merely a collection o

airplanes—it was not airpower. Convinced that an army o

navy without control of the air above it was an army or navy

about to be destroyed, he termed command of the air essential—

the key strategic objective. After achieving command of th

air, aircraft could assist in any tactical operations still in

progress on the surface. But diverting assets from th

strategic air battle to support surface operations was folly. I

one lost command of the air, one lost the war, regardless o

the situation on the surface.

One must remember that Douhet was formulating a theor

of war applicable to Italy—a country of modest resources

powerful neighbors, and mountainous northern borders. 33 H

believed it relatively easy to defend the mountain passes—a

indeed Austria had done in the Great War. Certainly, auxiliar

aviation would prove useful in that defense, but to what end

Victory on the surface was prohibitively expensive, if no

impossible. Italy would do well to hold on the ground an

attack in the air. Douhet admitted, however, that a countr

13
with great resources—such as the United States —could affor

to build both a strategic and an auxiliary air force.3 4

To implement his ideas, Douhet called for an independen

air force (IAF). Airpower divorced from army and navy contro

was essential because it could not be the “Cinderella of th

family,” dependent on the generosity of older sisters,3 5 bu

must see to its own needs. Even the most conservative soldie

and sailor recognized how essential aircraft had become t

their operations. Although denying that airpower could be 

decisive factor in war, they realized that victory was unlikely

without it. To Douhet, this realization was dangerous if i

meant that surface commanders could demand airpower

under their control, to support tactical operations. In thi

circumstance, the aviation defense budget would suffer a fata

split between independent and auxiliary airpower—a situation

that would help no one.

The IAF would consist largely of “bombardment units” an

“combat units,” the former comprising long-range, heavy

load-carrying aircraft of moderate speed. Although Douhe

considered interception of a bomber force unlikely, h

admitted the possibility of such an eventuality and therefor

called for “combat units” or escort aircraft . With approximately

the same performance characteristics as the bombers, thes

escorts would carry machine guns to ward off enem

interceptors. Notably, because he did not anticipate the actua

occurrence of an air battle , he claimed that one would no

really require such defensive armaments, but he include

them as a comfort to aircrew morale. 36

The only other aircraft Douhet thought necessary was 

fast, long-range reconnaissance plane to fly over enem

territory, photographing potential targets. One needed

reconnaissance for effective targeting, not only to pinpoin

objectives but also to determine the effectiveness of air attack

on those objectives. In the revised edition of The Command o

the Air, Douhet combined the functions of bombardment an

escort into one aircraft—the battle plane, which he envisione

flying en masse towards an enemy’s vital centers carryin

both bombs and defensive machine guns.3 7

Significantly, unlike many other writers of the period wh

tended to glorify air warfare—especially the role of the fighte

14
pilot—Douhet took a decidedly nonromantic view. No passage

in his writings speak of the exhilaration of flight, the conques

of nature by man and machine, or the near-mystica

experiences of people who have become unfettered by th

tyranny of geography. He did not compare pilots to modern

knights—bold, chivalrous, and dashing—but portrayed aviator

simply as determined and stoic professionals who went abou

their deadly business in an unremarkable way. And thi

business was indeed a deadly one.

Because most attacks would be on area targets, Douhet did

not believe that bombing accuracy was especially important: i

targets were so small as to require high accuracy, then the

were probably not worthwhile targets. Aircraft conductin

these area attacks would use a mixture of high-explosive

incendiary, and gas or biological (aerochemical) bombs. Th

explosives would produce rubble; the incendiaries would star

fires in the rubble; and the aerochemical bombs would

prevent firefighters from extinguishing the blaze. In Th

Command of the Air, Douhet states only that aircraft would

use these bombs “in the correct proportions,” but in “The Wa

of 19—” German battle planes carry bomb loads in the ratio o

one explosive to three incendiary to six aerochemical bombs.

3

Douhet thus recognized that a combination of different type

of weapons can produce a greater result than can any singl

weapon. Of note, during World War II, Allied bombers often

carried a mix of both high-explosive and incendiary bombs t

achieve the results suggested by Douhet.

The general also insisted that air attacks be carried out en

masse. In the air, as on the surface, piecemeal attacks wer

counterproductive. His emphasis on mass in the air—on

remembers his call for 20,000 aircraft in 1917—was every bi

as pronounced as that of surface generals of the late war. O

equal importance was the rapidity of these mass strikes. Th

speed and range of aircraft provided the flexibility to strik

several targets simultaneously, which would cause paralysi

and collapse. Air strikes would occur so rapidly and massively

over a wide area that the collective will of a country would

simply disintegrate. In today’s parlance, Douhet was referrin

to “parallel operations”—the ability to operate simultaneously

against several different target sets at both the strategic an

15
tactical levels. Several decades would pass before the accurac

and effectiveness of aircraft and their weapons would allow

such parallel operations, but the principle Douhet outlined in

1921 was certainly viable.

Because defense against air attack was impossible, Douhe

also stressed the need for an air fleet in-being to attac

immediately and relentlessly once hostilities began. Unlik

surface forces that could have weeks or even months t

prepare, airpower would have no time to mobilize in futur

wars. A country not ready for war would lose command of th

air and, with it, the war itself. Indeed, an unstated conclusion

of this position is that airpower would be particularly effectiv

at “first strike” or preventive war. If mobilization were not 

factor in air warfare and if air defense were impossible, then

obviously the country that struck first would enjoy an

enormous, almost insurmountable, advantage. Assumin

Douhet ’s formulation, therefore, in times of crisis one would

tend to use the air weapon precipitously. Thus—even more s

than in the era before the Great War, when mobilization wa

tantamount to a declaration of war—the inexorable, almos

inevitable, nature of air attack might mean that the slightes

twitch in times of crisis could lead to catastrophe. The ai

weapon, by its nature, sported a hair trigger.

Douhet recognized that the strength of a country’s air forc

was integrally related to the condition of its civil aviation

industry; indeed, he viewed military air as even mor

dependent on the civil sector than either land or sea power

Douhet saw a strong and symbiotic relationship among an ai

force, the aviation industry, the government, and a country’

commercial vitality.3 9 He argued that the government mus

subsidize and support civil aviation in three general ways. Firs

it should establish air routes consisting of airports, emergenc

landing fields, radio and signal beacons, and weather stations

Second, it must fund research and development—aircraft an

their special high-performance engines were too expensive t

expect industry to assume the financial burden for thei

development. Third, Douhet believed that civil airliners should

be capable of performing military missions. He envisione

airliners with the same specifications as battle planes—an

thus able to augment the air force in war.4 0

16
This idea has some validity. Although complete commonalit

has not been possible, the technological relationship between

civil and military aircraft has always been close becaus

scientific advances often benefit both sectors. During th

1930s, commercial designs like the Boeing 247, Lockhee

“Vega,” and Douglas DC-3 led military aircraft development

Even today, it is no coincidence that Boeing and Lockhee

airliners closely resemble Air Force tankers and cargo aircraft

Even so, the increasing complexity demanded of military aircraf

is making this decades-old technological marriage tenuous.

Finally, Douhet expected civil aviation to establish an

“airmindedness” among the population. Not only must a poo

of pilots and aircraft mechanics be trained for war, but event

like air shows and demonstration flights would educate peopl

to the importance of aviation and the economic, social, an

military benefits it could bestow. The people must think o

themselves as an airpower nation.

In evaluating the writings of Douhet, one must note th

existence of three incarnations of the theorist who wrote abou

airpower over a 20-year period. The first was a relatively

young man, fascinated by machines and gadgets, wh

witnessed heavier-than-air flight in 1908 and began dreamin

about its possibilities. Over the next four years, he sketche

an outline of the importance of aircraft and ways for usin

them in war. By the time Italy had entered World War 

Douhet had already decided upon the basic thrust of thi

theory: war had become total and stagnated, and airpowe

would provide the antidote. It would do this by taking th

offensive at the outset of war and by bombing the enem

country’s vital centers. The world war merely provided mor

detail and specificity to his theories. The stalemate and horro

of land warfare was even worse than he—or anyone else—ha

imagined. The few and fairly weak attempts at strategi

bombing seemed to provide disproportionately large results

Douhet therefore expanded upon his earlier ideas, threw in 

few examples from the war, and produced the first edition o

The Command of the Air in 1921.

The response to his work was fairly muted. Perhap

because of Europe’s inevitable revulsion to war in the wake o

the armistice or because of the great turmoil occasioned b

17
the rise of Mussolini and the Fascist state, Douhet

s book

caused little stir initially. During the six years after th

publication of his book, the “second theorist” continued t

think and write, out of the public eye, and in the process hi

radicalism grew. The result was the second edition of Th

Command of the Air, which, as we have seen, was mor

extreme than the first. The revised work reduced the role o

the army and navy but increased the importance of strategi

airpower. As a consequence, the utility of auxiliary aviation

became nil. Finally, Douhet placed even greater faith in th

ability of the bomber to penetrate enemy airspace and destro

targets. Escorts were unnecessary. Unlike the first edition, th

1927 version of The Command of the Air had a noisy reception

The third Douhet spent the last three years of his lif

reacting to the firestorm created by his revised work. Becaus

of his reputation and personality, as well as the primitive stat

of aviation even into the mid-1920s, ignoring Douhet had been

easy. Clearly, his superiors—even those involved with aviation

or sympathetic to it—had not taken him too seriously. As 

consequence, his writings up to 1927 had generated littl

debate within his profession. After that date, however, such

was not the case. Mussolini clearly approved of airpower; new

airmen like Italo Balbo were becoming national heroes an

gaining international reputations; and the aircraft themselve

were becoming increasingly capable. The ideas of Douhet thu

posed a threat to the proponents of land and sea power , whom

he was constantly attacking.

Not used to defending himself from incessant and virulen

attack, Douhet for the first time had to engage in an

intelligent, albeit heated, debate with his military peers

Nonetheless, given the gusto with which he responded to hi

critics between 1927 and 1930, largely through the pages o

Rivista Aeronautica, he certainly seemed to enjoy th

controversy. What effect did this long overdue dialogue hav

on his theories? The impact was mixed. On the one hand, i

forced him to clearly define terms like command of the air, an

this clarification enhanced his theory. 4 1 On the other hand

however, it drove him to dig in his heels even more adamantly

regarding the dominance of airpower over surface warfare.

18
The increased radicalization of Douhet

s ideas, spurred b

the heated debate in professional military journals

culminated in his last work, “The War of 19—,” written in th

last months of his life but not published until soon after hi

death. In many ways, this piece combined and magnifie

Douhet ’s most extreme positions. The entire war lasts les

than two days, and dozens of major cities lie in ashes. Th

battle planes of the victorious Germans suffer enormou

losses, but succeeding waves continue and are unstoppable

The morale of the civilian population quickly collapses, an

the political leadership sues for peace, while the land forces o

the belligerents have barely even begun their mobilization an

assembly. The war of the future is therefore rapid, violent

relatively bloodless (compared to the Great War), an

dominated completely by airpower. This vision—almos

hopeful and utopian in some respects—would dominat

airpower theory for the next decade. It is therefore imperativ

at this point to examine more closely Douhet’s assumption

and conclusions, many of which, quite simply, were wrong.

Douhet initiated a fundamental debate, never resolved, ove

whether airpower is unique and revolutionary or whether it i

just another arrow in a soldier’s or sailor’s quiver—and thu

evolutionary. Debate hinges on the alleged decisiveness o

airpower.

Can airpower be decisive in war? Perhaps the answe

depends on the definition of that term. Some people use it t

imply that airpower can (or cannot) win wars independently o

other arms. But no service is likely to win a war alone in th

modern age, so that definition is not useful; moreover, few

airmen would make such a claim. Others define decisivenes

in terms of destruction of an enemy force or the occupation o

territory. Douhet argued that these results were not th

objects of war and were often irrelevant. Trafalgar did not en

the Napoleonic wars, and although Hannibal occupied most o

Italy for a decade and destroyed several Roman armies, he stil

lost the war.

A more useful meaning of the term entails identifying th

force predominant in achieving the desired goal. If that goa

includes the quarantine of a belligerent, as in the Cuban

missile crisis of 1961, then sea power will dominate. If, on th

19
other hand, the goal is to topple a dictator and restor

democracy, as in Panama, then ground forces will dominate

But in other instances, such as the Persian Gulf War

airpower is dominant. In terms of this meaning, Douhe

believed passionately that airpower could be decisive in wa

and thus revolutionary. He did, however, stumble in severa

key respects.

One of Douhet’s more glaring errors was his overestimation

of the psychological effects of bombing. He believed tha

people would panic in the face of a determined air attack. To 

great extent, however, one can excuse Douhet for this mistak

since he had little empirical evidence to draw upon—and th

available evidence was quite supportive. For example, in 192

military theorist Basil H. Liddell Hart commented on th

psychological effect of German bombing attacks on Britain in

World War I:

Witnesses of the earlier air attacks before our defence was organized,

will not be disposed to underestimate the panic and disturbance that

would result from a concentrated blow dealt by a superior air fleet.

Who that saw it will ever forget the nightly sight of the population of a

great industrial and shipping town, such as Hull, streaming out into

the fields on the first sound of the alarm signals? Women, children,

babies in arms, spending night after night huddled in sodden fields,

shivering under a bitter winter sky.4 2

Douhet had read of such panic during the war and noted i

in his diaries. Clearly, these reports made a deep impression

on him. In truth, one could find many such descriptions in

the literature of the time, and even Stanley Baldwin, forme

British prime minister, proclaimed glumly in 1932 that “th

bomber would always get through.”4 3 People clearly believe

such warnings: during the Munich crisis of 1938, full

one-third of the population of Paris evacuated the city to avoid

a possible German air assault.

4 4 The problem with such

apocalyptic predictions was that they failed to addres

whether morale was even a relevant issue in a tightly

organized police state—as were Germany and Japan durin

World War II. In addition, the dire predictions of Douhet an

others erred by underestimating the resiliency of human

beings in the face of adversity. Civilian morale did not break in

World War II with anywhere near the rapidity or finalit

20
predicted by Douhet : cities were not inhabited by mere rabbl

who would collapse at the first application of pressure. 4

Perhaps, as one observer noted, Douhet ’s theories assume

wars occurring between the democratic countries of Europe,4 

whose governments are responsive to the wishes of th

population. However, such is not generally the case in 

dictatorship, whose leaders may ignore the desires of the people

indeed, the state police may prevent the people from makin

their wishes known. In such a circumstance, the morale of th

population, even if affected by aerial bombardment, may b

irrelevant to the despot. Similarly, a country in the throes o

civil war may not be responsive to any government, or 

government may have little control over its population. In suc

situations, the moral effect of bombing would be negligible—or

at least, would not operate using the mechanism envisione

by Douhet.

Similarly, Douhet exaggerated the physical effects of aeria

bombs, but in this case he should have known better. H

postulated absurdly uniform and effective bombing—no duds

no misses, no overlap, no difference in the composition an

construction of targets struck. In fact, he seemed to assum

that all wars occurred in clear weather and that all pilots an

bombardiers—and their equipment—performed flawlessly. Fo

example, he stated that a 100-kilogram bomb (220 pounds

would destroy anything within a 50-meter diameter; that is, 

target 500 meters in diameter would require 10 tons o

explosives. Because aircraft of the day could carry two tons, on

needed five aircraft to effect this destruction. Magnanimously

Douhet doubled that number and claimed that 10 aircraf

would “destroy entirely everything that exists upon an area o

500 meters diameter.”4 7

Such calculations were simplistic in the extreme. Fo

example, a circle that size has an area of approximately .1

square kilometers. London was about one thousand times a

large at that time (about 75 square miles or 196 squar

kilometers). Thus, even using Douhet’s hopelessly optimisti

figures for bomb effectiveness, one would have needed 10,00

tons of high explosives to level London—or a force of fiv

thousand aircraft. Even had such an air fleet been available, i

21
would not necessarily have produced the results expected b

Douhet .

One historian has noted that in the first six months o

Operation Barbarossa in 1941, the Soviet Union lost 4

percent of its population, 63 percent of its coal, 58 percent o

its steel, 68 percent of its pig iron, 60 percent of its aluminum

38 percent of its grain, 95 percent of its ball bearings, and 9

percent of its rolled, nonferrous metals.48 If a strategi

bombing force had attained those staggering statistics, the

would have been the envy of any air commander. But o

course the Soviet Union not only did not collapse, it went on

to defeat Germany. Modern nations had a toughness an

resiliency undreamed of by Douhet.

Douhet also proposed that aerochemical bombs b

employed with the high explosives, thinking they would b

especially effective against urban targets. Gen Nicholas N

Golovine noted, however, that based on wartime experience

one needed 25 grams of poison gas to “put out of action” on

square meter. London, for example, would have require

5,750 tons of poison material “for an effective gassing.”4

Adding to the tonnage of high explosives noted above

including an appropriate number of escort aircraft , an

assuming some attrition of the striking force, an attack on

London of the destructive magnitude envisioned by Douhe

would have required nearly 20,000 aircraft. Yet, “The War o

19—” lasts only 36 hours because more than two dozen of th

major cities in France and Belgium have been reduced t

ashes—and by only fifteen hundred aircraft using bombs of 

mere 50 kilograms, a size so small as to be virtually useless.

Although repeatedly claiming that his methods wer

scientific and mathematically precise, it is nonetheless tru

that for a trained engineer, Douhet’s mathematical an

technical gaffes—as well as his sophomoric attempts t

estimate bomb damage “scientifically”—are baffling. Where i

the empirical evidence supporting his assertions regarding th

effectiveness of high explosives against reinforced structures

He had none. One gains little comfort from realizing he wa

not alone in these errors. 50 Unfortunately, this attempt t

imbue airpower with a false “scientism” has never been fully

overcome. Airpower theorists seem to have a peculia

22
penchant for devising technological solutions for what ar

often very human problems.

To make matters worse, Douhet then stated breezily that in

order to achieve optimal bomb dispersion, crews should b

trained to “scatter their bombs” in a “uniform fashion.”5

Nothing more clearly exposes a key flaw in Douhet’s theories

He was out of touch with the details and showed n

understanding of the tactics needed to implement thos

concepts. Apparently, Douhet was not an aviator; consequently

he frequently made serious missteps, such as this bizarr

comment about scattering bombs uniformly, even in the heat o

combat. 52

Moreover, Douhet had an irritating tendency to exaggerat

his prophetic powers. In The Command of the Air, he quotes a

length from a piece he published in 1910, in which he predict

the coming dominance of the airplane. However, other piece

he wrote during that same period were far more conservative

As noted above, his official report on the Libyan War wa

strongly muted, dealing mostly with organizational an

technical matters. In addition, in 1910 he published an articl

titled “The Possibilities of Aerial Navigation” that was similarly

unremarkable. Douhet sang the praises of the airplane, bu

stopped far short of calling for an independent air arm or even

emphasizing the role of strategic bombing in future wars

Instead, he stressed the reconnaissance and tactical aspect

of aircraft and their importance in battle.5 3 Thus, Douhet’

need to backdate his airpower theories to well before World

War I gives us an interesting insight into his personality. Bein

an early air theorist was not enough—he had to be the first.

Douhet was also guilty of virtually ignoring the air battle

required to attain command of the air. Because the airplane’

inherent attributes of speed and range granted it tactica

surprise, he believed that one could achieve command of th

air without a fight. (In “The War of 19—,” the air battle lasts 

mere three hours.) A tension in war has always existe

between the strategies of annihilation and attrition . The latte

definitely characterized land warfare in World War I. Airpowe

has promised annihilation but generally provided attrition 

Although Douhet stated that airpower would eliminate th

counterforce battle , it was still necessary in World War II—bu

23
the trenches had moved to 20,000 feet. Nearly 80,000 Roya

Air Force (RAF) crew members and a like number o

Americans were lost in the air battle over Germany. Indeed

that battle revealed that meeting the Luftwaffe in the air wa

wiser than attacking the German aircraft and engine factories

In effect, Allied bombers became the bait that brought th

Luftwaffe ’s planes—and pilots—into the air, where they could

be destroyed. One reason Douhet discounted the air battle

was that few had occurred on a major scale in the Italo

Austrian front during the war.

Possibly, Douhet ignored the air battle because admittin

its likelihood would contradict one of his main tenets—tha

airpower eliminated the counterforce battle. Towards the en

of his life, he began to modify these views. In “The War o

19—,” the German battle planes suffer horrendous losses—

100 percent of the attacking force is shot down by enem

pursuit in the initial waves—but succeeding waves press on

and ultimately achieve victory. 5 4 In other words, Douhe

conceded that defense was possible, at least tactically

Certainly, a fuller exploration of the distinction between

tactical and strategic air superiority and ways of achievin

such superiority would have been useful.

The Battle of Britain refuted Douhet’s premise that th

weaker air force must assume an ever more violent offens

because defense is futile. In that battle, radar stripped awa

the airplane’s surprise. One would do well to remember

however, that this battle of 1940 has been the only clear-cu

defensive air victory in history. 55 Today, electronic warfare—

the jamming of communications and radars, and especially

stealth technology—has tilted the balance back in favor of th

aircraft as an offensive weapon for countries that hav

invested in such technology . The Persian Gulf War presente

a situation predicted by Douhet: attacking aircraft (F-11

stealth bombers) arrived over targets unannounced, destroye

those targets, and then departed with impunity, all becaus

they had achieved tactical surprise.

The Italian theorist also erred in foreseeing only total war

perhaps because his view was colored by a conflict tha

seemingly had no rational objectives. The political scientis

Bernard Brodie accused him of failing to understand that wa

24
must follow policy, but this misses the mark. 56 Rather

Douhet expected that future wars would be just as inane a

the Great War. More cynic than realist, he was profoundly

skeptical of human nature and rejected arguments that wa

could be carefully guided or finely tuned to reflect politica

will: “War . . . is a kind of irrepressible convulsion, durin

which it seems to lose or suspend every human sense; and i

[humanity] appears to be invaded by a devastating an

destructive fury.”5 7 Fortunately, he was not completely

correct; World War II was not as devoid of clear objectives a

was the Great War . Moreover, limited wars like those in Kore

and Vietnam have become the norm in the second half of thi

century, and in many of these wars—as against the Vietcong fo

example—airpower, as he envisioned it, is largely inappropriate.

Douhet denigrated limitations imposed by law and moralit

and continued to advocate aerochemical attacks on cities

even after Italy had ratified the Geneva Protocol of 1925 tha

prohibited them. This too showed Douhet’s pessimistic view o

human nature. He was certain that total war would rationaliz

any type of activity, stating, “He is a fool if not a patricide wh

would acquiesce in his country’s defeat rather than go agains

those formal agreements which do not limit the right to kil

and destroy, but simply the ways of killing and destroying

The limitations applied to the so-called inhuman an

atrocious means of war are nothing but internationa

demagogic hypocrisies.”5 8

Given the world war hecatomb, it is not surprising tha

Douhet was so pessimistic. But as horrendous as was th

destruction in World War II, none of the belligerents resorte

to gas warfare, although most possessed the means to do so. 5

Moreover, since 1945 several conventions have been held

regarding the law of war and have proposed a variety o

rulings. Most of these limitations are contained in the Genev

Protocols of 1977, and although the United States rejected them

it still follows their basic thrust.6 0 This was the case in

Operation Desert Storm , when coalition airmen went to grea

lengths to restrict the types of targets struck and weapon

employed so as to minimize civilian casualties and collatera

damage. Now that precision bombing has become more routine

such scrupulous targeting likely will become standard practice.

25
Another example of Douhet 

s shortsightedness was hi

failure to forecast advances in surface technology. Despit

saying that everything in this world undergoes improvement

he foresaw no evolution in surface weapons and claimed tha

ground war had reached perpetual equilibrium. Thus, h

ignored the development of tanks and armored doctrine

which played a major role in restoring mobility to th

battlefield. Tanks, which were used by most of the majo

belligerents during the war and which underwent significan

improvement in the decades that followed, are not even

mentioned in The Command of the Air. Significantly, however

the French army in “The War of 19—” does possess a stron

tank contingent; but France loses the war before they can eve

be put to use.

Obviously, Douhet is making a point. The surface stalemat

of the Great War was certainly very real and had an enormou

psychological impact on the people who fought in it, but on

must ask what happened to the Giulio Douhet who wrote s

presciently concerning the potential of ground-forc

mechanization in his early career. A skeptic might as

whether such ideas would have undermined his theorie

regarding the primacy of airpower.61 Also of note is the fac

that Douhet took pains to single out small-caliber machin

guns as contributors to the trench stalemate of World War 

He did not mention the enormous and continually growin

use of large-caliber artillery, which also played a major role in

the stalemate. This is a curious omission, especially from an

artillery officer. One possible explanation is that Douhet wa

reluctant to call attention to a weapon whose explosive impac

bore at least some resemblance to that of an aerial bomb. H

did not want anyone to think of airpower as flying artillery.

Douhet also missed the mark on air defense. Despite th

existence of a counter to air attack, he insisted tha

antiaircraft fire and interceptors were ineffective and would

remain so. Moreover, Douhet denied to defensive airpower th

same flexibility, speed, and ability to mass that he granted th

offense. Even before the invention of radar, this attitude is no

understandable. As early as 1917, the British had establishe

a sophisticated system of air defense, consisting of multipl

“spotting stations” connected by telephone to a centra

26
headquarters in London. Telephones tied this headquarters t

various airfields housing interceptor squadrons. Thes

airfields, in turn, maintained contact with their airborn

aircraft via wireless. The system was relatively effective, a

Douhet must have known.62 In one of his more memorabl

and maladroit comments, Douhet mused, “Nothing man can

do on the surface of the earth can interfere with a plane in

flight, moving freely in the third dimension.”6 3 Once again

one searches for the lieutenant who began his career as an

artillery officer. He must have known that Allied gunners sho

down more than one thousand German aircraft during th

war and that because of improvements in fusing, the numbe

of rounds fired to achieve a hit fell by one-half between 191

and 1918.6 4 He should have expected continued improvement

in air defenses , yet he ignored them.

One must note that Douhet predicated his argumen

regarding the inherently offensive nature of the airplane on

the belief that only aircraft could stop other aircraft. Given th

vastness of the sky, this position has some merit, though no

as much as Douhet claimed. It has even less merit, however, i

one admits that antiaircraft guns can also be effective agains

air attack. In such an instance, the numerical advantag

gained by an attacker achieving tactical surprise and avoidin

airborne interception quickly evaporates. Theoretically, i

antiaircraft guns are extremely effective, interceptor aircraf

are not even necessary for a successful defense.

Moreover, Douhet seemed to assume that in order for 

defense to be effective, it must stop all of an attacker’

aircraft. World War II proved that this was far from the case

Even in those instances in which the defense—using both

interceptors and antiaircraft guns—was able to shoot down

“only” 20 percent of an attacking bomber force, the effect on

the attacker was nearly catastrophic. As the American strike

on Schweinfurt in the fall of 1943 showed, such loss rate

were not simply unacceptable but were well within th

capabilities of a defender to achieve. In truth, although

Douhet —like many of his contemporaries—vilified th

generals of the Great War for foolishly falling into a “cult of th

offensive,” the Italian air theorist followed much the sam

27
path. In this sense at least, Douhet was philosophically at on

with the surface generals he so roundly criticized.

Somewhat surprisingly, Douhet did not adequately addres

the issue of objectives, even though he recognized thei

importance and saw targeting as the most important task o

the air commander . In the exasperated words of Bernard

Brodie, “How could one who had so little idea of what it i

necessary to hit be quite so sure of the tremendous result

which would inevitably follow from the hitting?”65 Although

Douhet mentions general target sets, nowhere does h

undertake a systematic examination of what would b

necessary to dismember a country’s industrial system. Thi

omission may partly be a result of his belief that the will of th

people was a target of such overwhelming importance tha

elaborating on the other vital centers was unnecessary.

In addition, disassembling these centers was not nearly a

simple as Douhet suggested. For one thing, aircraft canno

operate at will, anytime or anyplace. Rather, many limits ma

be imposed on airpower: political restraints and goals, range

national boundaries, darkness, weather, the electromagneti

spectrum—even the duration of the war itself can significantly

affect target selection. Yet, Douhet believed that becaus

aircraft operated in the third dimension, they had no limit

and that they could quickly and effectively attack all targets

This interpretation is too facile. Targets are not destroye

simply because they are attacked, and merely identifyin

targets to strike is no substitute for a coherent air strategy .

Most surprisingly, Douhet is not alone in this shallow

thinking. None of the classic airpower thinkers—Billy Mitchell

Hugh Trenchard , John Slessor, Alexander de Seversky, and s

forth—ever went beyond the most fundamental stages o

attempting to identify the key vital centers of a country

Moreover, they simply do not discuss the question of which

specific target sets within those vital centers—industries

transportation nodes, and command and control facilities—

were most important and what the order of priority was fo

striking them. The theorists at the Air Corps Tactical School a

Maxwell Field, Alabama, in the 1930s made some initia

inquiries in this area and quickly concluded that just a

28
targeting is the key to airpower, so is intelligence the key t

targeting.

Unfortunately, although military intelligence organization

had existed in some form for centuries, the information the

gathered was generally of the type needed at the tactical level

the number of enemy troops, their location, the capabilities o

their weapons, the location of their supply depots, and s

forth. Air war now required fundamentally different types o

intelligence regarding a country’s industrial and economi

structure and potential. Because intelligence agencies did no

yet exist that could provide this type of information, Douhe

and others were left with vague and simplistic platitudes

Failing to identify and seriously address the vital connection

between targeting and intelligence was a serious oversight.

It took Desert Storm to furnish the third pillar of this trio

the key to intelligence in modern war is the ability to asses

the results of an air campaign on a complex system. Given th

interdependent and linked nature of modern societies

neutralizing a certain target does not necessarily mean tha

one achieves a strategic gain or that it was the one intended

In addition, the pace of air war has now become so rapid tha

near-real-time intelligence has become essential. Moreover

precision weapons demand precision intelligence: if one can

now strike a specific office in a large military headquarters

then one needs to know the correct office.

Another example of Douhet’s exaggeration is his attitud

towards the army and navy. Although Douhet paid lip servic

to the other arms, he saw little use for them, and his tendenc

to move from the dominance of airpower to its omnipotenc

grew. Because he did not expect surface forces to be decisive, h

gave little thought to their future development, organization, o

employment. In the defense department, he envisioned tha

surface forces would have degenerated into impotence—

merely serving to guard Italy’s mountain passes and harbors

Douhet’s thinking therefore became dangerously one

dimensional.

Finally, he failed to see the importance of history—o

looking to the past to illuminate the present. In this regard, h

was in the same position as the nuclear theorists followin

World War II. Because little empirical evidence existed upon

29
which to base a model of how one could use nuclear weapon

in war, their theories became intellectual exercises that relie

on the force of logic. Similarly, Douhet chose to ignore wha

little evidence did exist from World War I: “The experience o

the past is of no value at all. On the contrary, it has a negativ

value since it tends to mislead us.”6 6 He took this position no

because he believed that history was useless, but because i

provided the wrong lessons for airpower. Paradoxically

however, at the same time he denigrated the lessons of th

Great War, he built a theory of airpower based on that war’

repeating itself. The result was a curious mixture of past an

future, with no apparent anchor in either dimension.

Using World War II as a test of Douhet’s theories, mos

critics found them wanting. Detractors noted that the wa

proved him wrong on many counts: the land war did no

stagnate; a prolonged and deadly air battle was necessary t

gain command of the air; civilian morale did not collapse; n

one employed aerochemical bombs; and auxiliary aviation

(tactical airpower ) proved enormously valuable. Defenders o

Douhet see a different picture: command of the air did in fac

mean the difference between victory and defeat; the German

and Japanese war economies were devastated; and although

not destroyed, civilian morale was severely damaged b

bombardment. Moreover, advocates maintain that Douhet’

theories were never given a fair test because the basic tenet o

his war-fighting philosophy—hold on the ground whil

attacking in the air—was never carried out, resulting in 

diversion of effort that detracted from the potency of the ai

offensive .

The arguments of these advocates are not credible. Million

of tons of bombs were dropped over a period of six years—

scale far in excess of anything imagined by Douhet—but th

results did not fulfill his prophecies. (One should remember

however, that Douhet ’s theories presumed the use of ga

bombs. It is impossible to say whether or not their use would

have made a significant difference in the results of the ai

campaigns waged by Germany, Japan, Britain , and the Unite

States. Nonetheless, it is useful to remember the extrem

anxiety, bordering on panic, that occurred in Israel during th

Persian Gulf War, when the Israelis feared that Iraqi Scu

30
missiles had chemical warheads. Who would have though

that a country as inured to warfare and the threat of terroris

attacks as Israel would react in such a fashion?)

A seemingly more reasonable approach maintained tha

atomic weapons vindicated Douhet; after all, an invasion o

Japan proper was unnecessary, and the only battle of th

home islands was the one conducted by American B-29s

Atomic weapons seemed to grant new relevance to Douhe

because a handful of bombs could now devastate a country

as he had predicted.6 7 Such arguments may be even les

credible than the claims that Douhet did not receive a fair tes

in World War II. If the only circumstance that makes Douhe

relevant is nuclear holocaust, then he is totally irrelevant.

Given the limited wars of the postwar era, especiall

Vietnam, Douhet’s ideas on airpower seemed best confined t

the dustbin of history. This has now changed because th

thawing of the cold war and the collapse of the Warsaw Pact

coupled with the decreased presence of forward-deploye

American troops, have put a premium on the ability to projec

power over great distances. This requirement is a natura

characteristic of airpower, and the efficacy of the air weapon

was never demonstrated more clearly than in the Persian Gul

War. For decades, airmen described airpower with terms lik

furious, relentless, overwhelming, and so forth, but to a grea

extent those were just words, because the technology did no

exist to make them true. But the air war in the Gulf finall

lived up to the prophecies of the past seven decades.

One of Douhet’s ideas that has become increasingly relevan

is his call for a single department of defense. Douhe

advocated such an organization as early as 1908, when h

wrote a stinging essay titled “The Knot of Our Militar

Question,” which criticized the lack of cooperation between

the Italian army and navy. He suggested the establishment o

a single ministry of defense headed by a civilian. At the sam

time, he called for a military chief of staff to coordinate th

combat operations of the services.6 8 His superiors ignored th

proposal, but he would return to the idea later.

In The Command of the Air, he enlarged his defense ministr

to include an air force, but the services were still united unde

a single civilian head, and military operations wer

31
coordinated by a chief of staff. Douhet

s rationale was no

based on economic efficiency but military necessity. One could

not subdivide war by medium—air, land, and sea. It was 

whole, and only people who understood the use of militar

forces in all three mediums could understand war: “There ar

experts of land, sea and air warfare. But as yet there are n

experts of warfare. And warfare is a single entity, having 

single purpose.”6 9 He therefore proposed a national wa

college to educate soldiers, sailors, and airmen in the overal

conduct of war.

Douhet also perceptively noted the tension between

separateness and joint action between the services. His cal

for a unified defense department on the one hand and an ai

force which dominated that defense department on the othe

was not inconsistent. Service cooperation did not mean

equality. Merely dividing the defense budget into three equa

parts would be dangerous if the roles played by those part

were not equal. Hard choices had to be made, and to Douhe

the logic was inescapable. Since land and sea forces could no

survive in the face of air attack, it was folly to pretend tha

those arms were the decisive forces in war and should b

supported by air. The opposite was true. Airpower was now

the key arm, and armies and navies must support it.

Although Douhet was the first and most noteworthy of th

early airpower theorists, the extent of his influence i

debatable. Largely because he wrote in a language not share

by many military thinkers—a circumstance exacerbated b

the fact that he deliberately confined his writing to th

professional journals of his own country—Douhet initially wa

not well known outside his native land. The British, fo

example, may have heard of his ideas, but the first article t

appear in the official journal of the Royal Air Force was no

published until 1933. 70 The Command of the Air was neve

required reading at the RAF Staff College between the wars

and one historian states flatly that Douhet had no influence in

Britain prior to World War II.

71

The situation in France was somewhat different. French

airmen were followers of aviation developments in Italy, and in

1933 the magazine Les Ailes published a partial translation o

The Command of the Air. French air leaders, specificall

32
Generals Tulasne and Armengaud, were receptive to hi

ideas. 72 In 1935, Col P. Vauthier wrote an analysis of Douhet’

theories titled La Doctrine de Guerre du General Douhet, which

further elucidated the Italian’s theories and disseminate

them to a wider audience. In fact, the accounts of Douhet tha

began appearing in British and American periodicals abou

this time likely were based on the French works rather than

the original Italian.

German military leaders were even more receptive to new

ideas than were the French. Because of their failure in th

Great War, German military leaders made a point of closely

monitoring foreign developments. Although The Command o

the Air was not published in German until 1935, it appear

that Hitler was initially taken with Douhet’s ideas: h

appreciated the terroristic aspects of his air bombardmen

theory, made evident at the time of the Munich crisis in 1938

Douhet ’s influence did not extend to the Luftwaffe as a whole

however, and the official doctrine with which it entered th

war focused on army cooperation.73

Douhet had his earliest and greatest influence in America

but even then it was not great. In 1922 the Italian air attach

wrote about The Command of the Air in Aviation magazine

and Billy Mitchell later admitted that he had met with Douhe

during a trip to Europe in 1922. About that same time—

perhaps even as a result of that meeting—a translation o

exerpts from The Command of the Air made its way into Ai

Service files, and in 1923 a longer translation circulated at Ai

Service headquarters. One historian claims that Mitchel

heavily “borrowed from” this translation, and it in turn forme

the basis of early Air Service Tactical School texts that deal

with strategic bombardment.

74 This claim is questionable, bu

by the mid-1930s, articles discussing Douhet began to appea

in American military publications, and a translation of th

second edition of The Command of the Air circulated aroun

the Air Corps in 1933. 7 5

In sum, European and American airmen apparently ha

become well aware of Douhet’s writings in the decade prior t

World War II. Because many people in many places wer

attempting to come to grips with the new air weapon, drawin

clear lines of influence among them becomes virtually

33
impossible. That many of the ideas percolating throughout th

various air forces were quite similar to those expounded b

the Italian air general does not mean those ideas were base

on Douhet. What is clear, however, is that by the end of World

War II—and as a result of the massive strategic bombin

campaigns conducted throughout—the theories of Douhe

were commonplace. This notoriety became even greater in th

decade that followed, given the emergence of nuclear weapon

delivered by airpower. Although equating Douhet solely with

the destruction of cities and their populations is simplistic an

incomplete, his name has nonetheless become synonymou

with a particular version of air warfare.

Giulio Douhet has generated intense and partisan debat

over the past seven decades. Undoubtedly, he had man

things wrong, but he also had many things right. World War I

and Desert Storm proved the accuracy of his fundamenta

premise—that command of the air is crucial to success in 

conventional war. Despite Douhet’s many theoretica

deficiencies, the scope and audacity of his work point to a man

of great intellect. Considering that it took over two thousan

years of warfare on land and sea to produce Henri de Jomin

Carl von Clausewitz, and Alfred Thayer Mahan , we should no

be overly critical of the airman who began writing a theory o

air war scarcely one decade after the invention of the airplane

Notes

1. Frank J. Cappelluti, “The Life and Thought of Giulio Douhet” (PhD

diss., Rutgers University, 1967), 3–7, 10. Incidentally, Caserta is th

present location of the Italian air force academy.

2. Giulio Douhet, The Command of the Air, trans. Sheila Fischer (Rome

Rivista Aeronautica, 1958), from the introduction by Gen Celso Ranieri, ix

The Italian air force considers this the official translation of Douhet’s majo

works; I have therefore used it where possible. Unfortunately, this versio

does not contain complete translations of “Probable Aspects of Future War

or “The War of 19—,” which are included in the Ferrari translation of 1942

cited in note 29 below.

3. Douhet (Fischer translation), 22.

4. Cappelluti, 66.

5. Douhet (Fischer translation), x.

6. The Origin of Air Warfare, 2d ed., trans. Renalto D’Orlando (Rome

Historical Office of the Italian Air Force, 1961), passim; and D. J

34
Fitzsimmons, 

The Origins of Air Warfare, Air Pictorial, December 1972

482–85.

7. The Origin of Air Warfare, 214–16.

8. Douhet (Fischer translation), 123.

9. Cappelluti, 69; K. Booth, “History or Logic as Approaches to Strategy

RUSI [Royal United Services Institute] Journal 117 (September 1972): 35

and Claudio Segrè, “Douhet in Italy: Prophet without Honor?” Aerospac

Historian 26 (June 1979): 71.

10. Cappelluti, 70, 84.

11. Douhet (Fischer translation), x.

12. Cappelluti, 90. These diaries were published in 1920 and 1922.

13. Ibid., 109.

14. Ibid., 127.

15. Ibid., 133; Thomas Mahoney, “Doctrine of Ruthlessness,” Popula

Aviation, April 1940, 36; and John Whittam, The Politics of the Italian Army

1861–1918 (London: Croom, Helm, 1977), 201.

16. Cappelluti, 129.

17. Douhet (Fischer translation), xi; and Cappelluti, 138. In late Octobe

1918, a few weeks before the armistice , the Allies did indeed form a

interallied air force, commanded by Gen Hugh Trenchard of the Royal Ai

Force; the IAF’s mission was to take the war to Germany via strategi

bombing of its vital centers.

18. Caproni’s diary, December 1917. Translated portions of this diar

plus the correspondence between Douhet and Caproni and betwee

Caproni and Gorrell are located in the US Air Force Historical Researc

Agency at Maxwell AFB, Alabama, file 168.661. See also J. L. Atkinson

“Italian Influence on the Origins of the American Concept of Strategi

Bombardment,” The Air Power Historian 5 (July 1957): 141–49; and William

G. Key, “Some Papers of Count Caproni de Taliedo: Controversy in th

Making?” Pegasus, January 1956 (supplement), 1–20. Atkinson and Ke

argue that Caproni was the mouthpiece of Douhet.

19. Nino Salvaneschi, “Let Us Kill the War, Let Us Aim at the Heart o

the Enemy!” Milan, 1917. A copy is located in the US Air Force Historica

Research Agency, file 168.661-129, pages 24, 47, 62.

20. For the contents of the Gorrell memo, see Maurer Maurer, ed., Th

U.S. Air Service in World War I, vol. 2 (Washington, D.C.: Governmen

Printing Office, 1978), 141–51.

21. Cappelluti, 155–58.

22. Translations of Douhet’s works have been sporadic at best. Ke

items that have not been translated into English include the 93-pag

appendix to the first edition of The Command of the Air noted in the text, hi

war diary, “The Army of the Air” (an essay written in 1927), and his novel

on air warfare. In addition, “Recapitulation”—a collection of Douhet’s letter

to the editor of Rivista Aeronautica, written between 1927 and 1930 an

published in the Dino Ferrari translation of 1942—includes only Douhet’

35
responses, not the critical letters from Italian airmen, soldiers, and sailor

to which he was responding.

23. Douhet (Fischer translation), 13.

24. Ibid., 144. Douhet recognized a distinction between air defense an

protection from air attack: one cannot stop the rain, but one can carry a

umbrella to avoid being soaked. Nonetheless, he believed that civil defens

actions such as underground shelters and evacuation plans were of littl

use. The people must expect bombardment and endure its horror. Ibid

198.

25. I use the term precept rather than principle because Douhet rejecte

the latter term. In his view, common sense should prevail in war

Unfortunately, when a concept was elevated to the status of a “principle,” 

too often became a dogmatic assertion divorced from common sense

Airpower required new thinking and the rejection of dogmatic assertion

applicable only to a bygone age.

26. The Department of Defense’s current definition for air superiorit

reads, “That degree of dominance in the air battle of one force over anothe

which permits the conduct of operations by the former and its related land

sea and air forces at a given time and place without prohibitive interferenc

by the opposing force.” Air supremacy is defined as “that degree of ai

superiority wherein the opposing air force is incapable of effectiv

interference.” Joint Pub 1-02, Department of Defense Dictionary of Militar

and Associated Terms, 23 March 1994. Douhet’s concept of command of th

air is closer to our notion of air supremacy.

27. Douhet (Fischer translation), 47–48. In a memo written in 1916

Douhet was a bit more specific, listing the following as potential target

“railroad junctions, arsenals, ports, warehouses, factories, industria

centers, banks, ministries, etc.” Cappelluti, 107.

28. Douhet (Fischer translation), 48.

29. Giulio Douhet, The Command of the Air, trans. Dino Ferrari (1942

reprint, Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1983), 367–68

Although the editors have added a brief introduction, the pagination of th

essays themselves remains the same as in the original.

30. Douhet (Fischer translation), 171.

31. Ibid., 83–84.

32. Ibid., 86.

33. There is little indication Douhet attempted to spread his ideas o

airpower outside Italy. He wrote virtually all of his works for Italia

magazines and journals—he was not a propagandist in the mold of Bill

Mitchell. Although he probably attempted to influence the Bollin

Commission during World War I, he did so to enlist the United States as 

useful ally and partner in the war against the Central Powers.

34. Douhet’s reference to the United States is significant and i

exemplified today by our Army’s helicopter fleet, one of the largest air force

in the world with more than six thousand aircraft. Its sole mission is t

36
support ground operations. Douhet would not have dreamed of diverting s

many resources to such a mission.

35. Douhet (Ferrari translation), 229.

36. Douhet envisioned “combat units” flying low over enemy defenses t

draw fire so that their positions could be identified and then destroyed. Thi

procedure is similar to that of the “Wild Weasels” in the Persian Gulf War

F-4G aircraft carrying antiradiation missiles flew ostentatiously over Iraq

territory, hoping to attract the attention of ground-defense radars. Whe

the Iraqis turned on these radars to track the Weasels, those aircraf

launched missiles that homed on the source of the radar beam.

37. During World War II, some B-17s were modified to carry extra armo

and machine guns. These aircraft, YB-40s, were then mixed in with th

bomber formations striking Germany. However, these modified battl

escorts were too heavy to keep up with the bomber stream after th

bomb-release point, so the experiment was discontinued. By contrast, th

small size of the air-to-air missiles carried by today’s F-15E—the moder

equivalent of the battle plane—allows a potent defensive capability tha

does not diminish the plane’s offensive punch.

38. Douhet (Fischer translation), 34; and idem (Ferrari translation), 347

39. This concept is echoed in Secretary of the Air Force Donald B. Rice

An Aerospace Nation (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Air Force, 1990)

40. Civilian aircraft were perhaps most effectively used in the Persia

Gulf War as cargo aircraft—an application not envisioned by Douhe

Activation of the Civil Reserve Air Fleet brought over three hundre

commercial airliners under military control, and these aircraft moved ove

four hundred thousand personnel and 95,000 tons of cargo to the Middl

East—representing 64 percent of the passengers and 27 percent of all carg

moved by air.

41. Douhet (Ferrari translation), 220.

42. Basil H. Liddell Hart, Paris, or the Future of War (New York: Dutton

1925), 39. As late as 1937, Air Chief Marshal (ACM) Hugh Dowding

commander of RAF Fighter Command, stated that bombing attacks o

London would cause such panic that defeat could occur “in a fortnight o

less.” ACM Sir Hugh Dowding, “Employment of the Fighter Command i

Home Defence,” Naval War College Review 45 (Spring 1992): 36 (reprint o

1937 lecture to the RAF Staff College).

43. Eugene M. Emme, ed., The Impact of Air Power (Princeton, N.J.: Va

Nostrand, 1959), 51–52. See also “War in the Air and Disarmament,” Th

American Review of Reviews, March 1925, 308–10; and H. de Watteville

“Armies of the Air,” The Nineteenth Century and After, October 1934

353–68. For an overview of popular literature on this subject, see I. F

Clarke, Voices Prophesying War, 1763–1984 (London: Oxford Universit

Press, 1966).

44. George H. Quester, Deterrence before Hiroshima, rev. ed. (Ne

Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Publishers, 1986), 98.

37
45. The best studies on the effects of morale bombing are the U

Strategic Bombing Survey, Report no. 64b, “The Effects of Strategi

Bombing on German Morale” (1947); Fred C. Iklé, The Social Impact of Bom

Destruction (Norman, Okla.: University of Oklahoma Press, 1958); an

Irving L. Janis, Air War and Emotional Stress (New York: McGraw-Hil

1951).

46. “What Lessons from Air Warfare?” U.S. Air Services, April 1938, 7–8

This editorial argues that the civil war in Spain was simply not a conditio

anticipated by Douhet.

47. Douhet (Fischer translation), 17.

48. Barry H. Steiner, Bernard Brodie and the Foundations of America

Nuclear Strategy (Lawrence, Kans.: University Press of Kansas, 1991), 94.

49. Lt Gen N. N. Golovine, “Air Strategy,” Royal Air Force Quarterly 

(April 1936): 169–72. Golovine was a Russian expatriate who had served i

World War I. Douhet gave no estimates on the amount of incendiary bomb

needed to burn a target. They had not been used extensively during th

war, so there was little experience on which to base calculations. Gen Bill

Mitchell, in his 1922 manual “Notes on the Multi-Motored Bombardmen

Group” (page 81), estimated that only 30 tons of gas were required to rende

an area of one square mile “uninhabitable.” That’s about one-third th

amount suggested by Golovine.

50. For example, one US Navy officer stated in 1923 that “there i

scarcely a city in America which could not be destroyed, together with ever

living person therein, within, say, three days of the declaration of war

“Airplanes, and General Slaughter, in the Next War,” Literary Digest, 1

November 1923, 61. Amusingly, the first page of this article has a picture o

the hapless Barling Bomber with the caption “A few of these could wipe ou

a city.” Likewise, in 1920 the chief of the aircraft armament division in th

US Army declared that a one-hundred-pound bomb would destroy a smal

railroad station or warehouse, and a one-thousand-pound bomb woul

completely demolish a large factory. William A. Borden, “Air Bombing o

Industrial Plants,” Army Ordnance, November–December 1920, 122.

51. Douhet (Fischer translation), 185.

52. Lee Kennett, A History of Strategic Bombing (New York: Scribner’

1982), 55. Kennett states that Douhet’s name does not appear on the list

of licensed Italian pilots through 1918. One should know, however, tha

when Douhet took command of the Aviation Battalion in 1913, he wa

already 43 years of age—too old to take on the arduous task of learning t

fly the dangerous and flimsy aircraft of the day. On the other hand, Douhe

worked closely with Caproni in developing an aircraft stabilization devic

and an aerial camera, as well as designing a special bomb that wa

flight-tested in 1912. Although he may not have been a pilot, Douhe

understood many of the technical problems of flight. Cappelluti, 59

Caproni diary, March 1913; and Lee Kennett, The First Air War: 1914–191

(New York: Free Press, 1991), 37.

38
53. Giulio Douhet, 

Le Possibilite dell aereonavigazione, Rivista dell

Comunicazioni, August 1910, 758–71. I am indebted to my colleague, Lt Co

Peter R. Faber, for translating this article for me.

54. Besides making it clear in “The War of 19—” that one should not b

in the first plane of the first wave, Douhet also tantalizes his readers b

referring to 180 “explorer” aircraft in the German air force. These wer

high-speed pursuit planes whose mission “had not been exactl

determined.” They encounter French pursuits during the war but play n

significant role. Why were they even mentioned? Douhet (Ferrar

translation), 342, 383.

55. Douhet would no doubt have maintained that the Germans bungle

the operation by shifting to urban attacks before they had achieve

command of the air—a violation of his most cardinal precept.

56. Bernard Brodie, Strategy in the Missile Age (Princeton, N.J

Princeton University Press, 1959), 37.

57. Cappelluti, 80.

58. Douhet (Ferrari translation), 181.

59. Although poison gas was not used in World War II, the Italians di

employ it against Ethiopian civilians in 1935. In a sense, therefore, Douhe

was correct in maintaining that humanitarian impulses would have littl

braking effect on a country; it would seem that fear of retaliation prevente

the use of gas in World War II.

60. W. Hays Parks, “Air War and the Law of War,” The Air Force La

Review 32 (1990): 1–226.

61. An exception to his technological myopia is Douhet’s enthusiasm fo

submarines, which he saw as dominating surface fleets as aircraft woul

dominate armies. Indeed, there are some similarities between aircraft an

submarines—including their stealth characteristics.

62. Maj Gen E. B. Ashmore, Air Defence (London: Longman’s, Green

1929), 93–94. Ashmore was the chief of the London Air Defence Area durin

the war.

63. Douhet (Ferrari translation), 9.

64. Kenneth P. Werrell, Archie, Flak, AAA, and SAM: A Short Operation

History of Ground-Based Air Defense (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air Universi

Press, December 1988), 1–2. Golovine states that the improvements i

antiaircraft defenses in World War I were even more dramatic: in 1916 

took 11,000 shells to bring down a plane; in late 1918 it required onl

fifteen hundred. Golovine, 170.

65. Bernard Brodie, “The Heritage of Douhet,” Air University Quarterl

Review 6 (Summer 1963): 122.

66. Douhet (Fischer translation), 132.

67. This is the thesis of Brodie, Strategy in the Missile Age and “Th

Heritage of Douhet”; Cappelluti; Louis A. Sigaud, Air Power and Unification

Douhet’s Principles of Warfare and Their Application to the United State

(Harrisburg, Pa.: Military Service Publishing Co., 1949); Lt Col Joseph L

Dickman, “Douhet and the Future,” Air University Quarterly Review 

39
(Summer 1948): 3–15; and Cy Caldwell, 

The Return of General Douhet

Aero Digest, July 1949, 36–37, 90–92.

68. Cappelluti, 18–22.

69. Douhet (Fischer translation), 187.

70. [Brigadier General Tulasne], “The Air Doctrine of General Douhet

Royal Air Force Quarterly 4 (April 1933): 164–67.

71. Robin Higham, The Military Intellectuals in Britain, 1918–1939 (Ne

Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1966), 257–59. On the othe

hand, one historian has seen strong similarities between Douhet’s work an

the early writings of J. F. C. Fuller; he therefore speculates that Douhe

may have had a significant, though indirect, influence on the RAF. Brereto

Greenhous, “A Speculation on Giulio Douhet and the English Connection

in La Figura E L’Opera Di Giulio Douhet, ed. Aniello Gentile (Italy: Società d

Storia Patria, 1988), 41–51.

72. De Watteville, 360–63.

73. Horst Boog, “Douhet and German Politics: Air Doctrine and Ai

Operations, 1933–1945,” in La Figura E L’Opera Di Giulio Douhet, 81–107.

74. Raymond R. Flugel, “United States Air Power Doctrine: A Study o

the Influence of William Mitchell and Giulio Douhet at the Air Corp

Tactical School, 1921–1935” (PhD diss., University of Oklahoma, 1966)

Flugel’s methodology is to compare the text of The Command of the Air wit

some of Mitchell’s writings and with those in the Tactical School texts. Th

words and phrases are quite similar. Flugel then reveals that a translatio

was available at Headquarters Air Service as early as 1923. This is quite 

revelation. However, Flugel erred mightily: instead of using the 192

translation, which presumably Mitchell would have used, he compare

quotations from the Ferrari translation of 1942. Because the two version

have significant differences, Flugel’s charges of plagiarism remai

unproven.

75. This was the translation done by Dorothy Benedict with th

assistance of Capt George Kenney. It is based on the French translation i

Les Ailes of 1933 and can be found in the US Air Force Historical Researc

Agency, file 168.6005-18. For other writings about Douhet at the time, se

Col Charles DeF Chandler, “Air Warfare Doctrine of General Douhet,” U.S

Air Services, May 1933, 10–13; “Air Warfare Trends,” U.S. Air Services

August 1933, 8–9; L. E. O. Charlton, War from the Air: Past, Present, Futur

(London: Thomas Nelson, 1935); and “Air Warfare,” Royal Air Forc

Quarterly 7 (April 1936): 152–68.

40
Chapter 2

Trenchard, Slessor, and Royal Air Force

Doctrine before World War II

Col Phillip S. Meilinger

British airmen believed in the efficacy of strategic airpowe

almost from the inception of the airplane, perhaps becaus

Britain was a traditional sea power. Naval war is in man

respects economic war; although battles occur, the primar

objective is generally to apply pressure on a country’

commerce and economy to force a change in policy. To an

extent, airpower flows from the same basic premise. Airmen

argued, however, that the new medium could apply such

pressure far more comprehensively, directly, and quickly. Th

catastrophic experience of the Great War confirmed for Roya

Air Force (RAF) leaders that traditional methods of warfare n

longer served a useful purpose. If war were to be at all viable

it had to be fought in a more rational fashion and not requir

the destruction of an entire generation. British airmen

returned to the basics.

The object of war was to force an enemy to bend to one’

will, accomplished by breaking either his will or his capabilit

to fight. Armies were generally condemned to concentrate on

the latter by seeking battle. Hugh Trenchard , the first chief o

the RAF and its commander from 1919 to 1930, focuse

instead on the “will” portion of that equation. Trenchard ’

influence on the RAF cannot be overestimated. The nea

genius he brought to the task, despite his notoriously poo

communicative skills, was crucial. Trenchard believed that th

airplane was an inherently strategic weapon, unmatched in it

ability to shatter the will of an enemy country. Yet, he could

not erase the long British tradition of economic warfare. Th

result was a unique blend—an airpower theory that advocate

attacks designed to break the morale of factory workers b

targeting enemy industry and, by extension, the population a

a whole. Trenchard ’s instinctive beliefs on this subject foun

41
form in the official doctrine manuals of the RAF. In turn, thi

doctrine was taught and institutionalized at the RAF Staf

College , where most of the officers who would lead thei

service in World War II were educated.

The most intellectually gifted man in this group, John

“Jack” Slessor, had worked on Trenchard’s staff in the lat

1920s, and he understood airpower as well as anyone in th

RAF. After attending the RAF Staff College, he spent thre

years instructing at the British Army Staff College. Combinin

his knowledge of aviation with the distinctive perspective o

the army, he produced a brilliant book, Air Power an

Armies—perhaps the best treatise on airpower theory written

in English before World War II. This chapter traces th

evolution of RAF doctrine between the wars, highlighting th

special contributions of Hugh Trenchard and John Slessor .

Britain , like all other belligerents, entered the Great Wa

with a small number of rudimentary aircraft but little or n

doctrine on how to employ them effectively. Over the course o

the next few years, the RAF, which became a separate servic

in 1918, grew to be the largest and most effective air arm in th

world. Although airpower played a peripheral role throughou

the conflict, its potential captivated the imagination of th

public, politicians, and military thinkers. They were particularly

enthusiastic over one particular aspect of airpower’s many role

and purposes—strategic bombing. The actual experiences of th

bomber forces—scanty though they were—constituted a sourc

of debate for the next two decades.

In World War I, Germany waged the first systemati

strategic air campaign in history. Beginning in early 1915

rigid airships—zeppelins—began making the long nighttim

journey from their sheds on the North Sea to drop bombs on

military and industrial targets in Great Britain . At first, the

conducted these attacks with impunity. But the British soon

cobbled together fighter planes, artillery, and searchlights int

a makeshift air defense system,1 which was reasonably

effective: the last great zeppelin attack of the war occurred on

19 October 1917, when five out of 11 airships went down.

The Germans thereafter concentrated on large, multiengine

aircraft—Gothas and later Giants—that were faster and mor

42
maneuverable than the airships and thus considerably mor

difficult to intercept and shoot down.

It is difficult to exaggerate the fear, bordering on panic, tha

these bombing strikes caused among the British population

and its government—for the next two decades. Becaus

Britain had remained sheltered behind its impassable moa

for centuries, this fear proved worse than it would have been

for a country that had no such tradition of invulnerability. Th

psychological effect of losing this shield was enormous. As 

consequence, the government appointed a well-known

general, Jan Smuts of South Africa , to study the problem

Assisting him in this task was the commanding general of th

Royal Flying Corps (RFC), Lt Gen David Henderson , a stron

advocate of bombardment.

Smuts turned in two reports—one, a fairly straightforward

plan for a well-organized and capable defensive networ

centered on London , and the other, a more theoretica

treatise. In the latter, Smuts called for a separate air forc

that combined the units of the fleet (the Royal Naval Ai

Service [RNAS]) and the army (the RFC) into a single

command. In words cited by airmen ever since, Smut

prophesied that “the day may not be far off when aeria

operations with their devastation of enemy lands an

destruction of industrial and populous centers on a vast scal

may become the principal operations of war, to which th

older forms of military and naval operations may becom

secondary and subordinate.”3

Although officials had talked since the beginning of the wa

of combining the army and navy air arms into a single unit in

the interests of efficiency and standardization, the German ai

attacks and the resultant recommendations of the Smut

report served as decisive catalysts. The RAF was establishe

on 1 April 1918, charged with preventing further German

incursions, while retaliating against Germany. Lor

Rothermere assumed the new position of air minister, with

Henderson his deputy. Maj Gen Hugh Trenchard , Henderson’

subordinate as commanding general of RFC units in France

became chief of the Air Staff (CAS). The new arrangemen

proved unsatisfactory, however. By all accounts, Lor

Rothermere was a difficult and erratic personality wh

43
understood little about airpower. Neither Henderson no

Trenchard could work with him effectively (although no on

ever accused Trenchard of being easy to get along with). Afte

continual and sterile strife, all three men resigned within 

fortnight in April 1918. Rothermere and Henderson then

disappeared from the military aviation scene. Sir William Wei

became the new air minister, and Maj Gen Frederick Syke

the new CAS.

After a somewhat unseemly display of petulance, Trenchard

was returned to France in May, only this time as commande

of the newly created Independent Force (a rather unfortunat

name). 4 Sykes, a proponent of strategic airpower, pushed thi

organization, which contained a contingent of bombe

squadrons pulled from other units in France. It was designe

to carry the war to Germany both day and night. In one sense

this move was quite a demotion for Trenchard (he now

commanded barely 10 percent of the British air units in

France), but in another sense, it forced him to concentrate on

the mission of strategic bombing—an effort that would hav

significant, long-term consequences.

Early in the war, Trenchard ’s thoughts on airpower ha

begun to coalesce into the form they would take so forcefully

in the interwar years. In a memo of September 1916, he wrot

that the aeroplane was an inherently offensive weapon

“Owing to the unlimited space in the air, the difficulty on

machine has in seeing another, the accidents of wind an

cloud, it is impossible for aeroplanes, however skillful an

vigilant their pilots, however powerful their engines, howeve

mobile their machines, and however numerous thei

formations, to prevent hostile aircraft from crossing the line i

they have the initiative and determination to do so.”5

This basic concept would remain a recurring theme amon

air theorists up to the present, but Trenchard’s emphasi

contained a unique single-mindedness bordering on stubborn

ness. Because the aeroplane was an offensive weapon, on

had to guide it “by a policy of relentless and incessan

offensiveness”: 6 the deeper that British planes flew int

German territory, the better—regardless of losses incurred o

physical damage caused. Trenchard believed that the act o

the offensive was essential because it granted a “mora

44
superiority

 to the attackers. This attitude—the aeria

equivalent of French Plan XVII—explains not only why Field

Marshal Douglas Haig thought so highly of Trenchard, bu

also why he acquired the reputation as a stubborn an

uncaring commander who needlessly threw away the lives o

his men in a vicious battle of attrition every bit as deadly a

the one conducted on the surface.7

Obviously, the question of precisely how one should us

aircraft offensively behind German lines was crucial

Trenchard argued that, first, one had to attack enemy airfield

to keep the Germans out of the sky and thus ensure ai

superiority for the Allies. Like his successors, Trenchar

realized the essentiality of air superiority for the successfu

conduct of military operations.8 Beyond that, the genera

insisted that air operations be conducted in conjunction with

the ground effort. The situation for the British arm

throughout the war was precarious, and Trenchard realize

the importance of the air arm’s protecting the fragile forces o

Haig. Consequently, he envisioned an air campaign focusin

on what today we would term “interdiction ” targets: railroa

marshaling yards, bridges, supply depots, and road network

that provided men and material for the front. As he phrased it

“I desire to emphasize that operations conducted by bombin

squadrons cannot be isolated from other work in the air, an

are inseparable from the operations of the Army as a whole. . . 

If an offensive is being undertaken on the ground, the work o

bombing machines should be timed and co-ordinated so as t

produce the maximum effect on the enemy.”9

In addition, Trenchard foresaw possibilities of mor

overarching value for strategic bombing and singled ou

several industries as particularly important: iron and coa

mines, steel mills, chemical production facilities, explosiv

factories, miscellaneous armament industries, aero engine

and magneto works, submarine and shipbuilding works, larg

gun foundries, and engine repair shops. Significantly, h

selected many of these targets on the basis of their large siz

and easy identification; blast furnaces, for example, ha

one-hundred-foot towers, and their fiery ovens could be seen

for many miles at night.10 The problems of navigation and targe

45
identification hinted at here would continue for the nex

several decades.

In his official report soon after the war, Trenchard reiterate

his previous stance that the aerial needs of the British arm

in France had had first priority, but after his air forces me

those needs, the bombing of Germany became “a necessity.

Its objective was to achieve “the breakdown of the German

army in Germany, its government, and the crippling of it

sources of supply.” Recognizing that he had insufficient force

to collapse the German industry, he nonetheless attempted t

hit as many different factories as possible as often as possible

so that no one felt secure anywhere within range of hi

bombers. Using a subjective and unprovable statistic tha

earned him much (largely deserved) ridicule, Trenchard state

that the psychological effects of bombing outweighed th

material effects at a ratio of 20 to one. 1 1 During its short life

the Independent Force flew all of its missions against target

with military significance. 12 Thus, one must understand tha

Trenchard did not advocate the bombing of German

population centers with the intention of causing a popula

revolt (the concept put forward by his contemporary in Italy

Gen Giulio Douhet). Rather, Trenchard implied that the act o

bombardment in general—and the destruction of selecte

German factories in particular—would have a devastatin

effect on the morale of the workers and, by extension, th

German people as a whole. He had seen such effects in Britain

as a result of German air attacks and was profoundly

influenced by them. He would articulate this concept mor

clearly in the years leading up to World War II.

Some critics later argued that Trenchard’s enthusiasm fo

strategic bombing did not develop until after the war. Further

they maintained that during the war, he remained an

implacable foe not only of strategic bombing but also of 

separate RAF and the Independent Force that it spawned

These accusations are inaccurate. In October 1917 Trenchard

proposed the combination of the RNAS and the RFC into 

single service under an air secretary and an air chief of staff

The following month, he stated that “long distance bombing . . 

ought to be vigorously developed as part and parcel of th

46
Royal Flying Corps.

 He repeated this call for a strategic ai

offensive in a memo of June 1918.1 3

Trenchard was aware, however, of the difficultie

experienced by British aircraft manufacturers. Airplane losse

in France were so high that production could not keep pace

He did not wish to deprive combat units of machines in orde

to establish the new strategic air force . Frederick Syke

argued that a “margin” of excess aircraft produced by th

manufacturers would allow formation of the Independen

Force without hurting the combat situation on the western

front. Trenchard disagreed that such a margin existed

Therefore, one can better understand his reluctance t

assume command of the Independent Force by recalling hi

devotion to Haig and the British army.

In 1918 ground forces were paramount, and Trenchard

neither advocated nor approved of air operations divorce

from the ground situation. In addition, as Trenchard himsel

later maintained, his bombers had neither the range nor th

mass to carry out effective strategic strikes (barely one-third o

the Independent Force missions struck targets in Germany

Consequently, he objected to dividing up limited air resources

some for army operations, some for fleet defense, and stil

others for long-range bombing: “I believe the air is one.”14 H

perceived an evolutionary path for airpower and recognize

the folly of moving too far too quickly.

Trenchard was not unusual in this regard. In America, Billy

Mitchell, Ben Foulois , and Hap Arnold all made simila

intellectual journeys from skepticism to advocacy. The fac

that Trenchard refused to accept the exaggerated claims o

men like Sykes and Smuts was more a sign of measure

maturity than of fickleness.

After a victorious war effort, the military forces of democracie

typically do not simply demobilize—they disintegrate. Fo

example, by March 1919 the RAF had dropped from a force o

some 22,000 aircraft and over 240,000 personnel to only 2

understrength squadrons (about two hundred planes) manne

by fewer than 30,000 people. The plight of the RAF seeme

especially wobbly when Prime Minister David Lloyd Georg

decided in early 1919 to combine the Ministry of War an

Ministry of Air into a single unit. Fortunately for the RAF , th

47
man chosen to head this combined ministry—and presumably

oversee the demise of the infant RAF—was Winston Churchill

A former army officer who had headed the Admiralty durin

the first year of the war, Churchill nonetheless possessed an

unusually flexible mind that remained open on the question o

airpower. He did not, however, get on well with Frederic

Sykes, who exacerbated matters by submitting a plan shortly

after the armistice that called for an enormous air force—fully

154 squadrons, exclusive of training units—deployed

through-out the empire. In a war-weary Britain strapped fo

funds, such a proposal was fanciful at best and irresponsibl

at worst. 15 Sykes , therefore, was nudged into retirement, an

Trenchard —who had served with Churchill in India man

years before—was brought back as CAS. More than any othe

factor, this decision saved the RAF as a separate service.

Trenchard has had many detractors, but few would den

his ability as a bureaucratic infighter. Given the weaknes

and unsettled nature of his service; his relatively junior rank

his lack of a strong faction in Parliament, the press, or th

public; and his notoriously poor writing and public speakin

skills; his ability to get his way with the government and th

other services was remarkable.

When the government slashes funds, interservice rivalrie

tend to flare as the military arms begin to scramble for an

adequate share of a severely shrinking budget—as was th

case in postwar Britain . Determining who threw the firs

punch is difficult, but relations between Trenchard and hi

service counterparts—Field Marshal Henry Wilson and Adm

David Beatty—were stormy, bordering on rude. Wilson an

Beatty made no secret of their desire to disband the RAF an

restore its airplanes (few though they were) to the army an

fleet from whence they came. For his part, Trenchard fough

back by noting the high cost in sterling and lives of traditiona

war making, costs dramatically reduced through airpower.

For example, one Air Ministry pamphlet suggested th

existence of “certain responsibilities at present assigned to th

Navy and Army which the Air Force is already technically

capable of undertaking, and for which it may be foun

economical in the near future to substitute to a greater o

lesser extent air units for military or naval units” (emphasis in

48
original). 16 When the army and navy continued to push t

disband the RAF in the interests of economy, the CAS

responded in a wonderfully Trenchardesque style : “The Field

Marshal wishes to lay axe to the roots, as by doing so h

thinks he may the easier obtain the fruit. What is wanted in

order that the maximum amount of fruit may be got for ou

money is a severe pruning of the overhead fruitless branche

of some of the neighboring trees which are at presen

crowding out the younger and more productive growth an

thereby preventing its vigorous expansion to full maturity.”17

Given the increasingly heated verbal and bureaucrati

sparring, it is surprising that Trenchard was able to win 

major concession from Beatty and Wilson in late 1921

Catching them off guard and appealing to their sense of fai

play, Trenchard convinced them to cease attacking his servic

for one year while he attempted to organize his fledglin

command and make their struggle a more equal one. 1 8 Th

two men later regretted their decision, because Trenchard

used that time to solidify his power, establish the RAF on 

strong organizational and administrative footing, and devise 

use for the air weapon that would ensure its survival as 

separate service—air control of colonial territories.

Administering the world’s largest empire was an expensiv

and labor-intensive enterprise, each colony requiring 

garrison of sufficient size to maintain peace and order. In th

aftermath of the war, such an expense caused consternation

in the British government. In mid-1919, therefore, Trenchard

suggested to Churchill that the RAF be given the opportunit

to subdue a festering uprising in Somaliland. Churchil

agreed. The results were dramatic: the RAF chased the rebe

ringleader, “the mad mullah,” out of the area and pacifie

Somaliland at a cost of £77,000 rather than the £6 million i

would have cost for the two army divisions originally planned

As a consequence, the demand for air control grew quickly

and over the next decade the RAF deployed—with varyin

degrees of success—to Iraq, Afghanistan, India , Ad en, Trans

jordan , Palestine, Egypt, and Sudan .

1 9 The strategy employe

in these campaigns involved patrolling the disputed areas

flying political representatives around to the various tribes t

discuss problems and devise solutions, issuing ultimatums t

49
recalcitrants if persuasion failed, and as a last resort

bombing selected rebel targets to compel compliance. To b

sure, these air operations were neither grand nor glorious, bu

they kept the RAF alive while it sought a more suitable foe.

This foe seemed to present itself in 1922, when continua

arguments between Britain and France over occupation

policy, trade, and colonial issues bubbled to the surface. Fo

centuries, these two countries had been bitter rivals, an

more recent cooperation had not yet hardened into goodwil

and a meeting of the minds. Displeasure with France turne

to concern when the government received an intelligenc

report that showed a great and growing superiority in French

air strength. France allegedly had an air force of 12

squadrons comprised of 1,090 aircraft and planned to expan

to 220 squadrons of over two thousand aircraft—nearly 1

times the size of the RAF . To make matters worse, 20 of th

RAF’s 28 squadrons were stationed overseas, leaving a mer

two fighter squadrons to defend the British Isles.

20

Studies done by the RAF speculated that if half th

projected French air force struck London , it could deliver on

hundred tons of bombs in the first 24 hours, 75 tons in th

second 24 hours, and 50 tons each day thereafter. Using th

experience of the German air attacks on London during th

Great War as a guide, Britain could expect to suffer an

average of 50 casualties for each ton of bombs dropped (1

killed and 33 wounded). That is, French air strikes would

cause over 20,000 casualties in the first week of war. 

maximum effort by the French would double those figures.2 1

Although British leaders did not seriously believe that wa

with France would occur, they were concerned that th

capability of their own air force had fallen so far so quickly. In

addition, they realized that such military weakness could hav

other negative effects. During the Ruhr crisis of 1922, Harold

Balfour stated, “Mere fear of war in quite conceivable

circumstances greatly weakens British diplomacy and ma

put temptation in the way of French statesmen that the

would find it hard to resist.”2 2 As one might expect, Trenchard

encouraged such thinking, but as one observer put it

“Trenchard exploited the government’s fears but he did no

create them.”2 3 As a consequence, Parliament moved t

50
expand the RAF by adding 52 squadrons by 1928, specifically

designated for the air defense of Great Britain . Fiscal realitie

would prevent the realization of this force, but its prospec

caused the RAF to begin thinking seriously about how best t

employ such a sizable air force.

Trenchard ’s views on the importance of strategic airpowe

had solidified since the war, due to several factors: Britain n

longer maintained an army in Flanders dependent on

airpower for its survival; aircraft capabilities had increased

and the RAF needed a separate mission if it intended t

remain a separate service. The possibility of a genuin

Continental menace helped to crystallize Trenchard’s thought

on that separate mission. One finds commendable hi

flexibility of mind in shifting so quickly and effectively from

one strategic scenario to another.

Trenchard carried three main beliefs with him from the war

air superiority was an essential prerequisite to militar

success; airpower was an inherently offensive weapon; an

although its material effects were great, airpower’

psychological effects were far greater. In a speech on 13 Apri

1923, he fleshed out these ideas: “In the next great war with 

European nation the forces engaged must first fight for aeria

superiority and when that has been gained they will use thei

power to destroy the morale of the Nation and vitally damag

the organized armaments for supplies for the Armies an

Navies.” He then expanded on the importance of the moral

factor: war was a contest between the “moral tenacity” of tw

countries, and “if we could bomb the enemy more intensely

and more continually than he could bomb us the result migh

be an early offer of peace.” Significantly, Trenchard did no

claim that an air campaign by itself would bring victory in wa

against a major European foe; rather, it would create th

conditions necessary “in which our Army can advance an

occupy his territory.”2 4

Regarding the belief that airpower was essentially offensive

the CAS used the example of a football match: a team may no

lose if it spends all its efforts defending its own goal, but i

certainly will not win. In air war the offense—not th

defense—was the stronger form of war. He did concede

however, that some form of defense (interceptors an

51
antiaircraft guns) could be useful 

for the morale of our own

people.” In a typical bit of British sangfroid, Trenchar

commented, “Nothing is more annoying than to be attacked b

a weapon which you have no means of hitting back at.”25 In

practical terms, this meant as many bombers as possible an

as few fighters as necessary.

The ratio eventually arrived at was two to one. Thus, of th

52 squadrons designated for “home defense,” fully 35 were t

be bombardment. 26 Interestingly, this force ratio seemingly

caused little debate at the time or, indeed, throughout most o

the interwar period. Unlike the situation in the American Ai

Corps, where fighter advocates like Claire Chennault argue

vociferously for reduced emphasis on the bomber, no such

open debate occurred in the RAF . Not until the late 1930s an

the ascendance of Hugh Dowding at Fighter Command did

anyone seriously question Trenchard ’s fundamental principle

regarding force structure.

The real key to the concept of strategic airpower espouse

by Trenchard was the selection of targets. By this time, he ha

changed his views on the desirability of attacking enem

airfields in an effort to gain air superiority. During the war

the Independent Force had directed fully 40 percent of it

strikes against airfields, but these attacks had slight effect. A

a result, he now envisioned a great air battle taking plac

between opposing air forces. When one side gained the uppe

hand, it would then concentrate on paralyzing the enem

nation and breaking its morale .

Precisely how did he expect the morale of an enemy t

break? Like most airmen, he was frustratingly vague on thi

issue. Airpower was simply too new, and one sensed rathe

than understood the possibilities it offered to wage war in 

fashion previously impossible. At its worst, such vaguenes

took the form of an address by Trenchard in October 1928

“The objectives to be attacked will be centres which ar

essential for the continuance of the enemy’s resistance. The

will vary frequently and the air forces will be directed agains

the one which at the moment is the best for air attack.”2 7 In

another instance, he maintained that air attack would “induc

the enemy Government, by pressure from the population, t

sue for peace, in exactly the same way as starvation b

52
blockading the country would enforce the Government to sue fo

peace.”2 8 When pushed for specificity, he referred to “centres o

communication” such as roads, rail lines, telephone exchanges

and munitions factories.29

Because Trenchard typically proved inadequate at expressin

his strongly held beliefs regarding targeting, he left it to his staf

officers—his “English merchants”—to translate his rumbling

into prose. In addition, he relied on two other avenues t

formalize and institutionalize his beliefs on airpower: RAF

doctrine manuals and the Royal Air Force Staff College.

30

In July 1922 the RAF published its first doctrine manual, CD

22—titled simply Operations. To a great extent, CD 22 echoe

the ideas Trenchard had expounded since 1917, noting tha

air forces must cooperate with surface forces because often

the objective of a campaign was “the destruction of th

enemy’s main forces.” It also stressed the importance o

morale in war and the idea that victory occurred when on

imposed so much pressure on the people they would “forc

their government to sue for peace.” Regarding the importanc

of air superiority, it argued that other targets were subsidiar

and that one should not attempt them until one had inflicte

“a serious reverse” on the enemy air force.31

The issue of which targets would most effectively achieve

the anticipated moral effects was, as usual, unstated

although it did refer to naval bases, munitions factories, an

railway junctions.32 The manual did, however, point out tha

bombing attacks were to be carried out in accordance with

international law. Attacking “legitimate objectives” in

populated areas was permissible, although one must take “al

reasonable precautions” to spare hospitals and othe

privileged buildings.3 3 This issue became the subject of much

contention in the years ahead.

Although air policing remained a major RAF mission

between the wars, the service did not want to hang it

doctrinal hat on this mission since it garnered no glory an

generated little force structure. CD 22 contained a chapte

titled “Aircraft in Warfare against an Uncivilized Enemy” bu

clearly considered such operations of far less importance than

conventional air warfare. The long-term effects of such ai

control operations on RAF thinking were mixed.

53
Operations remained official doctrine until July 1928, when

it was superseded by AP 1300, Royal Air Force War Manual, 

more sophisticated effort that discussed air strategy in 

broader sense, yet reduced administrative and organizationa

material. Many of its arguments were the same as those in

Operations: war was largely a psychological effort; airpowe

was an inherently offensive weapon; airpower would serve a

part of a joint force in which all the services worked togethe

to attain the government’s objectives; at times, the mos

effective use of airpower was to defeat the enemy’s army; an

air superiority was crucial to military success.

The first major change concerned the sequence of the ai

superiority battle. Instead of directing that one resist al

distractions until one decisively defeated the enemy air force

AP 1300 regarded the strategic bombing campaign as primar

and the air superiority battle as a diversion.3 4 This reversa

from previous doctrine no doubt reflected a desire to avoid th

counterforce battle . The Great War had degenerated into 

bloody slugfest between opposing forces; airpower wa

supposed to eliminate—not perpetuate—that intermediat

step to victory.

The most important aspect of AP 1300 was the extent t

which it discussed the rationale behind strategic bombing an

the selection of targets. The choice of bombing objective

depended on five factors: the nature of the war and th

enemy; the general war plan of the government; diplomati

considerations; the range of the bombers; and the strength o

the enemy air defenses. As a general rule, the manual opine

that “objectives should be selected the bombardment of which

will have the greatest effect in weakening the enem

resistance and his power to continue war.”35

In some cases, this meant attacking the “vital centres” of a

enemy country rather than assisting armies and navie

directly. Vital areas included organized systems of production

supply, communications, and transportation: “If these ar

exposed to air attack , the continual interruption, delay an

organization of the activities of these vital centres b

sustained air bombardment will usually be the most effectiv

contribution which can be made by air power toward

breaking down the enemy’s resistance.”3 6 Interestingly, th

54
manual also noted that one needed in-depth understanding o

an enemy country. Although AP 1300 did not use the term

economic intelligence, that is precisely what it meant. Such

intelligence , hitherto unnecessary in warfare, now becam

essential.

One should note that AP 1300 never referred to th

bombing of population centers, suggesting targets of a militar

nature only. Yet, it repeated the decade-old adage that victor

in war resulted from the collapse of civilian morale. How could

one break the will of the people without bombing them? Th

formulation supplied by the Air Staff writers asserted that th

bombing of industrial centers would destroy the factories tha

employed the workers. Loss of work would have a shatterin

effect on the work force—presumably due to dislocation an

loss of salary—that would cascade throughout society. 3

Through this interesting though questionable logic, AP 130

clearly advocated a strategy fundamentally different than tha

proposed by theorists such as Douhet, who deliberatel

targeted the population. Although both formulations sought 

collapse of morale that would lead to a change in governmen

policy, the methods of achieving that collapse differed, subtly

though clearly.

Unquestionably, the RAF was sensitive about the issue o

targeting morale . People outside the service did not understan

the nuances of bombing theory noted above, and the RAF

frequently had to defend itself against charges of making wa

on women and children. Because air control operations in th

Middle East were especially misconstrued as bloody an

remorseless attacks against defenseless natives, the RAF

produced studies showing that far fewer people died, on both

sides, in air operations than in traditional pacification effort

carried out by ground troops. For example, an examination o

colonial campaigns between 1897 and 1923 indicates tha

over five thousand British soldiers lost their lives at a cost o

nearly eight hundred tribesmen. Since the arrival of the RAF 

however, friendly casualties numbered a mere dozen men

while native losses hovered between 30 and 40 killed

Moreover, one report illustrated the point by quoting from 

1920 British army directive to its troops in Mesopotamia 

“Villages will be razed to the ground and all woodwor

55
removed. Pressure will be brought on the inhabitants b

cutting off water power and by destroying water lifts; efforts t

carry out cultivation will be interfered with, and th

systematic collection of supplies of all kinds beyond our actua

requirements will be carried out, the area being cleared of th

necessities of life.”38 This was hardly a policy of moderation.

Not content to criticize air control as immoral, some peopl

charged that air bombardment in general was indiscriminat

and in violation of international laws regarding the immunit

of noncombatants. Repeatedly, RAF leaders decried any such

intention. In a strongly worded and lengthy memo to the othe

service chiefs, Trenchard rejected claims that the RAF wa

intent on population bombing. Attacking legitimate objective

in populated areas was inevitable, and “writers on war of ever

nation have accepted it as axiomatic” that such targets can b

struck. Terror bombing was “illegitimate,” but it was 

different matter “to terrorise munitions workers (men an

women) into absenting themselves from work . . . through fea

of air attack upon the factory or dock concerned.” Trenchard ’

memo angrily concluded, “I emphatically do not advocat

indiscriminate bombardment, and I think that air action wil

be far less indiscriminate and far less brutal and will obtain

its end with far fewer casualties than either naval blockade, 

naval bombardment, or sieges, or when military formation

are hurled against the enemies’ strongest points protected b

barbed wire and covered by mass artillery and machine guns.”39

Another senior air leader, Air Commodore Edga

Ludlow-Hewitt, stated flatly that population bombin

amounted to “sheer unintelligent frightfulness based on th

same kind of false doctrine which, in common with al

attempts to win by terrorising civilians, has ended in failure. I

is a senseless, inhuman method of warfare which I believe wil

never succeed against any nation of stamina and spirit.”4

Wing Commander Arthur Tedder (later Marshal of the Roya

Air Force Lord Tedder) similarly argued, “Terrorising of enem

people as a whole by indiscriminate bombing does not comply

with principles of concentration. It is morally indefensible

politically inexpedient and militarily ineffective.”4 1

One must note that the RAF opposed bombing other than

legitimate military targets not merely for humanitarian

56
reasons. Public opinion played a significant role, as did th

purely practical matter of urban bombing’s inefficiency

Because gas warfare had been outlawed in 1925, the amoun

of high explosive necessary to cause significant damage to 

major city was enormous. Given the modest size of the RAF

and its bomber aircraft , pilots would do better to drop thei

payloads on specific targets. Moreover, Britain felt particularly

vulnerable to air attack because its key center of gravity was

unquestionably, London. The concentration of political

financial, social, and industrial power in the London are

made it the most valuable target in the country. Worse, it

proximity to the English Channel put it within easy strikin

range of air bases on the Continent. The fear of a “bolt from

the blue” against London preoccupied British political an

military leaders from the early 1920s on.

In 1932 former prime minister Stanley Baldwin made hi

glum prediction that the bomber would always get through

He added his pessimistic assessment that the only way t

prevent the destruction of one’s cities was to bomb an enemy’

even more viciously (Trenchard’s maxim that the best defens

is a good offense). In reality, Baldwin advocated no such thing

In fact, the week following this comment, he proposed at th

Geneva Disarmament Conference the abolition of aeria

bombardment. Obviously, he made this offer as much fo

strategic reasons as for humanitarian: because of the unusua

vulnerability of Britain to air attack, it had more to gain from

such a prohibition.4 2 The point to note, however, is tha

British political and military leaders had little incentive t

push for a city-busting air strategy; in fact, they advocate

precisely the opposite.

The other method of articulating and then disseminatin

airpower concepts throughout the RAF involved the Staf

College at Andover. Soon after the war, Trenchard realize

that in a fundamental sense the RAF would stand or fall

based on how well it was run. As a separate service, it quickly

had to develop the capability of organizing and administerin

its own affairs. As a consequence, he established three majo

schools in the first three years of peace: a technical school a

Halton to train “aircraftmen” in specific mechanical skills; 

cadet college at Cranwell, similar to Sandhurst, for educatin

57
young officers; and a staff college at Andover, like the army

at Camberley, to teach midcareer officers staff skills as well a

give them a higher understanding of war. Trenchard referre

to Andover, opened in 1922, as “the cradle of our brain.”4 3

At the Staff College, a small faculty (originally five officers

all of whom later attained flag rank) presented lectures each

morning, which the students (generally around 30 each year

then discussed in seminar. Reading requirements were no

heavy, and students usually received a detailed outline o

each lecture to help them prepare. Guest speakers from

government, business, or other military services lecture

frequently, usually in the evenings. Tactical air exercises wer

common, and each student had to write an essay on hi

experiences, the best of which were published each year an

distributed throughout the RAF . Most of them dealt with ai

operations in the Great War. As time went on, more student

wrote of air control activities in the Middle East. Further, th

faculty and staff had at their disposal a handful of aircraft fo

refresher practice. 44

In keeping with the RAF ’s need for competent staff officer

who could work effectively in a joint environment, th

curriculum—especially in the early years—emphasized adminis

trative duties, tactics, and the missions and capabilities of th

other services. For example, in the second class (1923–24

only about two weeks of the entire year’s curriculum wer

devoted to air strategy.

45 Interestingly, however, the Staf

College’s first commandant, Air Commodore Rober

Brooke-Popham, taught these lessons himself, thus lendin

consider- able prestige to the subject and setting a preceden

for all succeeding commandants prior to the war. 46

Brooke-Popham had been a successful combat commande

in France, so his reputation and seniority gave credibility t

Andover. Although some of his ideas seem a bit bizarre today

his views on airpower were well thought out and compelling. 4

In his first lecture, the commandant argued that due t

industrialization, the growth of democracy, and trade unionism

people as a whole were now more directly affected by war

Just as important, they were more able than in the past t

influence or even stop a war via the vote or a strike. As 

result, “it is now the will power of the enemy nation that ha

58
to be broken, and to do this is the object of any country tha

goes to war.”4 8 The first step in this process was to win ai

superiority. Unlike CD 22, which implied that this was an en

in itself, Brooke-Popham cautioned that gaining control of th

air was useful only in that it allowed an air attack on the vita

centers. Because neutralization of such centers brough

victory, air leaders should not lose sight of their true goal

These vital centers would vary, depending on the enemy—the

might even be the armed forces—but the ultimate objectiv

was to break the will of the enemy.

Regarding how one might best affect that will, th

commandant took a slightly different view from the officia

line. If government policy called for bombing a town, he state

that “we must faithfully carry out any decision of ou

Government in the matter, even if such decisions b

repugnant to our own private conceptions of morality.” Such 

“we must all be good soldiers” approach offered a dangerou

loophole, quickly entered: “This being so, we must study how

best to utilize such forms of violence.”49 Air Commodor

Ludlow-Hewitt, Brooke-Popham’s successor as commandant

echoed that sentiment: “War is a wild beast which when

uncaged is soon out of control and running amuck. . . . Let u

abolish war if we can, but so long as war is possible then w

must face all that war entails.”5 0 Such a view can easily

become a self-fulfilling prophecy—preparing for the wors

because it may occur can help make it occur.

Ludlow-Hewitt’s lectures on air strategy during his tenur

as commandant were quite good. For example, he too realize

that air superiority was essential, but one would have to figh

for it. However, bringing the enemy to battle was difficult

because one could not fix the enemy in the sky as was th

case on the ground. He therefore argued that one had to “fin

some way of drawing the enemy to some spot chosen by us.

The obvious method used to coax the enemy into battl

entailed “threaten[ing] something vital to his security.”5

Significantly, the Allies used this very “bait” technique in 194

to bring the Luftwaffe to battle by attacking German aircraf

factories and oil refineries.

The air commodore also went into some depth on th

subject of targeting. Noting that the key areas of an enem

59
country would vary with circumstances, Ludlow-Hewit

nonetheless identified three major target sets in a modern

industrialized country: (1) the system of commerce, industry

and distribution—including food, munitions, ore deposits, an

coal supplies; (2) communications, including not only lan

systems but also port facilities and harbors; and (3) industria

workers. The latter were particularly important: “If thei

morale can be tampered with or can be depleted—if thei

security can be endangered—their work will fall off in quantit

and quality.”52 Paralleling the RAF doctrine manuals

Ludlow-Hewitt maintained that one could more likely achiev

the collapse of morale “by crippling his industries, delayin

his railways and stopping his ports than by spraying th

whole population with bombs.” He quickly noted, however

that the success of the air offensive resulted from selecting th

proper targets, which in turn required a special intelligenc

that established an enemy’s habits of life, mentality, politica

system, economic apparatus, communications systems

commodities flow, and so forth.53 Unfortunately, although

other air leaders echoed his calls for a robust intelligenc

network attuned to the needs of air warfare, little was done t

establish it prior to the war.

Through the interwar years, other people at the Staff Colleg

addressed the issue of breaking the enemy’s will. Arthu

Tedder , an instructor in the early 1930s, noted the effect tha

one might expect from air strikes on industry: “Men driven of

their tools, clerical staffs from their offices, work decelerate

and finally stopped. Material ruined and operations interrupted

Consequent delay, and final complete dislocation an

disorganization of systems attacked. Spread of panic

Bombardment of one area likely to stop work in others.”54 Thi

was an air strategy of paralysis—not obliteration.

One should also note that the RAF carried out a number o

major exercises during the interwar years, the first of which

occurred in 1927. Others were held most years thereafter unti

World War II. The scenarios for these exercises were ostensibly

defensive in nature—enemy countries like “Southland,” “Re

Colony,” and “Caledonia” were set to attack, usually London 

The air-defense-observer network, controllers, fighte

squadrons, and searchlight units received a thorough

60
workout, as well as the bomber units. In general terms, th

purpose of the bombing strikes was “to break enemy nationa

resistance by intensive air bombardment of the vital points in

the economic and industrial systems.” More specifically, th

targets designated for these bombing units were militar

objectives that required precise application of force: the “sea

of government,” airfields, munitions factories, docks, arm

depots, chemical industries, and power stations.55

One of Trenchard ’s bright young protégés who later attaine

high rank was Jack Slessor , also one of the more articulat

and thoughtful airpower theorists. Unlike Douhet, Trenchard 

and Billy Mitchell, who had begun their careers as arm

officers, Slessor started off as a flyer in 1915. One might wish

to speculate on how the lack of army experience during hi

formative military years—and the backlash it seemed to incu

in many airmen—affected his outlook on airpower. During th

war, Slessor flew air defense in England , while also seein

combat in the Middle East (where he was wounded) and in

France. Between 1931 and 1934, he was an instructor at th

Army Staff College at Camberley. His seminal work, Air Powe

and Armies, is a collection of his lectures there, edited an

compiled a few years later while he was stationed in India .

In assessing this book, one must remember, first, hi

audience at Camberley and, second, his admonitions—repeated

throughout—that he is writing about a war in which th

British army has already committed itself to a land campaign 

Slessor acknowledged that a primary function of airpower i

strategic bombing, but he intended to discuss how airpowe

could complement surface operations. Indeed, he chastene

his readers that “no attitude could be more vain or irritating in

its effects than to claim that the next great war—if and when i

comes—will be decided in the air, and in the air alone.”56

Readers of Air Power and Armies are struck by the fact tha

Slessor bases his arguments not only on logic—the method

employed by most air theorists—but also on history. Notin

that history enables commanders and staff officers “to be wis

before the event,” he relies heavily on the history of war

concentrating especially on the Great War and airpower’s rol

in it. Most airmen of that era disdained history, perhap

because it seemed to teach the wrong lessons for airpower

61
Responding to this tendency, Slessor wrote, 

If there is on

attitude more dangerous than to assume that a future war wil

be just like the last one, it is to imagine that it will be s

utterly different that we can ignore all the lessons of the las

one.”5 7 One of the lessons of that war, as indeed of those in

the past four centuries, was that Britain had to maintain 

balance of power in Europe. Specifically, the security of th

country demanded that the low countries remain in saf

hands—an issue worth fighting for.

Slessor believed that the character of war had change

dramatically. Unlike Douhet, he believed that trench

stalemate was over. The advent of the tank and airplan

meant that the static warfare of the western front was an

aberration. In the future, small maneuver armies would

dominate war. Clearly, his tour at Camberley had kept him

abreast of the latest developments in mechanized warfare.

58 In

addition—and not surprisingly—Slessor believed that airpowe

would play a key, perhaps dominant, role in future war. H

saw it as the third revolution in warfare, behind gunpowde

and machine guns. However, air was the most importan

development: although the first two allowed more efficien

killing on the battlefield, “AIR may stop men or their supplie

arriving at the battle-field at all” (emphasis in original). 5 9 In

fact, he saw airpower as the antidote to modern weapons o

surface warfare.

In keeping with the book’s focus of assuming a lan

campaign , airpower’s role was “to assist and co-operate with

the army in the defeat of the enemy’s army, and of such ai

forces as may be co-operating with it.”6 0 As will soon becom

clear, this translated into attacking the communications an

supply lines of the enemy forces—interdiction—rather than

conducting strategic air strikes against the enemy’s vita

centers. The first requirement for assisting the army, however

was obtaining air superiority, because without it, groun

operations would fail. In fact, Slessor hinted that achieving ai

superiority may of itself cause the enemy to surrender, “bu

these are not the conditions which it is the object of this work

to examine.”6 1 He realized, however, that air supremacy ove

an entire theater was unlikely and unnecessary due to th

immensity of space. He therefore stressed the need for loca

62
air superiority, but even this was difficult and require

constant maintenance. Air superiority was not a phase; i

required persistence.

Slessor also emphasized that winning the air superiorit

campaign demanded initiative. Here he echoed the views o

his mentor, Trenchard , by noting the importance of morale

One did not achieve victory by waiting for the enemy but b

striking first and hard. 62 Slessor did not advocate th

bombing of airfields, which he considered ineffective and a

best a temporary nuisance; nor did he see much utility in ai

patrols. Such activities might prove useful, but the primar

means of destroying the enemy air force remained air combat

One must bring the enemy air force to battle, but this could

be difficult. Unlike armies that had to fight in order to achiev

their objective of defeating the enemy army or preventing i

from overrunning their country, air forces could avoid battl

yet still bomb a country’s vital centers.

Thus, one need not choose between air superiority an

bombardment—one could wage both campaigns simultaneously

This ability to conduct parallel—not merely sequential—

combat operations was one of the factors that differentiate

airpower from surface forces. Even so, Slessor remaine

ambivalent about the air superiority campaign, arguing on th

one hand that it was necessary but on the other that on

should not see it as an end in itself. A line, fine though i

might be, clearly existed between aggressively waging th

battle for air superiority while also avoiding its distractions in

order to conduct a more lucrative bombing

Slessor posited a war in which the British army ha

deployed to the Continent to secure the low countries from 

hostile power. The initial stages of that joint campaign wer

therefore symbiotic: the army and navy secured a foothold an

established air bases, and the air force then protected th

surface forces from enemy attack. That done, one could carr

out a strategic air campaign against the enemy’s vita

centers.

63 Unfortunately, Slessor declined to discuss th

details of such an air campaign . Instead, he concentrated on

the preliminary joint campaign , largely because he believe

that airpower would not stop a major land assault by itsel

and that hitting strategic targets would not take effect quickly

63
enough to prevent the British army from being overwhelmed

Therefore, air, land, and sea commanders had to cooperate t

stop and perhaps drive back an enemy offensive.

Nonetheless, Slessor ’s general comments regarding 

strategic air campaign are interesting. He had difficult

identifying the most lucrative targets; indeed, he recognize

that most countries had several centers of gravity that migh

change over time. Unlike some theorists, he carefully avoide

equating strategic bombing with a mechanistic destruction o

target sets. One need not always obliterate the objective

rather, neutralization for a specific time period could b

satisfactory. He used the example of a man’s windpipe: it wa

not necessary to sever it; simply interrupting it for a few

minutes would achieve the same result.

Further, Slessor lent only tepid support to morale bombing

Although he appreciated the importance of psychologica

pressure, he saw the reduction of industrial capacity as both

more practical and more quantifiable. Also stressing the nee

for industrial intelligence, he called for detailed technica

expertise to ensure effective targeting. In this regard, he wa

obviously hinting at the concept then under consideration b

the American Air Corps—the analysis of industrial systems t

identify weak points or “bottlenecks.” In truth, these brie

insights into strategic air warfare are intriguing. It i

interesting to speculate on what type of book Slessor would

have written had he instructed at Andover rather than

Camberley.

But we must be content with the book Slessor did write. In

it, he focused on the theater—what we now call th

operational level of war—arguing that the neutralization of ke

nodes at that level would prevent effective operations. H

decried people who advocated using airpower as “flyin

artillery.” It was not a battlefield weapon; rather, he believe

that one should attack the enemy repeatedly, as far from th

battlefield as possible. In this regard, Slessor envisione

airpower as the key element in sealing off the enemy’s force

and strangling them into submission. In short, he promote

interdiction as the primary air mission of air force

cooperating in a land campaign . In this regard he tended t

favor supply interdiction (material and equipment) over forc

64
interdiction (troops and combat vehicles), maintaining tha

movement by rail and road was virtually impossible in

daylight for the side that had lost air superiority. On

probably could not cut off all supplies and communication

but could severely curtail them.

Moreover, as with strategic air warfare, he argued that th

goal should be paralysis—not destruction.64 Significantly

Slessor recognized that truly effective interdiction require

cooperation between air and ground units. He even opine

that some occasions required the detailing of ground forces t

support the air effort—a heretical belief among most groun

officers at the time. Finally, he argued that airpower must b

commanded and directed by an airman who was equal in

authority to the ground commander. These two individual

and their staffs would collaborate in the design an

implementation of the theater commander’s overall plan

Notably, he speculated that the theater commander could b

an airman.

Although Slessor cautioned against extensive use o

airpower in a tactical role, he did offer some guidelines fo

occasions requiring such operations. The first requiremen

was air superiority—as was the case with all air missions

Second, even more than in interdiction operations, the air an

ground commanders had to coordinate their efforts closely—i

possible, their headquarters should be collocated. Because o

the proximity of friendly troops, one could not tolerat

mistakes. After careful planning, one could use airpowe

tactically in three different situations: in attack to facilitate 

breakthrough; in pursuit to turn victory into rout; and in

defense to prevent an enemy breakthrough on the ground.

Slessor’s later career and writings make clear that he wa

an advocate of strategic airpower. (One arrives at the sam

conclusion after examining his attitude towards Trenchard , a

revealed in Air Power and Armies.) Indeed, several hint

dropped throughout his book suggest that he wanted to writ

about strategic airpower. The fact that his army audienc

would have none of it, however, compelled him to write a book

that assumed a land campaign . Air Power and Armies stand

as perhaps the best treatment of this subject written in

English before World War II.

65
The book features several notable aspects: his detaile

discussion of air superiority—what it is, how one gains it, an

when one needs to maintain it; his emphasis on the need fo

specialized air intelligence ; and his detailed discussion of an

army’s center of gravity—its supply lines. Slessor argued tha

one wasted airpower by using it merely as a tactical weapon

when cooperating in a land campaign ; rather, airpower should

concentrate on the disruption, destruction, and neutralization

of enemy armaments and supplies—interdiction . Given hi

penetrating examination—despite his fairly convoluted

prose—it is most unfortunate that Slessor did not write 

companion volume on strategic air war. (His many writing

after World War II are concerned primarily with nuclea

deterrence and the situation in Europe.)

In a sense, Slessor’s masterful volume served as a transition

between the RAF of the post–World War I era and the RAF o

the pre–World War II era. The rise of Nazi Germany, “th

ultimate potential enemy,” forced air leaders to begin plannin

for a genuine military threat, not just an inconvenien

diplomatic nuisance as in the decade previously. As 

consequence, the RAF went through a period of frenzie

planning and expansion that would last the remainder of th

decade. Although the Air Ministry and the government tende

to focus on these various expansion schemes—fertile fields fo

historians—the operational RAF went about its business o

thinking through the matter of war fighting. This effor

culminated in a new edition of AP 1300 written during peac

but published soon after the outbreak of war.

The new manual again stressed national will as the key t

war: “A nation is defeated when its people or Government n

longer retain their will to prosecute their war aim.”65 Severa

factors buttressed this will: the armed forces, manpower, th

economic system, and finances. The purpose of military force

was, therefore, to defeat enemy forces in battle, starve th

people into submission through blockade, or instill a sense o

“war weariness” in them by disrupting their normal lives—

considered the true path to victory for airpower. As before, th

method advanced to effect this disruption was bombing th

enemy industrial and economic infrastructure, such as publi

utilities, food and fuel supplies, transportation networks, an

66
communications. Hopefully, the destruction of such target

would cause “a general undermining of the whole populace

even to the extent of destroying the nation’s will to continu

the struggle.”66 One notes the muted hope that bombin

would make a bloody land campaign unnecessary.

AP 1300 also increased its emphasis on air defense, finall

acknowledging the necessity and even desirability of both

active and passive measures. In truth, this trend had been in

motion for some years, largely imposed on the RAF from

without. The argument that the best defense was a good

offense fell out of favor as the Luftwaffe grew increasingly

powerful from 1935 onwards. Intelligence predictions regardin

the size of the German air force—and worse, its superio

production rate—forced Britain to reevaluate its air strategy 

At the same time, however, the British economy remaine

depressed and unable to keep pace with German expansion.

In 1937 Thomas Inskip was appointed minister for th

coordination of defense, with guidance to check the risin

defense budget. Although often vilified for his stringent fisca

policy in the face of a looming German threat, Inskip did

reorient military aircraft production. Three fighters could b

built for every bomber, so—given the possibilities offered b

the new communications warning net and especially th

dramatic breakthroughs in the field of radar—Inskip gav

priority to the production of fighter aircraft .

67 The notion tha

bombers could strike virtually anywhere, anytime, from an

direction, and achieve tactical surprise was no longer viable

bombers could be detected, intercepted, and stopped. The new

fighter planes on the horizon, the Hurricane and Spitfire—fast

maneuverable, and heavily armed—promised to tip th

balance of the air battle once again against the bomber . As 

consequence, strong air defenses combined with hundreds o

new fighters were in place in England by 1940: Air Chie

Marshal Hugh Dowding’s Fighter Command was ready for th

Battle of Britain . The new war manual belatedly ratified thes

developments.6 8

As in previous manuals, AP 1300 took pains to stress tha

although the civilian populace was more involved than ever in

the business of war, it was not, as such, a legitimate target

Consequently, the manual rejected area bombing: “All ai

67
bombardment aims to hit a particular target,

 and in ever

case “the bombing crew must be given an exact target and i

must be impressed upon them that it is their task to hit an

cause material damage to that target.”6 9 Nonetheless, even i

“the people” were not targets, “the workers” most certainly

were, because they put weapons in the hands of soldiers an

because they had a decisive grip on the actions of politica

leaders. The point in attacking certain industries was thus no

only to destroy the tools with which the enemy waged war, bu

to instill such fear in the people making the tools that the

simply refused to show up for work. Hence, one should attac

factories when the maximum number of workers are present.

This scrupulous regard for precise targeting of specifi

military objectives was not just for public consumption. Th

air targets committee in the Air Ministry looked closely a

potential target sets in Germany and prepared an extensive

list of suitable possibilities—specific military objectives such

as oil, gas, electricity, chemicals, explosives, nonferrou

metals, ferro alloys, the aircraft industry, iron and steel, rolle

bearings, raw materials, transportation, and optical glass

Seemingly, foodstuffs constituted an exception to this list, bu

they were a traditional objective of naval blockade and thu

well established as a legitimate target in international law.

7 0

In addition, a classified study written in 1938 by the Ai

Staff and endorsed by Air Commodore Slessor (now director o

plans), spelled out RAF bombing policy. The document note

that no internationally agreed-upon laws regarding air warfar

existed—conferences convened since the turn of the centur

had failed to reach agreement. Consequently, air warfar

tended to follow the same rules as did war at sea (which wer

much less restrictive than those for land warfare). The ke

legal tenet guiding air leaders forbade the deliberate bombin

of civilian populations: “A direct attack upon an enemy civi

population . . . is a course of action which no British Air Staf

would recommend and which no British Cabinet would

sanction.”71

The Air Staff, however, worried that other countries did

not share Britain ’s traditional respect for law. Specifically

one could hardly rely upon Nazi Germany, which had driven

“a coach and four through half a dozen internationa

68
obligations,

 to keep its word regarding the largely unwritten

rules of air bombardment. Britain must, therefore, maintain 

defensive and offensive air capability that would prov

effective, regardless of laws and agreements: “Expediency to

often governs military policy and actions in war.”7 2 Thi

parting caveat was prophetic because expediency did in fac

later shape British bombing policy. But it seems clear that th

RAF leadership going into the war had drawn a clear lin

regarding the issue. One should also note that at the sam

time, lectures at Andover followed the line described abov

almost exactly. 7 3 This policy carried over into the war.

The week before Germany invaded Poland, the CAS sent 

letter to Bomber Command stating RAF policy in the cleares

of terms: “We should not initiate air action against other than

purely military objectives in the narrowest sense of the word

i.e., Navy, Army and Air Forces and establishments, and tha

as far as possible we should confine it to objectives on which

attack will not involve loss of civil life.”7 4 During the campaign

in France the following year, the CAS reiterated this policy in

a classified message to all RAF commanders: the intentiona

bombing of civilian populations as such was illegal. One mus

identify the objectives in advance, attack with “reasonabl

care” to avoid undue loss of civilian lives in the vicinity of th

target, and observe the provisions of international law.

75

The CAS then elaborated on the thorny subject of wha

precisely constituted a “military objective,” listing militar

forces; works; fortifications; barracks; depots; supply dumps

shipyards and factories engaged in the manufacture

assembly, or repair of military material, equipment, o

supplies. Also included were power stations, oil refineries, an

storage installations, as well as lines of communications an

transportation serving military purposes. Following th

provisions of international law regarding land warfare, th

directive concluded that “provided the principles set out abov

are observed [regarding the prohibition of deliberately

bombing the population] other objectives, the destruction o

which is an immediate military necessity, may be attacked fo

particular reasons.”7 6

To be sure, the motives for such restraint were no

completely noble. Years of fiscal stringency had left the RAF

69
with a small and marginally capable force. Although up to th

task of air control, it lacked the mass and sophistication

required to mount a strategic air campaign against a majo

power. The bewildering variety of expansion schemes tha

began in the mid-1930s as a result of Luftwaffe growth only

confused matters in the short term by adding the requiremen

for simultaneous growth and training in new equipment. As 

consequence, despite 20 years of doctrine that emphasized th

primacy of offensive airpower , the RAF found itself woefully

unprepared to conduct such operations once war broke out

The RAF therefore was unwilling to throw the first stone when

it believed that the Luftwaffe had a larger supply of brick

near at hand.7 7 In addition, Britain—already acutely aware o

the necessity of maintaining the friendship and moral suppor

of the United States—knew that indiscriminate bombing would

quickly sour such relations. 7 8 Nonetheless, RAF doctrine an

policy throughout the interwar years—indeed, for the first yea

of the war—consistently stressed the principle of avoidin

civilian noncombatants while concentrating on enem

industry. Unfortunately, the propensity of RAF thinkers t

link this industrial targeting strategy with the morale of th

enemy nation caused untold confusion to outside observer

then and since.

There is a tendency to read the history of Bomber Comman

in World War II backwards from Dresden in 1945 to Hugh

Trenchard in 1919. Because Air Chief Marshal Arthur Harri

carried out a ruthless and single-minded strategy of urban

area bombing and because he was a protégé of Trenchard 

many historians have seen a direct linkage between 1929

when Trenchard retired, and the assumption of command b

Harris in 1942. 79 This connection seems plausible becaus

the common term tying them together was morale bombing

Actually, the similarity is apparent rather than real.

Although RAF policy in the first year of the war followed th

guidelines noted above, the pressure of war soon force

changes. France, indeed most of Europe, was now part o

Hitler’s empire; the British army had been thrown off th

Continent at Dunkirk—leaving its heavy machinery behind

Axis forces were moving rapidly across North Africa; German

submarines were sinking British shipping in the Atlantic at an

70
alarming pace; London was suffering through the blitz; an

British bombers had suffered such heavy losses in dayligh

that they had been driven to the relative safety of the night. In

short, Britain was alone, outnumbered, outgunned, an

desperate.

The choice of Arthur Harris to lead Bomber Command in

this dark period was pivotal. Like Trenchard , he wa

single-minded in his determination. Seeing no alternative

Harris initiated an urban bombing campaign agains

Germany’s major cities, aiming to destroy German morale b

targeting residential areas where the workers lived. Th

abysmal accuracy of Bomber Command at night would hav

produced such area attacks anyway—intentional or not. Lik

Trenchard in World War I, Harris persisted in thi

strategy—even when greater accuracy became possible in

1944—with a stubbornness that earned him criticism by th

end of the war. Peace and the revelation of the destruction

leveled on Germany only exacerbated this feeling. As a result

Trenchard and prewar RAF leaders have been tarred with th

urban bombing brush, although inaccurately.

Trenchard and his successors viewed the collapse of enem

morale as the ultimate goal, but the mechanism used t

achieve that goal was the destruction or disruption of enem

industry—a legitimate military target under the laws of war

This belief was consistently reflected in the RAF ’s doctrin

manuals, in the courses at the Staff College that its mos

promising officers attended, in the major exercises the RAF

conducted in the 1920s and 1930s, and in the prewa

guidance of its senior leaders.

RAF doctrine, which expanded and codified Trenchard ’

beliefs, thus constituted a unique strain of airpower theor

that combined key concepts of the other two major schools o

strategic bombing in the interwar years—those of Douhet an

the instructors at the Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS) a

Maxwell Field, Alabama. Douhet also believed that th

ultimate objective in war was to destroy enemy morale , but h

preached that one should do this by bombing the peopl

directly with gas and incendiaries. But the officers at ACTS

chose to concentrate on breaking the capability of the enem

71
to wage war, implementing this strategy by targeting th

industrial infrastructure.

Quite simply, the RAF combined these two approaches

choosing the Douhetian objective of morale and the ACTS

industrial targeting scheme. None of these three airpowe

theories proved completely accurate in World War II. On

must remember, however, that the airplane was in its infanc

and that there was very little experience upon which to base 

theory of airpower. Airmen thus did the best they could

examining the history of warfare and of airpower in the Grea

War, calling upon their own aviation experience, and—most o

all—relying on their own logic and imagination, unconstraine

by temporary technological limitations.

The RAF thinker who emerges from the interwar year

looking most prescient is Jack Slessor. His major study

though perhaps limited by external factors rather than hi

own beliefs, is the most balanced and judicious of all th

treatises written about the new air weapon. The hope of ai

advocates that land and sea forces would play but a mino

role in future war was, of course, not borne out, but Slesso

barely hinted at that possibility. Instead, he presumed a majo

land war with a Continental power. In such a scenario

airpower was, at best, primus inter pares. Given th

adolescent state of British airpower , this vision of future wa

was quite realistic. Even so, Slessor built his ideas on th

shoulders of the man he respected and admired so deeply—

Hugh Trenchard , the man who sustained his service in its blea

period after the Great War, presented a theory of strategi

airpower that identified enemy morale as the key target, an

then institutionalized those ideas through a series of doctrina

manuals. These precepts were subsequently taught and refined

at another of Trenchard’s creations—the RAF Staff College 

Termed “the father of the RAF,” Trenchard deserved this title

not only administratively and organizationally but als

philosophically.

Notes

1. Interestingly, Lt John C. Slessor flew the first nighttime interceptio

mission on 13 October 1915. He saw the zeppelin but never maneuvere

72
close enough to attack it. Marshal of the RAF Sir John Slessor, The Centra

Blue: Recollections and Reflections (London: Cassell, 1956), 10–14.

2. The German navy lost 53 of 73 airships built during the war, and th

army lost 26 of 52. Approximately 49 percent of all aircrews assigned t

airships were lost during the war—the worst casualty rate of any branch

including infantry. Peter Fritzsche, A Nation of Fliers: German Aviation an

the Popular Imagination (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press

1992), 50.

3. Lt Gen Jan C. Smuts, “The Second Report of the Prime Minister’

Committee on Air Organisation and Home Defence against Air Raids,” 1

August 1917, as quoted in Eugene M. Emme, ed., The Impact of Air Powe

(Princeton, N.J.: Van Nostrand, 1959), 35.

4. There are many accounts of these squabbles, and none of th

principals emerge looking either statesmanlike or dignified. See especiall

H. Montgomery Hyde, British Air Policy between the Wars, 1918–193

(London: Heinemann, 1976); Andrew Boyle, Trenchard: Man of Visio

(London: Collins, 1962); and Frederick Sykes, From Many Angles (London

George Harrap, 1942).

5. “Future Policy in the Air,” 22 September 1916, Trenchard Papers

RAF Hendon, England, file CI/14. This memo was later published as 

Royal Flying Corps pamphlet titled “Offence versus Defence in the Air

October 1917; a copy is located in Brooke-Popham Papers, Liddell Ha

Archives, King’s College, London, file IX/5/4.

6. Ibid.

7. Brig Gen Sefton Brancker, the deputy director of military aeronautics

made an astounding comment in this regard in a letter to Trenchard i

September 1916: “I rather enjoy hearing of our casualties as I am perfectl

certain in my own mind that the Germans lose at least half as much again

as we do.” Malcolm Cooper, The Birth of Independent Air Power (London

Allen & Unwin, 1986), 75.

8. “A Review of the Principles Adopted by the Royal Flying Corps sinc

the Battle of the Somme,” RFC pamphlet, 23 August 1917, Brooke-Popham

Papers, Liddell Hart Archives, King’s College, London, file IX/3/2.

9. “Long Distance Bombing,” 28 November 1917, Trenchard Papers, RAF

Hendon, England, file I/9.

10. “The Scientific and Methodical Attack of Vital Industries,” 26 Ma

1918. This document is in the same file as the “Long Distance Bombing

memo noted above but is a fragment of a larger, unspecified document an

is of a later date; see also “Memorandum on the Tactics to be Adopted i

Bombing the Industrial Centres of Germany,” 23 June 1918, Trenchar

Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file I/10/4.

11. “Bombing Germany: General Trenchard’s Report of Operations o

British Airmen against German Cities,” The New York Times Curren

History, April 1919, 152. Although a strategy of a geographically disperse

campaign appears to violate the principle of mass, Trenchard believed tha

73
his forces were too small to cause catastrophic damage in any event, s

opting for a psychological effect seemed wiser.

12. A list of all 350 strategic bombing missions conducted by th

Independent Force and its predecessors between October 1917 and th

armistice, excluding aerodrome attacks, is contained in H. A. Jones, Th

War in the Air: Being the Story of the Part Played in the Great War by th

Royal Air Force, vol. 7, Appendices (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1937), 42–84.

13. “Memorandum on Future Air Organisation, Fighting Policy, an

Requirements in Personnel and Material,” 2 October 1917, Trenchar

Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file CI/14; “Long Distance Bombing”; an

“On the Bombing of Germany,” 23 June 1918, Trenchard Papers, RAF

Hendon, England, file I/9.

14. Transcript of interview between Trenchard and H. A. Jones, 11 Apri

1934, Public Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 8/179. This rationale i

also developed at some length in John C. Slessor, These Remain: A Persona

Anthology (London: Michael Joseph, 1969), 80–85.

15. Sykes, 558–61; and P. R. C. Groves, Behind the Smoke Scree

(London: Faber & Faber, 1934), 253–59. Groves was the RAF’s director o

flying operations under Sykes in 1919.

16. “The Future of the Air Force in National and Imperial Defence,” A

Ministry pamphlet, March 1921, Brooke-Popham Papers, Liddell Har

Archives, King’s College, London, file IX/5/11, 13–14. One should also not

that throughout most of the interwar period, the RAF received less than 2

percent of the defense budget.

17. Hugh Trenchard, memorandum to Henry Wilson, ca. 1920, Publi

Records Office, Kew, London, file AIR 8/2.

18. Boyle, 348–51; B. McL Ranft, ed., The Beatty Papers, vol. 2, 1916

1927 (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1993), 84; and Malcolm Smith, British Ai

Strategy between the Wars (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), 23. Naval ai

was generally slighted while it was part of the RAF, and the Admiralt

complained that its legitimate aviation needs were not being met. I

therefore insisted that naval aircraft be returned to fleet control, whic

indeed occurred in 1937.

19. “Notes on the History of the Employment of Air Power,” Augus

1935, Public Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 10/1367. For account

of these operations, see David E. Omissi, Air Power and Colonial Contro

The Royal Air Force, 1919–1939 (New York: Saint Martin’s, 1990); and Phili

A. Towle, Pilots and Rebels: The Use of Aircraft in Unconventional Warfare

1919–1988 (London: Brassey’s, 1989). The surprising success of thes

operations possibly fueled even further the RAF belief in the psychologica

effects of bombing.

20. “Minutes of Meetings and Memoranda of Sub-Committee on th

Continental Air Menace,” December 1921–March 1922, Public Record

Office, Kew, England, file AIR 8/39.

21. “Staff Notes on Enemy Air Attack on Defended Zones in Grea

Britain,” 28 May 1924, Trenchard Papers, RAF Hendon, England, fil

74
CII/3/177–227. On average, the German attacks had caused 65 casualtie

per ton of bombs dropped in “crowded areas” and four casualties i

“sparse” areas. The RAF used the compromise figure of 50.

22. As quoted by Air Vice Marshal A. S. Barratt in “Air Policy an

Strategy,” Staff College lecture, 14 February 1938, RAF Hendon, England

“16th Staff Course” file.

23. John Ferris, “The Theory of a ‘French Menace,’ Anglo-Frenc

Relations and the British Home Defence Air Force,” Journal of Strategi

Studies 10 (March 1987): 66.

24. Hugh Trenchard, “Buxton Speech,” 13 April 1923, Trenchar

Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file II/5/1–57.

25. Hugh Trenchard, “Speech at Cambridge University,” 29 April 1925

Trenchard Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file CII/3/177–227. The Air Staf

reviewed the threat from antiaircraft and concluded blithely that it wa

insignificant. Based on experience in the war, guns expended over 11,00

shells to down a single aircraft. Not only did that rate wear out an averag

of two gun barrels but if one added the cost of ground crews, lights, and s

forth, each downed plane cost the defender over £50,000. Moreover, the Ai

Staff saw no improvements in artillery since the war, and increased aircraf

speed and altitude capability would compensate for any improvements i

the future. “Notes on Anti-Aircraft Gunnery,” November 1926, Trenchar

Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file CII/3/177–227.

26. “CAS Conference Minutes,” 10 July 1923, Public Records Office

Kew, England, file AIR 2/1267; and “Air Staff Memo No. 11A,” March 1924

Public Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 8/71.

27. Hugh Trenchard, “Notes for Address by CAS to the Imperial Defenc

College on the War Aim of an Air Force,” 9 October 1928, Trenchard Papers

RAF Hendon, England, file CII/4/1–47.

28. Hugh Trenchard, memorandum for the record [1923], Trenchar

Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file CII/19/1.

29. Hugh Trenchard, “The Employment of the Home Defence Air Force

3 February 1928, Trenchard Papers, RAF Hendon, England, fil

CII/4/1–47.

30. Another, less formal, avenue for disseminating ideas on airpowe

was through professional journals such as RUSI [Royal United Service

Institute] Journal and RAF Quarterly . However, it is difficult to determine 

RAF officers, especially senior leaders, ever read such journals. For a usefu

overview of this secondary source, see Robin Higham, The Militar

Intellectuals in Britain, 1918–1939 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers, 1966).

31. RAF Manual CD 22, Operations, July 1922, Public Records Office

Kew, England, file AIR 10/1197, 5.

32. Ibid., 57.

33. Ibid., 58.

34. RAF Manual AP 1300, Royal Air Force War Manual, July 1928

Public Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 10/1910, chap. 7. One shoul

also note that the manual’s cover stated that no reference would be made t

75
the use of gas in war due to international 

engagements on the subject t

which Britain had subscribed.

35. Ibid., chap. 8.

36. Ibid.

37. Ibid.

38. “The Fallacies of ‘Inhumanity’ and ‘Rancour,’ ” Staff College lecture

n.d., Bottomley Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file B2244; see also “Ai

Control: The Other Point of View,” Staff College lecture, May 1931

Bottomley Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file B2241; and “Psychologica

Effects of Air Bombardment on Semi-Civilized Peoples,” 7 February 1924

Public Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 8/71.

39. Hugh Trenchard, “The War Object of an Air Force,” 2 May 1928

Public Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 9/8. A slightly differen

version of this memo is found in the Trenchard Papers, RAF Hendon

England, file CII/4/1–47.

40. Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt, “Direct Air Action,” Staff College lecture, n.d

Bottomley Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file B2274. Ludlow-Hewitt wa

the commander in chief of RAF Bomber Command at the outbreak of Worl

War II.

41. Arthur Tedder, “Aim in Air Warfare,” Staff College lecture, n.d

Tedder Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file B270.

42. This is the major theme of Uri Bialer’s The Shadow of the Bomber

The Fear of Air Attack and British Politics, 1932–1939 (London: Roya

Historical Society, 1980).

43. One of the great surprises of RAF historiography is that the role o

the Staff College in doctrine formulation and education is scarcel

mentioned. The paucity of records probably explains this gap. Onl

scattered documents and lectures remain, and no official history exists

Allan D. English, however, has written a useful article (based on hi

master’s thesis), “The RAF Staff College and the Evolution of Britis

Strategic Bombing Policy, 1922–1929,” Journal of Strategic Studies 1

(September 1993): 408–31. For a good overview, see Wing Commander R. A

Mason, “The Royal Air Force Staff College, 1922–1972,” unpublishe

manuscript in Staff College library, RAF Bracknell, England, 1972.

44. Mason, 9–12.

45. As noted above, the records of the Staff College (most are located i

the archives at RAF Hendon, England) are spotty. However, files for eac

year contain a syllabus covering the entire program and an assortment o

lectures that were presented. In truth, the “archivist” seems to have use

no discernable system in determining which lectures to preserve; rather, h

evidently chucked whatever he found into the file. Nonetheless, reviewin

the files for each year gives one a reasonable insight into the curriculum i

general and the treatment of some individual subjects in particular.

46. Not all of the commandants’ lectures remain, but based on thos

extant, the best are those of Air Marshals Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt (1927–30

and Robert Brooke-Popham (1922–26).

76
47. Brooke-Popham had a large library of military history and theor

(over six hundred volumes), which he donated to the Staff College when h

left. He was an old-fashioned gentleman, and in 1922 he told his students

“I hope I shall not be accused of harping too much on the question o

horses. I know there are good men who don’t hunt and bad men who do

but I am certain that every man is improved by hunting or even by keepin

a horse and riding it.” Mason, 6.

48. Robert Brooke-Popham, “The Nature of War,” Staff College lecture, 

May 1925, Public Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 69/6.

49. Robert Brooke-Popham, “Policy and Strategy,” Staff College lecture

6 May 1925, Public Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 69/6.

50. Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt, “The Object in Warfare,” Staff College lecture

1928, Bottomley Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file B2274.

51. Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt, “Air Warfare,” Staff College lecture, 1928

Bottomley Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file B2274.

52. Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt, “Direct Air Action,” Staff College lecture, 1928

Bottomley Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file B2274.

53. Ibid.

54. Arthur Tedder, “The War Aim of the Air Force,” Staff College lecture

1934, Tedder Papers, RAF Hendon, England, file B270.

55. “Report on Air Exercises, 1932,” Public Records Office, Kew

England, file AIR 10/1523. For exercises from other years, see also 1929

AIR 20/157; 1931, AIR 9/64; 1932, AIR 20/172; 1934, AIR 2/1398; an

1935, AIR 9/64. For an overview of several of these exercises, see Sco

Robertson, The Development of RAF Strategic Bombing Doctrine, 1919–193

(Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1995).

56. Wing Commander John C. Slessor, Air Power and Armies (Oxford

Oxford University Press, 1936), 214.

57. Ibid., x.

58. Slessor was awarded the Royal United Services Institute gold meda

for his essay “Combustion Engines in the British Army,” RUSI Journal 8

(August 1937): 463–84.

59. Slessor, Air Power and Armies, 200.

60. Ibid., 1. One finds further evidence of his broad view of join

operations in his essay “The Co-Ordination of the Future Services,” RUS

Journal 76 (November 1931): 752–55.

61. Slessor, Air Power and Armies, 28.

62. In today’s parlance, Slessor was advocating “offensive counterai

operations” versus the more passive “defensive counterair operations.”

63. Slessor, Air Power and Armies, 3.

64. This emphasis on paralysis sounds similar to the sort of thing the

being advocated by J. F. C. Fuller and B. H. Liddell Hart. More than likely

Slessor was well acquainted with their ideas, based on his tour a

Camberley.

65. RAF Manual AP 1300, Royal Air Force War Manual, February 1940

Public Records Office, Kew, England, file 10/2311, I/10.

77
66. Ibid., VIII/12.

67. Sean Greenwood, “‘Caligula’s Horse’ Revisited: Sir Thomas Inskip a

Minister for the Co-Ordination of Defence, 1936–1939,” Journal of Strategi

Studies 17 (June 1994): 17–38.

68. AP 1300, February 1940, included a new chapter titled “Th

Strategic Air Defensive”; Smith, 188–91; and Wesley K. Wark, The Ultimat

Enemy: British Intelligence and Nazi Germany, 1933–1939 (Oxford: Oxfor

University Press, 1986), 35–58.

69. AP 1300, February 1940, VIII/39.

70. “Air Targets Intelligence, Germany: Vulnerability to Air Attack an

Lists of Most Important Targets,” September 1939, Public Records Office

Kew, England, file AIR 20/284.

71. “The Restriction of Air Warfare,” 14 January 1938, Public Record

Office, Kew, England, file AIR 9/84, 22.

72. Ibid., 14; see also Slessor’s memo of 9 September 1938, Publi

Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 2/3222.

73. H. A. Smith, “International Law,” Staff College lecture, 19 Jun

1939, RAF Hendon, England, “17th Staff Course” file.

74. Cyril Newall to Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt, letter, 23 August 1939, Publi

Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 75/8.

75. Message, CAS, to all air officers commanding, 4 June 1940, Publi

Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 8/283.

76. Ibid.

77. The sorry state of Bomber Command at the beginning of World Wa

II is well documented in Neville Jones, The Beginnings of Strategic Air Power

A History of the British Bombing Force, 1923–39 (London: Frank Cass

1987).

78. John Slessor, memorandum to CAS, 9 September 1938, Publi

Records Office, Kew, England, file AIR 2/3222.

79. For this interpretation, see Neville Jones, cited above; Anthon

Verrier, The Bomber Offensive (New York: Macmillan, 1968); Barry Power

Strategy without Slide Rule (London: Croom Helm, 1976); Max Hastings

Bomber Command (New York: Dial Press, 1979); Malcolm Smith, British Ai

Strategy between the Wars (Oxford: Clarendon, 1984); and Alan J. Levine

The Strategic Bombing of Germany, 1940–1945 (Westport, Conn.: Praege

1992).

78
Chapter 3

Molding Airpower Convictions:

Development and Legacy of William

Mitchell’s Strategic Thought

Lt Col Mark A. Clodfelter

To many of his adversaries, Brig Gen William “Billy

Mitchell was a renegade chasing a will-o’-the-wisp; to many o

his admirers, he was a brilliant theorist whose notion of an

independent air force guaranteed America’s national security

The real Mitchell lay somewhere in between. Intensely

self-centered and supremely confident, he was consumed b

his beliefs, and his zeal ultimately cost him his career

Nonetheless, his message became a beacon for American

airmen who endorsed service autonomy and proclaimed tha

airpower could achieve decisive results in war. More than an

other individual, he was responsible for molding the airpowe

convictions that would serve as the doctrinal cornerstones o

the United States Air Force.

Perhaps Mitchell’s most lasting contribution to th

development of American airpower was his welding the notion

of air force autonomy to a progressive view of “independent

air operations, such as strategic bombing, that aimed t

achieve independent results rather than simply support lan

or sea forces. He proclaimed that bombers could win wars b

destroying an enemy nation’s war-making capability and wil

to fight, and that doing so would yield a victory that wa

quicker and cheaper than one obtained by surface forces . Th

key to obtaining victory through airpower lay in establishin

an autonomous air force , free of control by surfac

commanders and led by airmen possessing special expertise

Those airmen determined an enemy state’s vulnerabilities an

then massed bombers against those weaknesses.

For Mitchell, these ideas developed gradually, as a result o

his World War I experience and the relationships h

established with British air marshal Sir Hugh Trenchard and

79
to a lesser extent, with the Italian general Giulio Douhet

Mitchell emerged from the war with considerable experience a

a pilot and a combat air commander, which greatly enhanced

his stature among the coterie of air officers who adopted hi

beliefs and continued his fight for service independence afte

he left the military in early 1926. By the time he retired, h

had left an indelible mark on the people who not only would

lead the crusade for independence, but also would serve as th

leaders of the new United States Air Force .

Mitchell was an apt choice to serve as the messiah o

American airpower . Brimming with confidence in an

situation, he could charm most audiences, often by relying on

his fluent French or his expert polo. Yet, his overwhelmin

self-assurance did not stem entirely from expertise. Mitchel

was a driven man, a man on a mission, a man with little tim

to waste. He wrote his mother in December 1919 that he wa

“practically the only one that can bring about a betterment o

our national defense at this time” and noted with pride in hi

diary on Christmas eve five years later, “Supposed to be 

half-holiday, but I worked hard all day in the offic

nevertheless.”1 People who interfered with his promotion o

airpower—or his boundless ego—incurred his wrath. “Mitchel

tried to convert his opponents by killing them first,” observe

his wartime colleague, Hugh Trenchard .

2

 During the war

Mitchell’s vanity produced bitter and largely unnecessar

clashes with fellow airmen Benjamin “Benny” Foulois an

Edgar “Nap” Gorrell, both of whom, he believed, had snubbe

him after obtaining high Air Service positions.3

Mitchell’s birth in 1879 into the cream of American societ

contributed to his exaggerated view of his own self-worth. (H

was born in Nice, France, where his parents wer

vacationing.) With a US senator for a father and a grandfathe

who had been a banker and railroad tycoon, he possessed tie

to leaders in both government and industry. Moreover, hi

father’s service in the Civil War produced in Billy a martia

spirit that manifested itself in 1898, when war with Spain

erupted. Mitchell, only 18, enlisted as a private in his father’

old regiment, but almost immediately the senator’

connections secured him a commission in the Signal Corps

Arriving in Cuba in time to witness the surrender of th

80
Spanish garrison, Mitchell remained in occupation duty fo

seven months before transferring to the Philippines. Service in

the islands, America’s first major overseas possession, prove

intensely interesting and exciting for the young lieutenant

Letters to his family describe with verve the exotic jungle duty

chasing rebels and pacifying the countryside. Given specia

attention are various hunting and fishing expeditions

firefights with “marauders,” and a nasty bout of malaria

Clearly, Mitchell relished the strenuous, outdoor life of an

Army officer on remote duty.

After a brief visit to China during the Boxer Rebellion , a

well as stops in Japan , India , and Europe , Mitchell returne

to Washington. In July 1901, Brig Gen Adolphus Greely , chie

of the Signal Corps, then posted the 20-year-old officer t

Alaska, which was at that point largely uninhabite

wilderness, but the Army sought to tie it closer to the lowe

states via telegraph. Mitchell’s task was to string th

necessary lines across this vast area. He later wrote of thes

experiences in an account that is both exciting an

insightful. 5 Alaska was a wild, open, forbidding, an

unexplored country. Billy obviously delighted in the challeng

of building a signal system in the dead of winter, when th

temperature often dipped to 70 degrees below zero—

challenge that others had attempted unsuccessfully. The od

characters he met and lived with during the two years spen

in the north laying two thousand miles of telegraph wire mak

for enjoyable reading.

More importantly, Mitchell’s Alaska writings give insight

into his personality. Although his tours in the tropics and th

arctic seem to stand in stark contrast, in actuality the

present a similar portrait. The Billy Mitchell that emerges from

these early years is a restless, tireless, and self-confident man

who welcomed responsibility. Solitude did not bother him. On

the other hand, those assignments also fostered, by necessity

a sense of independence. Isolated from his superiors for week

at a time, Mitchell learned to follow his own counsel and b

his own boss. This proclivity for independent action would

become one of his most prominent and troublesome traits.

During his last few months in Alaska, Mitchell began

studying a subject that was creating a stir within the Signa

81
Corps—aviation. He learned the fundamentals of the new field

quickly, and in 1905, while an instructor at Fort Leavenworth

Kansas, Captain Mitchell wrote a field manual dealing with

communications for the Army. Although most of the manua

was a pedestrian description of Signal Corps organization an

equipment, the author noted the growing importance of balloon

in the corps. The Germans, he wrote, had a significant balloon

section attached to their army that could provide valuabl

reconnaissance information, via photography, to groun

commanders. He then offered that rigid airships—dirigibles —

were under development and were far more capable than

tethered balloons. Besides simple reconnaissance work ove

the front lines, they could drop explosives on fortifications an

even scout for the Navy . He concluded with a rathe

remarkable prophecy: “Conflicts no doubt will be carried on in

the future in the air, on the surface of the earth and water, an

under the earth and water.”6 Written barely a year after th

Wright brothers’ first flight, this statement presaged Mitchell

views on air and submarine warfare in the decades ahead.

Mitchell’s Signal Corps service both hindered and helpe

his future aviation career. On the one hand, signal

officers—especially those like Mitchell, who had not attende

West Point—seldom rose to high rank in the Army and wer

treated with far less deference than were officers from th

combat arms of infantry, cavalry, and artillery. As a result

brother officers could dismiss Mitchell as a dilettante an

refuse to take his ideas on warfare seriously. On the othe

hand, the close association with technology—the Signal Corp

was a leader in this area within the Army—was of grea

importance to the new field of aviation. This technical ben

manifested itself in Mitchell’s later predictions regarding such

exotic innovations as cruise missiles, glide bombs, je

propulsion, supersonic flight, and space travel. Although such

prophecies often earned wry smiles at the time, he was proven

correct in a surprisingly short period of time. 7

Mitchell’s main focus, however, did not immediately turn t

visions of airpower. After assignments once again in Cuba an

the Philippines , in 1912, at age 32, he became the younges

officer on the Army’s General Staff. As the lone Signal Corp

representative, he was responsible for appraising its fledglin

82
aviation—which consisted of four aircraft in various states o

repair. To gain insight, he called upon Lt Henry H. “Hap

Arnold , an instructor pilot at the Signal Corps’s aviation

school at College Park, Maryland.8 The two established a clos

friendship that endured until Mitchell’s death in 1936, an

their ties would have significant consequences for th

development of American airpower. Arnold testified on

Mitchell’s behalf at his 1925 court-martial and would b

“banished” to Fort Riley, Kansas, for continuing to spou

Mitchell’s beliefs after the hearing; as the commanding genera

of the Army Air Forces during World War II, he would remain

committed to Mitchell’s notions. Initially, however, Arnold

provided aviation expertise to Mitchell , who had not ye

learned to fly.

Nonetheless, at this stage, Mitchell was not yet sold on th

efficacy of aviation. In 1913, when Cong. James Hay propose

a bill that would have created an “air corps” equivalent in

stature to the infantry, cavalry, or artillery, Mitchell balked

He reviewed the proposal and determined that aviation wa

essential to Signal Corps reconnaissance and communication

“The offensive value of this thing has yet to be proved,” h

concluded. 9

Yet, Mitchell was intrigued by aviation, and the outbreak o

war in Europe heightened his interest in the airplane’

military potential. After finishing his General Staff assignmen

in June 1916, he became deputy head of the Signal Corp

Aviation Section and was promoted to major. He then took

advantage of a provision in the National Defense Act of 191

that lifted the ban on flight training for servicemen over 3

(Mitchell was 36). From September 1916 to January 1917, h

paid a dollar a minute for 1,470 minutes of off-duty flyin

instruction at the Curtiss Aviation School in Newport News

Virginia.10 Mitchell’s flying “expertise” likely caused the Wa

Department to send him to Europe as an aeronautica

observer,1 1 and he arrived in Paris four days after America’

declaration of war on the Central Powers. Two weeks later, h

spent 10 days at the front lines observing the progress o

French general Robert Nivelle ’s disastrous offensive an

visiting French aviation units. He recalled his thoughts afte

first viewing the deadlock of trench warfare from the air:

83
A very significant thing to me was that we could cross the lines of

these contending armies in a few minutes in our airplane, whereas the

armies had been locked in the struggle, immovable, powerless to

advance, for three years. To even stick one’s head over the top of a

trench invited death. This whole area over which the Germans and

French battled was not more than sixty miles across. It was as though

they kept knocking their heads against a stone wall, until their brains

were dashed out. They got nowhere, as far as ending the war was

concerned. 1 2

In May, Mitchell visited the headquarters of Maj Gen Hugh

Trenchard , commander in the field of Britain ’s Royal Flyin

Corps (RFC). Mitchell arrived abruptly, wearing an

extravagant uniform that he had designed himself, but hi

unbridled exuberance persuaded the general, who wa

“decided in manner and very direct in speech,” to give him 

three-day dose of RFC operations and Trenchard philosophy

Mitchell was particularly impressed by Trenchard ’

commitment to a single, unified air command that would

allow him to “hurl a mass of aviation at any one localit

needing attack.” For the British air leader, a tightly controlled

continuous aerial offensive was the key to success, an

assigning air units to individual ground commanders for defens

was a mistake. Trenchard highlighted the RFC’s Genera

Headquarters (GHQ) Brigade, a force designed to destroy th

German army’s means of supply and reinforcement but whic

possessed too few aircraft to do so in the spring of 1917. H

argued that airpower should attack as far as possible into th

enemy’s country, noting that the development of new

airplanes with greater ranges would make Berlin a viabl

target. He did not, however, contend during his first encounte

with Mitchell that the quickest way to defeat the German arm

was through an air offensive aimed at the German nation

Although some officers in the RFC called for a “radical ai

strategy” against the German homeland, he remained focuse

on using airpower to defeat the German army on the western

front. Nonetheless, Mitchell emerged from his initial contac

with Trenchard profoundly affected by the general’s insight

and convinced that an aerial offensive was a key to winnin

the war.1 3

As a result of observing Allied operations, Mitchell propose

dividing the air contingent of the American Expeditionar

84
Force (AEF) into categories of 

tactical and strategica

aviation. He made his proposal to Gen John J. Pershing’

chief of staff, Brig Gen James G. Harbord , who arrived in

France with the commanding general in mid-June 1917

“Tactical” aviation would consist of squadrons attached t

divisions, corps, or armies and would operate as any othe

combat arm. In contrast, “strategical” aviation “would b

bombardment and pursuit formations and would have an

independent mission very much as independent cavalry use

to have. . . . They would be used to carry the war well into th

enemy’s country.”1 4 This mission, he insisted, could have “a

greater influence on the ultimate decision of the war than an

other arm.”1 5

Soon after receiving Mitchell’s plan, Pershing selected 

board of officers to determine the proper composition for AE

aviation. Because Mitchell was the senior American aviator in

Europe , the general made him chief of the newly created Ai

Service , which had replaced the Signal Corps as the Army’

air organization in the AEF .

1 6 Mitchell’s appointment did not

however, guarantee his proposal’s acceptance. On 11 July

Pershing outlined a comprehensive plan for AEF organization

that authorized 59 squadrons of tactical aircraft for servic

with the field armies. The plan made no mention of an

independent force for “strategical” operations.

Pershing’s failure to approve the proposal caused Mitchell t

redouble his efforts. In August 1917 he asked the AEF’

intelligence branch to provide information on strategic target

in Germany and later received a list of industrial targets in th

Ruhr from the French. 17 His staff also explored in more detai

the possibilities of bombing Germany. His officers performe

this activity in relative splendor, for Mitchell chose th

Château de Chamrandes, a magnificent hunting lodge built b

Louis XV, as his headquarters.18 He was always flamboyant

One of his more capable staff officers was Nap Gorrell , 

26-year-old major whom Mitchell had selected to head the Ai

Service Technical Section . Gorrell directed the effort tha

ultimately produced the first American plan for a strategic ai

campaign . This plan would reflect Mitchell’s ideas, gleane

largely from Trenchard , about airpower’s potential to destro

the German army’s means to fight.19

85
By the time Gorrell completed the plan in November 1917

Mitchell’s focus had changed from strategic air warfare to tha

designed to provide the Army with direct support. In Octobe

Mitchell, now a colonel, left Chamrandes to become Ai

Service commander in the Zone of the Advance. Th

remainder of his assignments before the war ended—chief o

Air Service, First Army; chief of Air Service, I Corps; chief o

Air Service , 1st Brigade; once again chief of Air Service , Firs

Army; and finally, chief of Air Service, Army Group—would

also require him to provide direct air support to Arm

movements on the western front. Although after the wa

Mitchell would berate Pershing’s staff for “trying to handl

aviation as an auxiliary of some of the other branches, instea

of an independent fighting arm,”2 0 such criticisms during th

conflict were infrequent.

In February 1918, as chief of Air Service, I Corps, he argue

that the first mission of offensive airpower must be th

destruction of the enemy’s air force. Thereafter, bombin

operations

should be essentially tactical in their nature and directed against

active enemy units in the field which will have a direct bearing on

operations during this Spring and Summer, rather than a piece-meal

attack against large factory sites and things of that nature. The

factories, if completely destroyed, would undoubtedly have a very

far-reaching effect, but to completely demolish them is a tremendously

difficult thing, and, furthermore, even if they were ruined, their effect

would not be felt for a long period of time (possibly a year) upon the

fighting of their army. 2 1

“The Air Service of an army is one of its offensive arms,” h

stated after taking command in the Zone of the Advance

“Alone it cannot bring about a decision. It therefore helps th

other arms in their appointed missions.”22 Near the end of th

war, Mitchell demonstrated his ability to manage a larg

operation by massing fifteen hundred Allied aircraft, mos

supplied by the French and British, to back Pershing’s driv

at Saint-Mihiel. Tactically, the operation was a great succes

and added enormously to Mitchell’s confidence and reputation

within the Air Service.

Mitchell displayed strategic creativity as well. In Octobe

1918, he proposed to Pershing that Handley Page bomber

86
drop the 1st Infantry Division by parachute behind German

lines at Metz. Simultaneously, the Allies would attack alon

the front, catching the Germans in a deadly vise. Mitchel

stated that the British bombers could easily carry 10 to 1

soldiers each and could later parachute supplies to them

Afterwards, he claimed that Pershing tentatively approved th

plan, but the war ended before it could be implemented. 2

Although Pershing was probably not as sanguine about th

plan’s prospects as Mitchell believed, the idea was highly

original. Further, it indicated that Mitchell’s airpowe

emphasis remained on the land battle.

Once assured of a continued American advance on th

ground, however, Mitchell’s focus returned to the possibilitie

of strategic bombing. As long as the Army’s progress remaine

uncertain, he devoted his full energies to providing it with

immediate air support. Of course, Mitchell’s ego had much t

do with his pragmatic approach to airpower—he craved 

combat command, and the only combat air command

available were those attached to Army headquarters. Still, b

the summer of 1918, he realized that America ’s majo

contribution to the Allied advance would be made by th

ground echelons of the AEF and that air support could

enhance their impact.

Had the war continued into 1919, Mitchell, assured of 

continuing American advance on the ground, planned an

aerial assault against the interior of Germany. “I was sure tha

if the war lasted, air power would decide it,” he wrote after th

armistice .

2 4 According to his memoirs, he planned to combin

incendiary attacks with poison gas to destroy crops, forests

and livestock. This air offensive , he mused, “would have

caused untold sufferings and forced a German surrender.”2

Yet, the likelihood of Mitchell’s vision becoming reality wa

remote. On 4 November 1918, Secretary of War Newton D

Baker told Gen Peyton March , Army chief of staff, to notify th

Air Service that the United States would not conduct an

bombing that “has as its objective, promiscuous bombin

upon industry, commerce, or population, in enemy countrie

disassociated from obvious military needs to be served b

such action.”2 6 Moreover, in early January 1919, Mitchel

revealed that his notion of strategic bombing had come t

87
resemble Gorrell 

s plan for bombing key German wa

industries. In a treatise entitled “Tactical Application o

Military Aeronautics,” he argued that the main value o

bombardment would come from “hitting an enemy’s grea

nerve centers at the very beginning of the war so as t

paralyze them to the greatest extent possible.”2 7

That the war ended before American bombers had th

chance to bomb German soil proved significant. Production

deficiencies had prevented the first squadron of American

night bombers from arriving at the front until 9 Novembe

1918. Since manufacturing problems had stymied the dream

of defeating Germany through American airpower , the dream

endured intact. Mitchell, Gorrell, and other Air Service officer

could speculate about the probable effect that a bombe

offensive would have had on the outcome of the war and could

blame the lack of aircraft as a reason why the offensive neve

materialized. Such difficulties could be overcome. Air officer

now were aware of Gorrell’s postwar admonition that “mone

and men could not make an air program over night,”2 8 an

they would make amends.

For Mitchell, the prospects of applying airpower independently

rather than in support of the Army, gradually merged with th

notion of an air force separate from Army control. In July

1918, he insisted that the chief of the Air Service, rather than

the Army’s General Staff, should direct the Air Service’s GHQ

Reserve , the name given to the phantom force of bombers tha

never materialized. He based his argument on the need fo

unity of command, which would allow the Air Service chief t

concentrate all available airpower in a critical area fo

maximum impact. His plea went unheeded.

In June, Pershing’s chief of staff, Maj Gen James W

McAndrew, admonished air officers who stressed “independent

air operations: “It is therefore directed that these officers b

warned against any idea of independence and that they b

taught from the beginning that their efforts must be closely

coordinated with those of the remainder of the Air Service an

those of the ground army.”29 Mitchell believed that such

nonflyers had little appreciation for the airplane’s uniqu

capabilities, and he bemoaned their efforts to restrict aviation

to battlefield support. He stated that Army officers—with th

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sole exception of Maj Gen Hunter Liggett, who had commanded

First Army—did not know what airpower meant.3 0

The independent streak noted in Mitchell’s early caree

manifested itself in France in his dealings with his superior

Brig Gen Benny Foulois, one of the Army’s first and mos

accomplished pilots—indeed, the Wright brothers themselve

had taught him to fly in 1909. While Mitchell served on th

General Staff in 1916, Foulois led the 1st Aero Squadron on

the Mexican border in pursuit of the bandit Pancho Villa . Ye

when Foulois arrived in France in November 1917 to tak

charge of American air operations, Mitchell—who had been in

place for six months and thus felt he should be grante

seniority—was outraged and did not try to hide his feelings. In

his memoirs, he referred to Foulois as a “nonflyer” an

“carpetbagger” who imposed his authority without taking int

consideration Mitchell’s experience in the theater. Mitchell

though, had learned to fly barely two years previously and stil

required the services of another pilot whenever he took to th

air. For his part, Foulois was dismayed by Mitchell’s reaction

and in June 1918 wrote Pershing of Mitchell’s “hostile an

insubordinate attitude,” adding that his actions wer

“extremely childish” and “entirely unbecoming of an officer o

his age, rank and experience.”31

Pershing grew weary of such sniping and directed his old

friend and West Point classmate, Maj Gen Mason Patrick, t

command the Air Service . Although Patrick was an enginee

and knew little of aviation matters, Pershing selected him fo

his leadership and managerial ability. The commandin

general’s guidance was succinct: there were some fine peopl

down there in the air arm, but they were “running around in

circles.” He wanted Patrick to make them go straight.3 2 Thi

episode was not the last time Mitchell’s strong personalit

would cause problems. Most unfortunately, it put him at odd

with an airman, Foulois , who was as devoted to the cause o

airpower as Mitchell himself.

In the aftermath of the Great War, Mitchell began to refin

his ideas on airpower. His views were intimately tied to th

concept of an independent air force, and they also displaye

the vestiges of progressivism that remained in postwa

America.

33 Far more ambitious than his muckrake

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predecessors, Mitchell aimed to reform the most violent o

man ’s activities—war. Rifled artillery, the machine gun, an

poison gas had made war an endless nightmare that kille

millions, as typified by the unremitting fury of the western

front. Technology was the demon responsible for th

slaughter, but, Mitchell believed, technology was also the ke

to salvation. The bomber would be the instrument of change

Not only would it prevent a naval force from attacking th

United States—as he attempted to demonstrate by sinking th

German battleship Ostfriesland with Air Service bombers of

the Virginia Capes in July 1921—it would obviate trench

warfare, achieving a victory that was quicker, cheaper, an

hence more humane than one gained by ground combat. Th

wartime application of airpower would, Mitchell contended

“result in a diminished loss of life and treasure and will thu

be a distinct benefit to civilization.”34

His unabashed faith that airpower had altered the nature o

war caused him to demand an air force separate from Army o

Navy control, to guarantee its proper use. Moreover, thi

separate air force had to be commanded by an airman. In

1925 he testified before the Morrow Board that “the one thin

that has been definitely proved in all flying services is that 

man must be an airman to handle air power. In every instanc

of which I have known or heard the result of placing othe

than air officers in charge of air power has ended in failure.”3

Mitchell’s belief that air warfare was unique complemented hi

conviction that only a distinctive class of combatants could

wage it. He often referred to a “community of airmen” and th

“air-going people” who thought and acted differently than thei

earthbound counterparts.3 6 His vision was one of aerial knight

engaged in a chivalrous contest and supported by th

population at large. This romantic notion was both incongruou

and appealing after the horrors of trench warfare.

Much like the muckrakers who preceded him, Mitchell took

his case directly to the American public: “Changes in militar

systems come about only through the pressure of publi

opinion or disaster in war.”37 In his mind, surface officer

were too conservative and hidebound to make the change

necessary to wage modern war. As a consequence, Mitchel

aimed for the American people to compel the country’

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political leadership to create an independent air force . Many o

his writings appeared in the popular press—not th

professional military journals—because his intended audienc

was not the officer corps. In the aftermath of the “War to En

All Wars,” however, he found that his message could no

persuade a populace beset by isolationism. Still, hi

progressive notions endured among airmen and provided th

foundations for the bombing doctrine they developed durin

the interwar years.

 After the armistice , Mitchell began his airpower crusade in

earnest. Although a recognized war hero—he had won th

Distinguished Service Cross and the Distinguished Servic

Medal, as well as several foreign decorations—his quic

tongue and steadfast beliefs prevented him from commandin

the Air Service. He therefore had to settle for assistant chief

which, significantly, carried with it a brigadier general’s rank

Most officers had risen rapidly to high rank during the war

only to sink just as quickly to their “permanent” rank after th

war ended and demobilization began. Foulois, for example

reverted to major, and Major General Patrick to the rank o

colonel. Mitchell was, therefore, extremely fortunate to kee

his star. Nonetheless, he stubbornly refused to cater to his Ai

Service chief, Maj Gen Charles T. Menoher , an infantryman

who had led the 42d “Rainbow” Division in World War 

Despite Menoher’s warning, Mitchell illicitly published hi

report of the 1921 Ostfriesland sinking. In the resulting powe

struggle, Menoher resigned in protest, left the Air Service, an

returned to the infantry (later he would be promoted t

lieutenant general).

Menoher ’s successor was Mason Patrick , who was promote

back to major general and once again called to keep th

rambunctious Mitchell in line. A wise choice, Patrick learne

to fly at age 60 to enhance his standing with his subordinate

and to display his mettle. Upon assuming command, h

notified Mitchell that he would be chief in deed as well a

name. When Mitchell responded with an offer of resignation

Patrick told him that the offer would be accepted. Mitchel

reconsidered. 38 Patrick realized his deputy’s brilliance an

even came to share his views on an independent air force , bu

he did not appreciate Mitchell’s unorthodox methods o

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pursuing his goal. Cleverly, Patrick sent Mitchell to inspec

European air forces to prevent him from disrupting th

Washington Naval Conference of 1922. During this visit, h

met and exchanged ideas with leading European airmen

including Giulio Douhet in Italy. When he returned t

Washington and began making noise again, Patric

dispatched him to the Pacific in early 1924 on a simila

mission.

During his Pacific trip—a “honeymoon” with his new wife

Elizabeth —Mitchell visited the Philippines , Dutch East Indies

Siam, India , China , Korea, and Japan. Throughout, he wa

intrigued by the role airpower would no doubt play should th

United States have to fight in that part of the world. Japan

loomed as a possible enemy, and the American Embassy in

Tokyo told him that he could not visit the country in an

official capacity. He and his wife traveled extensively a

“tourists,” however, and his observations on the Japanes

typified the American racism prevalent at the time:

The policy of the United States and, in fact, all of the white countries

having their shores washed by the waters of the Pacific Ocean, is to

keep their soil, their institutions, and their manner of living free from

the ownership, the dominion, and the customs of the Orientals who

people the western shores of this the greatest of all oceans. . . .

Eventually in their search for existence the white and yellow races will

be brought into armed conflict to determine which shall prevail. 3 9

Mitchell added his thoughts about airpower’s role in 

future Pacific war to his account of the journey. He believe

that the value of aircraft carriers was practically nil “becaus

not only can they not operate efficiently on the high seas bu

even if they could they cannot place sufficient aircraft in th

air at one time to insure a concentrated operation.”4 0 H

thought that land-based aircraft were the key to dominatin

Pacific island groups and might enable the Japanese t

launch a surprise attack on American forces in the Hawaiian

Islands. Mitchell contended that only an opposing air forc

could stop such an aerial assault. Other defensive measures

like cannon and barrage balloons, acted “only to give a fals

sense of security very much [like] what the ostrich must fee

when he hides his head in the sand.”4 1

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Despite his comment regarding the limited value of aircraf

carriers, Mitchell was ambivalent on the subject. The only

American carrier then in commission was the converted collie

Langley , a poor excuse for a symbol of maritime might. Th

idea behind the Langley was another matter. Initially, Mitchel

was much taken by the prospect of putting aircraft aboard

ships that traveled with the fleet. Indeed, he believed tha

their presence was essential, theorizing that vessels of all size

were hopelessly vulnerable to air attack . Because only aircraf

could defeat other aircraft, the defensive solution wa

self-evident. “Airplane carriers,” as he called them, were th

means to provide a moveable cloak of air superiority over th

fleet. Once carrier aircraft won “command of the air,” the

could then be used to attack enemy vessels. He speculate

that this climactic air battle would occur as much as tw

hundred miles from the floating bases, “where hostile gun fir

would play no part whatsoever, and where [our] own navy

would run no risk.”42 Mitchell maintained this stance fo

several years, even arguing at his court-martial in 1925 tha

the Navy should build carriers that were large enough to carr

one hundred bombers or one hundred pursuit aircraft . Hi

published articles reiterated this suggestion, even hailing th

building of the carriers Lexington and Saratoga as a step

forward for naval aviation.43 This attitude soon changed.

By 1928 Mitchell had completely turned his back on

airplane carriers, now seeing them as little more than

expensive floating targets, “so vulnerable that even a smal

bomb will put them out of business.” In fact, the carrier wa

not only helpless, it was actually harmful because it gave an

illusion of progress where none actually existed: “The Nava

Airplane Carrier is merely an EXPENSIVE AND USELESS

LUXURY used principally as propaganda by the Naval Service

to cover up the fact that they have NO adequate defens

against aircraft” (emphasis in original), he argued in 1928. 4

Two years later, Mitchell derided the carriers as merely 

“delusion” of the “Navyists” who were attempting to save thei

service with outmoded schemes. 4 5

Why the change of heart? In part, Mitchell had decided tha

the solution to the air defense of the fleet rested with airships

With an optimism that was totally unfounded, he envisione

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dirigibles as capable of traveling thousands of miles, in al

kinds of weather, while also serving as airborne platforms fo

pursuit aircraft . Although some airships had launched an

recovered pursuit planes, the idea was a technological dea

end. Both the Army and Navy were out of the airship busines

by the mid-1930s.

Perhaps Mitchell hoped that Congress would establish 

unified air force including both Army and Navy air. He ha

called for such an organization since 1919. The model for thi

scheme existed in Britain , where the Royal Air Force maintained

control of naval aviation , even that deployed at sea on aircraf

carriers. In an article written in 1920, Mitchell called fo

“floating airdromes” under air force control, which would protec

the American coast. This development would make airpower th

first line of American defense rather than naval power.4 6

As time passed, Mitchell realized that an independent ai

force would not appear quickly and that the creation of big

carriers like the Lexington and Saratoga posed a threat t

unification. The Navy was becoming self-sufficient in airpower

Hence, he felt the need to denigrate carriers, portraying them

as expensive, vulnerable, and ineffective. His efforts were futil

and, paradoxically, gave a healthy boost to naval aviation b

alerting the admiralty to the need for air superiority over th

fleet. General Menoher ’s comment at the time of th

Ostfriesland sinking—“I guess maybe the navy will get it

airplane carriers now”—had become an ironic prophecy. 47

Although Mitchell’s foreign visits expanded his airpower idea

the trips failed to curb his penchant for seeking public suppor

for his notions. He was certain that the Army leadership would

never endorse his desire for air force autonomy because hi

beliefs clashed with the Army’s traditional views on airpower’

“proper” role in war; thus, he appealed to the America

populace. He understood full well the Army’s desire to guarante

that it received adequate air support for its ground forces—h

had provided that backing in France during the war, and he did

not dismiss the need for it afterwards. Indeed, in his writing

immediately after the war, he stressed the importance not only

of supporting the other services but also of deliberately usin

airpower to attack enemy forces directly.

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In other words, Mitchell was arguing that even with th

advent of the airplane, wars were still won the old-fashione

way—by destroying armies and navies. Only now, the airplan

made that task easier and less costly. Thus, in 1921 h

advocated a balanced air force, one that consisted largely o

pursuit (60 percent) with the remainder evenly divide

between bombardment and attack .

4 8 This early emphasis on

the primacy of pursuit distinguished him from hi

contemporaries Trenchard and Douhet. Soon, however

Mitchell abandoned this position, calling instead for an ai

force based largely on bombardment.

One reason for Mitchell’s shift towards the bomber was th

realization that auxiliary airpower offered meager prospects fo

overcoming the murderous technology of modern lan

warfare—or for justifying an autonomous air force. As long a

ground advance remained the primary means to achieve victor

(and Army leaders had little incentive to change that emphasis)

the bomber’s ability to revamp war remained limited. “Should 

War take place on the ground between two industrial nations in

the future,” Mitchell wrote in 1926, “it can only end in absolut

ruin, if the same methods that the ground armies have followed

before should be resorted to.”49 In contrast, independently

applied airpower presented an opportunity to decide a war b

avoiding stalemate and slaughter.

Mitchell maintained that airpower could defeat a nation b

paralyzing its “vital centers” and thus its ability to continu

hostilities. Those centers included great cities where peopl

lived, factories, raw materials, foodstuffs, supplies, and mode

of transportation.50 All were essential to wage modern war

and all were vulnerable to air attack. Moreover, many of th

targets were fragile, and wrecking them promised a rapid

victory. Mitchell asserted that

air forces will attack centers of production of all kinds, means of

transportation, agricultural areas, ports and shipping; not so much

the people themselves. They will destroy the means of making war,

because now we cannot cut a limb out of a tree, pick a stone from a

hill and make it our principal weapon. Today to make war we must

have great metal and chemical factories that have to stay in one place,

take months to build, and, if destroyed, cannot be replaced in the

usual length of a modern war. 5 1

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Only an air force possessed the means to attack vita

centers without first confronting enemy surface forces , an

destroying those centers would eliminate the need to advanc

through enemy territory on the ground. “The influence of ai

power on the ability of one nation to impress its will on

another in an armed conflict will be decisive,” he insisted.5 2

Like many Army officers of his time, Mitchell could recit

Clausewitz’s dictum on the objective of war, but he did so with

a parochial twist. Airpower would wreck an enemy’s will t

fight by destroying his capability to resist, and the essence o

that capability was not the army or navy but the nation’

industrial and agricultural underpinnings. Eliminatin

industrial production “would deprive armies, air forces an

navies . . . of their means of maintenance.”5 3 Airpower als

offered the chance to directly attack the will to fight. Mitchel

equated the will of a nation to the will of its populace, but h

vacillated about the propriety of bombing civilians. On the on

hand, he called for attacks on “the places where people liv

and carry on their daily lives” to discourage their “desire t

renew the combat at a later date,” advocated burnin

Japanese metropolitan areas in the event of a war with Japan

and noted that poison gas could be used to contaminate wate

supplies and spur evacuations from cities. On the other hand

in a bombing manual that he wrote in 1922 for Air Servic

officers, he argued that attacking a factory was ethical only i

its workers received “sufficient warning that the center will b

destroyed” and that “in rare instances Bombardment aviation

will be required to act as an arm of reprisal.”54

The dominant theme emerging from these discussions wa

not the desire to attack civilians directly but the desire t

sever the populace from the sources of production. “It may b

necessary to intimidate the civilian population in a certain

area to force them to discontinue something which is having 

direct bearing on the outcome of the conflict,” Mitchel

observed in his bombing manual. Achieving that goal migh

cause some civilian deaths, but the number would pal

compared to the deaths produced by a ground war between

industrialized powers. Moreover, once bombed, civilians wer

unlikely to continue supporting the war effort. “In the future

the mere threat of bombing a town by an air force will cause i

96
to be evacuated and all work in munitions and supply

factories to be stopped,” he asserted. 55 In Mitchell’s eyes

civilian will was exceedingly fragile, and its collapse would

cause a corresponding loss in war-making capability. In

addition, one did not have to attack civilians directly t

produce a direct impact on an enemy’s will to fight.

Although adamant about the fragile nature of civilian will

Mitchell was less than explicit about how breaking it would

translate into a rapid peace. His vision of such air attacks wa

apocalyptic in the extreme:

Tardy ones claw and clutch and scramble, clambering on top of those

who have fallen. Before long there is a yelling, fighting mass of

humanity. . . . Attacking planes, leaving New York a heap of dead and

smoldering ashes, had proceeded safely to other strategic points where

they duplicated their bloody triumph. . . . Gases produced by a

conflagration in a city such as New York, would fill the subways and

all places below ground in short order.5 6

He thus thought that air raids would trigger evacuations o

hundreds of thousands of people from great cities. Thos

refugees would not be able to obtain adequate food or shelter

and their plight would cause a war to end. “There is only on

alternative and that is surrender,” he wrote in 1930. “It is 

quick way of deciding a war and really much more human

than the present methods of blowing people to bits by cannon

projectiles or butchering them with bayonets.”5 7 Yet, Mitche

neglected to say whether “surrender” would occur because th

government of the battered nation was sympathetic to th

plight of its people, because it feared overthrow by an irat

populace, or because it had in fact been displaced by a new

regime demanding peace.

In many of his futuristic examples, he depicted the Unite

States as the country undergoing air attack , so th

presumption was that surrender would stem from 

sympathetic government. Mitchell claimed that America ’

“strategical heart” consisted of the manufacturing complexe

within a triangle formed by Chicago, Boston, and th

Chesapeake Bay, and that destroying those centers and thei

transportation links would not only wreck industria

productivity but also lead to widespread starvation if th

nation chose not to capitulate.5 8 In such projections

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war-making capability ceased once bombs destroyed vita

industries and agricultural areas, or once civilians left th

factories and fields. Mitchell dismissed stockpiles of materiel

especially food,5 9 and he also rejected reserves of morale . H

bestowed on the governments under attack a degree o

rationality that ignored the war aims of the enemy and th

possibility that the population would willingly suffer to avoid

capitulation. His examples intimated that all industrial power

were alike—and that all resembled his view of the Unite

States. He thus overlooked crucial distinctions between

nations—and the types of wars they fought—that would

directly affect bombing’s ability to achieve a rapid victory.

For Mitchell, the key prerequisite for achieving victor

through airpower was to win control of the sky. In his firs

book, he stated that neither navies nor armies could operat

effectively “until the air forces have first obtained a decision

against the opposing air force.” He was convinced that th

first battles of a future war would be air battles and that th

nation which won them was “practically certain to win th

whole war.”6 0 In this emphasis on the importance of the ai

battle , Mitchell mirrored his contemporary in Italy, Giuli

Douhet . Mitchell later stated that he had “frequen

conversations” with Douhet during his visit to Italy in 1922; a

any rate, he was well acquainted with Douhet ’s confidant—th

aircraft designer and manufacturer Gianni Caproni—an

received a synopsis of Douhet’s classic book The Command o

the Air in late 1922.6 1

Much of Mitchell’s and Douhet’s writing was remarkably

similar.6 2 Both agreed that “nothing can stop the attack o

aircraft except other aircraft” and that after achieving ai

supremacy, an enemy’s vital centers—a term used by both

men—could be wrecked at will. 6 3 They differed, however

about how best to achieve air control. For Douhet, the bes

method was to destroy the enemy air force on the ground

either at its bases or before it left factory assembly lines.6

Mitchell argued that air combat was also a suitable mean

and that attacking a critical vital center would compel th

hostile air force to take to the air in defense, where it could b

overcome.65 Both thought that escort fighters for bomber

were essential to ward off the enemy’s fighters, although

98
Douhet advocated an air force based on a single type o

aircraft—a bomber bristling with machine guns that h

dubbed the “battle plane” in his 1927 revision to Th

Command of the Air.

Like Mitchell, Douhet argued that an independent air forc

built around the bomber was the cheapest and most efficien

means to defend his nation. Unlike his American counterpart

Douhet had to consider that his country was susceptible to ai

attack. The Italian asserted that a defending air force could

not protect all of a nation’s vital centers, because the defende

could never be certain what centers the attacker would choos

to strike. His answer was to attack first, with as much airpowe

as possible, and destroy the enemy’s ability to retaliate in kind

Once enemy bombers took to the air against an unknown targe

attempting to stop them was probably futile.6 6

Mitchell realized that advancing technology would ultimately

overcome the limitation on range that protected the United

States from air attack by a European or Asiatic power. Under hi

guidance, Air Service colonel Townsend F. Dodd in April 191

prepared a study evaluating the need for a separate air force. I

concluded that “the moment that [an] aircraft reaches that stag

of development which will permit one ton of bombs to be carrie

from the nearest point of a possible enemy’s territory to ou

commercial and industrial centers, and to return to the startin

point, then national safety requires the maintenance of a

efficient air force adapted for acting against the possible enemy’

interior.”67 By the time that transoceanic flight had bee

perfected, Mitchell aimed to make Americans an “air-goin

people,” ready to conduct “war at a distance” through 

Department of Aeronautics equal in status to Army and Navy

Departments in a single Department of National Defense.

6 8

Mitchell tried to transform the American populace int

airpower advocates by emphasizing the progressive notions o

order and efficiency. Not only could an autonomous air forc

protect the United States and achieve an independent victor

in war, he insisted that it could do so more cheaply—an

more effectively—than either the Army or the Navy. Yet, th

Air Service could not perform an independent mission

Mitchell argued, as long as the Army controlled it. Becaus

the Army divided air units among its various corps an

99
divisions to assure that they received adequate air support, ai

units had a meager chance of being massed together for 

long-range, independent mission in which Army commander

had little interest. “To leave aviation essentially under th

dominance and direction of another department is t

absolutely strangle its development, because it will be looke

on by them merely as an auxiliary and not as a principa

thing,” he protested in December 1919. 69

At the same time, Mitchell provoked the Navy’s ire with hi

persistent claims that the sea service provided minimum

defense for a maximum price tag. In 1922 he contended tha

an average battleship cost roughly $45 million to build an

equip, while bombers cost $20,000 each. Thus, the nation

could build either one battleship or two thousand bombers—

each of which could sink a battleship !

7 0 Mitchell’s argumen

omitted a great deal, such as the rapid rate of obsolescence o

aircraft compared to capital ships and the high costs o

training aircrews and building air bases, but its simplisti

logic touched a receptive chord in many Americans.

Economy was not the only issue, as Mitchell noted th

mood of isolationism taking root throughout the country. H

titled his book Winged Defense, not Winged Offense, and trie

to show that aircraft could also be instruments of peace. H

wrote that one could use airplanes to spray agricultural crops

serve as sentinels along the borders to prevent unlawful entry

patrol the national forests for fires, perform geologica

mapping, and carry the mail.7 1 Transportation was th

essence of civilization, he claimed, and the future o

transportation belonged to the airplane. At the same time

one should foster the symbiotic relationship between

military and civilian aviation. Every pilot and every aviation

mechanic in America was an important national asset; in

peace or in war, they served the country. This coterie o

airmen was an essential element of airpower. To Mitchell

airpower was not merely a collection of airplanes or even o

airmen. It also included the aircraft and engine industries an

the entire air transportation system, which consisted o

airfields, airways, meteorological stations, weather forecasters

supply depots, and radio navigation aids. All were necessary t

have real airpower, and Mitchell emphatically called for it

100
development—subsidized by the government, if necessary, a

was the case with the railroad system in the previou

century.7 2

In many respects, Mitchell’s aeronautical ideas echoed th

maritime beliefs of Alfred Thayer Mahan—an ironic bit o

theoretical affinity, given Mitchell’s virulent antipathy toward

the Navy. Sea power, to Mahan, consisted of certain funda

mentals: favorable geography, a strong technological base

popular support, and government sustenance. Those idea

applied equally to Mitchell’s views on airpower. America ’s vas

size and global involvement, the creative genius of its citizen

(after all, the airplane was invented by two bicycle makers from

Ohio), the call for the public to become “air-minded,” an

financial support from the government were all underpinnings o

aeronautical strength. At the same time, Mahan’s emphasis on

sea power’s commercial aspects and the tie between economi

growth and national vigor paralleled Mitchell’s call for th

commercial use of airplanes. Airpower was far more than simply

firebombs and high explosives.

Yet, like sea power, the essence of airpower was its comba

application. Both Mahan and Mitchell called for an aggressive

offensive application of force to gain control of their medium

For Mahan, a climactic struggle between battleships would

produce control of the sea, which would permit the victoriou

navy to control commerce and obtain natural resources. Fo

Mitchell, control of the sky would come from an air battle o

the destruction of the enemy’s airpower on the ground (eithe

by bombing airfields or aircraft factories). After achievin

command of the air, Mitchell’s air force would then wreck an

enemy nation’s vital centers and destroy the enemy’

capability and will to keep fighting.

Mitchell frequently flaunted his airpower notions befor

Congress, and those ideas ultimately led to his banishmen

from his post as assistant chief of the Air Service . In

December 1924, Rep. Julian Lampert , chairman of the Hous

Military Affairs Committee , began hearings in response to Rep

John F. Curry’s bill for a unified aviation service. Mitche

testified extensively at the hearings, making some of his mos

inflammatory accusations. “All the organization that we hav

in this country really now is for the protection of veste

101
interests against aviation,

 he told the committee. He adde

that some individuals testifying for the government ha

showed “a woeful ignorance . . . and in some cases possibly 

falsification of evidence, with the evident intent to confus

Congress.” When asked by Secretary of War John W. Weeks t

elaborate on his testimony in writing, Mitchell declined t

provide specifics and added additional charges. He berated th

Navy for the conduct of its bombing tests, remarking that i

“actually tried to prevent our sinking the Ostfriesland.”7

Mitchell had recently angered Secretary Weeks by publishin

an explosive series of aviation articles, unreviewed by the Wa

Department, in The Saturday Evening Post. The confronta

tional testimony following on the heels of those articles cause

Weeks to shun Mitchell’s reappointment as assistant chief of th

Air Service when it came up for renewal in March 1925. 74 At th

end of the month, Mitchell reverted to his permanent grade o

colonel and was transferred to Fort Sam Houston in Sa

Antonio, Texas, as aviation officer for the Army’s VIII Corps Area

Mitchell, however, had no intention of remaining dormant in

Texas. In August 1925 he published Winged Defense, whic

expanded many of the arguments that he had made in Th

Saturday Evening Post articles. Although stressing th

importance of an independent air force built around the bomber

the book continued the attack on Army and Navy leaders wh

opposed such an organization.7 5 It also contained cartoon

lampooning Secretary Weeks, who at the time of publication ha

become seriously ill. Mitchell had been unaware that th

cartoons would be published in the book, and on 4 Septembe

he received a letter from Elizabeth , who was in Detroit with thei

infant daughter. His wife was greatly distressed about th

appearance of the cartoons and contended that no one would

believe that Mitchell had not approved them. “I don’t very wel

see how they can avoid court-martialing you now, m

sweet—but I’m sorry it will have to be over something sort o

cheap like those cartoons,” she lamented.7 6

Mitchell’s receipt of his wife’s letter coincided with the crash o

the Navy dirigible Shenandoah in an Ohio thunderstorm an

perhaps influenced his decision to make the Navy disaster hi

personal Rubicon. On 5 September 1925 he told San Antonio

newsmen in a press release dripping with anger, frustration

102
and sarcasm that the airship crash, as well as othe

deficiencies in the Army and Navy air arms, resulted from th

“incompetency, criminal negligence, and almost treasonabl

administration of the National Defense by the Navy and Wa

Departments.”7 7 Two weeks later he was court-martialed .

For Mitchell, the trial and the “Morrow Board,” which

preceded it, were anticlimaxes. Enraged, President Calvin

Coolidge , who called Mitchell a “God-d——d disturbing liar,”7

proffered the court-martial charges himself. In addition

Coolidge summoned friend and J. P. Morgan banker Dwigh

Morrow to conduct a formal investigation of American aviation

that would undercut the publicity of Mitchell’s trial. 79 Th

president directed Morrow to produce a report by the end o

November, but Morrow ’s hearing concluded on 15 October, 1

days before the start of the court-martial. Mitchell testifie

before the Morrow Board but chose to read long passages o

Winged Defense rather than engage in the verbal sparring a

which he excelled. The board’s concluding report, as expected

did not endorse an independent air force. But if Mitchell’

appearance before Morrow was lackluster, his performanc

during his court-martial the following month was even worse.

The trial began on 28 October with the prosecution readin

into the record the statement Mitchell had made to the pres

after the Shenandoah crash. It was lengthier and far mor

vitriolic than the newspaper accounts had indicated

Nonetheless, Mitchell pleaded not guilty. The heart of the tria

focused on Mitchell’s testimony and his cross-examination

Mitchell’s attorney, Cong. Frank Reid , had been out of 

courtroom for too long and was not inspiring. Th

prosecution, on the other hand, was most impressive. Ma

Allen Gullion began his attack by taking Mitchell’s statemen

apart, line by line. Although Mitchell had openly criticized th

Navy for its handling of aviation matters, as well as it

wasteful emphasis on the surface fleet, Gullion ’s questionin

made it clear that Mitchell knew very little about nava

technology, organization, doctrine, or tactics. For example

though claiming expertise in airship design—after all, hi

comments on the Shenandoah crash had precipitated th

entire crisis—Mitchell admitted he had never flown on an

airship and had seen them up close only on a handful o

103
occasions. Finally, under incessant pressure, Mitchell wa

even forced to concede that his lengthy diatribe to the pres

contained “no facts at all”—only opinions. Sarcastically

Gullion commented that it was necessary to distinguish

between “opinion and imagination” and led Mitchell through 

series of questions regarding Air Service accident rates, flyin

hours, equipment costs, and training requirements, most o

which the defendant was unable to answer. Yet, Mitchell ha

claimed that airpower was in disastrous straits. Where wer

the facts to substantiate the charges of treason an

incompetence? Overall, it was a dismal performance. 80

Mitchell had obtained the forum he sought, but the result

were certainly not what he had intended. One historian

argues that Mitchell sincerely thought he would be found no

guilty. Yet, when one remembers how intemperately h

savaged the Army hierarchy, calling into question its motives

competence, integrity, and patriotism—and bearing in min

that part of that hierarchy sat in judgment of him—Mitchell’

hubris in thinking he would be forgiven is a bi

breathtaking. 8 1 His persistent and provocative explosions wer

simply too much. The verdict shocked no one but Mitchel

himself. Found guilty on 17 December—ironically, the 22

anniversary of the Wright brothers’ first powered flight at Kitt

Hawk—he retired from the service on 1 February 1926 t

continue his crusade, sans uniform.

Although newspapers gave the court-martial proceeding

extensive coverage, no outcry for an independent air forc

erupted following the verdict. The Morrow Board , which ha

received testimony from an array of civilian and militar

aviation specialists, had indeed diminished interest in th

court-martial. Winged Defense sold only forty-five hundre

copies between August 1925 and January 1926, during th

peak of sensationalism.82 Although Mitchell received man

letters in that span echoing the support of the “great mass o

the common people of America ,”8 3 few individuals were willin

to back his cause with a demand for legislation.

Mitchell’s confidant Hap Arnold , then an Air Service major

later speculated on why the American people failed to act on

Mitchell’s recommendations: “The public enthusiasm . . . wa

not for air power—it was for Billy.”8 4 Flamboyant, intrepid

104
and cocksure, Mitchell appealed to New Era America. Hi

message, though, struck an uncertain chord. His argumen

that bombers could now defend the nation more efficiently

than battleships seemed to make sense, as did his assertion

that bombers could defeat an enemy without the need for 

ground invasion. Yet, questions remained. Defend agains

whom? Whom would airpower defeat? The Morrow Board ’

conclusion, “We do not consider . . . that air power . . . has ye

demonstrated its value—certainly not in a country situated a

ours —for independent operations of such a character as t

justify the organization of a separate department” (emphasi

added), reflected the key concerns held by the bulk of th

American populace regarding Mitchell’s ideas.8 5 In 1925 th

public realized that no enemy threatened the United States an

that airplanes could not yet routinely cross the Atlantic o

Pacific Oceans. The mood would endure for more than a decade

The failure of the American public to respond directly t

Mitchell’s outcry did not mean that the issue of air autonom

disappeared, but it did mean that the steps taken during th

interwar years would be incremental. National boards an

committees continued to study the issue of how best t

organize Army aviation . The Air Corps Act of July 192

changed the Air Service’s name to the Air Corps and provide

an assistant secretary of war for air and special representation

on the War Department’s General Staff. It also authorized an

Air Corps of 20,000 men and eighteen hundred aircraft, bu

Congress failed to fund the expansion.

The Great Depression further slowed Air Corps growth

From 1927 to 1931, Air Corps annual budgets ranged from

$25–30 million; in 1934 appropriations fell to $12 million fo

the year; in 1938 to $3.5 million. 8 6 Manpower, which average

fifteen hundred officers and 15,000 enlisted men during th

first three Depression years, stood at only 17,000 men an

seventeen hundred officers as late as 1939.8 7 Aircraft totale

1,619 in 1933, of which 442 were obsolete or nonstandard. 8

Still, the recommendation of the 1934 aviation board chaire

by former secretary of war Newton Baker led to the creation o

a GHQ Air Force, containing all Air Corps combat units, in th

spring of 1935. Although the airpower comprising the GHQ

Air Force was never significant—in 1939 it owned just 1

105
four-engined B-17 bombers—it nonetheless was one step

closer towards Mitchell’s progressive vision of an autonomou

air force capable of achieving an independent victory.

Establishment of the GHQ Air Force did not indicate tha

either the nation or the Army had accepted Mitchell’s airpowe

ideology. The Baker Board ’s final report cautioned that “th

ideas that aviation, acting alone, can control the sea lanes, o

defend the coast, or produce decisive results in any othe

general mission contemplated under our policy are all visionary

as is the idea that a very large and independent air force i

necessary to defend our country against air attack.”8 9 Th

primary bomber assigned to the GHQ Air Force’s three air wing

at the end of the decade was the Douglas B-18 “Bolo,” 

dual-engined aircraft designed for short-range interdiction o

battlefield support. The War Department ordered 217 B-18s i

1935 over the objections of the Air Corps, which had endorsed

the B-17.

To most General Staff officers, airpower meant preventin

enemy aircraft from attacking friendly troops or using friendly

aircraft to attack enemy troops and supplies near th

battlefield. It did not mean achieving victory from the sky—

proposition that many Army leaders viewed with thinly veile

scorn. Mitchell’s public outcries led many Army officers t

reject future proposals for air force autonomy out of hand

Arnold remarked that “they seemed to set their mouth

tighter, draw more into their shell, and, if anything, take even

a narrower point of view of aviation as an offensive power in

warfare.”90 Army brigadier general Charles E. Kilbourne, chie

of the General Staff’s War Plans Division , critiqued Mitchell’

impact on Army leadership in harsher terms. In 193

Kilbourne remarked that “for many years the General Staff o

the Army has suffered a feeling of disgust amounting at time

to nausea over statements publicly made by General William

Mitchell and those who followed his lead.”9 1

Undoubtedly, Mitchell became more radical in his theorie

in the decade after World War I. Postwar budget cuts drov

the services towards a bitter parochialism as they fought for 

dwindling share of the defense dollar. Largely as 

consequence, by 1920 Mitchell was attacking the Navy, an

the climactic tests that sank the battleships in 1921 an

106
again in 1923 convinced him he was right. In his vision of th

future, the surface fleet would largely disappear, and th

submarine would take its place as the symbol of maritim

strength. Mitchell’s attacks on the Army, muted at first

accelerated after his court-martial, and he incessantly accused

the top generals of conservatism and shortsightedness. In 

typically nasty fashion, he commented at one point that “w

must relegate armies and navies to a place in the glass case o

a dusty museum, which contains examples of the dinosaur, th

mammoth, and the cave bear.”92 The animosity became mutual

Although Mitchell may have repelled many Army and Navy

officers, most airmen gravitated to his message, if not hi

methodology. 9 3 The coterie of “believers” who surrounded him

during his tenure as assistant chief of the Air Service—Ha

Arnold , Carl “Tooey” Spaatz, William Sherman , Herber

Dargue, Robert Olds, Kenneth Walker , Harold Lee George, an

Ira C. Eaker—were not only future leaders of the Air Corps bu

also future theorists. Together, they refined Mitchell’s notion

and conveyed them throughout the close-knit community o

airmen, and they found their audience receptive. Strong tie

bonded the small number of aviators—the dangers of flying

even in peacetime, made the Air Service responsible for almos

50 percent of the Army’s active duty deaths between 1921 an

1924. 94 Airmen realized as well that advancing in rank wa

tenuous as long as the Army controlled promotion lists, given

the fact that most Army leaders viewed the air weapon as an

auxiliary feature of a ground force . After Arnold and Dargu

received reprimands in 1926 for sending congressmen

proautonomy literature, most airmen adopted a stoic postur

that reflected Mitchell’s ideas, but they hesitated to spea

those thoughts too loudly outside their clan.

Air chiefs also absorbed Mitchell’s notions. Mason Patrick 

who initially shunned Mitchell’s ideas on Air Servic

autonomy and regarded him as “a spoiled brat,”9 5 submitted 

study to the War Department in December 1924 advocating “a

united air force” that would place “all of the component ai

units, and possibly all aeronautical development under on

responsible and directing head.” As for its wartime usage

Patrick asserted that “we should gather our air forces togethe

under one air commander and strike at the strategic points o

107
our enemy—cripple him even before our ground forces com

into contact.”9 6 Patrick’s successors as chief of the Ai

Corps—James E. Fechet, Benny Foulois, Oscar Westover , an

Hap Arnold—were equally committed to Mitchell’s goal of a

independent air force and shared his faith that airpower could

win wars (although Foulois had no love lost for Mitchel

personally). Maj Gen Frank Andrews , who commanded th

GHQ Air Force from 1935–39, was an airpower disciple wh

relentlessly spouted Mitchellese to both the War Departmen

and the public and, like Mitchell, was banished to Fort Sam

Houston . Aside from Andrews and the outspoken Foulois

however, air leaders chose to restrain their advocacy. Mos

worked to improve relations with the War Department whil

securing high-visibility peacetime missions that stresse

airpower’s ability to defend the nation. Although Mitchell th

prophet remained uppermost in their minds, so too did

Mitchell the martyr.

Mitchell’s prophecy not only endured among air leaders bu

also was the fundamental underpinning of the Air Corp

Tactical School—the focal point of American airpower stud

during the interwar years. Mitchell had been instrumental in

founding the school, and his bombing manual served as 

textbook.97 Many of the school’s officer-instructors were hi

protégés. Sherman, Dargue, George , Olds, and Walker —th

latter two had served as Mitchell’s aides—filled key position

on the faculty, and all promoted Mitchell’s vision o

independent airpower founded on the bomber .

Mitchell’s progressive vision of airpower applied against an

enemy’s war-making capability and will to resist will likely

endure among American airmen. Perhaps Mitchell, had h

lived to see the modern age of limited war , would hav

recanted his increasingly bold assertions regarding airpower’

ability to achieve a cheap, quick victory. Still, Mitchell remain

America’s foremost airpower prophet. His vision included th

development of precision-guided munitions, remotely pilote

vehicles, stealth aircraft , and drop tanks, as well as th

creation of the Federal Aeronautics Administration and th

Department of Defense. Yet, his most enduring legacy remain

his views on the value of an independent air force, capable o

waging and winning an independent air campaign against an

108
enemy nation. For the United States Air Force, this doctrina

cornerstone may prove impossible to replace.

Notes

1. Diary of William Mitchell, 24 December 1924, Mitchell Papers, Library o

Congress, Washington, D.C. Quoted in Alfred H. Hurley, Billy Mitchel

Crusader for Air Power, rev. ed. (Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Pres

1975), 50.

2. Quoted in Andrew Boyle, Trenchard (London: Collins, 1962), 472.

3. Mitchell had outranked Foulois, an ex-enlisted man, before the war

so when Gen John J. Pershing elevated him to chief of the Air Service i

November 1917, Mitchell was furious. His dislike of Foulois endured lon

after the war. Gorrell had become chief of the Air Service’s Technica

Section because of Mitchell’s recommendation, but the friendship betwee

the two disappeared once Gorrell joined Pershing’s staff and bega

no-notice inspections of Mitchell’s squadrons. See John F. Shiner, Fouloi

and the U.S. Army Air Corps, 1931–1935 (Washington, D.C.: Office of A

Force History, 1983), 9–11; and William Mitchell to Benjamin Foulois

letter, 19 July 1918, Mitchell Papers, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C

4. Ruth Mitchell, My Brother Bill: The Life of General “Billy” Mitchell (Ne

York: Harcourt, Brace, 1953), 45–59.

5. An unpublished manuscript of these events by Mitchell exists, an

Ruth’s book draws heavily from it (pages 60–175). A microfilm copy of th

entire manuscript is located in the Air University Library, Maxwell AFB, Al

For an overview, see Mitchell’s “Building the Alaskan Telegraph System

National Geographic 15 (September 1904): 357–62.

6. Capt William Mitchell, “Field Signal Communications” (For

Leavenworth, Kans.: Infantry and Cavalry School, Department of Militar

Art, May 1905), 21.

7. Hearings before the President’s Aircraft Board, September 192

[hereinafter Morrow Board hearings] (Washington, D.C.: Governmen

Printing Office, 1925), 600; William Mitchell, “Airplanes in Nationa

Defense,” The American, May 1927, 40; idem, “Future Flying,” Liberty, 

June 1929, 15–27; and idem, “The Next War in the Air,” Popular Mechanics

February 1935, 163–65.

8. Henry H. Arnold, Global Mission (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1949)

37–38.

9. Quoted in Hurley, 17. One should note that when he was reminded o

this opinion at his court-martial, he retorted, “I never made a wors

statement.” The United States v. Colonel William Mitchell, court-martia

transcript, Washington, D.C., October–December 1925, 1607. Microfilm

copy in Air Force Academy Library, Colorado Springs, Colo.

10. Bill given to Maj William Mitchell from the Atlantic Coas

Aeronautical Station of the Curtiss Aviation School, Newport News, Va., 

March 1917, Mitchell Papers, General Correspondence, 1907–1917, Librar

109
of Congress, Washington, D.C. Mitchell tried to bill the government for hi

training, but the Treasury comptroller ruled that individual payments mad

to civilian flying schools were not refundable.

11. Hurley, 21.

12. William Mitchell, Memoirs of World War I: From Start to Finish of Ou

Greatest War (New York: Random House, 1960), 59. Parts of these memoir

were serialized by Liberty magazine in 1928. This memoir is based on th

diaries Mitchell kept during the war. Regrettably, those diaries are now los

so one must read this work with caution.

13. Mitchell, Memoirs, 103–11; Isaac D. Levine, Mitchell: Pioneer of A

Power, rev. ed. (New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce, 1958), 94–97; Hurley

25–27; and John H. Morrow Jr., The Great War in the Air: Military Aviation from

1909 to 1921 (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), 271.

14. Maj W. Mitchell, memorandum to chief of staff, AEF, 13 June 1917

Quoted in I. B. Holley, Ideas and Weapons (New Haven, Conn.: Yal

University Press, 1953), 47.

15. Maj W. Mitchell, memorandum to chief of staff, AEF, 13 June 1917

Extract in Maurer Maurer, ed., The US Air Service in World War I, vol. 

(Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1979), 108.

16. In the United States, however, the Signal Corps maintained contro

over its Aviation Section.

17. Hurley, 32.

18. Mitchell, Memoirs, 153–54, 157. Mitchell used the château to inspir

his staff to converse in French, which he encouraged to enhance Allie

cooperation.

19. Maurer, vol. 2, 141–51.

20. Mitchell, Memoirs, 146.

21. Chief of Air Service, I Army Corps, memorandum to commandin

general, I Army Corps, 16 February 1918, Mitchell Papers, Genera

Correspondence, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

22. Hurley, 32; and Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine

Basic Thinking in the United States Air Force, vol. 1, 1907–1960 (Maxwe

AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, December 1989), 22.

23. Mitchell, Memoirs, 268; “Planned to Drop Americans from Sky i

Hun Rear,” New York Herald, 8 March 1919, 2; and William Mitchell

“Wiping Danger from the Sky,” Liberty, 24 June 1933, 17–18. In Notes o

the Multi-Motored Bombardment Group, Day and Night, a tactical manua

that Mitchell wrote for his troops in 1922, he also suggested parachutin

commandos behind enemy lines to blow up key installations such a

ammunition dumps.

24. Quoted in Levine, 148.

25. Quoted in ibid., 147.

26. Quoted in Hurley, 37.

27. Brig Gen William Mitchell, “Tactical Application of Militar

Aeronautics,” 5 January 1919, 3, US Air Force Historical Research Agenc

[hereinafter AFHRA], Maxwell AFB, Ala., file 167.4-1.

110
28. Edgar S. Gorrell, 

Early History of the Strategical Section, i

Maurer, vol. 2, 157.

29. Maj Gen J. W. McAndrew, endorsement to chief of Air Service, 1

June 1918, in Maurer, vol. 2, 192.

30. DeWitt S. Copp, A Few Great Captains: The Men and Events Tha

Shaped the Development of U.S. Air Power (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday

1980), 24.

31. Mitchell, Memoirs, 165, 177, 185, 205; and Benjamin Foulois t

John J. Pershing, letter, subject: Relief of Col William Mitchell, 4 Jun

1918, AFHRA, file 168.68-5.

32. Maj Gen Mason M. Patrick, The United States in the Air (Garden City

N.Y.: Doubleday, 1928), 16.

33. On the nature of progressivism and its lingering impact in th

1920s, see Richard Hofstadter, The Age of Reform: From Bryan to F.D.R

(New York: Knopf, 1968), 5, 91–93, 131–72, 270–326; Robert H. Wiebe, Th

Search for Order (New York: Hill & Wang, 1967), 286–302; Arthur M

Schlesinger Jr., The Age of Roosevelt: The Crisis of the Old Order (Boston

Houghton Mifflin, 1957), 72–89; and Arthur S. Link, “Not So Tired,” i

Arthur Mann, ed., The Progressive Era: Liberal Renaissance or Libera

Failure (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1963), 105–19. Mitchel

who continually voiced progressive notions, used the term directly in th

foreword to his book Winged Defense: “The time has come when aviatio

must be developed for aviation’s sake and not as an auxiliary to othe

existing branches [of the service]. Unless the progressive elements in ou

makeup are availed of, we will fall behind in the world’s development

William Mitchell, Winged Defense (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1925), x

34. William Mitchell, “Aeronautical Era,” The Saturday Evening Post, 2

December 1924, 99. Mitchell repeats this message in Winged Defense, 16

and Skyways (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 1930), 262.

35. Morrow Board hearings, 599.

36. “General Mitchell’s Daring Speech,” Aviation, 29 October 1924

1160; and William Mitchell, “It’s a Thousand to One You Can’t Fly,” Liberty

2 January 1926, 20–22.

37. William Mitchell, “Neither Armies Nor Navies Can Exist Unless th

Air Is Controlled over Them,” U.S. Air Services, May 1925, 18.

38. Patrick, 86–88.

39. William Mitchell, “Strategical Aspect of the Pacific Problem,” 1924, 1

Mitchell Papers, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

40. Ibid., 15.

41. Ibid., 18.

42. William Mitchell, Our Air Force: The Key to National Defense (Ne

York: Dutton, 1921), 168.

43. The United States v. Colonel William Mitchell, 1419; and William

Mitchell, “Colonel Mitchell Explains His Plan,” Liberty, 21 November 1925, 10.

44. William Mitchell, “Look Out Below!” Collier’s, 21 April 1928, 42.

45. Mitchell, Skyways, 268.

111
46. William Mitchell, 

Our Armys Air Service,Review of Reviews

September 1920, 288; and idem, “Aviation over the Water,” Review o

Reviews, October 1920, 394.

47. Levine, 257. For the argument that Mitchell was to some extent th

father of naval aviation, see Samuel F. Wells, “William Mitchell and th

Ostfriesland: A Study in Military Reform,” The Historian 26 (Novembe

1963): 538–62.

48. Mitchell, Our Air Force, 15, 37.

49. William Mitchell, draft of War Memoirs, 3, Mitchell Papers, Diarie

May 1917–February 1919, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

50. Mitchell, Memoirs, 2; idem, Skyways, 253; and idem, “Our Problem

of National Defense,” Outlook, 23 January 1929, 124.

51. Mitchell, “Aeronautical Era,” 99–103; see also idem, Winged Defens

16–17.

52. Mitchell, Winged Defense, 214.

53. Mitchell, “Aeronautical Era,” 3.

54. Mitchell, Winged Defense, 126–27; Hurley, 87; and William Mitchel

Notes on the Multi-Motored Bombardment Group, Day and Night, 76, 81

93–94.

55. Mitchell, “Aeronautical Era,” 3.

56. William Mitchell, “When the Air Raiders Come,” Collier’s, 1 Ma

1926, 8.

57. Mitchell, Skyways, 63.

58. William Mitchell, memorandum to Major General Patrick, 10 Ma

1923, Mitchell Papers, General Correspondence, Library of Congress

Washington, D.C.; and Thomas H. Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine i

the Army Air Arm, 1917–1941 (Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History

1955), 57. By 1925 Mitchell had substituted Bangor, Maine, for Boston a

the apex of his triangle. See Mitchell, Winged Defense, 184.

59. Mitchell, Notes on the Multi-Motored Bombardment Group, Day an

Night, 94.

60. Mitchell, Our Air Force, xix.

61. Hurley, 74–77.

62. Douhet observed that “victory smiles upon those who anticipate th

changes in the character of war, not upon those who wait to adap

themselves after the changes occur,” while Mitchell noted that “victor

always comes to that country which has made a proper estimate of th

equipment and methods that can be used in modern ways.” See Giuli

Douhet, The Command of the Air, trans. Dino Ferrari (1942; reprin

Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1983), 30; and Mitchel

Winged Defense, 127.

63. Mitchell, Winged Defense, xiv, 9; and Douhet, 25, 54–55.

64. Douhet, 34.

65. Mitchell, Winged Defense, 9–10.

66. Douhet, 18, 52–55.

112
67. Col Townsend F. Dodd, 

Recommendations Concerning th

Establishment of a ‘Department of Aeronautics,’” 17 April 1919, 19

Mitchell Papers, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

68. Mitchell, Winged Defense, xvii–xix, 6, 11–17.

69. William Mitchell, “Why We Need a Department of the Air,” 2

December 1919, Mitchell Papers, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

70. Mitchell, Notes on the Multi-Motored Bombardment Group, Day an

Night, 72.

71. Mitchell, Our Air Force, 153–55; and idem, Winged Defense, 77–96.

72. “General Mitchell on the Aero Show,” Aircraft Journal, 13 Marc

1920, 14; and “General Mitchell on Aeronautical Progress,” Aviation, 1

February 1923, 187.

73. Adjutant General, memorandum to the chief of Air Service, 

February 1925, with attached memorandum from William Mitchell to chie

of Air Service, 2 March 1925; and W. G. Kilner, memorandum to Genera

Mitchell, 30 January 1925, with attached memorandum from Mitchell t

chief of Air Service, 5 February 1925, Mitchell Papers, Genera

Correspondence, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

74. Weeks did not mince his rationale to President Calvin Coolidge. Th

secretary remarked, “General Mitchell’s course has been so lawless, s

contrary to the building up of an efficient organization, so lacking i

reasonable team work, so indicative of a personal desire for publicity at th

expense of everyone with whom he is associated that his actions render him

unfit for a high administrative position such as he now occupies.” See Joh

W. Weeks to Calvin Coolidge, letter, 4 March 1925, Mitchell Papers, Genera

Correspondence, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

75. “The personnel of these permanent establishments often tend t

become uniformed office holders instead of public servants entirely engaged i

furthering the betterment of their nation.” See Mitchell, Winged Defense, 136.

76. Elizabeth Mitchell to William Mitchell, letter, 2 September 1925

Mitchell Papers, General Correspondence, Library of Congress, Washington

D.C. One should also note that Mitchell took his wife’s concerns to heart. I

his explosive press release of 5 September, he specifically referred to th

cartoons in Winged Defense and publicly apologized to Secretary Weeks fo

any disrespect they may have implied. The United States v. Colonel Willia

Mitchell, 23.

77. Quoted in Hurley, 101.

78. Quoted in Eugene M. Emme, “The American Dimension,” in Alfred F

Hurley and Robert C. Ehrhart, eds., Air Power and Warfare: Proceedings o

the Eighth Military History Symposium, USAF Academy, 1978 (Washington

D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1979), 67.

79. Ibid.

80. See The United States v. Colonel William Mitchell, 1449–61 fo

Mitchell’s particularly ineffectual testimony regarding naval operations. Hi

entire testimony runs from pages 1401 to 1612. Of interest, three member

of the court were challenged by the defense and dismissed: Maj Gen Charle

113
P. Summerall, Maj Gen Fred W. Sladen, and Brig Gen Albert J. Bowley. On

who remained was Brig Gen Douglas MacArthur, an old friend of Mitchell’

since childhood; in fact, MacArthur had dated Mitchell’s sister at one point

81. Michael L. Grumelli, “Trial of Faith: The Dissent and Court-Martia

of Billy Mitchell” (PhD diss., Rutgers University, 1991), 262.

82. Hurley, 108.

83. See, for instance, Harvey F. Trumbore to Gen William Mitchell

letter, 27 January 1926; Elverton H. Wicks to Colonel Mitchell, letter, 3

December 1925; and Horace C. Carlisle to Colonel and Mrs. Mitchell, letter

21 December 1925, Mitchell Papers, General Correspondence, Library o

Congress, Washington, D.C.

84. Arnold, 158–59.

85. Quoted in Futrell, vol. 1, 48.

86. Ira C. Eaker, “Maj. Gen. James E. Fechet: Chief of the Air Corps

1927–1931,” Air Force Magazine, September 1978, 96; Jeffery S

Underwood, The Wings of Democracy: The Influence of Air Power on th

Roosevelt Administration, 1933–1941 (College Station, Tex.: Texas A&M

University Press, 1991), 30–31; and Emme, 72.

87. Eaker, 96; and James Parton, “The Thirty-One Year Gestation of th

Independent Air Force,” Aerospace Historian 34 (September 1987): 153.

88. Futrell, vol. 1, 67.

89. Quoted in ibid., 70–71.

90. Arnold, 122.

91. Quoted in Shiner, 51.

92. William Mitchell, “Airplanes in National Defense,” Annals of th

American Academy, May 1927, 42.

93. Jeffery Underwood maintains in The Wings of Democracy that th

failure of Mitchell’s controversial public appeals to produce an independen

air force caused his successors—with the notable exception of Air Corp

chief Benjamin Foulois—to work “within the system” to secure their goal

While this was certainly true of many airmen, Maj Gen Frank Andrews, th

commander of GHQ Air Force, and his chief of staff Col Hugh Kner

sometimes resorted to controversial publicity when they thought it woul

further the cause of an independent air force.

94. Mitchell, Winged Defense, 220. See also Ronald Schaffer, Wings o

Judgment: American Bombing in World War II (New York: Oxford Universi

Press, 1985), 17–18.

95. Quoted in Parton, 152.

96. Maj Gen Mason Patrick, memorandum to the War Departmen

adjutant general, subject: Reorganization of the Air Forces for Nationa

Defense, 19 December 1924, Mitchell Papers, Library of Congress

Washington, D.C.

97. Maj Gen Clayton Bissell, transcript of oral history interview by Bri

Gen George W. Goddard, 22 February 1966, 8–10, AFHRA, fil

K239.0512-987; and Hurley, 128.

114
Chapter 4

The Influence of Aviation on the

Evolution of American Naval Thought

Dr. David R. Mets

The cast of mind of the officer corps of the US Navy i

sometimes deemed Neanderthal, sometimes progressive, and

less often, radical. This chapter revisits the history of recen

naval theory and doctrine to evaluate this perception and th

impact of the coming of aviation on the general attitudes o

the naval profession in America from the beginning of flight t

the end of World War II. Previous chapters have all dealt with

the impact of World War I on the theory of airpower, usually

in a Continental war context. They went on to study it

development in the interwar period. This chapter briefly look

at naval thought at the onset of aviation, which serves as 

baseline. It continues with changes brought on by World War 

and interwar evolution, and thence to the impact of World Wa

II on the Navy ’s outlook.1 In large part, naval air theory wa

formed in the decade after the great carriers USS Lexington

and USS Saratoga came on-line at the end of 1927. That i

precisely the decade in which the thinking at the Air Corp

Tactical School was in its most formative phase—and that i

the subject of another chapter.

The examination of each era starts with the genera

worldview and then considers the ways in which naval officer

believed that international conflicts could be settled. It then

discusses the general attitude on the proper objectives of 

navy in the process, the standard methods employed in nava

warfare, and changing views on the ideal organization o

forces for war and their employment in international conflict

The study closes with an estimate of the state of nava

thinking in all those categories as the nation approached th

reorganization of its national security structure in the lat

1940s. Hopefully, comparing that state with the initial one wil

115
yield some additional insight into the impact of aviation on

naval thinking.

Naval Attitudes at the

Onset of the Age of Flight

The collective attitude of the mainstream of the Navy at th

dawn of aviation was fairly well developed. The service wa

thoroughly convinced that the world was made up o

nation-states and that conflict of one sort or another wa

natural among them. The premise of Clausewitz—that wa

was an instrument of state policy—was well understood an

accepted. In the words of Commander Patrick N. L. Bellinger

who graduated from Annapolis in 1907 and the Naval Wa

College in 1925, “War is a political action. . . . Even when

armies and fleets are not employed, their existence and th

possibility of their use constantly influence the action o

governments. They are instruments of statecraft. The policy o

countries must necessarily be controlled by thei

governments, and strategy from the naval and military poin

of view, must be subservient to policy.”2

However much one identified the thought of Alfred Thaye

Mahan with that of Henri de Jomini (if that is supposed t

mean that the adherents look upon war as a science that ha

natural laws that always apply and that there exists an

eternal validity to principles of war), plenty of officer

understood fog and friction. There were repeated assertion

that both doctrine and any statement of principles were n

more than guides—certainly not invariable rules that on

could not violate. The officer corps was thoroughly familia

with Mahan (for some, both the man and his works—Mahan

had been Adm William A. Moffett’s skipper when Moffet

served aboard the USS Chicago in the 1890s). 3 Furthermore, i

was convinced that, for the United States at least, comman

of the sea remained the primary objective and that it

exploitation could come later, through blockade or invasion

For Mahan and most of his followers, the fundamental method

for achieving command was offensive—seeking out the enem

main battle fleet and destroying it.4 Significantly, they gave 

116
great deal more attention to achieving command of the se

than to exploiting it.

The officer corps was coming out of a period of very rapid

technological advance. It had witnessed the coming o

torpedoes, submarines, and destroyers—all of which had been

touted as revolutionary and none of which, in the collectiv

mind, had turned out that way. 5 The necessity fo

decentralized command, initiative among junior and midleve

commanders, and doctrine that tended to create a common

vocabulary and outlook was widely accepted.

Methods of Conflict Resolution

Little questioned was the idea that command of the se

would be won in a single great clash between the main battl

lines and that all other elements would necessarily play an

auxiliary role. Notwithstanding Clausewitz’s assertion that, in

land warfare at least, the defensive was the stronger form o

war, the Navy (and Army and Marine Corps as well) probably

voiced an overwhelming preference for the offensive in both

strategy and tactics.6 Doubtless, the civilian attitude in

isolationist America in the wake of the mayhem of World War 

made it impolitic to dwell on this stance in public.

Practically all officers were graduates of the Naval Academy

and the bulk of the seniormost officers had been through th

Naval War College—and on the eve of World War I, some of th

juniors were well indoctrinated through correspondenc

courses.7 There was a rather strong commitment to the ide

that both study and practical experience were vital t

understanding naval war. On the eve of the first air war, both

the United States Naval Institute and its publishing organ

Proceedings, were more than a generation old. Senior an

middling officers took a real interest in this journal as a forum

for professional discourse—Mahan and Stephen B. Luce , th

founder of the Naval War College, were both well published in

its pages. The Naval Academy was one of America ’s first an

leading engineering schools; still, the historical approach t

the study of war and sea power was common—even befor

Mahan .

8

 No one questioned the idea that the Navy constitute

the first line of defense.

117
Ideal Organization for War

The effectiveness of the bureau organization was often

debated, and the notion that the planning and operation

functions should remain paramount and governed by 

professional naval officer was very strong. Previously divide

into line and engineering categories, a division that ha

caused much difficulty, the officers of the Navy foun

themselves reunified, first in the curriculum at the Nava

Academy and then on the line of the Navy—both before 1900.

Strong sentiment favored avoiding such divisions.10

At the beginning of the era of flight, then, the US Navy ’

officer corps tended to consider the world as being made up o

nation-states—always in conflict, sometimes at war, and neve

recognizing any superior authority. Achieving command of th

sea remained the first objective for naval forces; that done, 

variety of naval measures could help in realizing the nation’

goals ashore. As yet, little thought existed about radica

changes in the relationship of the Navy to the rest of the US

national security structure. Most thinking held that on

should be a naval officer first and a deck or engineering office

second—that the officer corps should be a monolithic whole

Even Lt Commander Henry Mustin himself argued befor

World War I that to be competent as a naval aviator, an office

would need a comprehensive knowledge of the duties of th

surface mariner. Because acquiring that knowledge took s

long, he believed that trainees for aviation must come from th

line of the Navy.

11 Though, in time, Mustin would argu

otherwise, the organizational implication of his belief was tha

one should refrain from further attempts at specialized corp

(notwithstanding the continued existence of the Marin

Corps)—despite the fact that the fleet itself was organize

along functional lines according to ship type. Some member

of the officer corps felt that the bureau chiefs were to

independent and that the creation of the office of Chief o

Naval Operations (CNO) was a good thing. As for th

employment of navies, the consensus was that decision would

come through a great sea battle between battleships and tha

all other vessels and organizations existed to support the main

battle line.

118
Evolution of American Naval Air

Thinking before Pearl Harbor

Naval aviators had experimented with aviation in comba

against Mexico even before World War I.

1 2 Pilots had mad

landings and takeoffs from ships as well, and people harbore

serious questions about whether the main air effort would li

with airships (lighter-than-air), flying boats, or shipborn

airplanes. 13 The Navy had substantial experience with

aviation in World War I, both in overwater antisubmarin

patrol and land combat on the western front. None of that wa

part of major fleet action in open ocean. Henry Mustin , one o

the first wave of Navy flyers, was only one of many men wh

brought back perceptions of air war from Europe.

1 4 As with

the Army’s Air Service, however, one could draw no definitiv

inferences because technology was still in its infancy, an

none of the exploits even approached being decisive. 15 Only

the Battle of Jutland resembled the Mahanian great battle

but because of its indecisiveness, its implications remaine

unclear. 16 Aviation played little role in that battle, and it

impact on the antisubmarine war was significant but no

decisive. Aircraft forced submarines to remain submerge

and, by closing the Strait of Dover , imposed the long trip

around Scotland on them. The consequent reduction of th

time on station lowered the number of U-boats in the German

navy.

1 7 At the end of the war, Britain ’s Royal Navy did posses

three aircraft carriers, but the US Navy had none. The brie

American participation and the preoccupation of European

with the agony of the land war left little time to do much

development work in naval aviation or to reach definitiv

conclusions.18

Largely because of the institutional culture, aviation affecte

the thinking of the Navy in an evolutionary, rather than 

revolutionary, way. This statement does not suggest that th

technology of naval warfare evolved on a steady, smoot

curve—only that thought about the use of the Navy as a whol

to help achieve national objectives changed in a gradual way

with neither long periods of stagnation nor obviou

discontinuities. On the other hand, as suggested by Dr. Gar

Weir, scientific and technological innovation—dependent in

119
part on sudden inspirations by inventors and scientists—

probably can be characterized more as a sawtooth proces

with a generally progressive trend.1 9 Certainly, the genera

outlook was not radical; yet, it is also probably fair to say tha

insofar as strategic thinking was concerned, neither was i

reactionary. The line officers of the Navy may have been

reluctant to shed the ideas proven in the past, but they ha

adjusted to the coming of steam and armor and (with th

British navy ) had led the world in the development of modern

gunnery and fire control.

In part, external pressures forced the line officers of th

Navy to accept change. One factor was the Five Power Treat

of 1922, which drove the Navy to embrace aircraft carrier

more rapidly than it might otherwise have done.2 0 A secon

was the implicit threat that if the Navy itself did not mov

smartly into the era of flight, then the upstart Air Service and

later, the Air Corps would gather maritime aviation unt

itself. 21 As yet, only a few officers, such as Adm William Sim

and Adm William Fullam, questioned whether the carrier o

the battleship would be the capital ship of the future—

question that remained open until after Pearl Harbor.

Methods of Conflict Resolution

One sees a sample of the cast of mind of the earliest crop o

aviators in a lecture delivered by Commander Patrick Bellinge

at the Naval War College in the summer of 1924. He allowe

that naval aviation had other roles, such as cooperation with

the Army in coast defense , but clearly his concentration

remained on aviation as an adjunct to the fleet.2 2

Despite the presence of many skeptical mossbacks no

disposed to change, some naval officers did not need externa

prods to revise their thinking—Sims and Moffett fo

example. 23 However, notions that one might bypass the grea

sea battle through a direct air attack on the enemy’s

economic, cultural, and moral fabric appeared infrequently

among their published and unpublished writings.

Such interpretations appeared only because the writer (e.g.

Capt George Westervelt in 1917 and Adm William Pratt in

1926) questioned the morality of such operations and th

120
validity of Douhet

s notion that attacks on civilian moral

would be humane because they would end the war quickly

and thereby eliminate the danger of another misery in th

trenches. Westervelt, even in 1917, showed considerabl

insight in suggesting that in the short term, the German

attacks may have had military value in that they diverted ver

considerable military potential from the fighting front for th

largely futile defense of London . In the long term, however, h

speculated that Germany might come to regret it. He though

the attacks might even toughen British civilian morale on th

one hand and, on the other, act as a stimulus for greater an

more destructive reprisals on the Germans by British an

French air forces .

24

At the end of World War I, the General Board of the Navy—

made up of a group of the service’s seniormost officers

necessarily nonaviators at that time—advised the secretary on

fundamental issues affecting the life of the organization. In

1919, before Billy Mitchell’s bombing tests, the board held

formal hearings and explicitly advised the secretary that th

integration of aviation into the fleet was of the highes

priority. 25

Further, one should not infer that all the logic was on th

side of the aviators and that the “gun club” was irrational in

its arguments.2 6 Had the flying boat proven practical in timely

reconnaissance and spotting support in midocean areas in th

1920s, it might have been a better solution to the air problem

than either catapult-launched or carrier-launched aircraft 

Indeed, flying-boat technology was much more mature than

that of the other craft, and aircraft operated from catapults o

platforms atop turrets probably would have reduced the field

of fire as well as the volume and rate of fire of the main

armament. (Although aerial observation would radicall

enhance the accuracy of fire, more might be lost than gained

Moreover, it was hard to imagine ever developing the means o

recovering such catapulted aircraft without stopping th

ship—clearly suicidal in the presence of enemy surface ship

or submarines .

2 7

On the other hand, if one accepted the assumption that th

decision in war would come through use of the battleship

fleet’s guns, then the provision of aerial spotting through

121
aircraft carriers, which could recover their 

birds while unde

way, would introduce another whole class of ships to the Navy

line. This would come at a time when funding and mannin

were insufficient to take care of the requirements that alread

existed. Flying boats, featuring long range and a develope

technology, could provide both scouting and spotting withou

that new line of ships (and one could greatly expand thei

areas of coverage by the use of tenders easily converted from

ships already in the Navy ). The flying boats, in fact, had jus

achieved enormous prestige by crossing the Atlantic in 1919

They did not inhibit the execution of the primary mission o

the battleships and did not compete for funds and peopl

nearly as much as carrier planes and their required ships.

Numerous aviators would support that reasoning. Bellinger

one of the most prominent, clearly was not skeptical of th

value of shipboard aviation . He did not see much of a futur

for kite balloons or nonrigid airships, but he saw great valu

in shipboard aircraft supporting the battle line once air force

had achieved command of the air. Still, in 1924, he perceive

enormous potential in the development of long-range flyin

boats.

28 Moreover, notwithstanding the great promise an

glamour of the initial operations of the Saratoga an

Lexington , those operations involved many difficulties, an

their security with the fleet posed constraints on the offensiv

preferences of the commanders. 2 9

Many people made similar arguments in favor of airships

Thus, the thinking of the gun club was not nearly a

Neanderthal as it might appear to observers looking back from

the post–Pearl Harbor period. The common flaw to tha

thinking was that if a force had no carrier aircraft , an enem

with carrier planes could deny the use of the air over th

battle area to the former’s catapult airplanes, flying boats, an

lighter-than-air craft—and thus could produce an enormou

advantage for his own battle fleet. Decisiveness would aris

from the fact that the side with air superiority would be abl

to take its enemy under concentrated, accurate fire at lon

ranges and during impaired visibility while the other sid

could not. 30

122
Worldview: Continuity and Change

From about 1906, we considered the Japanese a potentia

enemy, though continuing some war games with 

Japanese-British enemy alliance until well after World War I.

3 

After the demise of German admiral Alfred von Tirpitz’s fleet a

Scapa Flow, both the games and the thinking increasingly

concentrated on a Pacific war against Japan —although we did

not completely discount war against the British.3 2 Capt Yate

Stirling Jr. provided us with a near-classical statement in

Mahanian terms. In an article published in 1925, he painted 

worldview in which seafaring capitalist nations had to hav

overseas trade to survive; to do that, they had to protect tha

trade with navies; those navies would have to have battleship

to command the sea or part of it; and only Japan and Grea

Britain were in the game. Although Stirling more clearly

identified Japan as a potential enemy, he plainly asserted tha

competition with Great Britain was inevitable and that only th

statesmanlike work of the Washington treaties promised t

contain that competition.33 In post–World War II terms, all o

this constituted a “realist” worldview.

From the early 1920s, the war-college games and flee

maneuvers came to feature surprise air attacks on Pear

Harbor and the Panama Canal, but the ultimate decision

would always arise from a great clash between the main

surface fleets. Even the aviators, whose first task was to kil

the enemy carriers, gave at least lip service to the idea tha

the final decision would come from the great gun battle. Th

bomb-carrying capability of carrier aircraft in the 1920s an

early 1930s was so limited that many aviators understood

that the chances of decisive attacks on armored vessels wer

strictly limited; not until the late 1930s could dive-bomber

employ one-thousand-pound weapons at significant distances

Until late in the game, then, many aviators were persuade

that the gun battle might indeed be decisive.3 4

Organizing for War

Creation of the office of the CNO in 1915 improved nava

organization. Gradually, the traditional power of the bureau

chiefs declined, relative to that of the CNO. Some flyers, such

123
as Henry Mustin , called for the creation of a separate aviation

corps;35 however, other flyers and most of the nonflyers wer

against it, notwithstanding the Marine Corps precedent. Thi

attitude resulted in part from lingering bad memories abou

the nineteenth-century dichotomy between line officers an

engineering officers, as well as a feeling that such a mov

would play into the hands of the Air Service ’s Billy Mitche

and his followers. The aviators were satisfied, at least to som

extent, with the foundation of the Bureau of Aeronautics in

1921. Some of the senior officers of the Navy had opposed th

congressional proposal for the bureau, but in large part th

heat generated by Mitchell changed their minds.36 Its firs

chief, Rear Adm William Moffett, was not a pilot, but he wen

immediately to Pensacola, Florida, and completed th

observers’ course there. Popular among the flyers, he was als

a successful battleship commander; had served once on 

ship whose skipper was Mahan himself, as noted above; an

had attended the Naval War College while Mahan wa

assigned there.3 7

From the outset, under Moffett’s guidance, the appearanc

of a new bureau—in fact, a superbureau—complicated th

internal organization of airpower. Moffett did not confine hi

activities to technical and procurement functions, as did th

other bureau chiefs. He cast a wider net—including personne

issues such as assignment policy and promotions for aviators

This brought him into conflict with the other bureaus—

especially with the Bureau of Navigation , which ha

traditionally managed personnel policy for all naval officers

This tension continued, growing all the way up through an

beyond the tenure of Rear Adm John Towers at the helm o

the Bureau of Aeronautics well into World War II.

3 8

From the earliest days, military men in all the service

began groping for a way to properly integrate aviation into th

national security force structure. As it turned out, the Arm

flyers would choose a more or less independent path tha

resulted in the creation of the US Air Force in 1947. Th

Navy’s flyers and almost all of its sailors favored integratin

airpower with sea power . One such sailor, Rear Adm Nathan

C. Twining, wrote to Capt Henry Mustin in 1919, statin

tentatively that he felt airpower should be kept in the Arm

124
and Navy. He saw some possibilities in distant air raiding bu

thought that should be part of the mission of the land army

He argued, however, that the most urgent task of all wa

developing aviation’s capabilities in spotting and scouting. 3 9

Six years later, Capt George Westervelt, then manager of th

Naval Aircraft Factory in Philadelphia (though not an aviato

himself), expressed a similar idea with no sugar coating o

hedging:

They [the aviators] are in the Navy , of the Navy, and wish to remain

there. They firmly believe that the air arm is an inherent portion of the

Navy ; that, as a Naval air arm, it is helpless without the Navy, and

that the Navy would be helpless without it. In imagination many of

them, doubtless, project themselves into the future and see the time

when the air arm of the Navy will be its paramount arm, and when the

surface ships will get their orders from the Commander-in-Chief flying

above them, but they still see these combined elements of their

country’s power as the Navy, and themselves as officers of the Navy.

4 0

Westervelt had visited Britain during World War I, and

undoubtedly, the Royal Navy was an influence on him and th

entire US Navy—as it always had been. The story about th

influence of the Royal Air Force (RAF) on US Army aviators i

well known. Mitchell’s visits with Hugh Trenchard durin

World War I are well documented. 41 Perhaps less well known

is the negative impact of the RAF on the US Navy. The British

integrated their naval and land-based airpower into a separat

air force in 1918 and kept it so organized up to 1937. From

1918 forward, it was an article of faith in the US Navy tha

that decision had been a mistake and proof that an

independent air force would be bad for the United States

Without arguing the virtues of the Spitfire, Fighter Command

Taranto, and victory over the Bismarck and the U-boats, it i

clear that the stout opposition to the idea in the US Navy ha

its origins long before the RAF could possibly have had th

deadly effects attributed to it. To cite one example, in

testifying to the General Board of the Navy on 23 Augus

1918, Commander H. C. Dinger asserted, “Personally, I don’

see how there could be any argument. They [the British] mus

have both Naval and Army aviation . Of course these are only

my personal views. The amalgamation in England seems t

have had a very bad effect.”4 2

125
In the wake of the commissioning of the Langley (CV-1) in

the early 1920s, articles in Proceedings, as well as Naval Wa

College papers and lectures, paid increasing attention to th

implications of aviation.4 3 This increased sharply after th

great ships Saratoga (CV-3) and Lexington (CV-2) came on-lin

late in 1927. No doubt, Navy people endlessly fought an

refought the Battle of Jutland on the game boards at Newpor

and in the pages of Proceedings, but they also wrote man

articles on aviation as well. 44

Proper Naval Objectives in War

Even in the articles on aviation, usually the climax came in

a big gun duel. Analogous to the Army experience on th

western front, the most strident demand for a capability t

command the air came from the most committed surfac

gunners. It became clear to battleship captains that aeria

spotting so enhanced the power of the big gun that an

admiral who lost that spotting capability found himself at 

huge disadvantage. 45 The corollary to that principle, as on th

western front, was that one had to make every effort to protec

free use of the air over the battle and to deny it to the enemy

Thus, hardly anyone in any of the services needed much

persuasion that command of the air remained a paramoun

consideration. In 1926, Admiral Pratt himself argued that i

was a primary function of naval aviation.46

Although in the 1930s, mainstream thought seldom

wavered from the idea that the primary and final instrumen

of victory would be the battleship , it held that Japan would

refuse battle until the combat power of the US Navy had been

diminished by projecting itself all the way across the centra

Pacific. Most strategic thinkers felt that the Navy could

minimize this weakening if the US offensive went across th

central (instead of the north or south) Pacific, invading an

building up island bases as it went (as opposed to making on

giant leap that would force the Japanese navy to come ou

and fight for the sea when the Americans arrived in th

vicinity of the Philippines). Carrier airpower would always be 

scarce commodity. In those days, people deemed land-base

airpower a formidable threat. Without air bases to protect th

126
line of communications and naval bases to attenuate th

erosion of sea power as it projected further across the Pacific

the defeat of the Japanese fleet on the other side remaine

improbable. 4 7

In all of this, aviation had two main functions. First, i

would enhance the effectiveness of the cruisers and destroyer

of the scouting fleet through reconnaissance. Second, it would

enhance the effectiveness of the battle fleet through

conducting reconnaissance , spotting the fall of shot, an

defending against the enemy’s carrier airpower (usuall

through sinking or disabling enemy carriers.)48 Sometimes

aircraft might attack battleships, but usually they sought t

slow them down so that the plodding American battleship

could catch up with the speedier Japanese dreadnoughts t

administer decisive blows with their guns. 49 Not long befor

his death, Admiral Moffett spoke of using offensive carrie

aircraft in exactly that way to facilitate the great sea battle.

5

Even up to the eve of World War II, aviators who delivere

lectures at the Naval War College on the uses of airpower wer

clearly reluctant to claim too much for airplanes versu

battleships.

51

To a large degree, students of the intellectual history of an

military force must grapple with an eternal problem: was th

glass half full or half empty? Much of the final judgmen

necessarily resides in the eye of the beholder. Charles Melhorn

and Curtis Utz have demonstrated that declared policy an

doctrine do not always match the undeclared worldview of th

decision makers of any organization.5 2 To some extent, th

articulation of official doctrine inevitably lags. Sometimes

acquisition policies indicate the difference between declare

doctrine and the undeclared vision of the future. They both

show that the Navy did make progress in aviation between th

armistice and Pearl Harbor—in fact, there were almost as man

carriers as battleships under construction on 7 December 1941

Those “flattops” under construction were close to double the siz

of the USS Ranger—the first American carrier designed as suc

from the keel up.

The task force idea developed well before the onset of war

having its genesis even before the initial “fleet problems” of th

late 1920s, in which the Saratoga and Lexington participated. 5

127
In the late 1930s, the deck loads of carriers had change

substantially in an offensive direction before they were thrus

into battle. Thus, naval aviators of the period and thei

earliest biographers and historians possibly exaggerated th

weight of US Navy conservatism for a number of reasons. 5

One was physical: dive-bombers in 1930 could not carr

bombs big enough to penetrate battleship armor far enough t

threaten the enemy battle line; by the end of the decade, the

could.5 5 Clark Reynolds, long a leader in the history of nava

aviation, provides a recent sample of the “half empty” part of th

metaphor: “The rigid conservatism of the so-called Gun Club o

battleship admirals stood in his [Moffett’s] way at every turn.”5 

Clearly, “rigid conservatism” can be in the eye of the beholder

Moffett himself had been a first-class battleship captain .

On the eve of war, then, the worldview of the naval officer corp

had not changed much from the realist perception of th

international environment held at the beginning of World War I.

5

Few people in the Navy felt that the initial objective ought t

be anything other than command of the sea, which would

yield the capability for exploitation in a variety of ways, such

as invasion or blockade. Nor did they lend much support t

the idea of bypassing sea battles , blockades, or invasions in

favor of a direct attack on the morale or industrial vital target

of an enemy.

Sentiment remained strongly opposed to a separate ai

force—and strongly in favor of the Navy’s having its own ai

arm. Mitchell had not persuaded many people in the se

services of the desirability of a unified department of defense

As regards internal organization, war at sea involving the us

of aircraft required a task organization that put ships with

varying functions under a single commander and that sough

to achieve a specific goal. Everyone agreed that aircraft were 

major asset in sea warfare but differed on the question of thei

employment—whether in auxiliary or independent roles, o

both. Those favoring the offensive role for aircraft argued tha

the aircraft carrier would be the capital ship in the future an

that all other elements of sea power should train and organiz

to support the air arm.

As to employment in battle, aircraft would first assure ai

superiority—ideally by sinking enemy carriers—and then

128
provide reconnaissance, as well as spotting and damagin

battleships to slow them down for the great sea battle, to b

concluded by our own battleships. This vision of surfac

sailors received decreasing favor from aviators as the interwa

period wore on. For the most “advanced” aviators, aircraf

would win command of the sea by sinking enemy carriers, an

then the air arm would turn to exploitation through mining o

supporting an invasion.

The Test of War: The Pacific Campaigns

How did the experience of World War II modify this cast o

mind? The war did nothing to change the worldview of the lin

officers of the Navy—as with the leaders of all the othe

services, they were very much of the realist persuasion. It als

did little to change the perception that command of the se

was the first goal, but the means of achieving it went through

a transformation.

Pearl Harbor confirmed the Mitchell tests of 1921—tha

aircraft could sink unmoving, undefended dreadnoughts. Th

destruction by land-based airpower of the Prince of Wales an

the Repulse—both capital ships and both under way —had 

far greater psychological impact on both the Navy and th

American public. This, combined with the fact that preciou

few battleships remained with which to test the old notions in

combat, led to the rapid acceptance of the carrier task force a

the principal instrument of sea power .

5 8

Objectives

Notwithstanding the fact that implementation in wa

differed from that envisioned, the preferred strategy of th

Navy remained the same. Air battles instead of battleship

won command of the sea, but the central Pacific thrust with

island hopping and base development remained the strategy

The Joint Chiefs of Staff did not have the power or th

inclination to force the Navy into another choice—or t

persuade Douglas MacArthur in the Southwest Pacific Area t

join the Navy ’s strategy. It worked rather as planned, 5 9 with

the remnants of the Japanese fleet coming out to fight th

129
final battles west of the Mariana Islands in the summer o

1944, and then again during the invasion of Leyte in

October.60

The aviators had wound up pushing for a great sea battle a

the time of the Marianas, and Adm Raymond Spruance, th

surface sailor, deemed his primary mission the protection o

the amphibious operation and not the destruction of wha

remained of the Japanese fleet . Similarly, the main criticism

of Adm William Halsey came from the surface sailors wh

thought he should have been tied to the landing forces a

Leyte rather than seeking the destruction of the Japanes

carriers—in a decoy role, as it turned out. 6 1 In a larger sense

though, one may infer that practically everyone involve

remained persuaded that Mahan was right when h

reasserted that he who commands the sea commands th

world. In the words of Paul M. Kennedy,

The Second World War saw the full arrival and exploitation of this

revolutionary (air) weapon and the fulfillment of the prophecies of

Douhet, Mitchell , Trenchard and the others that aircraft were vital to

achieve dominance over land and sea theatres. As such, this did not

invalidate Mahan’s doctrine that command of the sea meant control of

those ‘broad highways,’ the lines of communication between homeland

and overseas ports; but it did spell the end of the navy’s claim to a

monopoly role in preserving such sea masteries. And the Admiralty’s

established belief that a fleet of battleships provided the ultimate force

to control the ocean seaways was made to look more old-fashioned

than ever—and very erroneous and dangerous. 62

The naval officer corps remained committed to the idea o

exploitation through blockade rather than invasion, but i

was overruled, and amphibious planning was under wa

when nuclear weapons came along to precipitate Japanes

surrender.63

Even earlier, on the eve of World War II, the aviators amon

the naval leaders were beginning to rattle the gates to high

command. However, tension had existed throughout th

conflict between them and the old guard. Some of th

principal decision makers like Ernest King and William Halse

did have wings, even pilot wings, but most of them had gon

through flying school as senior officers and had never serve

as crew members at the squadron level. They were deeme

Johnny-come-latelies to the flying business and therefor

130
unable to understand air war as well as the pioneers—th

chief one of whom had been at the head of the Bureau o

Aeronautics when war came: John Towers. He aspired to high

operational command throughout the war but was kept from

it, mostly by Admiral King himself. Of the early aviators, only

Marc Mitscher made it to such a level as a task forc

commander under the Fifth Fleet. Meanwhile, Halsey th

Johnny-come-lately, Adm Chester Nimitz the submariner, an

Spruance the cruiser sailor, had been sent by King t

implement the important decisions of the Pacific war—most o

which were made by the CNO himself.

The Postwar Attitude Adjustment

It is probably fair to assert that the naval officer corp

emerged from World War II with much the same worldview o

international politics as it had held before 1914. Clearly, th

“Wilsonian dream” had proven a mirage and many officers, i

not most, were skeptical that the “one world” envisioned in th

United Nations would fare any better. The substantia

skepticism toward disarmament and arms control of th

interwar period remained. 64

Methods of Conflict Resolution

The line officers of the Navy came out of the war with 

strong notion that the carrier battles and the island invasion

had been decisive and that the Navy remained the first line o

defense, despite growing doubts on the latter point amon

Army airmen, Congress, and the public. As a corollary, th

carrier admirals believed they would have to govern the Navy

They would never completely dominate the apex of th

hierarchy, but they were well on the road to becoming th

most equal among equals.6 5 Not until the fighting conclude

did King and Nimitz send Towers to his seagoing command t

take over the Fifth Fleet from Spruance, who replaced Nimit

in command at Pearl Harbor but soon moved on to the Nava

War College . Towers then came to Pearl Harbor to take charge

as commander in chief of Pacific Command, the principa

striking arm of the Navy.

6 6

131
Naval aviators were coming of age in 1945, and at the Navy 

moment of glory, a substantial part of it agreed that carrie

aviation was and would continue to be the core strength of th

service, notwithstanding the fact that no naval threat existed

anywhere in the world. Further, the United States Strategi

Bombing Survey concluded that the submarine in it

unrestricted, independent campaign against Japanese maritim

traffic, combined with strategic bombing of the home islands

had been decisive. This use of the submarine had not bee

formally articulated in interwar naval theory and in fact ha

been rejected by US diplomats at the Washington Conference o

1921–22 as a morally illegitimate use of the weapon. (As note

above, though, officers playing enemy commanders had explore

the idea in war games and informally during the periodi

Submarine Officers’ Conference .)

Too, naval leaders came away with the impression that th

B-29s had not been very cooperative in supporting either th

Okinawa operations or the mining campaign.67 They viewed th

bombing of the Japanese homeland as a waste of time, eve

though their carrier admirals also had targeted the airframe an

engine industries in Japan at the end of the war. Increasingly in

the last two years of the war, Navy flyers found their target

ashore. Traditionally, in the abstract at least, the very purpos

of gaining command of the sea was to influence events ashore.6 

Attention given to the possible use of airpower directly agains

the sources of enemy power was minimal in the Navy prior t

1941. As the war neared its end, however—especially afte

command of Twentieth Air Force in the Pacific was kept out o

the hands of the theater commanders—naval line officers gave 

great deal more thought to the idea of strategic bombing.

Organization for War

Increasingly, naval officers voiced their concerns about th

morality of strategic bombing because of the harm to civilians

notwithstanding the harm done by blockade. In addition, th

war made it clear that command of the air was a prerequisit

in strategic as well as tactical operations—but it was difficul

or impossible to achieve in the former because of the lon

ranges involved. Until escort aircraft could fly all the way t

132
the target, the bomber could not get through—or so th

argument went in naval circles.6 9 The implications of th

coming of nuclear weapons were as yet little explored, and th

result of all these factors left the naval officer corps in a stat

of flux—without a clear vision of its future and its purpose fo

one of the rare times in the twentieth century. This situation

led to an institutional identity crisis that remained unresolve

until a decade had passed. 70

One problem for the Navy was that it had complet

command of the sea, and nobody could challenge it. Wha

could it use that command for? The new potential adversar

was the Soviet Union , but it had no surface navy. Nor did i

have any significant dependency on overseas raw materials o

food vulnerable to blockade.

71 The idea of an amphibiou

landing against the whole Eurasian world island wa

preposterous—and both Napoléon and Hitler had made th

idea more so in any event. The United States was coming ou

of two decades of serious deficit spending, and Billy Mitchell’

idea of getting the job done with one air force instead of 

two-ocean navy—especially an air force equipped with nuclea

weapons—was highly attractive to President Truman, th

Congress, and the public in general. Doing this in a unifie

department of defense would eliminate much duplication an

make available more ample funds for domestic purposes.7 2

Attempts to resolve the dilemma were made in th

Unification Act of 1947 and the Key West and Newpor

conferences of the following year. However, they really did no

achieve much. Back in the days of Billy Mitchell , most of th

Navy’s officer corps had been dead set against a single militar

department containing all the services. But during World Wa

II, some senior officers thought that unification might hav

some merit. Admiral Nimitz was one of them, but toward th

end of the war, he and the rest of the mariners closed rank

against it.73 Led by James V. Forrestal, the tactics entaile

avoiding a head-on attack on the issues of unification and 

separate air force because support for them was too strong—

indeed, the president himself favored unification. Thus, th

approach was to limit the function of a secretary of defense t

powers of “coordination,” avoid opposing a separate air forc

directly, but try to constrain its functions as much a

133
possible. Especially important as a goal was assuring th

Marine Corps and the Navy of their own air arms, completely

independent of any autonomous air force .

Minority opinions inside the Navy (e.g., that of Adm Dan

Gallery) proposed that since all the old visions were obsolete

the Navy ought to take over the Air Force’s strategic bombin

role because the Navy could do it better. 74 The legislation ha

emerged rather as envisioned by Forrestal, but neither tha

nor the subsequent Key West and Newport “agreements

calmed the waters. Perhaps the subsequent B-36 debate wa

a manifestation of the insecurity of naval leaders, and th

main outlines of a more stable Navy worldview and vision fo

its future started to take shape only later as a result of th

Korean War and the reversal of the decline of defens

spending. Also having an effect were the march of technolog

that resulted in the miniaturization of nuclear weapons; th

Soviet acquisition of nuclear technology; the coming of th

nuclear submarines ; and the submarine launched ballisti

missile (SLBM).

75

The Navy’s internal organizational issues had largely been

laid to rest. The powers of the CNO had been furthe

consolidated under the wartime leader, Admiral King, when h

was appointed to that office and at the same time retained th

title of commander in chief of the US fleet. The flyers ha

become firmly integrated into the upper ranks of the Navy

and little agitation remained for a separate naval air corps.7 6

Visions of Employment in War

The vision to emerge in the mid-1950s held that the Unite

States could exploit its command of the seas with a revise

naval role—one that had both a strategic and conventiona

dimension. The Navy could use its carriers as it had in th

Korean War—for power projection ashore. They would hav

nuclear weapons, not to take over the strategic bombin

mission, but to facilitate the maritime campaign by targetin

against Soviet submarine bases and the like.

The SLBM would give new life to the underwater arm of th

Navy, even in the absence of a potential enemy with 

significant surface naval or merchant marine dependency. I

134
had the beauty of being perfectly suited to the second-strik

deterrent role the United States valued. That is, Polaris missil

boats were invulnerable enough to ride out the first strike, ye

their accuracy was not deemed sufficient to threaten a firs

strike themselves—thus they added to deterrent stability

Further, the great transfer of submarine technology, doctrine

and equipment from Germany to the Soviet Union at the en

of World War II—combined with the contemporaneous chang

in antisubmarine warfare (ASW) technique—assured th

future of the attack-boat portion of the submarine force. 7

Thenceforward, one of the chief antisubmarine weapons would

be submarines. The line officers’ preference for the offensiv

again received expression in the notion of attacking the Sovie

underwater forces well forward: in their home waters with

ASW submarines and at their bases with naval air forces

soon to be armed with nuclear weapons.

78

By the late 1950s, the reappearance of the naval nuclea

camel’s nose under the Air Force’s strategic tent was not a

threatening as it had been in Admiral Gallery’s version of th

late 1940s. The new conception called for a strategic triad, tw

legs of which would belong to the Air Force (ICBMs and heavy

bombers) and all of which were vital to deterrence and nuclea

stability. The Air Force, moreover, was no longer the new kid

on the block and therefore had more confidence in its own

role.7 9 The Navy’s new vision proved remarkably durable, an

recent writings from Maritime Strategy to From the Sea80 ar

really little more than a change in emphasis.

Impact of Aviation on Naval Air Thought

Aviation had not really changed the worldview of most of th

Navy’s officers corps by 1947. In a generic way, the primar

objective of navies remained command of the sea, although

not much of a challenge to the hegemony of the US Navy

existed at that point. Exploitation through mining an

blockade came out of the war with new prestige, at least t

seamen. Even though the Navy had little enthusiasm for th

invasion of Japan , the success of amphibious operation

across the Pacific reaffirmed that mode as another way o

exploiting command of the sea. On the eve of the unification

135
debate, such support as had existed for either a separate ai

force or a unified defense department was much diminishe

among officers who had fought the war in the Pacific and in

Washington. Internally, the task method of organization ha

the prestige of success in recent combat behind it.

The most significant change in naval thought had come in

the employment of naval forces to achieve command of th

sea. Battleships and other surface vessels found themselve

largely relegated to supporting roles—as antiaircraft platform

in carrier task forces and as fire-support platforms fo

amphibious task forces. The aircraft carrier had become th

capital ship in command of sea operations—and that chang

was widely accepted by Navy people. They also gave mor

thought to the value and limitations of strategic bombing

mostly the latter. Notwithstanding the conclusions of the US

Strategic Bombing Survey, the idea that one could coerc

nations without first defeating their armies and navies did no

receive wide support within the Navy. The survey emphasize

the great value of the submarine campaign in the Pacific war

but, clearly, the prestige of the air arm overshadowed that o

the submariners.

In the end, then, aviation apparently integrated itself int

the Navy and its thinking, mostly in the realm of method

rather than objective. The environment for military conflic

remained similar in many ways, and nation-states stil

responded most clearly to coercion by military force. The nava

vision still largely maintained that one first had to apply forc

to the armed forces of an adversary, and only later directly t

the territory or other values after achieving command of th

sea, the air, and the land approaches. At sea, the method o

applying that force had changed, in that the carrier ha

become the capital ship , and the rest were to lend support

This implied that the postwar reorganization should no

change our national security structure radically and that th

Navy should certainly retain its own air arm. Even though

naval aviators had risen to commanding heights of the se

service, the opposition of surface sailors was not a

reactionary as sometimes pictured. Further, it seems fair t

picture the intellectual style of the Navy as tending neithe

136
toward the reactionary nor the radical—but an evolutionary o

progressive cast of mind.

Notes

1. I agree with Carl Builder that the personification of institution

entails serious limitations and that there can be no all-inclusive “Nav

mind” any more than a “military mind.” Thus, any insight emerging from

this chapter can be no more than a tendency or an approximation—if tha

much. Acknowledgment is particularly important in this case. Although 

graduated from the Naval Academy and before that, had an aviation ratin

in the enlisted Navy, all that was more than 40 years ago, and I have ha

little to do with naval history or naval aviation since then.

I have received very important assistance for this chapter from

distinguished experts in the field of naval history. Dr. Gary Weir set up 

discussion seminar for an early draft of this work at the Washington Nav

Yard in October 1994. Among the historians in that group were Dr. Jeffre

Barlow and Curtis Utz, and the session was a most productive one for me

Barlow’s book and Utz’s thesis were important aids. I also receive

significant insights from Dr. Clark Reynolds of the College of Charlesto

and Dr. William Trimble of Auburn University, the biographers of Admiral

Towers and Moffett, respectively. Their work went far beyond mer

professional courtesy. Dr. Evelyn Cherpak, head of the Naval Historica

Collection at the Naval War College, not only was expert and mo

cooperative in optimizing my research effort at Newport but also read a

early draft of this work and rendered significant assistance. Ms. Alice S

Creighton and Ms. Mary Rose Catalfamo were also most impressive i

maximizing the effect of the research time I had available at the Specia

Collections Division of the Nimitz Library at the US Naval Academy.

Other important readers who helped were my colleagues—Prof Denni

Drew, Dr. Hal Winton, and Col Rob Owen—Dr. Alexander Cochran and Rea

Adm William T. Pendley, as well as Dr. Mark R. Shulman; Commander Jo

Tarlton, USN, Retired; Frank Uhlig; and Col Barry Watts, USAF, Retired

The original idea for the chapter was largely that of my boss, Col Phillip S

Meilinger, the former dean of the School of Advanced Airpower Studies an

the general editor of this book. His support was generous and essential t

the project.

2. Commander P. N. L. Bellinger, USN, “Policy” (thesis, Naval Wa

College, 1925), in Naval War College History Collection [hereinafter NWC

History Collection], Newport, R.I.

3. William F. Trimble, Admiral William A. Moffett: Architect of Nav

Aviation (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), 29–30.

4. Charles M. Melhorn, Two-Block Fox: The Rise of the Aircraft Carrier

1911 –1929 (Annapolis: US Naval Institute [hereinafter USNI] Press, 1974)

22–23; Kenneth J. Hagan, This People’s Navy: The Making of American Se

Power (New York: Free Press, 1991), xi–xii; and Clark G. Reynolds, “The U

137
Fleet-in-Being Strategy of 1942,

 The Journal of Military History 58 (Januar

1994): 107–18. Reynolds explains that even in the fleet-in-being strategies

the British and US approaches emphasized the preference for offensiv

applications.

5. Capt George C. Westervelt, USN, “Statement of Captain G. C

Westervelt (CC) U.S.N. before President’s Aviation Commission” (Morro

Board, 1925), copy in E. E. Wilson Papers, Special Collections, box 22

Nimitz Library, US Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md. [hereinafter USN

Special Collections].

6. One among many who held this opinion was John Towers, one of th

Navy’s original aviators, who later explained that the carrier was wea

defensively, which made it inherently an offensive weapon. See Joh

Towers, “The Influence of Aircraft on Naval Strategy and Tactics” (thesi

Naval War College, 7 May 1934), Record Group 13, NWC History Collection

Six years later, he was still arguing in terms that Mahan himself would no

have found objectionable. In “Naval Aviation Policy and the Bureau o

Aeronautics,” Aero Digest 36 (February 1940): 34–38, he states that U

well-being depends on free use of the seas, that a navy must command th

essential part of the sea (achieved through offensive operations against th

enemy naval fleet), and that aviation exists primarily to support thos

offensive operations. For an equally clear preference by another of the earl

flyers, see P. N. L. Bellinger, “Lecture Delivered by Commander P. N. L

Bellinger, Aviation, 1 Aug 1924,” 12, in NWC History Collection.

7. William S. Sims, “Cheer Up!! There Is No Naval War College,” 1916

Sims Papers, box 74, Library of Congress.

8. Robert Seager II, Alfred Thayer Mahan: The Man and His Letter

(Annapolis, Md.: USNI Press, 1977), 347. Mahan was only one of the mo

prominent officer-historians; he reached the presidency of the America

Historical Association in 1902, after his many historical writings on th

history of sea power had achieved worldwide notice. See also Philip A

Crowl, “Alfred Thayer Mahan: The Naval Historian,” in Peter Paret, ed

Makers of Modern Strategy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press

1986), 444–54.

The USNI itself was established in the 1870s, as was its journa

Proceedings, which from the earliest times contained many articles of 

historical nature. See Philip A. Crowl, “Education versus Training at th

Naval War College: 1884–1972,” Naval War College Review 2

(November–December 1973): 2–10. Carl H. Builder in The Masks of War

American Military Styles in Strategy and Analysis (Baltimore, Md.: John

Hopkins University Press, 1989), 18, also argues that the Navy, above th

other services, values tradition; I suppose that has some affinity for 

historical approach to things. See also Commodore Stephen B. Luce, USN

“War Schools,” USNI Proceedings 9 (1883): 633–57; and Rear Adm W. V

Pratt, USN, “The Naval War College,” USNI Proceedings 53 (Septembe

1927): 937–47.

138
9. See William E. Simons, Liberal Education in the Service Academie

(New York: Columbia University Press, 1965), 52–53, on the line-enginee

controversy at the Naval Academy.

10. Trimble, 4, 7, 67; and Capt Mark Bristol, USN, Office of Nava

Aeronautics, Washington, D.C., to secretary of the Navy, letter, subjec

Proposed Program, 16 August 1915, Henry Mustin Papers, box 7, Library o

Congress.

11. Lt Commander Henry C. Mustin, USN, “The Naval Aeroplane,” c

1915, Mustin Papers, box 6, Library of Congress.

12. Commanding Officer [Henry Mustin], US Navy Aeronautic Station

Pensacola, Fla., to Office of Aeronautics, letter, 28 June 1914, Musti

Papers, box 7, Library of Congress. In this letter, Mustin makes technica

recommendations based on naval air experience on the Vera Cru

expedition. See also director of naval aeronautics to Chief of Nava

Operations, “Annual Report on Aeronautics,” 19 January 1916, Musti

Papers, box 7, Library of Congress.

13. Melhorn, 8–16, 27–35. For pre–World War I explorations of thes

issues, see Capt (later Adm) Mark L. Bristol, director of naval aeronautics

to Chief of Naval Operations, “Annual Report on Aeronautics,” 19 Januar

1916; and Lt Commander Kenneth Whiting, USN, aboard the USS Seattle

to commander, destroyer force, letter, 16 March 1917, Whiting Papers

USNA Special Collections.

14. Capt Henry C. Mustin, USN, to the secretary of the Navy, repor

“Aviation Organization in Great Britain, France and Italy,” 25 August 1919

in Mustin Papers, box 3, Library of Congress.

15. Rear Adm William S. Sims to Chief of Naval Operations, lette

subject: United Air Service, 1 February 1921, Sims Papers, NWC Histor

Collection; Capt T. T. Craven, “Naval Aviation,” USNI Proceedings 4

(January 1920): 181–91; idem, “Naval Aviation and a United Air Service

USNI Proceedings 47 (March 1921): 307–21; idem, “Aviation,” lecture, 

August 1919, NWC History Collection; Commander D. E. Cummings, “Us

of Aircraft in Naval Warfare,” USNI Proceedings 47 (November 1921)

1678–688; Capt Nathan C. Twining, USN, to Capt Henry C. Mustin, USN

San Pedro, Calif., letter, 24 December 1919, Mustin Papers, box 9, Librar

of Congress; Mustin, “Aviation Organization”; and USN General Board t

the secretary of the Navy, report, “Future Policy Governing Development o

Air Service for the United States Navy,” 23 June 1919, Mustin Papers, bo

7, Library of Congress.

16. In “Technology, Culture, and the Modern Battleship,” Naval Wa

College Review 45 (Autumn 1992): 83, Jon Testuro Sumida argue

persuasively that weapons systems can have important results withou

winning great battles—as with the British fleet in World War I.

17. As Admiral Nimitz himself testified, Jutland was studied up one sid

and down the other in the aftermath of World War I. See Commande

Chester W. Nimitz, “Thesis on Tactics” (thesis, Naval War College, 28 Apri

1923), NWC History Collection. For interesting contemporary views from

139
outside the naval establishment on the implications of Jutland, especiall

the bombing tests of the 1920s, see Maj William C. Sherman’s chapter o

the future of naval aviation in his Air Warfare (New York: Ronald Pres

1926), in which he argues that the war provided even less of a historica

database for speculations on the future of naval aviation than was true fo

Army airpower. For a contemporary notion that keeping submarine

submerged rather than damaging them was the most importan

contribution of aviation, see Capt C. Gilbert More, Royal Navy, “Aviatio

Abroad,” testimony, in US Navy General Board, “Proceedings of the Genera

Board,” 23 May 1918, Record Group 80, reel 12, M1493, 1918, Nationa

Archives, Washington, D.C. See also Kenneth Hagan and Mark Shulman

“Putting Naval before History,” Naval History 9 (September/October 1995)

24–29.

18. Director of naval aeronautics to Chief of Naval Operations, “Annua

Report on Aeronautics,” 19 January 1916, Mustin Papers, box 7, Library o

Congress.

19. Gary E. Weir, Naval Historical Center, Washington Navy Yard

Washington, D.C., interviewed by author, 6 October 1994.

20. Gerald E. Wheele r, Admiral William Veazie Pratt, US Nav

(Washington, D.C.: Department of the Navy, 1974), 193–201; Erne

Andrade Jr., “United States Naval Policy in the Disarmament Era

1921–1937” (PhD diss., Michigan State University, 1966), 1–12; Thomas H

Buckley, “The United States and the Washington Conference, 1921–1922

(PhD diss., University of Indiana, 1961), 19–21, 130; and Stephen Roskill

Naval Policy between the Wars, vol. 1, The Period of Anglo-America

Antagonism, 1919–1929 (New York: Walker, 1968), 310. Writing at the tim

of the Vietnam War, Rear Adm Dan V. Gallery was only one of many peopl

who looked askance at arms control but who nonetheless thought that th

Five Power Treaty helped push carrier development along. See unpublishe

article, Gallery Papers, box 31, USNA Special Collections.

21. Capt T. T. Craven, USN, “Aviation,” lecture, 5 August 1919, page 20

NWC History Collection. In this lecture, Craven reported that he understoo

that the Royal Navy had lost its aviation to the RAF precisely because it ha

not moved vigorously to develop it itself. The same idea is one of the theme

of Alfred F. Hurley in Billy Mitchell: Crusader for Air Power (Bloomington

Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1964, 1975), viii, wherein he suggests tha

Mitchell was an important catalyst for progress in naval aviation. See als

Gerald E. Wheeler, “Mitchell, Moffett, and Air Power,” The Airpowe

Historian 8 (April 1961): 79–87; Melhorn, 56, 57; Capt N. E. Irwin

testimony, page 177, 5 March 1919, in US Navy General Board, “GB

Proceedings 80,” reel 13, M1493, 1919, National Archives; and William M

McBride, “Challenging a Strategic Paradigm: Aviation and the US Nav

Special Policy Board of 1924,” The Journal of Strategic Studies 14 (Februar

1991): 74–75.

22. Bellinger lecture, 2.

140
23. For information on Sims, see, among many others, Wheeler, Willia

Veazie Pratt, 149; Hagan, This People’s Navy, 255–58; David F. Trask

“William Snowden Sims: The Victory Ashore,” in James C. Bradford, ed

Admirals of the New Steel Navy: Makers of the American Naval Tradition

1880 –1930 (Annapolis: USNI Press, 1990); and Elting E. Morison, Admira

Sims and the Modern American Navy (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1942). Fo

information on Moffett, see Trimble; Thomas C. Hone, “Navy Air Leadership

Rear Admiral William A. Moffett as Chief of the Bureau of Aeronautics,” i

Wayne Thompson, ed., Air Leadership (Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Forc

History, 1986), 83–113; and Clark G. Reynolds, “William A. Moffett: Stewar

of the Air Revolution,” in Bradford, 374–87. Lesser known was Rear Adm

William Freeland Fullam, whose papers are in the Library of Congress, a

are those of Admiral Sims. Moffett’s papers are at the Naval Academ

(microfilm copy at USAF Historical Research Agency, Maxwell AFB, Ala.)

For a seminal piece on the subject, see Stephen Peter Rosen, “New Ways o

War: Understanding Military Innovation,” International Security 13 (Summe

1988): 135–67; and especially his Winning the Next War: Innovation and th

Modern Military (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991), 58–70, 76–80

130–47, 234–50.

24. As Melhorn shows, the US Navy observers in Britain during Worl

War I were aware of the German zeppelin operations, both against the Roya

Navy and against London, and Mitchell and others brought the idea fo

such operations before the Navy’s General Board and the rest of the Nav

right after the war. See Melhorn, 35, 40. One of the others was Maj B. L

Smith, USMC, and Commander Kenneth Whiting himself. See testimony

page 991, in US Navy General Board, “GB Proceedings 80,” reel 12, M1493

1918, National Archives; and testimony, page 1951, 10 March 1919, in U

Navy General Board, “GB Proceedings 80,” reel 13, M1493, 1919, Nationa

Archives, respectively.

In a report on a trip to Europe that same year, Capt Henry Mustin

discussed Italian ideas on strategic bombing and British experience with 

separate air force. See “Aviation Organization in Great Britain, France, an

Italy,” 25 August 1919; and Capt Henry Mustin, “Abstracts of Interview

Held with Authorities in Great Britain, France and Italy,” report, 1 Octobe

1919, Mustin Papers, box 3, Library of Congress, which gives the views o

Hugh Trenchard and Sir David Beatty.

Two years earlier, Capt George Westervelt, USN, kept a diary of his trip t

England, in which he speaks of the relative invulnerability of the German

bombing London and their “barbarity” in doing so. See “Off to War,” diary

page 27, E. E. Wilson Papers, box 22, USNA Special Collections; and Adm

William V. Pratt, USN, “Some Aspects of Our Air Policy: An Argument from

the Viewpoint of American Principles and of the Law,” February 1926

Record Group 4, NWC History Collection.

The staff presentations at the Naval War College increasingly include

allusions to the possibility of air attack against enemy industry or civilia

morale—or the possibility of such attacks on the United States—a

141
independent air missions, but the emphasis was on airpower as an integra

element of naval power. See “The Employment of Aviation in Naval Warfare

staff presentation, Naval War College, September 1937, Record Group 4

NWC History Collection; and “The Employment of Aviation in Nava

Warfare,” staff presentation, Naval War College, September 1940, Recor

Group 4, NWC History Collection. One suspects that the contemporar

experience with airpower in the Spanish Civil War and Ethiopia provide

the stimulus for those remarks.

25. Jeffrey G. Barlow, The Revolt of the Admirals (Washington, D.C

Center for Naval History, 1994), 3; see also US Navy General Board, “GB

Proceedings 80,” reel 13, M1493, 1919, National Archives, wherein w

clearly see the impossibility of determining how much of the enthusiasm o

the General Board for aviation arises from progressive analysis and ho

much from Mitchell’s efforts, even at this early date. For the formal report o

the board, see Adm Charles J. Badger, USN, senior member presen

General Board of the Navy, to the secretary of the Navy, report, “Futur

Policy Governing Development of Air Service for the United States Navy,” 2

June 1919, General Board no. 449, Mustin Papers, box 7, Library o

Congress.

26. In 1909 Sims himself argued that hitting a moving ship from 

considerable height was an impractical proposition; in 1921 he reverse

himself to argue that bombing from a considerable height could result i

devastating hits on moving ships and that “this [the lethal area about 

target vessel] could not easily be missed by a well-trained pilot.” William

Sims to “Turner,” Norfolk, Va., letter, 19 June 1909, Sims Papers, box 47

Library of Congress; and William Sims to Vice Adm Mark Kerr, Royal Navy

London, letter, 29 September 1921, Sims Papers, box 47, Library o

Congress. As it turned out, his first prediction in 1909 was the mor

accurate, for it was most difficult to hit a moving ship in the Pacific Wa

from altitude, and most of the damage was done by torpedoes an

dive-bombers (and kamikazes), all of which had to come too close to th

vessels for comfort. See also Commander Logan Cresap’s testimony, 2

September 1918, page 1074, in US Navy General Board, “GB Proceeding

80,” reel 13, M1493, 1918, National Archives; and William M. McBride

“Challenging a Strategic Paradigm: Aviation and the US Navy Special Polic

Board of 1924,” The Journal of Strategic Studies 14 (March 1991): 72–89; a

well as an aviator’s description of these things in Commander P. N. L

Bellinger, USN, “Tactics” (thesis, Naval War College, 9 May 1925), NWC

History Collection; or a submariner’s conception in Nimitz, “Thesis o

Tactics.”

27. For a good source on some of this evolution, see Adm William H

Standley, “Naval Aviation, an Evolution of Naval Gunfire,” USNI Proceeding

78 (February 1952): 251–55.

28. Bellinger, “Aviation,” 4, 6–7, 13–15; see also Standley, 251–55.

29. Francis L. Keith, “Steps toward Naval Readiness: An Examination o

United States Fleet Problems” (College Park, Md.: University of Maryland

142
1976), 29–30 (copy provided to author by Curtis Utz, Defense Intelligenc

Agency).

30. Melhorn, 9, 21–54. For a discussion of the decisiveness of ai

superiority in connection with spotting for the battle line and the associate

techniques, see [Henry Mustin?] “The Use of Airplanes for Observation o

Fire of the Battle Line” (1920?), Mustin Papers, box 8, Library of Congress

Rear Adm J. K. Taussig, USN, “The Case for the Big Capital Ship,” USN

Proceedings 66 (July 1940): 929–40, gives an articulate argument for th

orthodox view on the eve of Pearl Harbor. For an excellent shorte

summary, see Norman Friedman, US Aircraft Carriers: An Illustrated Desig

History (Annapolis: USNI Press, 1983), 8–9. For early views on the subjec

see George C. Westervelt, “Aviation Situation Abroad,” page 240, testimon

to the General Board, in US Navy General Board, “GB Proceedings 80,” ree

11, M1493, 1917, National Archives.

31. George Baer, One Hundred Years of Sea Power: The U.S. Navy

1890–1990 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1994), 90.

32. Melhorn, 24–25; and Baer, 93, 120.

33. Capt Yates Stirling Jr., USN, “Some Fundamentals of Sea Power

USNI Proceedings 51 (June 1925): 889–918.

34. On war gaming against the Japanese, see Commander James A

Barber Jr., USN, “The School of Naval Warfare,” Naval War College Revie

21 (April 1969): 19–96; Lt Commander Thomas B. Buell, USN, “Admira

Raymond A. Spruance and the Naval War College,” part 1, “Preparing fo

World War II,” in Naval War College Review 23 (March 1971): 30–51; Crow

“Education versus Training at the Naval War College,” 2–10; Edward S

Miller, War Plan Orange: The US Strategy to Defeat Japan, 1897–194

(Annapolis: USNI Press, 1991); and Rear Adm William S. Sims, USN, “Th

United States Naval War College,” USNI Proceedings 45 (September 1919)

1485–493.

On maneuvers, see Archibald D. Turnbull and Clifford L. Lord, History o

United States Naval Aviation (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Pres

1949), 270–81; Keith; Rear Adm John D. Hayes, USN, Retired, “Admira

Joseph Mason Reeves, USN,” Naval War College Review 23 (Novembe

1970): 54–55; and Eugene E. Wilson, “The Navy’s First Carrier Task Force

USNI Proceedings 76 (February 1950): 159–69.

For a view that submarines and aircraft would undermine the position o

the battleship although command of the sea remained a paramoun

consideration, see Rear Adm W. F. Fullam, USN, Retired, “Statement o

Rear Admiral W. F. Fullam . . . to the Aircraft Investigating Committee o

Congress,” draft, 1924, Fullam Papers, box 7, Library of Congress. In 

1977 interview, page 31, USNA Special Collections, Adm John Thac

recollects that he had participated in mock attacks on Panama on his fir

cruise in the Saratoga, in about 1931. In “The Influence of Aircraft on Nava

Strategy and Tactics” (thesis, Naval War College, 7 May 1934), page 3

Record Group 13, NWC History Collection, Capt John H. Towers, USN

143
remarked that 

one should in the beginning of his study definitely eliminat

from his mind the idea that aircraft will revolutionize naval warfare.”

35. Trimble, 67; Westervelt, in “Statement of Captain G. C. Westervelt

also argued in 1925 for the creation of a separate aviation corps within th

Navy—though he was resolutely opposed to any separate air force.

36. Barlow, 4.

37. Trimble, 67–86; Clark G. Reynolds, Admiral John H. Towers: Th

Struggle for Naval Air Supremacy (Annapolis: USNI Press, 1991), 176; an

idem, “William A. Moffett,” in Bradford, 374. Theodore Taylor, in Th

Magnificent Mitscher (New York: W. W. Norton, 1954), 88–89, shows tha

Mitscher shared the harsh feelings on the parts of some aviators towar

their seniors who went to flight training as senior officers, seemingly t

preempt the top commands in naval aviation without having paid thei

dues.

38. Reynolds, Towers, 319, 432; and Trimble, 7–8.

39. Rear Adm Nathan C. Twining, USN, USS New Mexico, at San Pedro

Calif., to Captain Mustin, aboard the USS Aroostook, letter, 24 Decembe

1919, Mustin Papers, box 7, Library of Congress.

40. Westervelt, “Statement of Captain G. C. Westervelt.”

41. Hurley, 24–25.

42. Commander H. C. Dinger, USN, “Aviation Abroad,” testimony, in U

Navy General Board, 23 August 1918, “GB Proceedings 80,” M1493, 1918

National Archives. In “Aviation Organization in Great Britain, France, an

Italy,” report to the secretary of the Navy, 25 August 1919, Mustin Papers

box 3, Library of Congress, Capt Henry Mustin, USN, expressed a contrar

view. He remarked on a general tendency toward centralization of th

management of airpower, including naval airpower, in approving terms. H

also cited that the main opposition to the Air Ministry and the RAF i

Britain lay within the ranks of the Royal Navy. See also Commander J. L

Callan, USNRF, to Capt Henry Mustin, USN, “Memo for Captain Mustin,” 

July 1919, Mustin Papers, box 3, Library of Congress, which reports o

their visit to the HMS Furious and her captain’s advice urging that th

United States not follow the British example.

43. Vice Adm F. W. Pennoyer Jr., USN, Retired, “Outline of US Carrie

Development, 1911–1942,” draft, 17 December 1968, E. E. Wilson Papers

binder 7, USNA Special Collections.

44. Lt Commander H. T. Bartlett, USN, “Mission of Aircraft with th

Fleet,” USNI Proceedings 45 (January 1919): 729–41; Craven, “Nava

Aviation,” 181–91; idem, “Naval Aviation and a United Air Service,” USN

Proceedings 47 (January 1921): 307–21; Commander D. E. Cummings, “Th

Air Detachment,” USNI Proceedings 46 (January 1920): 891–94; idem, “Us

of Aircraft in Naval Warfare,” USNI Proceedings 47 (November 1921)

1677–88; Lt Forrest P. Sherman, “Naval Aircraft in International Law,” USN

Proceedings 51 (October 1925): 258–64; idem, “Air Warfare,” USN

Proceedings 52 (January 1926): 62–71; idem, “Some Aspects of Carrier an

Cruiser Design,” USNI Proceedings 56 (November 1930): 997–1002; L

144
DeWitt C. Ramsey, USN, 

The Development of Aviation in the Fleet, USN

Proceedings 49 (September 1923): 1395–1417; Lt Logan C. Ramsey

“Aircraft and the Naval Engagement,” USNI Proceedings 56 (August 1930)

679–87; idem, “Bombing versus Torpedo Planes,” USNI Proceedings 5

(November 1931): 1509–15; idem, “Air Power Is Sea Power,” USN

Proceedings 67 (July 1941): 921–26; Commander H. M. Kieffer, USN

“Control of the Seas by an Air Department,” USNI Proceedings 51 (Octobe

1925): 2265–70; Rear Adm Bradley A. Fiske (another one of those peopl

who did not need external prodding), “The Warfare of the Future,” USN

Proceedings 47 (February 1921): 157–67; Lt Commander H. B. Grow, USN

“Bombing Tests on the ‘Virginia’ and ‘New Jersey,’” USNI Proceedings 4

(January 1923): 1087–98; idem, “Tactical Employment of Naval Aircraft

USNI Proceedings 50 (March 1924): 341–51; Commander Jerome C

Hunsaker, USN, “The Navy’s First Airships,” USNI Proceedings 45 (Januar

1919): 1347–68; David S. Ingalls, “Naval Aviation Today and in Prospect

USNI Proceedings 56 (October 1930): 891–94; Capt A. W. Johnson, USN

“Aviation in Coast Defense,” USNI Proceedings 51 (September 1925)

1652–66; “Admiral Moffett Claims All Sea Flying for Navy,” Professiona

Notes, USNI Proceedings 50 (August 1924): 1364–74; Lt Franklin G

Percival, USN, Retired, “Elements Contributing to Aerial Superiority,” USN

Proceedings 57 (April 1931): 437–47; Lt DeWitt C. Ramsey, USN, “Th

Development of Aviation in the Fleet,” USNI Proceedings 49 (Septembe

1923): 1395–1417; Capt Yates Stirling Jr., USN (himself a submariner)

“The Place of Aviation in the Organization for War,” USNI Proceedings 5

(June 1926): 1100–10; idem, “Some Fundamentals of Sea Power,” 899–918

Lt Frank W. Wead, USN, “Naval Aviation Today,” USNI Proceedings 50 (Apr

1924): 561–74; Henry Woodhouse, “The Torpedoplane: The New Weapo

Which Promises to Revolutionize Naval Tactics,” USNI Proceedings 4

(January 1919): 743–52; and Eugene E. Wilson, “The Navy’s First Carrie

Task Force,” USNI Proceedings 76 (February 1950): 59–69. Although thi

listing is not a complete survey, it is certainly massive enough to indicat

that air-mindedness was more than a whim of the editorial staff or the mer

output of a particularly prolific splinter group within the Navy.

45. See Commander Kenneth Whiting, testimony to the General Board

8 March 1919, page 195, in US Navy General Board, “GB Proceedings 80

reel 13, M1493, 1919, National Archives.

46. Melhorn, 37–38; and Bristol letter. Though then in charge of th

Office of Naval Aeronautics, Bristol was not an aviator, and he made th

above analogy explicit two years before the United States entered World Wa

I. On the general acceptance of the notion of the primary need to comman

the air, see Pratt, “Some Aspects of Our Air Policy.” For an example as earl

as 27 March 1919, see Commander John Towers and Adm A. G. Winterhalte

remarks, page 364, in US Navy General Board, “GB Proceedings 80,” ree

14, M1493, 1919, vol. 2, National Archives.

47. Miller; Buell, 40–46; and Louis Morton, “War Plan Orange: Evolutio

of a Strategy,” World Politics 11 (October 1958–July 1959): 221–50. For a

145
explanation by one of the primary actors, see briefing paper, William A

Moffett Collection, part 2, item J, USNA Special Collections, probably don

in preparation of the US delegation to the London Naval Conference o

1930. For a contemporary discussion of how it worked in practice, see Adm

John H. Towers, “Strategic Employment of Naval Forces as the Essentia

Element of World War II in the Pacific,” draft speech, n.d., Towers Paper

box 4, Library of Congress. There was some dissent to the idea and to th

generally held preference for the offensive, as in Rear Adm W. F. Fullam

USN, Retired, “The Passing of Sea Power: And the Dawn of a New Naval Er

in Which Battleships Are Obsolete,” McClure’s, June 1923, Fullam Papers

box 7, Library of Congress.

48. Bellinger, “Tactics,” 12.

49. Keith, 20, 31; Barlow, 8; and Robert L. O’Connell, Sacred Vessels

The Cult of the Battleship and the Rise of the U.S. Navy (Boulder, Colo

Westview Press, 1991), 301.

50. See briefing paper cited in note 47, above.

51. Elmer B. Potter, Bull Halsey (Annapolis: USNI Press, 1985), 136. Se

“The Employment of Aviation in Naval Warfare,” staff presentation, Nava

War College, September 1937, page 44, Record Group 4, NWC Histor

Collection, which proclaims it “unnecessary to open the controversia

subject.” In his Naval War College thesis of 1934, Capt John H. Towers

USN, World War II spiritual head of the entire naval aviation community

remarked that “the generally accepted object of Naval Strategy is to gai

and maintain control of the sea. There may be qualifying phrases, such a

‘in the vital area’ or ‘in the theatre of operations’ etc. The purposes o

gaining and maintaining control are: to stop enemy trade while your ow

trade has freedom of movement, to deny overseas operations to the enemy

and be able to conduct them yourselves. . . . Its [the carrier’s] missions ca

and should be varied, dependent upon the character of the operations, bu

in the final battle, its primary mission should be support of the battle line

(page 13). See Record Group 13, Naval History Collection; additional copy i

Towers Papers, box 4, Library of Congress.

52. See Melhorn; and Curtis Utz, “Carrier Aviation Policy an

Procurement” (master’s thesis, University of Maryland, 1989), 2.

53. Keith, 2, 28, 39. For a first-person account of the development of th

task force idea and carrier aviation in general, see Pennoyer.

54. Melhorn; Curtis Alan Utz, “Carrier Aviation Policy and Procuremen

in the US Navy, 1936–1940” (master’s thesis, University of Maryland, 1989)

Potter, 137; and Rosen, Winning the Next War, 58.

55. Baer, 143.

56. Reynolds, “William A. Moffett: Steward of the Air Revolution,” 379.

57. Adm Frederick J. Horne, USN, “Kiwanis Club, 27 Oct 38,” draf

speech, Horne Papers, box 2, Library of Congress. In this speech, Horn

renders what I deem a near-classical expression of Navy officers’ genera

worldview; it appears to have been prepared for presentation by Admira

Horne.

146
58. Clearly, the idea of independent carrier task forces antedated Pear

Harbor and the lost battleships, having its genesis in part in the annua

fleet exercises dating from the late 1920s. See Turnbull and Lord; Hayes

54–55; Reynolds, Towers, 272, 292; idem, “The U.S. Fleet-in-Being Strateg

of 1942,” 109–11; and Paul M. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of British Nav

Mastery (Atlantic Highlands, N.J.: Ashfield, 1976), 305.

59. “It is quite possible that ORANGE resistance will cease whe

isolation is complete and before steps to reduce military strength o

ORANGE soil are necessary. In either case the operations imposed upo

BLUE will require a series of bases westward from Oahu, and will requir

the BLUE Fleet to advance westward with an enormous train, in order to b

prepared to seize and establish bases.” Nimitz, “Thesis on Tactics,” 35.

60. Baer, 127.

61. Thomas B. Buell, Master of Sea Power: A Biography of Fleet Admira

Ernest J. King (Boston: Little, Brown, 1980), 182–97, 468–73; E. B. Potte

Nimitz (Annapolis: USNI Press, 1970), 271; Thomas J. Cutler, “Greatest o

All Sea Battles,” Naval History 8 (September/October 1994): 10–18; Jac

Sweetman, “Leyte Gulf,” USNI Proceedings 120 (October 1994): 56–58; an

Milan N. Vego, “The Sho-1 Plan,” USNI Proceedings 120 (October 1994)

61–63.

62. Kennedy, 303.

63. Buell, “Preparing for World War II,” 45; Potter, Bull Halsey, 346; an

Towers, “Strategic Employment of Naval Forces.”

64. Melhorn, 21; Capt W. D. Puleston, USN, Retired, “The Probabl

Effect on American National Defense of the United Nations and the Atomi

Bomb,” USNI Proceedings 72 (August 1946): 1017–29; Chester W. Nimitz

“The Future Employment of Naval Forces” (a paper expressing the views o

Fleet Admiral Nimitz on the function of naval forces in maintaining th

future security of the United States), 1947, Whitehead Papers, box 648

Special Collections, National Museum of Naval Aviation, Pensacola, Fla

Adm Arthur W. Radford, USN, “Statement of Arthur W. Radford, Admira

United States Navy, Commander-in-Chief Pacific Fleet . . . before the Arme

Services Committee of the House of Representatives Investigating the B-36

[1949], Halsey Papers, box 51, Library of Congress; Adm Raymond A

Spruance, “Statement by R. A. Spruance, Admiral, US Navy, Retired

Delivered before the House Armed Services Committee” [1949?], Halse

Papers, box 51, Library of Congress; and Adm John H. Towers, USN, draf

speech [1951–53], Towers Papers, box 4, Library of Congress.

65. Friedman, 3.

66. Reynolds, Towers, 507–45; “Aircraft Carrier,” staff presentation

Naval War College, 4 February 1943, Record Group 4, NWC Histor

Collection; Taylor, 321; and “Fast Carrier Task Force,” staff presentation

Naval War College, 26 July 1945, page 1, Record Group 4, NWC Histor

Collection.

67. Thomas B. Buell, The Quiet Warrior: A Biography of Admira

Raymond A. Spruance (Annapolis: USNI Press, 1987), 385–86; “Statemen

147
by R. A. Spruance,

 10–11; Potter, Nimitz, 356; and W. D. Lanier Jr

“Victory and the B-29s,” USNI Proceedings 72 (December 1946): 1563–567.

68. Barlow, 292.

69. Rear Adm Ralph A. Ofstie, USN, “Statement of Ralph A. Ofstie . . . t

the Armed Services Committee of the House of Representatives,” n.d

Halsey Papers, box 51, Library of Congress; Buell, The Quiet Warrior, 350

353, 354, 367; Potter, Nimitz, 372 (Potter reports that Nimitz also had hi

reservations about city bombing); and Steven L. Rearden, History of th

Office of the Secretary of Defense, vol. 1, The Formative Years (Washington

D.C.: Office of the Secretary of Defense, 1984), 415.

70. Capt Paul R. Schratz, USN, Retired, “The Admirals’ Revolt,” USN

Proceedings 112 (February 1986): 64–71; Builder, 77–80; Lawrence J. Korb

“Service Unification: Arena of Fears, Hopes, and Ironies,” USNI Proceeding

104 (May 1978): 170–83; and Rearden, 385–422, are only drops in a sea o

literature on a subject that contains a wide variety of interpretations. Dr

Jeffrey Barlow, for example, interprets the views of Admirals Nimitz an

Sherman as fairly well articulated and confident in the aftermath of th

Bikini atomic bomb tests. See Barlow, 80.

71. Frank Uhlig Jr., How Navies Fight: The US Navy and Its Allie

(Annapolis: USNI Press, 1994), 286–87.

72. Donald Edward Wilson, “The History of President Truman’s Ai

Policy Commission and Its Influence on Air Policy, 1947–1949” (PhD diss

University of Denver, 1978); George M. Watson Jr., The Office of th

Secretary of the Air Force (Washington, D.C.: Center for Air Force History

1993), 35–78; Ofstie; and Friedman, 19–21.

73. Potter, Nimitz, 402.

74. Rear Adm Daniel V. Gallery, USN, Retired, Eight Bells, and All’s We

(New York: W. W. Norton, 1965), 228–29. The roots of Air Force–Navy

Marine Corps rivalry far antedate Gallery and even the Mitchell bombin

tests, as shown in the testimony of the pioneer USMC aviator Alfred A

Cunningham to the General Board on 5 February 1918 with his commen

“You [the USN] could have the field [an Army Air Service base in wartim

Florida] for the training of these fighting pilots and you won’t have t

depend on the charity of the Army, which is very unpleasant.” See US Nav

General Board, “GB Proceedings 80,” reel 12, M1493, 1918, Nationa

Archives.

75. Gallery, Eight Bells, 217–35; Watson, 35–78; Rearden, 385–422

George T. Hodermarsky, “Postwar Naval Force Reduction, 1945–50: Impac

on the Next War” (Newport, R.I.: Center for Naval Warfare Studies

Advanced Research Department, Naval War College, 1990), 1–69 (copy i

Air University Library, Maxwell AFB, Ala.); and Uhlig, 286–87.

76. Buell, Master of Sea Power, 364–66, 374; Reynolds, Towers, 257

370–71, and chap. 17, “Shaping the New Order of Air-Sea Power afte

1945,” 512–59.

77. See “Statement by R. A. Spruance,” 6, wherein he cites the growin

Soviet submarine threat based on technology transferred from Germany a

148
the single most serious problem facing the Navy at that time; an

Friedman, 3.

78. Hodermarsky, 1–69; and Friedman, 17.

79. David A. Rosenberg, “American Postwar Air Doctrine an

Organization: The Navy Experience,” in Air Power and Warfare: Proceeding

of the 8th Military History Symposium, United States Air Force Academy

18–20 Oct, 1978, ed. Alfred F. Hurley and Robert C. Ehrhart (Washington

D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1979), 245–70; and idem, “Reality an

Responsibility: Power and Process in Making of United States Nuclea

Strategy, 1945–68,” The Journal of Strategic Studies 9 (March 1986): 35–52

80. Adm James D. Watkins, USN, The Maritime Strategy (Annapoli

USNI Press, 1986); John J. Mearsheimer, “A Strategic Misstep: Th

Maritime Strategy and Deterrence in Europe,” International Security 11 (Fa

1986): 3–57; Sean O’Keefe, “Interview: Be Careful What You Ask For,” USN

Proceedings 119 (January 1993): 73–76; Gen Carl E. Mundy, USMC

“Coping with Change: The Department of the Navy and the Future,

Strategic Review 22 (Winter 1994): 20–24; and Geoffrey Till, “Maritim

Power in the Twenty-First Century,” The Journal of Strategic Studies 1

(March 1994): 176–99.

149
Chapter 5

Airpower Thought in Continental Europe

between the Wars

Dr. James S. Corum

One of the most innovative and fruitful periods in th

history of airpower thought was the interwar period in

Continental Europe. By the end of World War I, all the majo

powers had acquired considerable experience in aerial warfare

Most military professionals and civilian politicians were awar

that airpower would remain a vital aspect of military power. Th

primary role of this revolutionary new weapon, however

remained unclear. Would the air force primarily support th

other services, or would it operate independently?

The Continental powers faced the challenge of absorbin

and incorporating the experiences of the world war, th

capabilities of emerging aviation technology, and th

traditional principles of land and naval warfare, to create 

fundamental theory of airpower. They also faced the challenge

as important as the development of airpower theory, o

applying this theory as practical operational doctrine, read

for use in planning and directing air operations.

The four major air powers of Continental Europe in th

interwar period were France , Italy, the Soviet Union, an

Germany. This chapter outlines the development of airpowe

theory in each nation, paying particular attention to th

interrelationship of theory and doctrine.

France

France in the interwar period provides an excellent exampl

of how the lack of effective and appropriate air doctrin

reduced a nation from a premier air power at the end of World

War I to a second-rate force at the outbreak of World War II

Ineffective air performance in 1940 played a decisive role in

the defeat of France . The weakness of l’armée de l’air did no

151
result from a lack of funding or a lack of technologica

capability, but from a senior military leadership that had littl

understanding of airpower and its capabilities. In the interwa

period, the French produced few original airpower theorists

and the senior military leadership at first reluctantly listene

to the airpower theories developed in France and late

repudiated them.

At the end of World War I, the French air service was th

second largest air force in the world: 90,000 men and ove

thirty-seven hundred aircraft in service on all fronts.1 Durin

the war, the French aircraft industry and aircraft engin

industry led the world in production and technical efficiency

By 1918 the French had produced the world’s firs

supercharged engine as well as the Spad VII and Spad XII

fighters and the Breguet XIV bomber—the equal of thei

German counterparts. By the last year of the war, the French

air force had developed into a superb tactical unit.

In 1918 the primary mission of the French air service wa

the support of army ground troops by reconnaissance

artillery spotting, close air support, and interdiction attacks

The air service successfully provided close air support t

French and US offensives from June to November 1918. A

this time, the primary targets for French airmen include

German troop reserves, depots, airfields, and rail yards clos

to the front.2 During the last three months of the war, th

French attempted a strategic air campaign by interdicting rai

shipments of iron ore in the Briey Basin . This campaign ha

little effect, considering the effort put into it; indeed, th

French high command judged it a failure.3

Despite the premier position of the French air force in th

aftermath of World War I, the French put little effort int

developing and revising airpower doctrine for the force. A

committee of 16 officers wrote the postwar French arm

operational regulation—Instruction provisoire sur l’emplo

tactique des grandes unités (1921). Only one of thes

officers—Gen Bertrand Pujo (later chief of staff of the ai

force)—was an airman. Postwar army operational doctrin

found itself essentially frozen in the tactical methods of 1918

known as la bataille conduite (methodical battle), which

emphasized advances in slow stages, covered by massiv

152
artillery support.4

 In contrast to German army doctrine

French operational doctrine made little mention of airpowe

except in its reconnaissance and observation roles. Though

revised in 1936, the principles of French army doctrin

remained basically unchanged throughout the interwar period

Prior to 1925, the primary activity of the French air forc

was supporting the army’s ground campaigns in Morocco. In

the French air service journal, most discussion concerned th

tactical and support aspects of aviation .

5

 By the mid-1920s

however, French airmen had begun to chafe in thi

subordinate role. As the army’s new Maginot Line devoured 

massive share of appropriations, funds available for air forc

modernization shrank. By tradition, French officers were no

encouraged to openly disagree with official operationa

doctrine, so airmen sought a means of encouraging the role o

airpower and the independence of the air force by discussin

the concepts of the Italian general Giulio Douhet. The firs

discussion of Douhet’s thought appeared in Revue Maritime in

1927. 6 In the early 1930s, French officers published book

and articles that commented favorably on Douhet’s theories.

An aviation journal, Les Aíles, translated a large part o

Douhet ’s The Command of the Air (1921) into French.

Douhet ’s stature as a military theorist provided French

airmen with a legitimate means of mobilizing popular an

political support for the creation of an independent air force.

9

Part of the independence campaign of French airmen wa

realized in 1928 with the establishment of the Air Ministry

which for the first time assured airmen and their views o

limited access to the top defense councils. Although the ai

service reported to the Air Ministry in peacetime, in wartime i

remained subordinate to the army. Only in 1933 did the ai

force officially become a separate branch of the military. Th

service found its independence still limited, however, becaus

the High Command of the armed forces set objectives an

provided strategic direction for all the armed forces—and th

army dominated the High Command. In the interwar period

only three generals—Philippe Petain , Maxime Weygand, an

Maurice-Gustave Gamelin—held the Supreme Command. Al

were army officers, and none had more than a minima

understanding of airpower. Army and air force understandin

153
of doctrine grew increasingly divergent in this period. By th

early 1930s, Douhet ’s tenets had become the predominan

view among air force officers. At the same time, French arm

commanders continued to hold the view that the air forc

merely supported the infantry. 1 0

French airmen enhanced service independence by puttin

some of Douhet’s theories into practice. In the early 1930s

the Air Ministry began the production of several aircraf

models that fit Douhet’s conception of the battle plane

well-armed, heavy aircraft that could carry out a variety o

roles but whose primary mission remained bombing

Bombing, combat, and reconnaissance (BCR) aircraft would

carry out reconnaissance and ground attack for the army ye

could carry out strategic bombing attacks as well. Indeed

some French air force officers openly acknowledged tha

designating BCR units as reconnaissance units provided th

only means of building up the bomber force. 1 1 Only Franc

seriously put this aspect of Douhet’s theory into practice. In

this instance, however, the theory failed. Designed for severa

missions, BCRs were not particularly effective at any one o

them. The BCR program resulted in a series of thoroughly

mediocre aircraft, many of which were still in service in 1940

when they served as cannon fodder for German fighters.

12

The most original of the French interwar air theorists wa

Pierre Cot , who served two terms as air minister—from

January 1933 to February 1934 and from January 1936 t

1938. Cot was a socialist member of Parliament and a wartim

pilot who was passionately devoted to airpower. During hi

tenure, he attempted to build a modern strategic air force t

match the German Luftwaffe and to create a foundation fo

the rearmament of l’armée de l’air. By 1934 the moribun

French air force was far behind the Luftwaffe in technica

development and airpower potential. Cot , however, pushe

numerous other programs in addition to his attempts t

establish a strategic air force , one of the first of which involve

improving the aviation infrastructure, particularly th

navigation and instrumentation capabilities of the air forc

and civil aviation.13 In the popular Cot , French airmen for th

first time had a champion willing to speak out forcefully an

advocate the need for fundamental reforms. 1 4

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Cot

s primary accomplishment during his first term as ai

minister was the creation of Plan I—France’s first program fo

a comprehensive aerial rearmament. Although Co

enthusiastically believed in the primacy of strategic bombing

Plan I featured almost equal numbers of new bombers (474)

fighters (480), and reconnaissance planes (411). 15

At this time, the French aviation industry comprise

numerous small companies with little capital and largely

unmechanized production methods. In an attempt to create 

modern aviation industry to match Germany’s, Cot argued fo

the nationalization and reorganization of the industry. In 193

the government consolidated small companies into large

corporations, initially resulting in confusion and a drop in

production but paying off in higher production levels of mor

modern aircraft on the eve of World War II. Politica

conservatives strongly criticized Cot for nationalizing th

industry, but air force officers supported his action; the

understood that he was motivated not by politics but a desir

to modernize the air force.

During Cot’s second term as air minister (1936–38), h

initiated several fundamental reforms of air doctrine an

organization. Cot and senior air force generals Victor Demain

and Joseph Vuillemin (air force chief of staff from 1938 t

1940) argued that “the air force must be capable o

independent operations, of operations in coordination with th

army and navy, and of air defense of the national territory.”1

To further this vision, Cot ordered major organizationa

reforms in September 1936. Instead of being divided int

territorial areas and subordinated to the regional arm

commanders, the air force comprised three tactica

commands. France’s bomber force was I Air Corps, compose

of nine bomber wings and nine reconnaissance wings. All th

fighters—eight wings—were in II Air Corps, under a single

command. And 26 groups were allocated to the army suppor

mission under army command. 17 The two corps would serv

under air force—not local army—command. For the first time

France had created—albeit with obsolete aircraft—a forc

capable of strategic bombing operations.

During his tenure, Cot thoroughly revised the primar

operational doctrine of the air force. Operational regulations o

155
1936 included a strategic bombing mission: 

The heav

defensive aircraft [the bomber] has the mission of attackin

targets on the battlefield and enemy lines of communication

as well as strategic enemy centers to the limit of thei

range.”18 Notably, the French government and High Comman

remained so defensively oriented in the mid-1930s that the ai

force could create strategic bombing units only by using th

euphemism “heavy defensive aircraft.”

Operational directives of 1937 more specifically required th

targeting of enemy industry: “As an offensive battle, the ai

battle has the goal of destroying the primary power of th

enemy by bombing the enemy armed forces as well a

attacking the lines of communication , the facilities that ensur

the mobility of the enemy forces as well as the centers o

production which provide necessary materials to the enemy.”19

In addition to the strategic mission, Cot argued for th

necessity of gaining and keeping air superiority: “The mission

of the air force in war is to create conditions so that the sk

can be used for all purposes and to ensure that the enemy’

ability to use the air for the same purposes is limited.”20 At th

same time, Cot attempted to reassure the army that tactica

and support aviation remained the primary missions of the ai

force: “Participation in ground operations belongs to th

fundamental missions of the air force. All of the operationa

capabilities can be utilized for this purpose.”2 1

One of Cot’s most interesting innovations was the creation

of an experimental airborne force in 1937. The 175-man unit

called “air force infantry,” participated in the Brittan

maneuvers that year 22 and showed real promise befor

quickly disbanding when Cot was replaced as aviation

minister in 1938. By their very nature, airborne forces ar

offensive units. But the air force had little support in th

higher reaches of the dominant army leadership for a program

to create an offensive force and doctrine.

Cot revised the French air force rearmament plans in 193

to ensure the creation of a modern, effective strategic force

Unlike his Plan I, Plan II gave top priority to bombe

production (1,339 aircraft) and lowest priority to fighters (756

and reconnaissance planes (645). 2 3

156
Reforms of air force doctrine and attempts to modernize th

air force made little impression upon either the thinking of th

French army’s senior officers or the operational doctrine of th

army. In dramatic contrast to British, German, and Sovie

theorists of mechanized warfare, French theorist Lt Co

Charles de Gaulle showed almost no interest in the rol

aviation could play in the ground battle . In his controversia

book Vers l’Armée de Métier (1934), de Gaulle argued for 

radical reformation of the French army and creation of 

seven-division armored force that would form the primar

offensive striking power of the army in wartime. Although h

argued for giving tanks a central role in army doctrine, d

Gaulle ’s few references to airpower dealt only with

reconnaissance and observation of artillery fire.24

The revised French army operational doctrine of 193

showed little confidence in the air force’s ability to conduc

anything more than pure support operations. Bombing enem

targets received fourth priority as an airpower mission, behin

reconnaissance , liaison, and air defense.

25 Although Co

argued for an aggressive air superiority strategy, the army’

operational doctrine emphasized the improbability o

achieving air superiority: “Air superiority can only be achieve

on the front lines and then only for limited periods.”2 6 In 193

Gamelin commented, “The role of aviation is apt to b

exaggerated, and after the early days of war the wastage wil

be such that it will more and more be confined to acting as an

accessory to the army.”2 7

After Cot lost his position as air minister in 1938, he wrot

L’Armée de l’Air (1939), which provided a thorough critique o

French air doctrine in the interwar period. Although th

French air force had become nominally independent, airpowe

lacked comprehensiveness. For example, the air defense of th

country came under the jurisdiction of three differen

ministries. The army’s artillery branch produced an

controlled antiaircraft guns; civil defense came under th

Ministry of the Interior; and fighter defense became th

responsibility of the Air Ministry. Cot criticized such

decentralization, arguing for the unification of all aspects o

airpower under a single command. Neither Cot nor Douhe

commentators P. Vauthier and Camille Rougeron denied th

157
importance of support aviation for the army, but th

development of the strategic air force remained their top priority

The replacement of Cot with Guy LeChambre as air ministe

killed any hope for real reform in the air force. LeChambr

disbanded the strategic air force that Cot had tried to create

and new production plans gave fighter planes top priority. 2

The paratroop force created by Cot met the same fate, and n

one seemed interested in incorporating antiaircraft defense

civil defense, and fighter defense under one command. With

the support of the army’s High Command, LeChambr

rescinded some of Cot’s most significant reforms—organizing 

bomber force under air force command and placing all fighter

for home defense under a single command. The bomber an

fighter groups reverted to the direct control of army regiona

commanders. General Gamelin insisted that the primary dut

of airpower lay in protecting the army from enemy ai

attack,29 nullifying previous attempts to instill an offensiv

orientation in the French air force.

At the outbreak of World War II, in many respects, French ai

doctrine exhibited little change from 1918. Fighter unit

defended specific sectors, and air units fell under th

jurisdiction and direct control of army regional commanders

Although the French air force remained by doctrine an arm

support force, few updates of operational doctrine for suppor

operations had occurred. For most of the interwar period, th

French air force showed little interest in dive-bombers or attack

aviation . The air war in Spain from 1936 to 1939, however, led

to a renaissance in doctrinal thought among French air forc

officers. French military journals reported and commented in

great detail on the air operations of both sides in Spain . Betwee

1937 and 1939, German and Italian use of dive-bombers an

bombers in the interdiction and close air support roles receive

favorable coverage on numerous occasions in both Revue d

l’Armée de l’Air and Revue Militaire Générale .

3 0 Air force genera

Maginel cited the successful use of attack aviation agains

ground troops in the Battle of Guadalajara in 1937 as a model o

airpower in support operations.31

Unfortunately, this innovative analysis within the office

corps came too late to enable a revision of tactical suppor

doctrine throughout the air force. Moreover, the army wa

158
reluctant to change its methods. Army liaison and comman

apparatus for the air force in 1940 had not improved sinc

1918. When the 1940 campaign began, it took the army si

hours to get a request for air support to the air force .

32 In

contrast, German armor divisions could have requests for ai

support passed to the Luftwaffe Air Corps headquarters within

minutes—and could obtain the intervention of Stukas o

bombers over the battlefront within an hour.

Army commanders were primarily responsible for the lack o

effective air doctrine in the interwar period. Gamelin , i

particular, showed minimal interest in, and little knowledge of

military aviation. Much blame, however, resided on the air forc

side. In many respects, the interwar French air force cultur

resembled a pilots’ club rather than a serious militar

organization. The techniques of close air support and arm

support were neither clearly thought through nor tested, an

the few attempts airmen made to reform the system wer

quickly stymied.

The war in Spain triggered a serious review of airpowe

doctrine within the French air force officer corps. Air forc

officers reexamined fighter and bomber tactics and the use o

attack aviation . The French air force journal Revue de l’Armé

de l’Air published some of the best analysis of the Spanish ai

war. Neither the events of Spain nor the desire of air forc

officers to reform air doctrine, however, had any considerabl

impact upon General Gamelin or Air Minister LeChambre. An

army-dominated High Command, largely and profoundl

ignorant of the capabilities of modern airpower, frustrated

France ’s last chance to develop an effective operational ai

doctrine.

Italy

Although Giulio Douhet is virtually the only name generally

associated with interwar Italian aviation, the Italian militar

produced other notable aviation theorists whose influence, in

Italy at least, surpassed Douhet’s. The thesis of The Comman

of the Air, which urged the development of a strategic air forc

that would strike decisively at the enemy’s homeland, migh

have found popularity in Europe , but Douhet’s home country b

159
no means accepted it uncritically. For a decade and a half

from the early 1920s to the late 1930s, the Italian air forc

journal Rivista Aeronautica witnessed a lively debate betwee

Douhet and supporters of his strategic bombing theories , and th

advocates of tactical aviation, led by the eloquent general Amede

Mecozzi (1892–1971), a decorated airman of World War I.

33

As a captain in the 1920s, Mecozzi began a literar

campaign opposing the theories of Douhet and advocatin

what he termed the primacy of assault aviation—namely, tha

aviation was inherently joint and performed at its best in clos

air support and interdiction campaigns. In dozens of article

written in the 1920s and 1930s, he systematically refuted th

theses of Douhet. For example, in contrast to Douhet’s oppositio

to air reserve forces, Mecozzi stressed the importance o

maintaining an air reserve for employment during critica

moments of the ground battle , illustrating his principles with

examples from the world war.34 In another article, Mecozz

denied Douhet ’s denigration of defending against aeria

bombardment by proposing, in detail, a coordinated air defens

plan for Italy , with fighter groups covering specific zones.35

The heart of Mecozzi’s air theories was his proposal for th

organization of the air force into three units: a strategic

bomber force to attack the enemy nation, a naval air force t

oppose the enemy’s navy, and a third force to oppose th

enemy’s army. Of the three forces, the one created to oppos

the enemy army and to support the Italian army would b

primary and, accordingly, would receive the largest share o

aircraft and personnel.3 6 From the time he began his article

in the 1920s until the outbreak of World War II, Mecozzi’

concepts gained ever greater popularity within the Italian ai

force and military High Command. 37

Mecozzi’s ideas strongly influenced Air Marshal Italo Balbo

Italian air minister from 1926 to 1933. Although Balbo ofte

praised Douhet, unofficial prophet of Italian air doctrine, hi

reverence for Douhet was more for show than for real. With hi

strong connections to the Fascist Party, Douhet became 

popular figure in Italy, so senior air force officers claimed t

follow Douhet as a display of Fascist correctness. In practice

though, Balbo tended to uphold the concepts of support an

assault aviation as propounded by Mecozzi. As early as 1929

160
under Balbo

s direction, the Italian air force organized tactica

ground-attack units and practiced maneuvers based upo

Mecozzi’s ideas.38 In 1931 the Italian air force established it

first ground-assault group under the command of Colone

Mecozzi.

39 By 1935 the Italian Air Ministry had developed an

produced a heavy, single-engined assault aircraft—the Bred

65—with a 1,000 kg bombload, in accordance with Mecozzi

theories.4 0

Mecozzi opposed Douhet’s concepts on moral and practica

grounds. On moral grounds, he scathingly referred t

Douhet ’s theories as “war against the unarmed.” On 

practical level, Mecozzi viewed Douhet’s strategic bombin

concepts as inappropriate to the kind of war that Italy migh

have to fight. Balbo seconded this view in an article on aeria

warfare published in Encyclopaedia Italiana in 1938. H

argued that one could not apply Douhet ’s concepts in al

circumstances, providing numerous examples, such as th

colonial war in Ethiopia and the war in Spain , which did no

involve strategic bombing. Nevertheless, aviation had proven

an important, even a decisive, weapon in the support role.4 1

By the time of the Spanish Civil War (1936–39), Mecozzi’

ideas had largely won over Italian air force officers. In Spain 

the Italian air force made a major contribution to the war and

in contrast to the Italian ground forces, performed ver

credibly. In Spain the air force primarily provided interdiction

bombing, close air support, and antishipping strikes. In all o

these instances, it effectively supported the Italian an

Nationalist ground troops.

In addition to providing aircraft and training to th

Nationalist air force, Italy sent 5,699 air force personnel t

Spain and maintained an air force contingent of 250 aircraft

Between 1936 and 1939, the Italians sent over 759 aircraft t

Spain .

4 2 The Italian air force, like the German, viewed Spain

as a testing ground for doctrine and technology, trying out it

newest aircraft—the Breda 65 fighter-bomber and SM 7

bomber. 43 The Breda 65 also proved successful as 

dive-bomber , further reinforcing the Italian preference fo

ground-attack aviation .

4 4 The high point of Italian ai

operations in Spain came in 1938, when Italian air force unit

attacking en masse in direct support of motorized an

161
mechanized Nationalist and Italian army units, enabled th

Nationalist army to make rapid advances across th

Republican Front to the Mediterranean, isolating Cataloni

from the rest of the republic. 45

The only Douhetian-style strategic bombing executed by th

Italian air force in the Spanish War involved the bombing o

Barcelona in March 1938. Benito Mussolini, perhaps Italy ’

last true believer in Douhetian theory, ordered massiv

bombing of Barcelona by the Italian air force , hoping to brea

the will of the Catalonian population and swiftly end the war

Although the bombing produced over two thousan

casualties,4 6 the campaign against Barcelona had precisely

the opposite effect, as the Germans and many Italians ha

predicted. Rather than breaking the will of the civilia

population, it angered them and strengthened their will t

resist. After the bombing, the Republican retreat halted, an

the Catalonians held the front with renewed enthusiasm

Catalonia would not collapse for another year.47

By the outbreak of World War II, the Italian air force boasted 

balanced force of bombers and fighters, as well as assault an

reconnaissance aircraft. In Spain the air force had extensively

practiced its primary operational doctrine, as advocated b

Mecozzi, and had found it effective. The poor performance of th

Italian air force during World War II resulted not from poo

doctrine but the incapacity of Italian industry to produce aircraf

and engines that could match those of its opposing air force

either in quantity or quality. Even if Italy had made the air forc

its top priority and had poured all available resources int

aviation, its financial and technological position still would hav

proved too weak to have maintained a first-rate air force b

World War II. Italy, whose best aircraft lacked modern radios

bombsights, and navigation equipment, provides an example o

a nation whose strategic ambitions far outreached its fairly

limited capabilities.

Soviet Union

In the interwar period, the Soviet Union began with th

weakest air force and aviation industry of the major powers

From this disadvantageous position, the new Soviet Union

162
built a large, relatively effective air force , almost from scratch

The Soviet military was partial to new ideas and concepts

including new ways of looking at aerial warfare.

The two leading military theorists of the new Soviet Union in

the interwar period were Gen Mikhail Frunze (1885–1925) an

Marshal Mikhail Tukhachevski (1893–1937). Frunze was 

successful civil war commander who became a leadin

theorist of the Soviet military after the civil war. A prolifi

writer, he advocated the creation of a highly mobile

professional army equipped with the most modern weaponry

In January 1925, Frunze became commissar for nationa

defense, but later that year Joseph Stalin , fearing Frunze’

popularity and prestige, had him assassinated. Frunze argue

consistently for the importance of the offense in warfare, an

in his theory of the offense, airpower played a primary role. In

an article in 1923, Frunze claimed that air warfare would

decide the outcome of future conflicts.4 8

Marshal Mikhail Tukhachevski succeeded Frunze as chief o

staff of the army in 1925. Recognized as one of the mos

original and influential military theorists of the twentieth

century, Tukhachevski, like Frunze, believed in th

offense—and airpower played a major part in his conception o

modern war. Through the 1920s and 1930s, Tukhachevsk

elucidated his theory of the “deep battle,” which dominate

Soviet doctrine until World War II. From the genesis of thi

doctrine, airpower played a primary role by preparing the wa

for the breakthrough of motorized and mechanized troops an

by supporting the advances of mobile forces deep into enem

territory. By the early 1930s, these concepts had reache

maturity. For example, the “encounter battle” played a majo

role in Tukhachevski’s theory of the deep battle . In 1932 h

stated that the light bomber and ground-attack air units in

support of the field army would prepare the battlefield an

then interdict enemy reserves. Air units belonging to the arm

group would then isolate the breakthrough sector an

interdict the enemy’s strategic reserves. Finally, aircraft would

drop airborne forces behind enemy lines to seize headquarter

and supply bases.4 9

Tukhachevski’s most original contribution to airpowe

theory was his development of the world’s first airborne force

163
during the early 1930s.5 0 As always, Tukhachevski thought o

aviation not as a subordinate or an independent entity but a

an integral part of a joint force, with the objective of drivin

deep into the enemy’s rear with the intention of destroying hi

armed forces.

One finds the most complete exposition of Tukhachevski’

concept of airpower and the deep battle in the Soviet arm

field service regulations of 1936, in which the employment o

the air force plays a central role. These regulations specify in

detail the roles of ground-attack aviation , fighter aviation, an

light bombers.51 The air force had as its first objective th

annihilation of the enemy air force, which would then fre

airpower to act decisively against enemy columns and reserve

in the approach and pursuit phases of the battle. 5 2 Anothe

important aviation mission entailed supporting ground force

by silencing enemy artillery. 53

Tukhachevski did not ignore strategic bombing in hi

theories. In 1932 he declared that, in the future, independent ai

operations, which he defined as strategic bombing and airborn

operations, would prove decisive in war. Tukhachevski predicte

that in the near future, improved aerodynamic design would

enable aircraft to fly fast, at great range, and at high altitude

Thus, he foresaw that, in a decade or so, strategic bombing

coupled with airborne drops, could seize the enemy’s rai

systems and paralyze the mobilization of enemy forces, thu

“turning previous operational concepts inside out.”54

In the years of the civil war (1918–22), the Red Air Forc

functioned purely as a support and auxiliary force for th

army.

5 5 Provisional field regulations of 1925 emphasize

support of the ground forces, and in the 1920s most air unit

were attached to ground units.5 6 However, the concept o

independent strategic airpower caught the imagination of th

young service’s officers. The most notable early theorist o

Soviet aviation, later chief of staff of the air force, was Gen A

N. Lapchinsky, who in 1920 wrote a book and series o

articles outlining how strategic bombing would become 

major weapon of modern warfare. 57 In the early 1920s, at 

time when the Soviets still flew a motley collection of obsolet

aircraft left over from World War I and the civil war

Lapchinsky laid the theoretical groundwork for the creation o

164
what would become the world

s largest strategic air force b

the early 1930s.

The enthusiasm of Soviet air officers for strategic bombin

in the 1920s resulted not so much from a rational analysis o

the capabilities of airpower and aerial technology than from 

feeling that strategic bombing was somehow more “modern.

One ought to link Bolshevism, the most “modern and scientific

of all ideologies, to the most up-to-date of all militar

methods—specifically strategic bombing. Contemporary Germa

reports reflect part of the spirit of the time.

In 1925 the German army, as part of a comprehensiv

program to develop the Soviet military, as well as build an

test German weapons in the Soviet Union , provide

experienced general staff officers to instruct in the Soviet staf

colleges. Capt Martin Fiebig , an experienced pilot officer

served as the senior adviser and instructor at the Moscow

Academy for Air Commanders in 1925 and 1926. Part of hi

duties included organizing war games for the Soviet ai

officers. Fiebig criticized the Soviet officers’ conduct of the wa

games, specifically their preference for a strategic bombin

campaign over army support. The small and technologically

backwards Red Air Force of 1925 was in no way suitable fo

strategic air war, argued Fiebig, and could carry out only

limited support operations. Fiebig advised the Soviets t

postpone strategic air campaigns until they reached a highe

technological level. 58

The German air mission to the Soviet Union , which laste

from 1925 to 1933, served not only to train future senio

officers at the Red Air Force ’s General Staff Academy but als

trained regular Soviet pilots and ground crews at the German

training base at Lipetsk. No one knows the exact figures, bu

several hundred Soviet air officers came into contact with th

Germans during this period and were strongly influenced b

the ideas of the German air force.

59 The Germans were no

averse to strategic bombing theory but also emphasized th

fundamentals of cooperation with ground troops at th

operational level.

At enormous sacrifice to the nation under Stalin ’s first five-yea

plan, the Red Air Force made tremendous technological stride

in the late 1920s and early 1930s. By 1932 Soviet industr

165
was finally able to mass-produce modern aircraft and engines

At this time, largely under the influence of A. N. Lapchinsky

the Soviets began building the largest strategic bombe

force—three hundred to four hundred aircraft—in the world

with the four-engined TB3 bomber as the backbone of th

force. 6 0 In 1934–35 the Soviets formed a special heavy bombe

air corps for strategic operations.61

Yet, even as the Soviet Union created a strategic bomber force 

mainstream thought within the Red Air Force returned to th

concept of joint air-ground operations, as outlined by Marsha

Tukhachevski. By the mid- to late 1930s, the experience of th

war in Spain came to have a great influence upon th

development of Soviet air thought. Between 1936 and 1939, th

Soviet Union made a major commitment to the support of th

Spanish Republic. The largest component of the Sovie

commitment to Loyalist Spain numbered almost one thousan

pilots and ground crews 6 2 and 909 aircraft.6 3 In Spain , although

aircraft attempted some bombing missions against cities in th

early stages of the war, the primary focus of air operations on

both sides took the form of army support operations.

In March 1937 Soviet aircraft and pilots flying for th

Republic during the offensive at Guadalajara won one o

airpower’s most dramatic victories. Between 9 and 21 Marc

1937, Soviet airpower attacked and pushed a force of 50,00

motorized Italian troops into a rout. Up to 125 Soviet-piloted

Loyalist aircraft attacked Italian columns in what we toda

would term a close interdiction campaign. Italian casualtie

included five hundred killed in action, two thousand wounded

and five hundred taken prisoner. The Soviets destroyed a

estimated one thousand vehicles and 25 artillery pieces. Ai

attack inflicted most of the damage and casualties.64

The air campaign at Guadalajara in 1937 was the mos

decisive example of the use of airpower against ground force

in the interwar period, and the Soviets, following the Spanish

experience, placed greater emphasis upon ground-attack

tactics. Even General Lapchinsky, writing in 1939, came t

emphasize the tactical and operational aspects of aviation ove

strategic air war: “In order to conduct maneuver war, to win

the air-land battles, which begin in the air and end on th

166
ground, one must concentrate all air forces at a given time on

a given front.”65

Between 1938 and 1941, the Soviets went through severa

reorganizations. The large, independent bomber command

organized in the mid-1930s, was downgraded and reorganize

in 1940. 66 Bomber forces split into smaller units under th

army regional command, oriented more toward tactica

aviation . The Soviets’ emphasis upon tactical aviation at thi

time was not solely a response to the experience in Spain bu

also a pragmatic approach to understanding their own

position with respect to technology. The Soviet industry of thi

time did not produce the radios, navigation instruments

sophisticated bombsights, and other technologically advance

matériel needed for long-distance strategic bombin

campaigns. Creation of simple, rugged aircraft to serve as ligh

bombers and fighters, however, lay within the capabilities o

Soviet industry. Therefore, on the eve of war, the Soviet

reoriented much of their aircraft production to the building o

assault aircraft and light bombers, as well as fighter planes t

escort them. It was a wise decision.

Purges of the military enacted by Stalin between 1937 an

1939 were an unmitigated disaster for the development of Sovie

air thought, as well as for the military capability of the Sovie

Union . In 1937 Marshal Tukhachevski was arrested an

executed. Gen Ya. I. Alksnis , commander of the Red Air Forc

since 1931, also was arrested and executed, and his deput

disappeared. An estimated 75 percent of Red Air Force officer

vanished between 1937 and 1939. General Lapchinsky, th

strategic theorist , also was arrested and executed. At one stroke

several of the most original and influential airpower thinkers o

the interwar period disappeared.67

Small wonder that the Soviet air force found itself ill prepare

to meet the onslaught of the Wehrmacht in June 1941. Even so

the fact that a handful of men could begin with the ramshackl

Russian air force of the civil war era and within a decade and 

half turn it into a formidable air force, ranks as one of the grea

accomplishments in airpower history. Although Soviet ai

doctrine often overreached the capabilities of availabl

technology, in most respects it was eminently well suited to th

167
Soviet nation and, as regards the creation of airborne forces

was far in advance of that of other countries.

Germany

One can attribute a great part of the success of th

Wehrmacht from 1939 to 1941 to the effective use of airpower

Of all the Continental nations after World War I, German

made the most thorough and comprehensive study of airpowe

and, by means of analysis, managed to transform airpowe

theory into a highly effective war doctrine by the outbreak o

World War II.

Although the interwar period featured many German

civilian commentators and theorists of airpower, their impac

on military organization and doctrine proved relatively minor

Airpower thought in Germany remained centered in the arm

and, later, in the air force General Staff. After World War 

with Germany forbidden to have an air force , the arm

maintained a shadow Air Staff within the army General Staff.

The enormous body of experience that the Germans ha

acquired by 1918 proved advantageous in the creation o

airpower theory in Germany. During World War I, the German

air service had fought every kind of air campaign —tactical

strategic, and support. The German military contained a larg

body of highly experienced air commanders and Air Staf

officers. As early as 1916, the German air service ha

acquired a centralized command. In fact, in 1916 the ai

service proposed that it become an independent branch of th

armed forces, equal to the navy and the army.

6 8 The arm

General Staff strongly supported this proposal. Against stron

navy opposition, however, the idea foundered. Certain

principles, nevertheless, were established at this time. Fo

example, all aviation matters, from aircraft deployment an

production to antiaircraft artillery and civil defense, wer

centralized and placed under the control of the air service.

6

In late 1916, the air service acquired its own General Staff

The German air service also enjoyed special prestige after th

war. By the close of the campaign in 1918, the air servic

found itself the only sufficiently viable fighting force in th

168
German military capable of mounting an effective resistance t

the Allies.7 0

By the end of the war, the strong performance and relativ

success of the German air service in combat assured th

concept of an equal and independent air force within th

German military. In fact, at the beginning of the Versaille

Conference , Hans von Seeckt proposed that Germany b

allowed a significant, independent air force.

71 Even though th

Versailles Treaty forbade a German air force , consensus held

that when rearmament came—and German officers believe

that it would come again some day—Germany would have an

independent air force . This attitude gave the Germans an

advantage in creating an airpower theory. Secure in the ide

that the military accepted the idea of service independence

German airmen felt no compunctions about creating theorie

and doctrines solely for the purpose of justifying servic

independence.

A comprehensive examination of the wartime performanc

of the German air service served as the first step in creating 

modern air theory. Beginning in 1919, approximately 13

General Staff officers, air unit commanders, and technica

experts began analyzing every aspect of Germany’

performance in the air during the world war. Heading thi

effort was Lt Col Helmut Wilberg, who served as chief of th

secret Air Staff of the army from 1919 to 1927. 72

This thorough examination of airpower in 1919–20 forme

the basis for an effective critique of the way Germany ha

used airpower during the war and the way it ought to use it in

the future. The first principle derived from the postwa

critique maintained that Germany had made a major mistak

in fighting with a defensive air strategy during World War 

For most of the war, the Germans had fought a defensive ai

war, waiting for Allied pilots to cross their lines and then

engaging them. Although this approach brought relativ

success and a kill ratio of approximately three to one ove

Allied pilots, the Allies nevertheless gained the initiative an

then maintained air superiority over the battle areas. 7 3

By 1920 German airmen had established the principle tha

airpower was intrinsically offensive and that the first duty o

the air force in war was to aggressively seek out and win ai

169
superiority. Air forces would attain air superiority primarily b

attacking the enemy air force on the ground, in its air bases

Army Regulation 487, Leadership and Battle with Combine

Arms (1921), expressed the new doctrine in strong terms

“From the beginning [of the war] our forces will strive for ai

supremacy. . . . The battle for air superiority is an offensiv

one. The enemy’s aviation is to be sought out and attacke

forward of his own troops. The opponent is to be pushed ont

the defensive, and his power and aggressiveness broken b

the destruction of numerous aircraft.”7 4

The postwar study established other principles of airpowe

as well. Although it recognized army support aviation , such a

reconnaissance and artillery spotting, as an importan

mission, the primary mission of an air force remaine

bombing enemy targets. The air force had to attain ai

superiority to carry out its primary, offensive bombin

mission. The use of light and heavy bombers was central t

the air force mission. The primary duty of the air force was t

provide interdiction in support of the army, but postwa

German airpower theory left considerable room for th

development of strategic aviation for strategic-level interdictio

m issions.

Along with Helmut Wilberg and his staff, which include

famous air commanders such as Capt Kurt Student, Ma

Hugo Sperrle, and Maj Helmuth Felmy, the most significan

German airpower thinker in the postwar era was Colone

General von Seeckt, chief of staff of the army from 1919 t

1920 and army commander in chief from 1920 to 1926. Von

Seeckt reoriented the German army according to his own

notions of future warfare, theorizing that the mass armies o

World War I were obsolete and that the next war would b

fought by small but highly trained and highly mobil

professional armies, which would envelop and destroy thei

enemies by maneuver. This stance contrasted that of th

Allied armies, who considered firepower more important than

maneuver. Airpower played a central role in von Seeckt’

theory. Air force missions would gain air superiority and then

so disrupt the enemy mobilization and transport system tha

rapidly moving ground forces could encircle and destro

enemy forces paralyzed by airpower. Von Seeckt wrote that

170
the war will begin with a simultaneous attack of the air fleets—the

weapon which is the most prepared and the fastest means of attacking

the enemy. Their target is, however, not the major cities or industrial

power, but the enemy air force, and only after its suppression can the

offensive arm be directed toward other targets. . . . It is stressed that

all major troop mobilization centers are worthwhile and easy targets.

The disruption of the personnel and materiel mobilization is a primary

mission of the aerial offensive.75

Von Seeckt insisted that the German army become the mos

air-minded in the world. Although Germany was disarmed in

the air, von Seeckt ordered that the army keep 180 pilo

officers to provide the core of an Air Staff. 76 He initiated 

program of secret testing, training, and development o

airpower in the Soviet Union .

7 7 German operationa

regulations that were developed under von Seeckt between

1921 and 1923 contained extensive discussion of airpower on

both the strategic and tactical levels.

The German army of the interwar period maintained 

thorough study of airpower theories and technologies of othe

nations. Writings and speeches of such air leaders as Gen

Billy Mitchell, Air Marshal Hugh Trenchard , and Gen J. F. C

Fuller were quickly translated and disseminated throughou

the German military.

78 Douhet, however, received littl

attention from German air thinkers in the 1920s.

Wilberg, who had made his reputation in World War I as 

leader in the development of close air support , also led the Ai

Staff in developing concepts of strategic air war as early a

1924. That year, the Reichswehr secret Air Staff conducted an

air war game that included a plan for a strategic bombin

campaign against France . The Germans studied French

armaments industry, listing the most vital factories an

installations supporting the French army and air force , an

assigning target priorities. They estimated that the destruction

of 20 to 30 vital factories could severely hamper French

armaments production.79

By 1926 postwar studies and air war games conducted b

the General Staff culminated in a comprehensive air doctrine

expressed as Guidelines for the Operational Air War,8 0 which

described the air force of the future as, essentially, two forces

One would provide aviation support for the army, includin

reconnaissance , artillery spotting, and close air support . Th

171
second, composed of bombers, would provide long-rang

strategic bombing missions, as envisioned in the 1924 wa

games. For the first time, German doctrine acknowledged th

destruction of the enemy will as an important air forc

mission. The German Air Staff in the 1920s, however

contained few enthusiastic Douhetians.

The German strategic bombing campaign against Britain in

1917 and 1918, especially its technical problems, was stil

fresh in the minds of German airmen. Because losses in

aircrew and aircraft far exceeded the results achieved, by Ma

1918 the Germans had called off the campaign.81 In addition

to recognizing the difficulties of a strategic campaign, th

Germans themselves had mounted a fairly effective defens

against Allied strategic bombers.

8 2 Unlike Douhet, they ha

great respect for defense. German writings of the period

emphasized the necessity of fighter escort for bomber

because no one expected unescorted bombers to get through.

From the mid-1920s to the mid-1930s, the best known

civilian commentator on airpower was Hans Ritter, formerly

an airman and captain on the General Staff; he wrot

numerous books and articles on airpower, many of which

were translated into English.8 3 Ritter ’s view of airpowe

included strategic bombing, which he emphasized as an

important mission. Ritter , however, reflected the Air Staff’

view of airpower’s comprehensive nature, writing about al

aspects of airpower, from naval aviation to long-rang

bombing to close air support and including civil defense an

flak as important aspects of airpower.

In the late 1920s and early 1930s, under Chiefs of the Ai

Staff Hugo Sperrle, Helmuth Felmy, and Wilhelm Wimmer , th

importance of the strategic bombing concept reached its high

point in German airpower theory. With the Nazi assumption o

power in 1933 and rearmament assured, German airmen wer

prepared to make strategic bombing a central part of th

doctrine of a reborn air force. Although he was not a pilo

when he became the Luftwaffe’s first chief of staff, Lt Gen

Walter Wever was well informed on airpower and an

outspoken supporter of strategic air war.

84 Among the firs

projects of the reborn air force was the creation of prototype

172
long-range heavy bombers, which received strong suppor

throughout the Air Staff.

At this point, however, the Germans ran into a technologica

wall that affected their perception of the strategic air war. Th

prototype four-engined bombers produced in the mid-1930

proved disappointing. German engine technology was year

away from the development of engines capable of providing th

necessary range and performance. Faced with technologica

limitations, as well as the greater difficulty and cost o

building large aircraft, the Germans gave the heavy bombe

project a low priority for development.8 5 Because of th

availability of technology to provide a force of modern medium

bombers, dive-bombers, fighter aircraft, and reconnaissanc

planes, the German air force in the mid- to late 1930

developed as an interdiction and tactical support force, rathe

than a long-range strategic force.

In 1934 General Wever directed the writing of the primar

German air doctrine of World War II, with Helmut Wilber

heading the committee. Luftwaffe Regulation 16, Conduct o

the Air War (1935), provided a more balanced view of airpowe

than the 1926 regulation.8 6 Although the regulation still gav

precedence to strategic bombing as a primary mission, i

remained more cautious about the ability of strategic bomber

to damage civilian morale . In fact, the doctrine of 1935 argue

against bombing cities in order to attack civilian population

on the grounds that, first, it was immoral and, second, it wa

likely to backfire and provide the opposite effect

strengthening civilian resistance and morale rather than

weakening them.87

Germans remember General Wever , who died in an ai

crash in 1936, for his advocacy of strategic bombing, but hi

vision of airpower was far more comprehensive. For example

he gave the development of close air support aircraft

particularly the training of liaison teams to cooperate with th

army for air support, a high priority in 1936. 8 8 Wever als

oversaw the creation of a paratroop force that would soon

become the largest and most effective airborne force in th

world. First used in the maneuvers of 1937 and 1938, German

paratroops greatly enhanced their reputation by successfully

seizing objectives behind enemy lines.8 9

173
Because Nazi ideology placed a very high value upon breakin

the enemy’s will and upon conducting propaganda campaigns

Nazi adherents had considerable affinity for the theories o

Douhet. Gen Erich Ludendorff, a World War I leader and th

Nazis’ chief commentator on military affairs, wrote numerou

articles on his vision of a future war, which included the moral

bombing of civilian populations. His most explicit description o

future air war came in his books The Coming War (1931) an

The Total War (1935). 90 Nazi ideology, however, had little impac

upon German airpower thinkers of the 1930s. First of al

Ludendorff was unpopular with the General Staff, and hi

prestige had fallen after his poor performance in 1918. Second

professional airmen’s understanding of the technologica

capabilities of airpower ruled out some of the Nazis’ mor

far-fetched notions. Nazi enthusiasm for modernity, however

and the Luftwaffe ’s characterization of itself as a new Nationa

Socialist branch of the military—as opposed to the tradition

bound and noble-dominated army—guaranteed the air forc

massive funding and support from the government. In reality

career military professionals dominated the Luftwaffe, and th

Nazis had minimal ideological influence upon the Luftwaffe an

its doctrine.

From 1936 to 1939, the Luftwaffe sent several hundred

aircraft and 20,000 personnel to Spain to support Ge

Francisco Franco’s Nationalist armies.91 Spain had considerabl

impact upon the perfection of techniques and tactics of th

Luftwaffe . The lessons of Spain , however, did not lead to an

fundamental changes in German airpower theory or doctrine

Methods of close air support were perfected during the Spanis

War, in which close air support remained a primary mission o

the air force. Dive-bombing, in development since the lat

1920s, was effective, but morale bombing of civilians, as tried b

both sides in the early days of the war and as the German

predicted, was not.

By the eve of World War II, the German military ha

generally succeeded in translating airpower theory int

effective doctrine and tactics for the use of airpower. Th

German air force of 1939 was well organized into effective

tactical air fleets that could carry out both strategic an

tactical missions. The Luftwaffe comprised a bomber-heavy

174
force, envisioned since the first days after World War I an

capable of carrying out a wide variety of missions, from

long-range bombing to close air support to the operational us

of paratroops. As the war commenced, however, some seriou

failings in German airpower theory and doctrine came to light

First, enthusiasm for the technique of dive-bombing set th

development of German bomber technology back severa

years. Gen Ernst Udet, who took over air force technica

development in 1936, insisted that in the future, all bomber

be designed as dive-bombers. This necessitated the redesign

of excellent aircraft like the Ju-88 and resulted in production

delays.92 Second, the German air force and navy failed t

create an effective naval air doctrine in the interwar period

When the war commenced, the naval air arm had no modern

aircraft capable of long-range antishipping strikes or torped

attacks, a major failing in the war against England.

One can characterize German interwar airpower theory a

comprehensive, practical, and well adapted to German strategy

and technology . The greatest failings in translating airpowe

theory into doctrine for an effective air force came from a senio

leadership imposed by the Nazi system. The loss of Genera

Wever in 1936 was a blow from which the Luftwaffe never full

recovered. Wever had enough prestige within the armed forces t

successfully challenge the ideas of Hermann Göring and Udet 

With the loss of Wever, however, subsequent commanders of th

Luftwaffe , although knowledgeable men, did not possess th

authority required to prevent mistakes such as the appointmen

of Udet to the Office of Technical Development. The tenure o

Hans Jeschonneck, an intelligent but flawed young office

appointed as Luftwaffe chief of staff in 1939, proved disastrou

for German air theory and doctrine as the war progressed

Infatuated with the concepts of dive-bombing, Jeschonneck

ignored other vital missions of the air force and gave only

minimal priority to important programs such as the buildup o

transport aviation and the strategic bomber program.93

Conclusion

During the interwar period, each major Continental ai

power experienced a debate between two basic airpowe

175
theories : (1) that the primary role of air forces envisioned an

independent force carrying out a strategic air campaign

against the enemy homeland and (2) that the primary role o

airpower envisioned a support arm for land and naval forces

The combination of air/land/naval forces would create a new

synergy on the battlefield.

For the most part, advocates of aviation in the support role

won this debate, although the German position on airpowe

fell halfway between the two positions. Generally, the mos

important participants in the debate were within the arme

forces. Douhet’s influence waned quickly after he left the Ai

Ministry in the early 1920s. Pierre Cot wrote and spoke often

on airpower before and after his tenure as air minister bu

had little impact outside of office. Professional German airmen

explicitly rejected the Nazi view of air war as expressed b

Ludendorff in the 1930s. For the most part, the decision t

accept the view of the air force primarily as a support forc

came from within the officer corps of the air forces. Italy, th

Soviet Union, and Germany allowed considerable free debat

on theory and doctrine within the air force. Only Franc

discouraged debate on fundamental military theory.

Each major air power faced unique conditions an

requirements in the process of translating theory int

doctrine. The Germans managed the process most effectively

primarily due to the tradition of the General Staff. They base

their theory and doctrine upon a thorough analysis of the us

of airpower in World War I and of airpower developments in

other countries. Further, they objectively tested their ideas in

war games and maneuvers. The French, on the other hand

managed the process least effectively, also due to thei

General Staff tradition. Whereas the Germans tolerated debat

among General Staff officers and regarded that body as 

collective organization, the French saw the staff primarily a

assistants to the commander in chief and considered the arm

commander’s vision the foundation of theory and doctrine

The three French army commanders of the interwar period—

Petain , Weygand, and Gamelin —had little interest in the ai

force; consequently, doctrine suffered. Germany, the Sovie

Union , and Italy were able to test their respective airpowe

theories and doctrines as the primary air combatants in Spain

176
from 1936 to 1939. The experience of Spain did not result in

those three countries’ choosing the theory of support aviation

over strategic aviation , since by 1935 advocates of suppor

aviation were becoming predominant in all three air forces

Instead, the Spanish War confirmed the air doctrine that th

Germans and Italians had already adopted and provide

further impetus to Soviet advocates of ground-attack aviation 

Notes

1. Charles Christienne and Pierre Lissarague, A History of French Militar

Aviation (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1986), 130.

2. Ibid., 127–29.

3. Ibid., 174.

4. For an explanation of the doctrine of methodical battle, see Rober

Doughty, The Seeds of Disaster (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1985).

5. Revue de Aéronautique Militaire covered the air support for th

Moroccan campaign in great detail in 1922–1923. In this period, no article

on independent air operations appeared.

6. Col P. Vauthier, La Doctrine de Guerre du Général Douhet (Pari

Berger-Levrault, 1935), 166.

7. For the first significant expression of Douhet’s theories in France, se

Lt Col P. Vauthier, Le Danger Aérien du Pays (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1930)

8. Frank Cappelluti, “The Life and Thought of Giulio Douhet” (PhD diss

Rutgers University, 1967), 230.

9. France’s premier commentators on Douhet were Lieutenant Colone

Vauthier and navy engineer Camille Rougeron, who wrote numerou

articles on Douhet for Revue de l’Armée de l’Air during the 1930s.

10. Patrick Façon, “Douhet et sa Doctrine à Travers la Litteratur

Militaire et Aéronautique Française de l’Entre-Deux-Guerres: une Étude d

Perception,” in La Figura e l’Opera di Giulio Douhet, ed. Caserta-Pozzuol

(Rome: Societa di Storia Patria, 1988), 109–27.

11. Christienne and Lissarague, 259.

12. Ibid., 259–60. On the role of air doctrine and the BCR aircraft, see 

Hébrand, Vingt-Cinque Anneés d’Aviation Militaire (1920 –1945), vol. 1 (Pari

Albin Michel, 1946), 135–48.

13. Christienne and Lissarague, 302–4.

14. Thierry Vivier, “Pierre Cot et la Naissance de l’Armée de l’Air: 3

janvier 1933–8 février 1934,” Revue Historique des Armées (Decembe

1990): 108–15.

15. Olaf Groehler, Geschichte des Luftkriegs 1910 bis 1980 (Berlin

Militärverlag der DDR, 1981), 211.

16. Ibid., 153.

17. Ibid.

177
18. Ministère de l

Air, Règlement de Manoeuvre de lAviation (1936)

para. 53.

19. Ministère de l’Air, Instruction sur l’Emploi Tactique des Grande

Unités Aériennes (31 March 1937), para. 127.

20. Ibid., para. 126.

21. Ibid., para. 169.

22. P. Buffotot, “La Perception du réarmement allemand par le

organismes de reseignements français de 1936 à 1939,” Revue Historiqu

des Armées, no. 3 (1979): 173–84.

23. Groehler, 211.

24. Charles de Gaulle, Vers l’Armée de Métier (Paris: 1934), 114.

25. Ministère de la Défense, Instruction sur l’Emploi Tactique de

Grandes Unités , 1936, para. 50.

26. Ibid., para. 298.

27. Adam Adamthwaite, France and the Coming of the Second World Wa

(London: Frank Cass, 1977), 162.

28. Air rearmament Plan V of 1938 specified production of 1,49

bombers, 2,127 fighters, and 1,081 reconnaissance planes. See Groehler

211. Guy LeChambre testified to the Aeronautical Commission in Februar

1938 that “in the initial phase of the war, however, what we’ll need above al

is to put our airspace under lock and key, as we’ve done for our frontiers

Martin Alexander, The Republic in Danger: General Maurice Gamelin and th

Politics of French Defense, 1933–1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge Universit

Press, 1992), 163.

29. Ibid., 155, 165, and 170.

30. In Revue de l’Armée de l’Air, see “La D. C. A. aux opérations d

Bilbao,” January 1938, 80–82; “La Guerre d’Espagne,” June 1938, 689–97

“Combats aériens en Espagne,” July–August 1939, 424–27; and “L’aviatio

dans la battaille d’Aragon,” May–June 1939, 307–12. In Revue Militair

Générale, see General Armengaud, “La Guerre d’Espagne: La combinaiso

des forces de l’air avec les forces navales et avec l’armée de terre,” Marc

1938, 259–82; and idem, “La Guerre d’Espagne: Technique et tactique de

forces de l’air,” April 1938, 413–49.

31. General Maginel, “L’intervention de l’aviation dans la lutte terrestre

Revue Militaire Générale, October 1938, 505–29.

32. William Shirer, The Collapse of the Third Republic (New York: Simo

& Schuster, 1969), 621.

33. See J. Mencarelli, Amedeo Mecozzi (Rome: Ufficio Storico Aeronautic

Militare, 1979).

34. Capt Amedeo Mecozzi, “Il volo rasente e le sue possibilità tattiche

Rivista Aeronautica, June 1926, 53–69.

35. Capt Amedeo Mecozzi, “Il compito di contro-aviazione,” Rivist

Aeronautica, March 1926, 58–62.

36. Maj Amedeo Mecozzi, “Le grandi Unità Aviatorie,” Rivist

Aeronautica, March 1929, 533–76.

178
37. Mecozzi

s concept of the primacy of assault aviation (that is

airpower in direct support of the army and navy) was best outlined in hi

“L’aviazione d’assalto,” Rivista Aeronautica, August 1934, 214–85; and hi

“Origini e sviluppi dell’aviazione d’assalto,” Rivista Aeronautica, Februar

1935, 193–201.

38. Claudio Segrè, “Balbo and Douhet: Master and Disciple,” La Figure 

l’Opera di Giulio Douhet, ed. Caserta-Pozzuoli (Rome: Società di Stori

Patria, 1988), 58.

39. Lee Kennett, “Developments to 1939,” in Case Studies in th

Development of Close Air Support, ed. B. J. Cooling (Washington, D.C

Office of Air Force History, 1990), 30.

40. Enzo Angelucci, The Rand McNally Encyclopedia of Military Aircraf

(New York: Gallery Books, 1990), 244.

41. Segrè, 57.

42. John Coverdale, Italian Intervention in the Spanish Civil Wa

(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1975), 393–96.

43. Gerald Howson, Aircraft of the Spanish Civil War, 1936–3 

(Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1990), 63–65 an

270–73.

44. Peter Smith, Dive Bomber! An Illustrated History (Annapolis: U

Naval Institute Press, 1982), 95–97.

45. F. O. Miksche, Blitzkrieg (London: Faber & Faber, 1942), 41, 48–49

and 80.

46. Coverdale, 347–49.

47. German officers in Spain reported to Berlin that the Italian bombin

of Barcelona was a “mistake,” for it “strengthened [enemy] morale an

unified competing factions—and has even turned some of th

Nationalist-inclined population towards the Republic.” German ambassado

to Spain, report of 24 March 1938 [Akt 551 in Deutschland und de

Spanischen Bürgerkrieg, Akten zur Deutschen Auswärtigen Politik

1918–1945, series D, vol. 3], 532.

48. Neil Heyman, “NEP and Industrialization to 1928,” in Soviet Aviatio

and Air Power, ed. Robin Higham and Jacob Kipp (Boulder, Colo.: Westvie

Press, 1977), 35–46, especially 39.

49. Richard E. Simpkin, Deep Battle: The Brainchild of Marsha

Tukhachevskii (London: Brassey’s, 1987), 43.

50. Under Tukhachevski’s direction, the Red Army formed the world’

first airborne brigade in 1932. See Robert Kilmarx, A History of Soviet Ai

Power (New York: Praeger, 1962), 94–95.

51. Simpkin, 200–202.

52. Ibid., 214.

53. Ibid.

54. Ibid., 139.

55. Kenneth Whiting, Soviet Air Power (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air Universi

Press, 1985), 2–4.

56. Heyman, 41.

179
57. Ibid. Lapchinsky stated that 

the airplane enters the field of militar

equipment as a new, independent factor of war—and not just as a suppo

weapon.” Groehler, 130.

58. Manfred Zeidler, “Luftkriegsdenken und Offizierausbildung an de

Moskauer Zukovskij Akademie im Jahre 1926,” Militärgeschichtlich

Mitteilungen 27 (1980): 127–74, especially 153–54.

59. The best overview of the German-Russian military relationship i

Manfred Zeidler’s Reichswehr und Rote Armee, 1920 –1933 (Munich

Oldenbourg Verlag, 1993). On air force training, see especially 112–17 an

175–88.

60. See Kilmarx, 123.

61. Alexander Boyd, The Soviet Air Force since 1918 (New York: Stein 

Day, 1977), 56.

62. Ibid., 75.

63. Howson, 24 and 303.

64. Richard Hallion, Strike from the Sky: The History of Battlefield Ai

Attack, 1911 –1945 (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press

1989), 97–102.

65. Ibid., 115.

66. Kilmarx, 123.

67. Kenneth Whiting, “Soviet Aviation and Air Power under Stalin

1928–1941,” in Soviet Aviation and Air Power, 63.

68. Dr. Klemp, ed., “Die Luftstreitkräfte des Deutschen Reiches

(Potsdam: Bundesarchiv Militärarchiv, W-10/50845, ca. 1931), 17–32.

69. John Morrow, The Great War in the Air (Washington, D.C

Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), 158–60.

70. Ibid., 309–10.

71. Matthew Cooper, The German Air Force, 1922–1945: An Anatomy o

Failure (London: Jones, 1981), 379.

72. James Corum, “The Old Eagle as Phoenix: The Luftstreitkräft

Creates an Operational Air War Doctrine, 1919–1920,” Air Power History

Spring 1992, 13–21.

73. From January to September 1918, when the Allies had numerica

superiority in the air, the Luftstreitkräfte shot down 3,732 Allied aircraft fo

a loss of 1,099. From Richard Suchenwirth, The Development of the Germa

Air Force, 1919 –1939, USAF Historical Study 160 (New York: Arno Pres

1968), 2.

74. Heeresdienstvorschrift 487, Führung und Gefecht der Verbundene

Waffen, Teil 1, September 1921, pars. 77 and 314.

75. Hans von Seeckt, Gedanken eines Soldaten (Berlin: Verlag fü

Kulturpolitik, 1929), 93–95.

76. See Suchenwirth, 5.

77. The best work on the German air program in Russia is Manfre

Zeidler’s Reichswehr und Rote Armee, 1920 –1933 (Munich: R. Oldenbour

Verlag, 1993).

180
78. James Corum, The Roots of Blitzkrieg (Lawrence, Kans.: Universit

Press of Kansas, 1992), 157–59.

79. Bundesarchiv/Militärarchiv Freiburg, file RH 2/2244, Luftschutzübun

1924.

80. Truppenamt (L), Richtlinien für die Führung des operative

Luftkrieges, May 1926.

81. Raymond Fredette, The Sky on Fire: The First Battle of Britain

1917 –1918 and the Birth of the Royal Air Force (New York: Holt, Rinehar

and Winston, 1966), 196.

82. See Groehler, 81–85, for a survey of German air defense in Worl

War I; and David Divine, The Broken Wing: A Study in the British Exercise o

Air Power (London: Hutchinson, 1966), 142–43, on the German defens

against British bombing.

83. Ritter’s best known work was Der Luftkrieg (Berlin: F. Koehle

Verlag, 1926).

84. Suchenwirth, 172–73.

85. Edward Homze, Arming the Luftwaffe (Lincoln, Nebr.: University o

Nebraska Press, 1976), 122–24.

86. Luftwaffendienstvorschrift 16, Luftkriegführung, 1935.

87. Ibid., pars. 186–87.

88. Oberbefehlshaber der Luftwaffe, “Bemerkungen des Oberbefehlshabe

der Luftwaffe zur Ausbildung und zu den Übungen im Jahre 1935,” Januar

1936, US National Archives, German Records, T-177, roll 1.

89. For an account of the 1937/1939 airborne maneuvers, se

“Handstreich aus der Luft: Fallschirminfanterie nimmt Brücken übe

X-Fluss,” Der Adler [a Luftwaffe magazine], Heft 2 (1939): 10-1.

90. Erich von Ludendorff, The Coming War (London: Faber & Fabe

1931); and Der totale Krieg (Munich: Ludendorff’s Verlag, 1935).

91. Raymond Proctor, Hitler’s Luftwaffe in the Spanish Civil Wa

(Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1983), 253.

92. Homze, 164–65 and 229.

93. Richard Suchenwirth, Command and Leadership in the German Ai

Force, USAF Historical Study 174 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: USAF Historica

Division, 1969), 225 and 245–46.

181
Chapter 6

Interwar US Army Aviation and the

Air Corps Tactical School:

Incubators of American Airpower

Lt Col Peter R. Faber

In his History of the Air Corps Tactical School (1931), Capt J

D. Barker made a now familiar claim: World War 

transformed aviation from a “plaything of sportsmen” into 

powerful instrument of war. 1 Each belligerent, Barker argued

ultimately realized that airpower was “a force within itsel

[whose] power of destruction would perhaps be the decisiv

factor in the outcome of future wars.”2 In the case of th

United States, however, Captain Barker was wrong; instead o

consensus, there was confusion and division of opinion ove

the utility of airpower.

To early American air leaders and thinkers like William

“Billy” Mitchell, Edgar Gorrell , Thomas Milling, and William

Sherman, airpower was a new and revolutionary way of war

Capt Robert Webster spoke for a generation of American

airmen when he observed that

air power is not a new weapon of warfare. It cannot be likened to the

rifle, the machine gun, or the cannon. . . . It is a means by which

pressure, through the medium of destruction, may be applied against

vital installations on the surface of the land or the sea, without regard

to the existence of defenses which are tied down to those terrestrial

installations. . . . Air power is not a new weapon—it constitutes a new

force, as separate from land power and sea power as each is separate

from the other. It has created a trimorph or trinity of national defense

which now consists of land power , sea power, and air power.3

The air option, in short, offered a unique alternative to th

carnage and futility of attrition warfare, as epitomized by th

“great sausage machine” of World War I. For the first time in

history, hundreds if not thousands of invincible, long-rang

bombers would effortlessly leap over an opponent’

intervening ground defenses and terrorize civilians int

overthrowing their own governments, as Giulio Douhe

183
suggested, or deprive an enemy army the material capacity t

wage war, as advocated by Gianni Caproni and Nin

Salvaneschi.

4

 In either case, the bomber was an apocalypti

instrument of war qualitatively different from any weapon tha

had come before. It could rapidly destroy an entire nation

from the inside out rather than slowly defeat it from th

outside in.

In contrast to the boosterism of interwar airmen, Army an

Navy traditionalists did not believe that the modern bombe

was a revolutionary, war-winning weapon. Its technology, the

argued, was too primitive to match the promises made on it

behalf. Further, bombers could not unilaterally defeat an

enemy nation without the active cooperation of ground an

naval forces; nor could they defeat an opponent quickly (i.e.

humanely), as also promised. As a result, Army and Navy

leaders argued steadfastly that land-based airpower wa

merely an auxiliary tool of war. Gen John J. Pershing, spok

for the “old guard” when he observed that

an Air Force acting independently can of its own account neither win a

war at the present time, nor, so far as we can tell at any time in the

future. . . . [If] success is to be expected, the military Air Force must

be controlled in the same way, understand the same discipline, and

act in accordance with the Army commander under precisely the same

conditions as the other combat arms. 5

Navy spokesmen, in turn, repeatedly informed their civilian

counterparts (including the Howell Commission of 1934) tha

the primary role of the Air Corps was to operate as an arm o

the Army, and only afterwards to conduct “air operations in

support of or in lieu of naval forces.”6

The disagreement over the nature and utility of American

airpower confirms that Captain Barker was wrong—militar

traditionalists refused to see the air weapon as “a force within

itself,” either in the waning months of World War I o

afterwards. This conclusion, however, begs another question

Was the dispute between the regular Army and it

“aeromaniacs” one between equals? On Armistice Day ai

enthusiasts might have said “yes.” On that day the Air Servic

contained over 190,000 men, 40 percent of whom wer

assigned to the American Expeditionary Force (AEF) in

Europe ; it controlled 48 airfields and 19 depots within th

184
continental United States; it owned approximately 11,00

aircraft, seventy-eight hundred of which were trainers; and i

had 10,000 trained pilots.7 However, with the end of hostilitie

this sizable force disappeared almost overnight. AE

commanders had expected to mount one final offensive in

1919, but Germany’s “premature” collapse led to a rapid an

bruising demobilization instead. 8 When the US Congres

promptly rescinded $485 million in uncommitted aviation

funds, the Air Service had no choice other than immediately

stop its ambitious expansion program. It withdrew 91.

percent of its outstanding manufacturing orders by mid-1919

During the following year, it sold, transferred, or disposed o

an additional $173.3 million worth of equipment, and i

discharged all but 1,168 officers and 8,428 enlisted men from

its rolls.9 (The latter number represented 5 percent of the Ai

Service ’s peak wartime strength.)

Not surprisingly, senior American airmen like Mason

Patrick and Milling complained bitterly about the Army’

frantic rush to demobilize. The rapid drawdown, in thei

opinion, left the infant Air Service (and its technological base

in a “chaotic,” “disorganized,” or “tangled state.” The service

Patrick and Milling claimed, was unable to conduct postwa

tactical training, establish binding policies or needed direction

for local commanders, or retrieve equipment scattered

throughout the United States .

10 Further, the “deplorable

military aviation industry had shrunk to 15–20 aircraft plant

and three engine makers who were limping through th

general demobilization by modernizing obsolescent aircraft. (In

1920, for example, the Boeing Company upgraded 111 D

Havilland D.H.4s into D.H.4Bs.)1 1

Demobilization, however, was not the only reason why th

postwar debate over the fate of American airpower began

unequally. The idea of a debate implies that the Air Servic

already had a well-reasoned, universal set of principles abou

the proper use of airpower, particularly in war. In reality, thi

was not true either. After the armistice, the US Army Ai

Service not only lacked a coherent, working set of proposition

on the proper use of military aviation, but also lacked 

coherent theory, strategy, and doctrine upon which airmen

could base the future development of American airpower. 12 In

185
other words, the Air Service had yet to codify itself in an

meaningful way; it still awaited the types of Progressivis

reforms that Elihu Root had introduced to the “Old Army” a

the turn of the century. 13

Because of the above problems, the Air Service was clearly i

a difficult position. Would it survive its own demobilization—

and, by extension, the growing parsimony and isolationism o

postwar America? Would it shape its own intellectual destiny

ranging from basic operating principles through a workin

theory of airpower, or would it remain under the strict contro

of the Army’s “old guard,” who largely dismissed airpower a

airborne reconnaissance or artillery? As long as thes

questions remained open, the Air Service was vulnerable t

the depredations of Army traditionalists, who responded t

free-thinking airmen like Billy Mitchell with open suspicion, i

not outright hostility. (General Pershing, for example, onc

attributed Mitchell’s zealotry to an insidious “Bolshevik

bug.”) 1 4 Additionally, a delimited and ill-defined Air Service wa

in danger of never realizing what the “dervishes of airpower

wanted most—coequal status with the Army and Navy and 

doctrine ultimately committed to independent strategi

bombardment against the vital centers of an enemy state.

To resolve the above questions favorably and to ensure tha

American airpower realized its full potential, early air leader

and thinkers such as Mitchell, Patrick, Gorrell , Milling

Sherman, Benjamin “Benny” Foulois , and Henry “Hap” Arnold

haltingly developed an ad hoc, four-part strategy designe

either to create new roles and missions for the Air Corps or t

steal old responsibilities away from the Army and Navy

Specifically, the strategy sought to (1) redefine America as an

airpower rather than a maritime nation; (2) demonstrate an

publicize the versatility of airpower in peacetime roles; (3

create both a corporate Air Corps identity through politica

maneuvering and an independent air force through legislation

and (4) perhaps most importantly, develop a unique theory o

air warfare—unescorted high-altitude precision dayligh

bombardment (HAPDB) against the key nodes of an enemy’

industrial infrastructure. (The development of air theory an

doctrine became the special responsibility of the Air Servic

Field Officer’s School [ASFOS, 1920–21], which the Army late

186
rechristened the Air Service Tactical School [ASTS , 1922–26]

and then the seminal Air Corps Tactical School [ACTS

1926–40]. The school divided its 20-year existence between

Langley Field, Virginia , and Maxwell Field, Alabama, where i

moved in 1931.)15

The airmen’s four-part strategy ultimately worked. Not only

did the Air Service survive as an institution but thanks t

ACTS ’s infamous “Bomber Mafia ” and their sympathizers, th

Army’s semiautonomous air arm entered World War II with

the necessary organization, the specific bomber, and th

unique theory/doctrine ultimately used to conduct the mos

devastating strategic air campaign in history. To explain how

this happened, this chapter explores how the first thre

components of the Air Corps’s ad hoc strategy helped i

survive and then flourish as an interwar institution. In othe

words, the chapter broadly (and impressionistically) review

how zealous airmen partially succeeded in promoting Americ

as an airpower rather than a maritime nation, in

demonstrating and publicizing the versatility of airpower in

peacetime roles, and in advocating an increasingly

independent air force through political maneuvering an

legislation. Last, the chapter focuses on the seminal role o

ACTS in the development of a unique theory and doctrine o

American airpower. In particular, it looks at ACTS’s thre

distinct theoretical/doctrinal phases and the way they led t

Air War Plans Division, Plan 1 (AWPD-1), America’s firs

substantive plan for strategic air warfare.

1 6

America: An Airpower or a Maritime Nation?

Although the United States has historically defined itself a

a maritime power, Army airmen like Hap Arnold and Ira Eake

argued otherwise throughout the interwar years. According t

them, when Wilbur and Orville Wright performed history’

first controlled flight, they turned Rudyard Kipling’s vision

into reality—“We are at the opening verse of the opening pag

of the chapter of endless possibilities.”1 7 Henceforth, Americ

would be an airpower nation, and it behooved the genera

public and the military’s “old guard” to embrace a new world

of time and space.1 8

187
Within the Air Service and Air Corps, manifestations o

air-mindedness appeared everywhere and in odd ways. Fighte

advocate Earl “Pat” Partridge , for example, taught himself t

type by repeatedly transcribing Winged Warfare, William

Bishop ’s inspirational recollection of his experiences as 

fighter ace in World War I.

19 Walter “Buck” Weaver, a “hard

disciplinarian” who first commanded Maxwell Field (1927–31

and then ACTS itself (1939–40), invented “Chess Air,” 

three-dimensional chess game with the top board made u

exclusively of aircraft pieces.20 Further, at the Primary Flyin

School in San Antonio, Texas, one particularly zealou

monitor required the “Dodos” (pilot trainees) at his breakfas

table to wear goggles on the mornings they ate grapefruit

and, when they later performed their appointed rounds, t

bank all turns made while walking (obviously, by holding thei

arms straight out from their sides and leaning in the direction

of the turn). 21

In the public sphere, attempts to promote air-mindednes

were often as silly, but they became more clearheaded with

time. In one especially fertile (yet ambiguous) attempt t

connect Americanism, Babe Ruth, and airpower, the “Sultan

of Swat” tried to catch three baseballs dropped from an

aircraft circling 250 feet overhead. The first two balls knocke

Ruth flat on his back, but on the third try he did manage t

catch the ball. 22 In contrast, the motive behind the 192

“bombing” of the Alamo Plaza by Air Service D.H.4Bs was les

opaque. The Air Service clearly equated Army aviation with

Americanism by “bombing” the people below with recruitin

literature. 2 3 The air arm’s innumerable flying exhibits fo

county fairs (and even picnics) further promoted air

mindedness in the public, as did Claire Chennault’s Thre

Men on a Flying Trapeze—the Air Corps’s first aeria

demonstration team—and Jimmy Doolittle ’s repeated victorie

in highly visible national air races. (Much to the annoyance o

the Navy, Doolittle won the 1925 Schneider Cup, a rac

reserved exclusively for seaplanes !)2 4

However, media-savvy visionaries such as Hap Arnold , wh

headed the Air Service Information Office in 1925–26, and Ir

Eaker, who coauthored three books with Arnold , systematize

the spread of “aeromania” in general—and public support fo

188
the Air Corps in particular. As the acknowledged masters o

public relations in the interwar Air Corps, both men sprea

air-mindedness with an endless stream of press releases

interviews, attention-getting flights, newsreel and radi

coverage of special events, and the ability to intertwine th

glamour of Hollywood with the thrill of flying. 25

Arnold and Eaker also concentrated on spreadin

aeromania to the young, who they believed were “keenly aliv

to the wonderful future possibilities of aerial navigation.”2

From 1926 to 1928, for example, Major Arnold wrote 

six-volume adventure series for the A. L. Burt Company, 

publisher whose tales provided “good, healthy action tha

every boy loves.” (Other series printed by Burt included Clai

W. Hayes’s The Boy Allies with the Army, Ensign Rober

Drake’s The Boy Allies with the Navy, and Milton Richards’s

Boys of the Royal Mounted Police .) Arnold’s popular tale

featured a heroic (yet modest) young aviator named Bill Bruce

whom the airman named after one of his sons. 27 By providin

an unvarnished yet inspiring collection of stories about 

likable pilot’s adventures in the Air Service , Arnold

accomplished several goals. He created “a favorable an

sympathetic view of Air Service personnel”; he quietly argue

for an expanded and improved air arm; and he dramatize

“values, attitudes, and behaviors” that arguably defined, alon

with the Ted Scott series and dozens of other aviation-relate

examples, the “national character” of an entire generation o

interwar youth. 28 Among its other qualities, that confiden

character certainly emphasized duty before self, particularly

in a professional Air Corps that fulfilled America’s militar

needs first and foremost through the air.

In the 1930s Oscar Westover, who served as chief of the Ai

Corps from 1935 to 1938, joined Arnold and Eaker in trying t

turn even more of America’s youth into “airheads,” as one wa

put it.2 9 In particular, they focused their attention on th

Junior Birdmen of America (organized in 1932), the Jimmie

Allen Flying Club, and several other boys’ aeronauti

organizations. (In 1936 the Junior Birdmen of America alon

had 17 wings and close to five hundred thousand members.)3

From General Westover’s perspective, the members of thes

organizations fulfilled two needs—they acted as coworkers in 

189
common, air-centered cause and they provided a future reserv

of flying strength for America . (In the last case, Westove

thought it “thrilling” that Junior Birdmen would soon fly

state-of-the-art four-engined aircraft.)31 Arnold and Eaker, in

turn, had an additional hope for America ’s young aeromaniacs

and they expressed it in the dedication of a proposed book

(Flying and Your Boy)—“May they grasp the controls with firm

hands and . . . stout hearts to the end that America may lea

the world in the air.”32 In other words, the goal of America wa

not only to become an airpower nation but—through it

youth—to dominate the sky. (The Air Corps strove to promot

both goals in myriad ways. In one example, it hosted a nationa

Junior Birdmen event in a balloon hangar at Brooks Field

Texas, and then provided the attendees tours of Randolph Field 

home of the Air Corps’s Primary Flying School.)

The above examples are hardly exhaustive. They do show

however, that as part of a loose four-part strategy, members o

the Air Service/ Air Corps strenuously promoted the idea tha

America was first and foremost an airpower nation. They no

only adopted and applied the idea to themselves but also trie

to indoctrinate the general public—especially America’s youth

Because of their efforts and the parallel successes of thei

civilian counterparts (like Charles Lindbergh , Wiley Post, an

Amelia Earhart), they made significant progress. The Ai

Service did inspire a sufficient number of airheads, both in

the public at large and in Congress, to ensure that it survive

the parsimonious budgets of the early 1920s. Then, the Ai

Corps slowly but inexorably cultivated public support, no

only for aviation in general but also for its drive fo

organizational and doctrinal autonomy. (By 1938 the public’

support was broad enough that the Southeastern Aviation

Conference , held at the relatively isolated Jefferson Davi

Hotel in Montgomery, Alabama, attracted over two hundre

participants, including such luminaries as Doolittle, Eddi

Rickenbacker, and C. E. Falk , president of Delta Airways.)3

The drive for acceptance and autonomy, however, required th

Air Service / Air Corps to do more than merely promote th

redefinition of America as an airpower nation.

190
The Versatility of Airpower in Peacetime Roles

A skeptic once asked Benjamin Franklin if untethere

balloons had any utility. His rhetorical answer—“What is th

use of a new born babe? It may become a man”—

foreshadowed the thinking of Army aviators in the 1920s an

1930s.3 4 Yes, their immediate goal was to protect the infan

Air Service from the negative effects of rapid demobilization

and from the possible treachery of the War Department’s “old

guard.” However, senior air leaders like Brig Gen Bill

Mitchell, who served as assistant chief of the Air Service from

1919 to 1921, and Maj Gen Mason Patrick, who functioned a

chief of the Air Service / Air Corps from 1921 to 1927, knew

that merely promoting aeromania was not enough.3 5 If Arm

aviation were to survive and become a mature, independen

way of war, it needed to create new roles and missions fo

itself or seize existing responsibilities from the Army or Navy

Almost from the beginning, it did both.

Like their postwar counterparts in the Royal Air Force , US

airmen concluded that they needed to demonstrate quickly

the versatility of airpower or perhaps see it ruthlessly starve

of institutional and financial support. As a result, the Ai

Service and Air Corps of the 1920s willingly performed 

variety of peacetime roles. In California, for example, Arm

airmen became airborne forest rangers who detected an

reported approximately four thousand forest fires from 191

to 1923. In Oregon, the total acreage destroyed by fir

decreased 62 percent during the first three years of the Arm

program there. (This total far exceeded the 27 percen

decrease that occurred in California.)3 6

At roughly the same time, the Air Service sought additiona

roles and missions. It patrolled the entire Mexican border t

discourage cattle smugglers, bandits, and illegal borde

crossings; it conducted crop-dusting experiments (with

calcium arsenate) to protect cotton and fruit crops from pests

it dabbled in the aerial seeding of farmland; and it highlighte

the success of Navy aviation in mapping the Mississippi Delt

for a cost of less than $8,000. (The aerial mapping was 

significant feat since over 50 percent of US territory remaine

unsurveyed at the time.)37 Later, when a devastating flood

191
destroyed nearly five thousand houses and 2,615 buildings in

Southern Alabama, the Air Corps demonstrated its utility in

yet another arena—disaster relief. 3 8 During 15–20 March

1929, aircraft from Maxwell Field flew 346 flights and droppe

27.5 tons of supplies “to distressed thousands in an are

which otherwise would have been inaccessible for days.”39

Finally, the Air Service inaugurated and briefly provide

airmail service in 1918. Sixteen years later, the Air Corp

resumed the responsibility when Postmaster General Jame

A. Farley abruptly suspended the work of civilian contractors

(The Roosevelt administration suspected that the contractor

had used fraud and collusion to secure their routes from th

Republicans previously in power.) From 19 February until 

June 1934, the Air Corps struggled mightily to deliver th

mail, but unusually bad weather, limited training an

experience, and inadequate equipment left a number of pilot

dead and the Air Corps’s reputation sullied. 40 (A potentia

problem, however, turned into an advantage when Secretar

of War George Dern appointed the Baker Board to investigat

the Air Corps’s dubious performance. The board conclude

that the Air Corps was ill prepared to carry the mail, but i

partially blamed government parsimony for its limite

success. Ironically then, the Baker Board ’s investigation

revived official interest and support for the Air Corps, even

though it had failed to perform as advertised. According t

Benny Foulois , a man who Villa Tinker claimed “had neve

been young,” the board’s criticisms shamed Presiden

Franklin D. Roosevelt into releasing impounded research an

development funds and $7 million in Public Work

Administration funds.)41

Admittedly, the above demonstrations of versatility wer

theatrical and of limited value. They made a modes

contribution to America’s growing commitment to airpower

but true progress in the dispute over military roles an

missions lay elsewhere. In the case of the Army, the Air Corp

and ACTS concentrated primarily on developing a new rol

and mission—unescorted HAPDB by as autonomous an ai

force as possible. In the case of the Navy, Army aviator

deliberately (and incrementally) intruded into a long-standin

naval responsibility—offshore continental defense. To

192
illustrate just how the Air Corps survived and expanded b

appropriating the roles and missions of others, this chapte

now reviews (in broad terms) its intrusion on Nav

prerogatives. (In an era when the Air Corps could not officiall

advocate offensive air operations against “nonmilitary” targets

except within an overarching defensive framework, the issu

was a natural source of friction.)

In its incremental attempt to intrude upon the offshore an

hemispheric defense functions of the Navy—and thus creat

an offensive bomber force through the back door—the Ai

Corps sought to (1) define a threat, (2) repudiate the Navy ’

ability to answer that threat, and (3) offer a bomber-base

solution. In the first case, Air Corps (i.e., ACTS) strategist

defined the threat as nothing less than an anarchic

unregulated future. According to Maj Don Wilson , a cor

member of ACTS ’s infamous Bomber Mafia , worldwid

differences in standards of living and the scramble fo

markets (to absorb production surpluses) would inevitably

lead to increased nationalism . Unregulated nationalism would

then compel the United States to prevent any interferenc

with its policies and to ensure its national defense. In

ensuring its home defense, however, the United States would

have to concentrate on preserving the integrity of the nation

as a whole, given that whole nations (and not just militar

forces) waged modern war.4 2 Further, these nations wer

exploring new ways to challenge US interests.

According to 1st Lt Kenneth Walker , another seminal ACTS

figure, “The importance assigned to Air Forces by majo

European powers, among which may be potential enemies

leaves no doubt our future enemies will unquestionably rely

greatly, if not primarily, upon the actions of their Air Forces t

bring about the defeat of the United States .”4 3 But what would

an enemy air force specifically attack? Most likely, it would b

the industrial triangle extending from Portland, Maine, to th

Chesapeake Bay to Chicago. Within this triangle lay 7

percent of all US factories, almost all the nation’s steelworks

most of its coal, and a number of major railroad centers

including New York, Washington, Pittsburgh, and Cleveland.4

In the opinion of Capt Robert Olds, yet another victim o

193
bombus fervidus, a devastating attack on America

industrial triangle could unfold in the following way:

A coalition of European and Asiatic powers have declared war on the

United States . Superior naval forces . . . seek a decisive naval

engagement in the vicinity of the Panama Canal. . . . Such actions

draw the U.S. Navy to Caribbean waters, with its naval aviation. Land

forces from the Orient, using Alaska as an advanced base, seek . . . to

establish a salient in the area Washington, Oregon, California and

inland to about Salt Lake City, as a land base for further offensive

operations in U.S. territory. The concentration of the U.S. Army with

its aviation, in the western theatre of operations would be mandatory

to resist the land invasion.

Simultaneously, the mass of the Allied air forces have been flown, or

shipped under submarine and patrol boat convoy, from Ireland to

Newfoundland and are prepared to launch air attacks, from air bases

in eastern Canada, against any targets of their choice in the vital

industrial heart of our country. (Emphasis in original)4 5

The targets of choice, according to Capt Harold Lee George—

doyen of the ACTS Bomber Mafia —would be rail lines

refineries, electric power systems, and (as a last resort) wate

supply systems. By attacking and destroying these objectives

George argued, an invader would quickly and efficientl

destroy the people’s will to resist—the key to success in

modern war.4 6

George’s emphasis on attacking will was thoroughly

Clausewitzian and familiar. As a pedagogical concept, i

appeared in Influence of Airplanes on Operations in War, a tex

first used at the Field Officer’s School in 1920–21. The tex

argued that war was “a conflict of human wills, bent an

twisted in the heat of violent emotions”; that aircraft had 

“peculiarly demoralizing influence” on any contest between

moral forces; and that material factors in war (and therefor

targets) only mattered to the extent that they modified an

opponent’s will to resist.

47 (The text’s logic was obviously

deductive, as was the Bomber Mafia ’s. Robert Webster , fo

example, opined the following about human will an

endurance: “There must be some limit to this endurance; it i

not reasonable that a nation can see every resource that it ha

for waging war destroyed without realizing the folly o

continued opposition.”)4 8

194
If America

s industrial triangle were the ultimate, war

winning target of an invading force, regardless of how vaguely

defined, what role did the Navy have in continental defense? A

Olds intimated, the Navy would have an ancillary role at bes

America ’s primary “center of gravity” was now its industria

heartland and no longer its sea lanes of communication

(SLOC). The only real threat to this new vulnerability wa

airpower, and this belief animated the second part of the Ai

Corps’s intrusion on Navy roles and missions—to overtly (an

consistently) question the future utility of the Navy as the prim

defender of the United States.

Perhaps Thomas Milling stated the early Air Corps position

best when he noted that “it needs no great stretch of th

imagination to foresee the time when sea supremacy will res

entirely in air power.”4 9 Such revisionism partially had it

roots in the Preparedness Movement of World War I, which th

Washington Herald deftly summarized in a later byline a

“Training Is Good. Flying Is Better. Look at the World. It’s A

Mixed Up.”50 The concern, as previously noted, was that an

unstable nation-state system, coupled with revolutionar

advances in armaments, guaranteed that future wars would

be so deadly and terrifying that only those who were mos

thoroughly prepared would survive.5 1 Therefore, the Arm

League of the United States chose as its motto, Let Us Be Saf

Rather Than Sorry. But safe from what? One suggestion

appeared in 1916, when preparedness advocate Alexande

Graham Bell worried that “we may . . . look forward with

certainty to the time that is coming, and indeed is almost now

at hand, when sea power and land power will be secondary t

air power, and that nation which gains control of the air wil

practically control the world.”5 2 To the great inventor, th

reason for airpower’s newfound stature was the dirigible

which he envisioned dropping bombs on the world’s grea

cities with impunity.

Billy Mitchell agreed with Bell but was less equivocal. H

argued in one early Tactical School text, Tactical Application o

Military Aeronautics (1919), that air forces, given thei

revolutionary technologies and capabilities, would not jus

lead to the subordination of navies but to their eventua

extinction. More specifically, navies would not be necessary in

195
wars of the future (i.e., M-day wars), in which belligerent

might have enough aircraft to devastate their opponent’

centers of government, production, and military strength, an

thus end armed conflicts almost before they began. 53

Charles Menoher, head of the Air Service from 1919 t

1921, also stressed the probability of air-driven, M-da

warfare to the Society of Automotive Engineers on 10 March

1920. To protect against a specific type of M-day scenario—

seaborne attack against the United States—Menoher expecte

continental defense to involve three interrelated (and rapid

steps: long-range air reconnaissance (against approachin

aircraft and ships); an air superiority battle between opposin

pursuit aircraft ; and a rapid, devastating aerial attack agains

hostile fleets, in which battleships would be as helpless a

“the armored knight when the firearm was brought agains

him.” (In the last case, Menoher pointed out that for the pric

of one battleship , the Air Service could field one thousan

bombers to crush a seaborne attack.)5 4 Building on this logic

Milling argued further that the Air Service (and Air Corps) wa

America’s true line of defense against sea-based invasions. I

Mitchell were wrong (i.e., if the Navy had any preventive rol

to play at all), the sea service would function merely as an

advanced point or spearhead.5 5

As the interwar period evolved, the challenge to the Navy ’

offshore defense mission only intensified. If America’s securit

primarily depended on long-range air defenses , as Air Corp

theorists argued, the Navy would never perform the mission

The aircraft of forward-deployed aircraft carriers, for example

would not concentrate on the air defense of the nation but on

meeting the strategic and tactical needs of the fleet. In othe

words, the Navy would relegate national air defense to 

secondary role. The true focus of carrier aviation would be t

defeat the enemy fleet or help preserve US forces.56 Any focu

on land targets, bomber zealot Robert Webster observed

would be “entirely a secondary consideration.”57 Such allege

parochialism, however, was not the Navy’s only problem.

A second problem was that modern warships cost too much

If the Air Corps could defend and control SLOCs just a

effectively as any naval action, its boosters asked, why spen

196
huge sums of money on unneeded battleships and aircraf

carriers?

Third, advocates of land-based aviation openly doubted tha

naval commanders would risk their carriers in raids agains

land objectives, especially in the name of “defensive

operations. Commanders would have to make a difficul

choice between operating range and vulnerability to land

based airpower and thus limit the carriers’ performance in

either case.

Finally, airmen believed that naval operations would b

further impaired by international agreements, the growin

scope (and importance) of coalition warfare, the division o

total naval forces into unreinforceable halves (the Pacific an

Atlantic fleets tenuously connected by the vulnerable Panam

Canal), and the inability of naval forces to patrol and reach al

access points in a timely manner. 58

The Navy fought mightily against the fear mongering of th

Air Corps, and from the standpoint of War Department (i.e

Joint Board) directives, it largely succeeded. Throughout th

interwar years, the board’s directives remained helpfully vagu

when dealing with areas of overlapping responsibility. But th

Navy was fighting against an eroding tide. 59 Air-minde

civilian leaders often supported the Air Service ’s/Air Corps’

intrusion on Navy prerogatives. Calvin Coolidge , for example

decided relatively early in the roles and missions debate tha

“our national defense must be supplemented, if no

dominated, by aviation.”6 0 In turn, Lt Gen Robert Lee Bullard 

president of the National Security League and forme

commander of AEF’s Second Army, argued that the Navy wa

rapidly becoming a mere “escort” to land-based aviation

which would sweep over land and sea with impunity. 61

Woven into such sentiments was the assumption that th

US Navy would be “inadequate and impotent” in keeping ou

sea lanes open and in denying them to potential enemies. As 

result, enemy states or coalitions could place air bases an

carrier-based aviation close enough to America’s borders t

destroy the great industrial triangle in an M-day attack an

thus indirectly wipe out the American people’s will to resist

Long-range and land-based airpower, however, offered 

specific solution to sea-based air attacks and invasions, a

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Hap Arnold argued in Airmen and Aircraft (1926), as Mason

Patrick confirmed in The United States in the Air (1928), an

as Millard F. Harmon reiterated while at ACTS in the lat

1930s. (Harmon , however, could not decide if the long-rang

bomber would “assume parity with the Army and Navy . . . o

absorb them one or both.”) 62 Ultimately, from the biase

perspective of Air Corps leaders and ACTS strategists, the

had defined a new American center of gravity and abraded th

public’s (and government’s) faith in the Navy to safeguard th

nation from long-range attack. The only step left was for th

Air Corps to cap its intrusion into Navy prerogatives b

incrementally defining (and assuming) a role in continenta

and then hemispheric defense.

The Air Corps laid claim to what had been an exclusiv

Navy responsibility by systematically redefining and extendin

the role of “defensive” air operations—from the waterline of th

United States to hemispheric defense and eventually to th

vital economic centers of enemy states, even if they wer

thousands of miles away. The intrusion process, however, wa

full of fits and starts. It received a major push in 1925, when

the Air Service Tactical School proposed revisions to the Wa

Department’s General Order (GO) 20, which determined Join

Board policy on the relationship between Army and Nav

aircraft. The ASTS commandant, Maj Oscar Westover

protested innocently that the intent of the school was not t

preach or even suggest who should have particular roles an

missions. But he also noted that the growth of aviation ha

brought about an appreciation of what air forces could do an

thus required a “consideration of realignment of the rea

agencies making for National Defense.”6 3 Given thi

Janus-faced sentiment, it is not surprising that the suggeste

ASTS changes to GO 20 deliberately sought to blur th

geographical areas of responsibility between naval an

land-based aviation .

64 Air Corps leaders subsequently

stressed this ambiguity and increasingly demanded tha

land-based aviation should operate from America ’s shorelin

up to six hundred miles at sea, depending on the source.

The demands, regardless of how vaguely made, spurred Gen

Douglas MacArthur and Adm William V. Pratt , as heads o

their respective services, to reach a temporary agreement on

198
coastal defense in 1931. They seemingly agreed that naval ai

forces would exclusively support forces afloat and therefor

enjoy complete freedom of action, while the Army Air Corp

would defend the coasts of the United States and its oversea

possessions. In reality, the agreement was sufficiently vagu

that the Navy interpreted the arrangement more broadly than

the Army did. As a result, the Navy continued to expan

land-based naval facilities and develop scout bombers.

6 5

The upstart Air Corps’s response was twofold. First, i

repeated Milling’s previous, topsy-turvy complaints: it was th

Navy, by stealing away precious funds for itself, that wa

imperiling the creation of a proper air force for nationa

defense; it was the Navy that was encroaching on th

“prerogatives and proper duties” of the Air Corps; and it wa

the Navy that was neglecting its own role of functioning as 

spearhead operating exclusively against enemy fleets.6 6

Second, the Air Corps redoubled its efforts to assume Navy

responsibilities (and more), as illustrated in a 193

memorandum by George C. Kenney to the assistan

commandant of the Army War College . (Kenney was an

influential ACTS instructor from 1927 to 1931.) Yes, the rol

of the Air Corps was to perform coastal defense and thu

provide the Navy complete freedom of action, as specified b

the MacArthur-Pratt Agreement. On the other hand, specifi

Air Corps objectives, as suggested by Kenney, wer

suspiciously unorthodox. The familiar objective of ai

superiority was present, as was the requirement to defen

vital American industrial centers, naval bases, airfields, an

other critical resources. But Kenney also included as an

objective “the location [of] and attack upon hostile vessels

landing parties, airdromes, troop and supply concentration

at sea or on land, vital enemy lines of communication an

industrial centers.”67 Obviously, the last objective attacke

Navy prerogatives on two levels. First, Kenney not only

extended air operations far out to sea but also define

attacking “enemy lines of communication and industria

centers” as a defensive activity. Second, both roles wer

implicitly strategic and involved operating aircraf

independently of land and sea forces.

199
The Navy

s response to these complaints was to rescind th

MacArthur-Pratt Agreement in 1935.6 8 As a result, the Ai

Corps’s ultimate intrusion into the Navy’s domain was no

attributable to mutual cooperation or concessions to it

complaints. Instead, it was attributable to the Air Corps’

ability to provide a clearly stated alternative to sea-base

national defense, which then attracted the support of a ver

powerful friend—President Franklin D. Roosevelt .

But who specifically provided the Air Corps’s blueprint fo

national defense in the mid- to late-1930s? Not surprisingly, i

was ACTS and the Air Corps Board (ACB), a group resurrecte

by the Baker Board in 1935. 69 From 1935 to 1940, th

revitalized ACB worked side by side with ACTS at Maxwel

Field . Its members usually included the ACTS commandan

and assistant commandant as ex officio members; a directo

of the board, who was usually its senior permanent membe

(Col Douglas B. Netherwood , Lt Col Edgar B. Sorensen, an

Col Robert Kauch , for example); and five to eight officers an

civilians who had an almost incestuous working relationship

with ACTS . In the last case, bomber proponent Laurenc

Kuter recalled that “the school thought it could get som

things through the chief’s office via the board that it couldn’

any other way [and that] the board was quite happy to hav

that arrangement too.”7 0 As a result of this close association

for several years ACTS formally scrubbed all ACB reports tha

went to the Office of the Chief of the Air Corps (OCAC); th

board ensured that its studies were compatible with th

principles taught at the Tactical School; and the mutua

cooperation between both organizations ensured that the

spoke with one voice, especially when they developed th

theoretical and doctrinal “language” that the Air Corp

increasingly used to claim a role in offshore defense.

In developing the above “language,” the ACB fulfilled 

charter that was both theoretical and practical. On th

theoretical level, its role was to study Air Corps problems an

issues that involved considerable study and research, a

assigned by the chief of the Air Corps under the provisions o

AR 95-20 (9 November 1934).7 1 In 1936 Lt Col R. M. Jones

General Arnold ’s executive officer, highlighted two of thes

problems and issues in particular. First, he asked whether th

200
Air Corps should pursue large-scale development of costly

four-engined bombers or whether it should invest in

medium-range and therefore cheaper bombers. Second, h

asked what types of missions long-range bombers should

actually perform. (The Air Corps’s two-part answer, as alread

suggested, was the B-17 and hemispheric defense

respectively.)72

In the immediate, practical sphere, the ACB’s charter was t

serve as an antidote to the “divide and conquer” strategy th

Army adopted against its aeromaniacs, particularly after th

Drum Board of 1933. In other words, the board’s function—

since it presumably had at least the tacit support of OCAC o

certain issues—was to prevent divergences of opinion betwee

OCAC and the newly created, semiautonomous Genera

Headquarters (GHQ) Air Force.

7 3 As General Arnold and hi

sympathizers insisted, the Air Corps had to spread th

conviction that it was “one single body with a single purpos

common to all its parts” (emphasis in original). 74 Consequently

between 1935–42 the Air Corps Board undertook 77 projects, 2

of which recommended common strategies and tactics.7 5 O

those ACB studies that provided airmen a “language” to assaul

Navy prerogatives, arguably the two most important wer

ACB-31, The Functions of the Army Air Forces, and ACB-35

Employment of Aircraft in Defense of the Continental Unite

States.

The purpose of ACB-31 was to “determine the manner in

which Air Forces may best perform those functions for which

they are, or should be, responsible” (emphasis added). 76 Th

report, although endorsed by ACTS , was sufficiently

controversial that OCAC classified it Confidential and did no

formally approve it until 29 October 1936. (The office copy, fo

example, has warnings such as “not to leave the office” an

“do not forward” scrawled and underlined on the title page.)7

Six weeks later, on 11 December 1936, General Westove

recommended that the War Department adopt ACB-31 as it

official air policy. Not surprisingly, his recommendation wen

unheeded.

The report, although circumspect, challenged the orthodox

of the time. It conceded that the primary role of Army Ai

Forces (AAF) was to defend US territory, preserve interna

201
order, and support ground and naval forces.

78 However, sinc

airpower was inherently strategic, it also insisted that the Ai

Corps develop, operate, and maintain follow-on air forces fo

defensive and possibly offensive strategic operations.79 (Why

Because long-range aviation constituted a new type of force; i

influenced ground and sea action yet operated outside thei

domains; and it seriously complicated an opponent’s ability t

wage war.)8 0 Second, the report identified potential target set

for air bombardment that deliberately obscured the distinction

between tactical, operational, and strategic-level objectives

The suggested targets included but were not limited to troop

cantonments or concentrations, choke points in lines o

communications, enemy air forces and naval vessels, fue

storage plants, power grids, munitions and aircraft factories

and assorted types of refineries.8 1 Last, ACB-31’s definition o

air-based coastal defense was also premeditatedly vague. Yes

it included protecting shipping in coastal zones, guardin

military and civilian facilities, preventing invasion, an

ensuring the security of vital military and commercial coasta

areas. However, the most effective way that land-base

aviation could accomplish these objectives was to conduc

unrestricted counterair operations against distan

installations or to thwart the creation and use of staging area

for a continental attack. In either case, the need for long-rang

aircraft became “a matter of prime importance.”82

In the case of ACB-35, Employment of Aircraft in Defense o

the Continental United States, the Air Corps classified it Secre

and did not release it until 7 May 1939, even though ACB ha

finished the original version in late 1935.83 Nevertheless, th

report passed from one influential person to another

especially between those individuals interested in providin

the newly minted GHQ Air Force a shadow doctrine. As 

result, ACB-35 augmented the doctrinal vocabulary provide

by its predecessor. Both reports popularized the concept of 

strategic strike force dedicated to destroying a spectrum o

targets in the name of coastal-continental defense. ACB-35

however, made an even bigger claim—that the strategi

bomber was the ideal instrument of hemispheric defense an

beyond. The report noted that “the possibility of applyin

military force against the vital structure of a nation directly

202
and immediately upon the outbreak of hostilities, is a mos

important and far reaching development.”84 In other words

the role of airpower was not just supplementary—to attac

hostile forces beyond the reach of the Army or Navy—but t

strike directly against an enemy nation! Its ultimat

responsibility was to

exert the greatest possible influence on the outcome of the entire

campaign, rather than [be] diverted for the purpose of meeting some

immediate emergency of lesser ultimate importance. Aircraft should

never be used against targets appropriate for and within the range of

other weapons unless there are no other objectives suitable for air

attack or the situation demands the concentration of all available

weapons. 8 5

Therefore, to support the Monroe Doctrine properly, AAF

needed to perform most of its missions over areas that wer

potentially far beyond the operating radius of the Army an

Navy. Yes, the Air Corps had an auxiliary, defensive role, bu

in the name of strategic defense, it was incumbent for th

GHQ Air Force to operate under the most favorabl

circumstances possible, which meant using bombers to th

fullest extent of their ability and where the opponent was mos

vulnerable to attack. 86 The old areas of responsibility worke

out by the Joint Board and MacArthur-Pratt no longe

applied. An opponent’s most vital targets might now includ

land forces, large naval expeditions, or the structure of an

enemy nation.8 7 However, in order to provide long-rang

defense and more, ACB-35 insisted that the B-17 make up a

least one-third of the Air Corps’s bomber force and thu

enable it to operate as far as fifteen hundred miles out at se

or from a particular base. Hap Arnold and other

subsequently used this well-developed paradigm to encroach

on the long-range “defense” mission traditionally dominate

by the Navy . They acted upon the ACB’s recommendations

but the level of success they experienced against the Navy in

the mid- to late-1930s might not have occurred without 

powerful new ally—Franklin D. Roosevelt .

8 8

FDR’s support for long-range aviation , as a defensive an

offensive tool, grew out of mounting international pressure

and successful Air Corps indoctrination, as promoted b

ACB-31 and ACB-35. The international pressures include

203
the expiration of the Washington Treaty, the collapse of th

Geneva Disarmament Conference of 1933, growing German

rearmament, Japan ’s incursion into Manchuria , and th

Anglo-Italian imbroglio over Ethiopia . Roosevelt conclude

from these developments that he needed long-range militar

aviation to project power, deter aggression, and defend US

territory. Thus, on the eve of World War II, the Air Corps ha

America’s first true long-range bomber—the B-17; 

semiautonomous striking force—GHQ Air Force ; and both new

and expropriated missions.89 In other words, the Air Corps o

the late 1930s had the means, the organization, and th

conceptual “language” needed for an overlapping mission with

the Navy. It had survived and codified itself not only b

spreading air-mindedness but also by demonstrating it

versatility in selected roles and missions. However, the air arm

had yet a third part to its ad hoc strategy.

The Army and Its Air Corps:

Political Maneuvering and Legislative Combat

A political and legislative assault by the Air Corps agains

its parent service was a third way it sought to survive an

then realize its full potential in the interwar years. Initially

the assault required airmen to complain loudly and often. I

one is to believe the air enthusiasts of the interwar years

whether civilian or military, Army traditionalists sought t

thwart them at every turn. Col Benjamin Foulois, for example

complained to the Morrow Board in 1925 that

a fair, just, willing and sympathetic opportunity for the Air Service to

produce results has never been evidenced, from my experience of the

past 17 years, and I doubt whether results can be obtained in the next

20 years if the Air Service is required to continue its struggle for

existence under General Staff control. 9 0

What was the reason for such hostility? Maj Gen Mason

Patrick, while head of the Air Service, argued politely that in

the case of the Army, its leaders were hidebound Neanderthal

who did not realize the full potential of airpower and therefor

took three years to acknowledge they even had an Ai

Service .

91 In turn, Robert Bullard claimed that the directors o

204
the older services were 

jealously intent upon keeping thi

new [aviation] arm subordinate, as an auxiliary, lest they los

power and prestige.”92 And so the explanations an

complaints continued well into the 1930s, when an

anonymous airman refused to share credit or take comfort in

the great strides made by Army aviation : “Although the Ai

Corps has escaped from its role as [the] Cinderella of th

Army, it has done so through its own effort alone and is stil

subject to the might of its none too appreciative parents.”9

These “parents” were, in Hanson Baldwin ’s words

“short-sighted old fogies.” They included the long-sufferin

Maj Gen Hugh Drum, whom the “dervishes of airpower

attacked repeatedly as a thick-witted Army traditionalist wh

refused to abandon his early claim that the American

doughboy would forever remain the decisive element in war.94

Were Army airmen always right to fear their paren

organization? Was the interwar Army unremittingly hostil

towards its own air arm? The answer to both questions is “no,

but the questions themselves are moot. For every complain

about bovine Army generals robbing the Air Service/ Air Corps o

its full potential and for every statistic “proving” Wa

Department and Army parsimony, there are countervailin

examples of substantive financial support and bureaucrati

tolerance. The Air Service/ Air Corps was, after all, a

independent branch of the Army that was coequal with othe

combat arms. Its military expenditures, as a percentage of tota

War Department disbursements, grew from 11.8 percent in

1925 to 28.1 percent in 1939.95 (In fact, in only one yea

between 1925–39 [1933] did Air Corps outlays fall as 

percentage of War Department spending.) In the blea

Depression years of 1933–36, the Air Corps still receive

$113.21 million in emergency funds, and its chief, as an aviator

was the highest paid officer in the Regular Army.96 Yet, Regula

Army members were not uniformly hostile or jealous. Aviato

Hugh Knerr, for example, attended the Army War College i

1930–31, where the “growing appreciation” of airpower left him

“with no windmills to challenge.”9 7 In turn, Air Force Chief o

Staff Nathan Twining later admitted that “the Army took goo

care of us,” while Gen Howell Estes did not recall the Arm

treating its airmen as second-class citizens.9 8

205
On an objective level, Air Corps complaints about Arm

persecution were polemical and wrongly popularized b

sympathetic aviation historians.9 9 (The real problem was tha

Congress and the War Department failed repeatedly t

disburse the funds they promised and that the Army and Navy

suffered the same fate as the Air Corps—but their relative

rates of deprivation were worse.) To repeat, however, the poin

was moot. Nothing could have placated Milling, Sherman, o

the ACTS Bomber Mafia . Nothing could have minimized thei

adversarial approach, which did periodically lapse int

persecution mania. Since the air zealots were “separatists

and Army traditionalists were “indispensabilists,” they could

only agree to disagree.

But who or what was a “separatist”? According to aviato

Jarred Crabb, it was every man in the Air Corps who “felt a

though they ought to get some bombers, that were able to d

something, and separate from the Army.”100 Bomber advocat

Haywood Hansell agreed—the air weapon could be decisive

only if it operated outside the tactical restrictions imposed b

surface commanders. It was an “inherently” offensive (i.e 

strategic) instrument of war that did not fit preexistin

frameworks of land and sea warfare. 101 As a result

cooperation in air warfare could only mean an intimate liaison

between component parts of an air division—and not with

ground troops or navies. 102 Further, the air division

commander needed to administer independent, strategi

airpower “like an opiate [and] in sufficient quantities t

paralyze an enemy’s activities in sensitive areas at crucia

periods.”103 This, then, was the separatist’s creed, and it wa

the antithesis of the indispensabilist vision of airpower.

As already pointed out, Army traditionalists truly

appreciated military aviation. But like the separatists, they to

had a creed, and it included the principles of economy of forc

and unity of command. To Army traditionalists like Drum, th

lesson of World War I was that an army must use all available

means to work as a single unit towards a single objective in

war—victory. In particular, there was only one US Army, an

airpower was an indispensable part of that indissolubl

whole. 104 Yes, the Air Service/ Air Corps had limite

autonomy, the indispensabilists admitted, but that was only

206
right. The air arm was not a war-winning weapon in itself; i

was unable to occupy territory; it was dependent on fixe

bases; and it was unable to conduct continuous an

sustained operations. As a result, it had to be in “ful

sympathy” with the Army’s other arms and subsume itself t

the Army’s creed. 105 At the center of that creed was th

infantry, which remained the “queen of the battlefield.”

Because there was no room for accommodation between

Army separatists and indispensabilists, the complaints o

airpower zealots could go only so far. As propagandists, the

could—through mind-numbing repetition—create a climate fo

change, but they could not engineer change itself. Thus, t

create a corporate (and independent) identity for themselves

aviators like Benny Foulois, Hap Arnold , Oscar Westover

Frank Andrews , and Robert Olds not only protested loudly bu

also turned Congress and the War Department into roles an

missions battlegrounds. In other words, they resorted t

legislation or formal boards of inquiry to realize thei

separatist vision.

Billy Mitchell spoke for like-minded airmen when h

observed in 1925, “Let the groundman run the ground, let th

waterman run the water, and let the airman run the air.”10

Mitchell and his sympathizers first hoped to turn this pith

maxim into reality via legislative means. At a minimum, the

were going to prevent Army and Navy traditionalists from

choking off the Air Service, bulldozing it, or holding it down

“like a stepchild.” In Mitchell’s words, “To leave aeronautics a

an orphan [was to] strangle it before it reache[d] man’

estate.”107 Therefore, the only way to save Army aviation 

according to Cong. Charles Curry of California, was t

introduce a bill on 28 July 1919, calling for an independen

Department of Aeronautics. Curry’s air-minded proposa

failed, but it also initiated a multiyear legislative and politica

struggle between the Navy and the Army, and between th

Army and its own Air Corps.

108 In 1919–20, for example, n

fewer than eight aviation bills appeared before Congress, all o

which sought to emancipate the Air Service from Army an

Navy domination, either by creating a separate executiv

department, as Congressman Curry wanted, or by creating 

Department of National Defense with three coequal parts. 109

207
Not surprisingly, postwar demobilization and the implacabl

opposition of the War Department doomed all eight bills

Nevertheless, the failures of 1919–20 did not sour Air Servic

“separatists” on the political process. They believed, in th

words of Charles Menoher, that “a great majority” of th

members of Congress were “friendly” to the Air Service.

110 As 

result, air leaders continued to proselytize befor

congressional committees. (Foulois alone, for example

testified 75 times before he became leader of the Air Corps!)

Senior airmen also thought that congressional, Wa

Department, and Army boards or commissions could

positively define the relationship between military aviation an

the older services. If one believes Maj Guido Perera, however

these boards of inquiry were frequently hostile towards th

idea of independent airpower . Of the 14 interwar groups tha

studied the proper employment of airpower prior to 1934

Perera claimed that only one—the Lampert Board o

1924–25—recommended the creation of an independent ai

force within a Department of National Defense.

111 But wa

Perera right? Was there malfeasance or obstructionism afoot

Were the boards and commissions truly hostile, or did the Ai

Corps fail to control the debate properly? Did it le

indispensabilists becloud the issue of independence b

introducing so many details about the needs of the Army an

Navy for auxiliary aviation that no one realized that thes

needs did not represent real defense in the air?112

If one analyzes the findings of individual boards o

commissions, they appear typically hostile to the Air Service/ Ai

Corps. However, imbedded within a majority of these findings i

a smattering of proseparatist recommendations that, whe

added together over time, slowly but inexorably increased th

autonomy of the Air Corps.

113

The seminal Menoher Board , established by Secretary of Wa

Newton Baker, is a case in point. Its report, dated 27 Octobe

1919, was the first to argue that independent airpower could no

win a war by itself and that unfettered air operations violate

the principle of unity of command. On the other hand, th

report was also the first to stress that the Air Service was a

essential Army combat branch equal in importance to th

infantry, cavalry, and artillery. 114

208
At roughly the same time, General Pershing convened th

Dickman Board in Paris on 19 April 1919. The board, which

included Benny Foulois as its president, agreed with the Arm

that the primary function of military aviation was observation

However, it further argued that most of the Air Service should

serve with ground units at the army, corps, and division

levels. The remaining number of aircraft, which might includ

up to three brigades of attack, bombardment, and pursui

aviation, should then form a GHQ reserve that would operat

throughout a battle zone. (General Pershing fough

successfully to prevent the Dickman Board from referring t

the GHQ reserve as a “strategical” force. He did, however

hope that the concept itself would appear progressive enough

to dampen future agitation by independence-minded airmen.)

In March 1923, the Lassiter Board gave the Wa

Department its first significant interwar air plan. It advocate

an expandable Air Force based on a 10-year developmen

program and a $495 million budget. It further elaborated on

the distinction between army-centered air units and GHQ Ai

Forces . According to the board, which included airmen Fran

Lahm and Herbert Dargue, it behooved the Army to assign

attack and pursuit aircraft to each of its field armies, while

also providing bombardment and pursuit striking units to 

GHQ reserve. 115 Although Navy opposition prevented thi

recommendation from becoming law, it did influence th

thinking of the Lampert and Morrow Boards, both of which

reviewed, yet again, the status of the Air Service in 1925.

The air-minded Lampert Board advocated the creation of 

Department of National Defense, a unified and independent ai

force, and the introduction of an assistant secretary for air in

three federal departments—War, Navy, and Commerce

Congress, however, worried that these recommendations would

further complicate the command and control of the Army ai

arm by its parent service. As a result, it enacted into law th

more conservative and yet accommodating suggestions made b

the Morrow Board . Thus, in 1926 the Air Service became the Ai

Corps (a change in nomenclature specifically designed to conve

a new level of autonomy for Army aviation ); it received forma

representation on the War Department General Staff; and i

209
temporarily gained a potential new advocate in the assistan

secretary of war for air affairs.116

Limited but incremental progress continued with the Drum

Board in 1933, although frustrated airmen now defined a board

of inquiry as something “long, narrow, and wooden.”117 Th

board’s members—including the commandant of the Army Wa

College, the chief of the coast artillery, and other Arm

stalwarts—rejected the idea of an independent Air Corps, bu

they did endorse (yet again) the creation of a semiautonomou

GHQ Air Force to conduct independent operations. Conspiracy

minded airmen like Haywood Hansell rightfully worried that th

proposal was part of a divide-and-conquer strategy by the Army

If the staffs of OCAC and GHQ Air Force became bureaucrati

rivals, as Army traditionalists hoped, they would quickly

squander their political capital by battling each other rathe

than their parent service. (The hope was understandable bu

also unfounded. Air Corps leaders successfully prevented th

rivalry from becoming unmanageable.)

Last, in 1934 the Baker Board rejected the Air Corps’

familiar demands for independence and a substantive role in

national defense, but the rival Howell Commission decided, a

Perera observed, “that the Air Service had now passed beyon

its former position as a useful auxiliary and should in th

future be considered an important means of exerting directly

the will of the Commander-in-Chief.”118 As a result, th

commission called for a highly mobile GHQ Air Force tha

would operate as an “independent striking unit” and no

merely as a strategic reserve. The Army, in the mistaken hop

that the Air Corps would divide itself into pro- and anti-GHQ

factions, finally agreed to the idea.

On 1 March 1935 the semiautonomous GHQ Air Forc

became a reality but only after multiple aviation boards an

commissions had sponsored a number of incremental reforms

This political victory, however, was merely the third

component of a four-part strategy. The remaining par

required the Air Corps to develop a new theory and doctrine o

warfare that maximized the independent use of airpower. Th

responsibility to develop this theory and doctrine devolve

almost immediately to the Air Corps Tactical School.

210
The Air Corps Tactical School:

Incubator of Bombardment Theory and Doctrine

In reality, five organizations contributed to the developmen

of American air doctrine in the interwar years: th

conservative War Department (including the Army Genera

Staff), the moderate Office of the Chief of the Air Corps, th

equable GHQ Air Force, the progressive Air Corps Boar

(particularly in the mid- to late-1930s), and the radical Ai

Corps Tactical School. However, of the five contributors to th

concept of unescorted HAPDB, the most important was ACTS 

It divided its 20-year existence between Langley Field

Virginia , and Maxwell Field, Alabama , but one can arrange it

theoretical and doctrinal development into roughly thre

phases (with some overlap between phases two and three).

From 1920 to 1926 the school established the primacy o

the bomber and developed its core principles of employment

From 1927 to 1934, the Bomber Mafia developed a uniquely

American way of air warfare—unescorted HAPDB against th

key nodes of an enemy’s industrial-economic infrastructure

Last, from roughly 1935 to 1940, faculty members not only

formalized their theory into doctrine but also sought t

identify what particular target sets constituted the ke

vulnerabilities of an enemy’s industrial-economic system

Before one reviews these three rough-hewn phases, however

it is appropriate to provide a brief statistical portrait of ACTS .

Between 1921–40, 1,091 officers graduated from ASFOS/

ASTS/ ACTS . The average officer was 39 years old, had 1

years of service, and had consistently received nothing les

than ratings of “excellent” in previous efficiency reports

Ninety percent of the students were airmen, while th

remaining 10 percent came from the other services o

branches of the Army. Captains comprised the majority of th

attendees (55 percent), while 29 percent were majors

(Thirty-four percent of the graduates then attended Arm

Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth

Kansas.) Ten percent came from other services or branches o

the Army. Most importantly, however, only 15 percen

graduated from 1921 to 1930, when the school remaine

relatively unsophisticated. In contrast, 65 percent of th

211
students attended the school from 1936 to 1940, when i

taught a mature, well-established version of HAPDB. Further

of the 1,091 total graduates, 261 of them became genera

officers in World War II. They comprised 80 percent of th

senior leadership in AAF and included 11 out of 13 three-sta

generals and all three of the four-star generals then in

service.119 The point is obvious—an overwhelming number o

wartime Air Force leaders attended ACTS in the interwa

years, and a significant number of them were systematically

indoctrinated in the virtues of unescorted HAPDB against th

key nodes of an opponent’s material infrastructure.

In terms of actual course work, ACTS offered 40 separat

courses in its heyday, and 53 percent of them centered on ai

subjects. The five longest courses were Bombardment, Ai

Force, Attack Aviation, Combined Arms, and Air Logistics. Th

ACTS legacy, as we know it, took shape primarily in the Ai

Force, Bombardment, and Combined Arms courses, which

comprised roughly 10 percent of the curriculum and employe

roughly 15–25 percent of the faculty. Within each course, th

faculty relied on a variety of teaching methods, includin

lectures, discussions, quizzes, and illustrative/map problems

(The latter were pen-and-pencil war games conducted ever

Friday for four hours.) Students aided in their own education

by giving short, supplementary talks; participating in lectur

discussions (actual lectures used only half of a 50-minut

period); and conducting individual student research, of which

Ken Walker ’s 1929 thesis was the most impressive. (Entitle

Is the Defense of New York City from Air Attack Possible? th

thesis was 56 single-spaced pages long.) However, befor

ACTS or its students could accomplish any of the above, th

school needed to accomplish some foundational steps.

ACTS Phase One (1920–26)

According to air theorist William Sherman, the relativ

importance of the infantry in war was not permanent; th

airplane (if used properly) could diminish the queen of th

battlefield’s stature, especially by acting decisively agains

ground forces.

120 Unfortunately, after World War I the Unite

States “found itself with an Air Service which through

212
necessity had been hurriedly gotten together an

consequently poorly trained and inadequately organized.”12

One solution to these problems was a formalized an

progressive school system.

On 25 February 1920 the War Department authorized th

creation of 11 Air Service schools, including what soon

became the Air Service Field Officers’ School. The air arm then

ordered Maj Thomas Milling, a protégé and former chief o

staff of Billy Mitchell in Europe, to Langley Field, Virginia 

Milling’s charter, as he understood it, was to organize ASFOS

train officers to become competent commanders and staf

officers of air units, up to and including the air brigade an

army level; teach these same officers air tactics; and originat

sound tactical doctrine for the Air Service as a whole .

122

In order to accomplish these goals, Milling recruited Ma

William Sherman as his assistant. Sherman had also worked fo

General Mitchell in AEF and in the postwar Air Service Trainin

and Operations Group. (Like Milling, he was a disciple of th

flamboyant Mitchell.) With Sherman as his assistant, Millin

hoped to develop the Field Officers’ School—which the Arm

renamed the Air Service Tactical School in 1922—into th

clearinghouse for air tactics and doctrine in the Army

Unfortunately, only the most meager data on air doctrine wa

available at the time. 123 As a result, the school first had to rely

on a smorgasbord of diffused and uncoordinated texts tha

competed, in good Darwinian fashion, for the hearts and mind

of students and operators alike.

Although ASFOS/ ASTS used texts developed by a variety o

sources, the majority of the early materials wer

Army-centered and trivialized the possible impact of ai

bombardment. Air Service information circulars 56, 57, 73

75, 84, and 87—all of which functioned as early texts for th

attack, bombardment, observation, and pursuit portions o

what soon developed into a 10-month course—certainl

emphasized the importance of traditional ground forces an

the auxiliary nature of airpower. So did another conciliator

ASTS text, Billy Mitchell’s Notes on the Multi-Motore

Bombardment Group, Day and Night, which became an officia

Air Service publication in 1922 and which primarily stresse

the role of bombardment in the immediate battle zone

213
Following that was Training Regulation 440-15, Air Tactics

which William Sherman largely wrote in 1922 and the Wa

Department did not accept as official Army doctrine unti

January 1926. It argued that the general roles of airpowe

included observation, artillery control, and transportation

The specific role of bombardment, in contrast, remained th

interdiction of hostile land forces and targets deep in th

enemy’s “zone of the interior.”124 Subsequently, the ASTS

Bombardment text of 1924–25 made a similar argument

Bomber aircraft were nothing more than large-caliber gun

that could outrange and outstrike other types of guns an

thus harass approaching infantry columns or disrupt th

concentration of troops.125 Last, the 1926 version of th

Bombardment text continued to accept the largely auxiliar

nature of airpower by advocating air strikes against th

“spouts” of an army’s supplies.126

All of the above texts provided a foundation for th

rough-hewn ASFOS/ ASTS curriculum, but they did no

ultimately stray from Army orthodoxy. They agreed tha

workable principles of strategic airpower were still few and fa

between and that pursuit aviation , since it was responsible fo

the necessary first step of air supremacy, remained the arm o

the Air Service . Yet, during phase one of the Tactical School’

existence (1922–26), two major things happened. First, an

through the intercession of two forward-looking facult

members, the fighter lost pride of place to the bomber in th

school’s curriculum. Second, these same airmen developed 

series of working propositions that served as the bedrock o

future theoretical thought.

Milling and Sherman promoted the future importance of ai

bombardment and codified the foundational principles o

American airpower. As already mentioned, they had worke

for Billy Mitchell in World War I and in the postwar Air Servic

Training and Operations Group. In both cases, Milling an

Sherman stimulated each other’s thinking and began t

develop the foundations of future Air Force doctrine.

127 The

then took their pro-Mitchell ideas to ASFOS/ ASTS , wher

Milling worked from 1920 to 1925 and Sherman worked twice

from 1920 to 1923 and intermittently from 1923 to 1925

214
(During the same years, the school employed an average of six

instructors a year.)

Although Milling, Sherman , and their colleagues did no

develop a full theory of airpower, they did do one truly critica

thing. They established the Combined Air Force Course (late

known simply as the Air Force Course) as the most importan

offering at the Tactical School. The course did not kowtow t

Army directives, and it was the one place where heretica

airmen could present radical ideas about the futur

possibilities of airpower (i.e., bombardment). As a result, th

first filigrees of a new doctrine appeared in the 1925–2

Combined Air Force Course and its text, Employment o

Combined Air Force.

Whoever wrote the 1925–26 text remains a mystery, but th

fingerprints of Milling and Sherman are all over it. The tex

provided a series of working propositions that served as th

foundation for the theoretical work done by the Bomber Mafi

during phase two of the Tactical School’s doctrina

development (1927–34). In particular, the Combined Air Forc

text codified five crucial propositions of air warfare for Arm

airmen. First, the ultimate goal of any air attack is “t

undermine the enemy’s morale [or] his will to resist.”12

Second, airmen can best destroy morale by attacking th

interior of an opponent’s territory. Attacks against vital point

or centers will not only terrorize populations into submission

but also save lives. (In M-day warfare, there is no need fo

battles of attrition or annihilation.) Third, airpower is an

inherently offensive weapon that is impossible, in absolut

terms, to stop. Fourth, since airpower is the only military too

that can hit distant centers of concentration and sources o

supply and since it is the only tool that can undermin

national morale with minimum effort and materiel

combatants should use it extensively in strategic operations

Strategic targets, after all, are almost always more importan

than tactical targets. Last, “In any scheme of strategica

operations the object is to cause complete destruction o

permanent and irreparable damage to the enemy which wil

have a decisive effect.”129 In other words, one must completely

neutralize one target set before moving on to another

Attacking in driblets against multiple targets will not yield

215
significant results in the shortest possible time. Decisiv

attacks, in contrast, will spur the collapse of a society’s vita

centers and thus lead to the destruction of society as a whole.

That Milling supported the above assumptions depends on

strong conjecture rather than direct evidence. However, in th

case of Sherman , the above views are clearly documented in

Air Warfare, which appeared in 1926 and was the culmination

of Sherman ’s work at the Tactical School. In the book, h

echoes the Combined Air Force text in the following ways

enemy morale is the center of gravity in air warfare; on

should put enemy population centers, supply systems, an

other rearward objectives under pressure in an effort t

paralyze an entire society; a vigorous aerial assault i

appropriate since no one can wholly prevent a hostile ai

assault; the very nature of bombardment aircraft makes them

a strategic weapon; and the skillful air leader should

economize his strength “at all points to the point o

parsimony, in order that he may spend with a prodigal han

at the all-important time and place.”130

The above propositions illustrate a huge point: from 1920 t

1926, ASFOS/ ASTS did not develop a specific, universally

accepted doctrine for the Army Air Service. What it did do

however, was elevate the importance of the bomber an

formalize a series of bedrock principles or working proposition

that provided a foundation for the second great contribution o

ACTS—the development from roughly 1927 to 1935 o

unescorted HAPDB, a specific and unique air doctrine.

ACTS Phase Two (1927–34)

ACTS ’s Bomber Mafia developed HAPDB. The zealou

faculty members of this group (and their dates of assignmen

to the school) included Robert Olds (1928–31), Kenneth

Walker (1929–33), Donald Wilson (1929–34, 1936–40), Harold

Lee George (1932–36), Odas Moon (1933–36), Robert Webste

(1934–37), Haywood Hansell (1935–38), Laurence Kute

(1935–39), and Muir Fairchild (1937–40). Except for Moon 

who died prematurely, the other bomber enthusiast

subsequently became influential generals in World War II an

after. Brig Gen Robert Olds, for example, became commande

216
of Ferrying Command. Brig Gen Ken Walker headed 5th

Bomber Command in the Pacific theater . On 5 January 1943

he died while leading a daylight bombing attack agains

Japanese shipping at Rabaul, New Britain . (For hi

“conspicuous leadership” during the raid, Walke

posthumously received the Medal of Honor.) Lt Gen Harold

Lee George guided Air Transport Command, which becam

Military Airlift Command during the cold war. Maj Gen

Haywood Hansell commanded 21st Bomber Command in th

Pacific until he ran afoul of General Arnold .

131 Laurenc

Kuter, who became a four-star general and commander o

North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) in th

cold war, served as deputy chief of the Air Staff for plans.13

Muir Fairchild , another future four-star general, was th

intellectual father of the Strategic Bombing Survey and 

member of the Joint Strategic Survey Committee , which wa

“one of the most influential planning agencies in the wartim

armed services.”133 Ultimately, the ACTS Bomber Mafia wa

an inordinately talented “collective brain” with a unique vision

and the resolve to bring it to life. As Kuter later observed

“Nothing could stop us; I mean this was a zealous crowd.”134

The zealotry, as already pointed out, involved unescorte

HAPDB against an enemy nation’s vital centers. Thanks to th

initial efforts of Olds, Walker , and Wilson , the concept firs

appeared in 1932 and went as follows:

1. Modern great powers rely on major industrial and economic systems

for production of weapons and supplies for their armed forces, and for

manufacture of products and provision of services to sustain life in a

highly industrialized society. Disruption or paralysis of these systems

undermines both the enemy’s capability and will to fight.

2. Such major systems contain critical points whose destruction will

break down these systems, and bombs can be delivered with adequate

accuracy to do this.

3. Massed air strike forces can penetrate air defenses without

unacceptable losses and destroy selected targets.

4. Proper selection of vital targets in the industrial/economic/social

structure of a modern industrialized nation, and their subsequent

destruction by air attack, can lead to fatal weakening of an

industrialized enemy nation and to victory through air power.

217
5. If enemy resistance still persists after successful paralysis of

selected target systems, it may be necessary as a last resort to apply

direct force upon the sources of enemy national will by attacking

cities. In this event, it is preferable to render the cities untenable

rather than indiscriminately to destroy structures and people.

(Emphasis in original)135

Further, why did Walker, George, Wilson , and others prefe

unescorted, high-altitude attacks? Because they believed tha

modern bombers could operate beyond the reach of defendin

fighters and antiaircraft artillery (AAA) fire. Why did the

emphasize precision? Among other reasons, becaus

government parsimony demanded that they get the bigges

“bang for the buck” from the few aircraft they had. And wh

did they prefer daylight operations? Because then-curren

navigation aids and bombsights were too primitive to supplan

a reliance on visual, line-of-sight techniques.

While developing the above one-of-a-kind theory, the ACTS

Bomber Mafia acted, in the candid words of Donald Wilson 

“on no firmer basis than reasoned logical thinking bolstere

by a grasp of the fundamentals of the application of militar

force and the reactions of human beings.”136 In other words

they relied on deductive reasoning, analogies, and metaphor

to develop their working propositions into a pseudoscientifi

theory of strategic bombardment. As already noted, to Wilson

and his sympathizers, paralyzing a modern industrial stat

was relatively easy since it was made up of “interrelated an

entirely interdependent elements.”137 In fact, the better 

society organized its industry for peacetime efficiency, th

more vulnerable it was to wartime collapse. All an attacke

had to do was cut one or more of a society’s “essentia

arteries.”138 Or, given that modern states were as sensitive a

a precision instrument, all one had to do was strike an

opponent’s key economic nodes. Damaging them wa

comparable to breaking a needed spring or gear in an intricat

watch, which would then inevitably stop working, or to pullin

a critical playing card from a house of cards, which would

then tumble to the ground, or even to breaking a significan

strand of a spider’s web, which would then lose its structura

integrity and ability to function.139 In all cases, however, th

goal was to avoid using long-range bombers against mino

218
targets. An inviolable principle of ACTS was that airmen us

the bomber only against vital material targets located dee

within hostile territory and that it never serve in harassin

operations for the Army.

140

ACTS Phase Three (1935–40)

Although Donald Wilson tried to delve into strategi

targeting as early as 1932–33, the work of Robert Webster an

Muir Fairchild in the mid- to late-1930s identified th

industrial and economic target sets that still define modern

war. As far as the bomber advocates were concerned

unescorted HAPDB would destroy an opponent’s will to resis

only if it focused on destroying or paralyzing “national organi

systems on which many factories and numerous people

depended” (emphasis in original). 141 These systems include

electrical power generation and distribution, since virtually al

industrial and economic operations depended on them

transportation networks (railroads in particular); fuel refinin

and distribution processes; food distribution and preservation

methods; steel manufacturing, which defined a state’s

war-making potential; and a system of highly concentrate

manufacturing plants, including those that produce

electrical generators, transformers, and motors. 142

The above approach was nothing more than an economy-of

force doctrine predicated on subjective analyses of the US

economy. 143 It was best suited for the denial of war material

to a highly industrialized enemy whose industries an

population were concentrated together. 144 Unfortunately—an

despite the genuine belief by bomber enthusiasts that the Ai

Corps had the minimum skills and technology needed to mee

the above targeting requirements—the strategic intelligence on

which proper targeting depended was still an infant art. 

priori knowledge of what constituted a legitimate target set fo

a given nation involved considerable guesswork and remaine

unreliable. As a result, immediately before and during World

War II, Allied targeting groups constantly revised their targe

lists, either elevating or demoting particular target sets base

on the sketchy strategic intelligence then available. (The tw

wartime cases that best illustrate the problem involve bal

219
bearings and electricity. In the first case, Allied planner

overestimated the importance of ball bearings to the German

war economy and thus wasted a considerable amount o

resources against perhaps a second-tier target. In the secon

case, although ACTS identified electricity as the organi

essential of modern industrialized states, the Allies neve

mounted an air campaign against German electricity. Other

more immediate, problems seemed always to tak

precedence.)

Was the Bomber Mafia ’s theory flawed? Of course! (1) I

assumed, in good Progressivist fashion, that one could

scientifically manage war. Like almost all the other American

theories of airpower that followed, the ACTS theory o

unescorted HAPDB was part of a cause-and-effect univers

where one’s external means directly impacted another’

internal behaviors. Unescorted HAPDB, therefore, was to

mechanistic and prescriptive for its own good. It wrongly

assumed that one could impose precise, positive controls ove

complex events. (2) The theory was suspect because of it

mid-Victorian faith in technology . It wrongly assumed tha

revolutionary bomber-related technologies would produc

almost “frictionless” wars, regardless of pesky variables such

as weather. The “dervishes of airpower,” in other words, saw

technology as a panacea. (3) The theory failed to acknowledge

properly that armed conflict was, as Clausewitz rightfully

pointed out, an interactive process between at least tw

competing wills—not the imposition of one’s own will against 

passive foe. As the North Vietnamese demonstrated repeatedly

in the Second Indochina War , people subjected to air attack

can substitute for and work around lost capabilities. In short

they can react. (4) Unescorted HAPDB overemphasized th

offensive aspects of air warfare, like all other significan

airpower theories, while minimizing the mischievous potentia

of defensive strategies and technologies. The theory did no

properly anticipate the elaborate, radar-based fighter-AAA

defense networks that appeared in World War II. Therefore, in

what turned out to be an egregious error, the Bomber Mafia ’

belief that massed bomber formations could penetrate enem

air defenses without fighter escorts and still destroy selecte

targets with acceptable losses was dead wrong. Eighth Ai

220
Force had to fight its way into Germany past intervenin

defenses, just like virtually all other invaders had done ove

the last five thousand years. To reach the vital centers o

Germany, Allied airpower had to attrit the Luftwaffe from

the sky—and needed long-range fighters (P-51 Mustang

and P-47 Thunderbolts) to do it. (5) It overstressed th

psychological impact of physical destruction and merel

assumed that the terrors inherent in bombardment would

eventually destroy an enemy’s will to resist. Arguably, World

War II proved otherwise. (6) HAPDB repeatedly (and wrongly

used metaphors to imply that modern industrial states, with

their “organic essentials,” were brittle and close

socioeconomic systems—not the adaptable and open

systems that they typically were, for example, in World Wa

II. (7) The theory wrongly assumed that opposing state

were rational, unitary actors that based their politica

decisions on lucid cost-benefit analyses and not on

potentially obscure organizational, bureaucratic, o

emotional factors. (Is it not possible, for example, that 

state might continue to struggle—at higher costs—t

demonstrate its resolve in future contingencies?) (8) Th

Bomber Mafia grossly exaggerated the frailty an

manipulability of popular morale . More specifically, it faile

to realize that whatever angry passions strategic bombin

aroused among civilians might be directed at the attacke

rather than the victim’s own government. Therefore, 

hostile regime might actually experience less pressure from

its own people to quit fighting as a result of air attacks. If i

did, would not its internal resolve exceed that of its people

as has happened before? (9) Last, as already suggested, th

strategic economic targeting methods formulated at ACTS

ran the risk of “mirror imaging,” whereby the key nodes o

one’s own industrial infrastructure become confused with

the critical vulnerabilities of an opponent’s system.145 Fo

example, US air planners in World War II assumed tha

German machinery used the same number of ball bearing

as American equipment. Since they did not, Eighth Ai

Force bombers attacked a target set that had considerable

“slack” to expend.

221
An Open Conclusion

At the end of the interwar period and despite all of th

above problems, the Air Corps’s ad hoc, four-part strategy ha

largely worked. The Air Corps had survived, and through it

efforts with the general public, sympathetic “fellow travelers,

members of Congress, and ACTS (in all its guises), it secure

a semiautonomous strike force—GHQ Air Force; it had 

shared (yet still ambiguous) responsibility with the Navy fo

hemispheric defense; and it had a strategic air doctrine tha

stressed independent air operations—not against enem

armies but against the core vulnerabilities of an opposin

nation’s economic infrastructure.

In closing, however, one must answer one final question

Did the people at ACTS and in the field completely surrende

to the new orthodoxy of HAPDB? Did everyone succumb to th

vision of unescorted battle planes making protracted warfare 

thing of the past? In fact, archival evidence shows that even

up to the last days before the outbreak of war, both student

and members of the Air Corps at large exhibited eithe

ignorance about or resistance to the soothing answers foun

in the theory of unescorted strategic bombardment. To cit

one representative example from ACTS , Gen Orvel Cook , wh

was a student in 1937–38, remembered that audiences wer

highly skeptical of the school’s bombardment doctrine: “Som

of us had had more experience than some of the instructor

and, consequently, we took a lot of this instruction with 

large grain of salt, and we more or less made up our minds a

to what [to believe], no matter how dogmatic the instructo

might be.”146 Cook went on to note that the students had a

many different points of view as the instructors: “We knew

they were sort of talking off the top of their heads. This wa

largely theory anyway.”147 Thus, if we are to believe Cook , th

one prevailing attitude at ACTS and the Air Corps at large ma

not have been support for unescorted strategic dayligh

bombardment, but the less precise belief “that success in an

future war would be largely dependent upon the success o

the air.”148

Since ACTS’s message did not necessarily enjoy universa

appeal among its students, one can further ask just how

222
influential it was outside the classroom. Did the operationa

Air Corps uncritically accept ACTS bombardment doctrine, o

did the airmen in the field also have their doubts? To cite 

final (but again representative) example, in 1936 the GHQ Ai

Force’s position seemed supportive: “The policy of thi

headquarters, for the ensuing training year, will be to comply

with the teachings of all texts of the Air Corps Tactical Schoo

to the greatest degree possible in all operations an

training.”149 The stated goal was to apply ACTS teachings t

the actual operations of GHQ Air Force units. As a result, Co

Hugh Knerr , chief of staff of the GHQ Air Force, aske

operational units to study the Tactical School’s 1937–38 Ai

Force text and offer constructive criticisms. The subsequen

reviews were mixed, with some showing an operator’s distrus

of theory. That was certainly the case with Brig Gen G. C

Brant, commander of the 3d Wing, GHQ Air Force, wh

recommended the elimination of as much theory a

possible.150 Brant’s executive officer, Lt Col George E. Love

Jr. confessed a similar empirical bent: “I am quite uneducate

in the higher art of tactics, and found this subject quit

deep.”151

Lt Col M. F. Harmon and Maj Oliver P. Gothlin Jr. were les

hostile than General Brant, but they too argued that “a note o

caution should be sounded against the too ardent adoption o

peace time [sic] theories and hypothesis [sic ] when they ar

not supported by actually demonstrated facts nor by th

experiences of the only war in which aviation wa

employed.”152 Neither officer believed that historical preceden

or recent experience justified the doctrine of self-sufficien

bombardment. Last, Lt Col A. H. Gilkeson , commander of th

8th Pursuit Group, could not help similarly agreeing: “Thi

recent academic tendency to minimize, if not entirely dismiss

the consideration of the fighting force as a powerful an

extremely necessary adjunct of the air force has led to th

teaching of doctrines which have not been established a

being true and might even be fatally dangerous to our aim in

the event of armed conflict.”153

The above examples (among many others) caution us not t

remember the Air Corps Tactical School as an omnipresen

force that totally shaped the thinking of everyday airmen in

223
the interwar years. Yes, ACTS theory/doctrine was an

important part of the Air Corps ’s four-part strategy fo

institutional survival and growth. In that regard, it performe

its role very well. But when it comes to the popularity an

acceptance of HAPDB prior to World War II, we can only mak

a more modest, but equally powerful, final claim.

In July 1941 President Roosevelt tasked the armed service

to write a war plan that would provide the number of men an

equipment initially needed to win a future war against th

Axis powers. Although the response of General Arnold ’s newly

created Air War Plans Division staff could have been a shor

and pithy statistical portrait of future Air Force needs, th

division chief thought differently. He was ex–Bomber Mafi

leader Lt Col Harold Lee George , and he saw in FDR ’s reques

an opportunity to sneak ACTS doctrine into a major Wa

Department planning document via the back door. With

General Arnold ’s approval, George set about doing just that

However, because he needed a working group to start on th

project immediately, George recruited former colleagues from

ACTS—bomber enthusiasts Lt Col Ken Walker, Maj Haywood

Hansell, and Maj Laurence Kuter .

From 3 to 12 August 1941, these men, with the assistanc

of other airmen once associated with the Tactical School

wrote AWPD-1, the air annex to the requested FDR plan

However, instead of just providing statistical tables that liste

the Air Corps’s future wants and needs, the four members o

the working group turned AWPD-1 into a blueprint fo

strategic air warfare in Europe . The plan grudgingly agreed t

provide hemispheric defense, if necessary; it unhappily agree

to support a future cross-channel invasion, if necessary; bu

its true aim was to conduct a strategic air campaign agains

Germany, based on the concepts of employment firs

developed by the Bomber Mafia at ACTS in the 1930s. George

Walker, Hansell, and Kuter spent nine long days fashionin

AWPD-1, but as Hansell would later point out, the plan wa

seven years in the making. It called for an initial consignmen

of 6,860 bombers to attack 154 key targets (124 of them

centered on electricity, oil, and transportation).154 With th

necessary equipment, the plan’s writers argued, German

would collapse in six months.

224
To paraphrase Hap Arnold , here was airpower you could pu

your hands around; here was the foundation for a myriad o

air plans that followed in its wake. Yes, subsequent plans lik

AWPD-42 changed targeting priorities and made othe

adjustments, but the basic intellectual scaffolding provided b

AWPD-1 remained in place throughout the air war. Tha

scaffolding, coupled with the interwar success of the Air Corp

in a broader four-part strategy, ensured that the Army Ai

Forces would become what the aeromaniacs had alway

wanted—an independent service with an independen

mission.

Notes

1. See Capt J. D. Barker, History of the Air Corps Tactical School, 1931

1, Air Force Historical Research Agency (AFHRA), Maxwell AFB, Ala., file no

245.01B. The author would like to thank AFHRA for research funding fo

this essay.

2. Ibid.

3. Air Corps Tactical School, “Orientation (Lecture 1) to Air Forc

Course,” 5 September 1935, pt. 2, p. 11, AFHRA, file no. 248.2017A

Webster’s view of air warfare was not uniquely American. It echoed, fo

example, what Giulio Douhet said in 1921: “We find ourselves now at 

particular point in the curve of the evolution of war. After this point th

curve drops off abruptly in a new direction, breaking off all continuity wit

the past.” See Giulio Douhet, The Command of the Air, trans. Dino Ferrar

(1942; reprint, Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1983), 29.

4. See Douhet; and Gianni Caproni and Nino Salvaneschi, Let Us Kill th

War: Let Us Strike at the Heart of the Enemy, 1917, AFHRA, file no

168.661-129.

5. Comments by Gen John Pershing, n.d., 11, AFHRA, file no

248.211-16F.

6. Navy Department inputs for the Howell Commission. See “I. Genera

Organization,” n.d., 9, AFHRA, file no. 145.93-97.

7. Maurer Maurer, Aviation in the U.S. Army, 1919–1939 (Washington

D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1987), xix, xxi, xxii. In contrast, the Arm

Air Service began the war with 65 officers; 1,100 enlisted men; and 5

aircraft, 51 of which were obsolete and the other four obsolescent. See A

Service Newsletter, 10 January 1920, 9.

8. Because of the “premature” peace, the record of the AEF’s Air Servic

was decidedly mixed. On the positive side, its 767 pilots and 481 observer

won scores of decorations for bravery. The airmen also shot down 78

enemy aircraft and 82 balloons in 12,830 flights over enemy lines. Las

they dropped 275,000 pounds of ordnance in 150 deep-interdictio

225
bombing raids. (The deepest raid penetrated 160 miles into enem

territory.) On the negative side, America’s industrial mobilization was s

chaotic that its nascent aeronautical industry provided only 19

indigenously produced aircraft before the armistice. Further, wartim

bombing results were so limited, due to inadequate equipment an

personnel, that anything but the tactical value of airpower remained i

doubt. See Mason Patrick, The United States in the Air (Garden City, N.Y

Doubleday, Doran, 1928), 44, 49–50; Air Service Newsletter, 10 Januar

1920, 9; Lt Col Herbert Dargue, AEF, to director of military aeronautics

letter, 9 November 1918, 13; and William C. Sherman, Air Warfare (Ne

York: Ronald Press, 1926), 4.

9. Maurer, 9, 11, 13.

10. See Patrick, 83, 89; and Maj Thomas D. Milling, “Air Power i

National Defense,” ca. 1928, 3, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-122.

11. See “Statement of Brigadier General H. A. Drum, Assistant Chief o

Staff, Operations and Training Division, War Department General Staff

before Board of Aviation Inquiry, Part I,” 21 September 1925, 55, AFHRA

file no. 248.211-16D; and James L. Crowder Jr., Osage General: Majo

General Clarence L. Tinker (Tinker AFB, Okla.: Office of History, Oklahom

City Air Logistics Center, 1987), 96.

12. Barker, 1 .

13. Thomas D. Milling, The Air Service Tactical School: Its Function an

Operation, 1924, 1, AFHRA, file no. 245.01-3. Progressivism was a

amorphous social and political movement in the late nineteenth and earl

twentieth centuries. As a political movement, it advocated an activ

government defense of the weak and oppressed. Its specific achievement

included the breakup of monopolies and trusts, the introduction of lowe

tariffs, the popular election of senators, and the introduction of child labo

laws. In the spheres of business and education, Progressivism stresse

technicism, standardization, professionalization, formalized education

scientific management, and timeliness and efficiency. One can argue tha

Secretary of War Root’s reforms, which included the introduction of th

general staff system and the further rationalization of military education

were Progressivist acts. See Peter Karsten, “Armed Progressives: Th

Military Reorganizes for the American Century,” in Building th

Organizational Society, ed. Jerry Israel (New York: Free Press, 1972)

197–232. For a discussion on the difficulties of defining Progressivism as 

movement, see Peter G. Filene, “An Obituary for the Progressive Movement

American Quarterly 22 (Spring 1970): 20–34.

14. Benjamin Foulois, From the Wright Brothers to the Astronauts (Ne

York: McGraw-Hill, 1968), 202. More than a few airmen shared Pershing’

distaste for the supercilious Mitchell. In 1919, for example, Oscar Westove

(a future Air Corps leader) complained to Maj Gen Charles Menoher tha

“Mitchell believes that his rank entitles him to special deference as a Grou

Chief and that all other Air Service activities ought to cow-tow to him a

Chief of the Training and Operations Group.” Such arrogance drov

226
Westover to conclude, 

I think it also unfortunate that General Mitchell i

not Colonel Mitchell” and to suggest that he be reassigned as th

commander of air defenses in the Philippines! Chief of the Air Corps Maso

Patrick further observed in 1928 that Mitchell had a highly developed ego

loved the limelight, and thirsted for public attention. Last, the legendar

hostility between Mitchell and Benny Foulois was nothing less than clas

warfare. Mitchell, who was an Army blue blood and cerebral by nature, wa

the antithesis of Foulois, who was a utilitarian mechanic by temperamen

It therefore comes as no surprise that Foulois later portrayed himself as 

practical everyman compelled to deal with a skittish fop who was a talke

rather than a doer, who merely “sounded” like an expert, and “who couldn’

agree on the color of white paper.” The egotistical Mitchell did have, Fouloi

grudgingly admitted, a “gift of gab,” but it only helped obscure his lack o

practical success in the field. From the standpoint of the Air Corps and it

future, what mattered was that Hap Arnold was an admirer of Mitchell. (H

was, as Mitchell put it, “one of my boys.”) From the standpoint of ACTS

what mattered was that key members of its faculty—Thomas Milling

William Sherman, Herbert Dargue, Harold Lee George, and others—wer

equally devoted. At Mitchell’s trial, for example, George tried vainly to testif

on his mentor’s behalf, but his interlocutors deliberately restricted him t

answering narrow technical questions. See Oscar Westover, memorandum

to Maj Gen Charles Menoher, 20 June 1919, AFHRA, file no. 168.7089-3

Foulois, 157–58, 167, 170–71, 224; Patrick, 86; and Flint O. DuPre, Ha

Arnold: Architect of American Air Power (New York: Macmillan Co., 1972)

41, 44–45.

15. The airfields were located in the cities of Norfolk and Montgomery

respectively. In 1922 the Air Service named Maxwell Field after 2d L

William G. Maxwell of Atmore, Alabama, who died in the Philippines whil

assigned to the 3d Aero Squadron.

16. See Haywood S. Hansell Jr., The Air Plan That Defeated Hitle

(Atlanta: Higgins-McArthur/Longino and Porter, 1972).

17. Quoted in Sherman, iii.

18. For an inspired analysis of how technology and culture created ne

ways of experiencing time and space, see Stephen Kern, The Culture of Tim

and Space, 1880–1918 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983)

For the early cultural impact of aviation on Western society, see Robe

Wohl, A Passion for Wings: Aviation and the Western Imagination

1908–1918 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1994); and idem

“Republic of the Air,” Wilson Quarterly 17 (Spring 1993): 106–17. See als

Michael Paris, Winged Warfare (Manchester: Manchester University Press

1992); and Peter Fritzsche, A Nation of Fliers: German Aviation and th

Popular Imagination (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1992)

For a discussion on the quest for speed and distance, see Terr

Gwynn-Jones, Farther and Faster: Aviation’s Adventuring Years, 1909–193

(Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991).

227
19. Gen Earl E. Partridge, transcript of oral history interview by Tom

Sturm and Hugh H. Ahmann, 23–25 April 1974, 35, AFHRA, file no

K239-0512-729. As a senior US Air Force leader, General Partridge late

commanded Fifth Air Force, Far Eastern Air Forces, and Air Defens

Command, among other organizations.

20. See Maj Gen John W. Sessums Jr., transcript of oral histor

interview by Hugh H. Ahmann, 25–28 July 1977, 8, and 26–31 March 1978

AFHRA, file no. K239-0512-951; see also file no. 168.7027-5. Another nam

for Weaver’s game was “Modern Military Chess.”

21. Maj Gen Oscar Westover, chief of the Air Corps, transcript of radi

address to the Junior Birdmen of America, 12 December 1936, 2, AFHRA

file no. 168.7089-10.

22. Foulois, 204. Air zealots did eventually succeed in linkin

Americanism, Babe Ruth, and airpower. The influential Hap Arnold, fo

example, later defined the strategic bomber as the Babe Ruth of the ai

league—it contained the explosive power of a home run that won a game i

seconds. See DuPre, 71.

23. Air Service Newsletter, 27 January 1920, 2, AFHRA, file no

168.7103-26.

24. See James H. “Jimmy” Doolittle, with Carroll V. Glines, I Could Neve

Be So Lucky Again (New York: Bantam Books, 1991). Doolittle was part of 

larger American quest for aerial prestige. The quest was so successful that on 

December 1925, Americans held 25 of the world’s 44 aviation records. Se

Henry H. Arnold, Airmen and Aircraft (New York: Ronald Press, 1926), 55.

25. During his tenure at March Field, California, Arnold proselytized to 

steady stream of aviation-struck Hollywood stars, many of whom came t

his monthly air shows. For a critique of aviation-centered films an

documentaries as instruments of politico-cultural indoctrination, se

Michael Paris, From the Wright Brothers to Top Gun: Aviation, Nationalism

and Popular Cinema (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995). For 

general discussion of Arnold’s and Eaker’s public relations activities, se

DeWitt Copp, A Few Great Captains (New York: Doubleday, 1980).

26. Arnold, v.

27. The titles in the series were Bill Bruce and the Pioneer Aviators; Bi

Bruce, the Flying Cadet; Bill Bruce Becomes an Ace; Bill Bruce on Borde

Patrol; Bill Bruce on Forest Patrol; and Bill Bruce in the Transcontinent

Race. All six volumes appeared in 1928. For a discussion of Arnold’s serie

and other youth-centered aviation sets at the time, see David K. Vaughan

“Hap Arnold’s Bill Bruce Books,” Air Power History 40 (Winter 1993): 43–49

Although Vaughan ignores the point, Arnold’s tales are a window into th

bigotries of the time. In Bill Bruce on Border Patrol, for example, the autho

characterizes Mexicans as “greasers” and born smugglers. Why smugglers

As one character puts it, “They could take siestas without anyone botherin

them. It was the life which they would naturally select.” Arnold’

protagonists also describe local Chinese as “chinks,” “chinos,” o

“heathens.” Last, people who spoke Chinese, like those who spoke Spanish

228
were merely 

jabbering. See Henry H. Arnold, Bill Bruce on Border Patro

(New York: A. L. Burt, 1928), 9, 56, 88, 90, 133, 147, 149, 215.

28. Vaughan, 44–45.

29. On 21 September 1938, the peripatetic Westover died in an aircraf

accident. In a fateful move for the Air Corps, Arnold succeeded him nin

days later. At the time of his death, the “plain-spoken” Westover, who wa

also known as “Tubby” to his West Point classmates, was one of roughly 3

Air Corps officers who held all four of its flight ratings. See AFHRA, file no

168.7089-3 and 168.7089-10.

30. See Westover, radio address, 12 December 1936, 1.

31. Maj Gen Oscar Westover, chief of the Air Corps, transcript of radi

address to the Junior Birdmen of America, 4 May 1935, 2, AFHRA, file no

168.7089-10. The inference, of course, was that these four-engined aircraf

would be bombers.

32. Ira Eaker Papers, Personal Correspondence (1935), box 3, Library o

Congress, Washington, D.C. Although Flying and Your Boy never appeare

(as conceived) in print, Arnold and Eaker’s This Flying Game (1936

included a dedication to the Junior Birdmen of America and the Jimmi

Allen Flying Club.

33. See AFHRA, file no. 168.7023-4.

34. Quoted by Oscar Westover in “Military Aviation,” speech to the Aer

Club of America, Buffalo, N.Y., 7 December 1932, 16, AFHRA, file no

168.7103-26.

35. General Pershing, who appointed the “tough but fair” Patrick

expected his West Point classmate to muzzle the garrulous and therefor

subversive Mitchell. Patrick was only partially successful. However, as 

respected moderate who often (but carefully) sided with his subordinate

against the “old guard,” he provided the Air Service with something it sorel

needed—credibility. Also, it probably helped that Patrick was physicall

unprepossessing; his false teeth whistled when he spoke and he wore 

toupee, which one unfortunate captain once pulled off while helping him

remove his flight helmet. See Partridge, 84–85; and Brig Gen Ross Hoyt, “A

Prisoner of War,” microfilm 34472, n.p., AFHRA, file no. 168.7130.

36. See Maj Gen Grandison Gardner, Life Memories of Grandison Gardne

bk. 1 (“Memories of My Service in the U.S. Air Force and Its Ancestr

Organizations”), 4 February 1952, 15, AFHRA, file no. 168.7016-1; August Ai

Defense Command letter 47-6, “History of the Army Air Forces, 1907–1947,” 

July 1947, 7, AFHRA, file no. 168.01; Lt Col Frank Lahm, to Mabel Kaplan

letter, 17 February 1925, 3, AFHRA, file no. 167.401-4; and Arnold, Airme

and Aircraft, 146–47. To further illustrate the value of airborne fire patrol

Secretary of War John Weeks claimed that wildfires in California increased b

23 percent when the Air Service did not provide airplanes for forest protectio

in 1922. See John Weeks, Peace-Time Accomplishments of the Army, 21 Ma

1923, 4, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-101.

37. Gardner, 17; Patrick, 133; Weeks, 4; Lahm, 4; Alfred Goldberg, ed

A History of the United States Air Force, 1907–1957 (Princeton, N.J.: D. Va

229
Nostrand, 1957), 34–35; and A. M. Jacobs, Knights of the Wing (New York

The Century Co., 1926), 134.

38. Fifty Years of Aviation History at Maxwell Air Force Base, 1910–196

(Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Office of Information [Historian], Headquarters, A

University, 1960), 31.

39. Ibid., 31–33. Some of the items delivered included sixty-fou

hundred loaves of bread, fifty-four hundred blankets, 4,516 pounds o

canned cooked meats, 1,651 pounds of bacon, 1,010 cans of evaporate

milk, and 105 boiled hams.

40. See Maurer, 299–317; and Foulois, 242. An illustration of the Ai

Corps’s problems is that it initially flew airmail routes totaling 40,800 mile

a day—not even one-third the distance flown by the suspended contractors

By mid-March, the Air Corps’s total mileage was down to 30,900 

day—almost 10,000 miles less than the previous month. A considerabl

number of the Air Corps’s problems, however, were self-generated—it

pilots lacked sufficient instrument and night-flying training; only a few o

its aircraft had landing, navigation, or cockpit lights; and anti-icin

equipment was unavailable. Still, it didn’t help that pilots flying in on

particularly stormy area of the Western Department depended on a blin

weatherman for their forecasts.

41. See Crowder, 188; and Foulois, 258.

42. See Maj Donald Wilson, “Testimony before the U.S. Federal Aviatio

Commission,” 7 May 1935, 2, Air University Library, Documents Section

Maxwell AFB, Ala., file no. UGK 27 US7. The post-Napoleonic assumptio

that whole peoples warred against each other went unchallenged by Ai

Corps strategists, who believed that no military could survive without th

sinews of war—a nation’s people and its economy.

43. Ibid., 9 (Walker section).

44. See Brig Gen Herbert Dargue, to Maj Gen Hap Arnold, letter, 

October 1939, 1–2, AFHRA, file no. 168.7119-19.

45. Wilson, 3 (Olds section). Wilson argued that Olds’s scenario wa

theoretically possible because our oceans were no longer impregnabl

moats and because we had militarily weak neighbors who were vulnerabl

to foreign control. As a result, the traditional source of America’

inviolability—distance—no longer existed. See Wilson section, 6.

46. Ibid., 10 (George section). See also Harold Lee George, Principles o

War, n.d., AFHRA, file no. 248.11-9.

47. Influence of Airplanes on Operations in War, n.d., 2, 17, AFHRA, fil

no. 248.21-121.

48. Wilson, 9 (Webster section). Did World War II prove Webster right

Soldiers, critics, and historians remain divided on the issue.

49. Thomas D. Milling, in “Testimony of General M. M. Patrick [an

others] before the Morrow Board,” 21 September 1925, 79, AFHRA, file no

248.211-61V.

50. See G-2 Weekly Press Review, 23 August 1923, 4 (Washingto

Herald, 20 August 1923), AFHRA, file no. 248.501-91.

230
51. See G-2 Weekly Press Review, 14 February 1923, 2 (Rocheste

Herald, 31 January 1923), AFHRA, file no. 248.501-91.

52. Alexander Graham Bell, “Preparedness for Aerial Defense,” addres

to the National Convention of the Navy League of the United States, 10–1

April 1916, 8, AFHRA, file no. 167.1-2. The Navy League saw itself neithe

as “pro-anything or anti-anything” but as a “just plain American” grou

dedicated to protecting the United States from invasion.

53. William Mitchell, Tactical Application of Military Aeronautics, 1919, 2

AFHRA, file no. 248.211-130.

54. Ibid., 4, 6; William L. Mitchell, “General Mitchell’s Startlin

Testimony,” Aviation 10 (7 February 1921): 165.

55. Milling, “Testimony of General M. M. Patrick,” 81. If the Navy was th

spearhead, the Army was the bulwark—or so Milling further argued. In reality

this “bulwark” remained porous, at least against attacking aircraft. By 193

the Army’s Coast Artillery Corps still relied on sightless machine gun

three-inch guns, and 105 mm pieces that fired 62-pound shells. In the case o

aerial defense, the normal mission was to concentrate fire on aircraft no

attacking defense batteries! Even then, the batterymen had trouble properl

aiming and firing their three-inch guns six hundred yards ahead of thei

intended targets (to establish a killing zone for oncoming aircraft). See Maj Ge

A. H. Sunderland, “The Coast Artillery Corps,” lecture given at the Army Wa

College, 9 October 1936, AFHRA, file no. 168.7001-37.

56. Wilson, 8, 9 (Walker section). In his testimony, Walker cleverly use

the writings and lectures of Navy officers against their own service.

57. Ibid., 7 (Webster section).

58. Ibid., 6–8.

59. The Navy’s reaction is beyond the scope of this chapter, bu

Josephus Daniels’s huffy response to the dangers posed by land-base

aviation to modern fleets was highly representative. According to Daniels

no air force would get close enough “to drop salt upon the tail of the Navy

See New York Tribune, 8 February 1921, 1.

60. Quoted in Westover, “Military Aviation,” 9. However, did Coolidg

envision a robust national defense? One should not forget the fruga

president’s comment to Secretary of War John M. Weeks—“What’s all thi

talk about lots of airplanes? Why not buy one airplane and let the Arm

pilots take turns flying it?” See Foulois, 199.

61. Lt Gen Robert L. Bullard, “Army and Navy Become Mere Escorts t

Airplane in Warfare, Says Bullard,” 3–4, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-21.

62. Millard F. Harmon, “Preliminary Rough Draft on ‘Policy for Futur

Military Education of Air Corps Officers,’” n.d., 2, AFHRA, file no. 245.04B

According to Grandison Gardner, “Miff” Harmon, who acted as ACTS

commandant and assistant commandant from 1938 to 1940, was one o

two officers Hap Arnold probably leaned on most. The other was Car

Spaatz. See Gardner, 160.

63. Maj Oscar Westover, “Effect of Air Service on Employment of Cavalr

and Coast Artillery,” 23 September 1925, 1, AFHRA, file no. 168.7089-8

231
Ten years later, Harold Lee George seemingly concurred: 

We must s

reorganize our national defense doctrine as to make possible the extensio

of our frontiers through the intelligent organization and employment of ou

air power.” What he actually meant, however, was that our “frontiers” wer

synonymous with the economic centers of far-flung states, regardless o

where they were. See Wilson, 12 (George section).

64. See Maj W. G. Kilner, “Proposed Revision of the Policy of the Arm

and Navy Relating to Aircraft,” 12 April 1925, AFHRA, file no. 248.121-1.

65. The Navy’s justification was the National Defense Act of 1920, whic

stated that it would control all air activities attached to a fleet, includin

shore stations needed to support its operations. See Milling, “Air Power i

National Defense,” 18.

66. Ibid., 16–17.

67. George C. Kenney, memorandum to assistant commandant of th

Army War College, 1933, 1, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-65.

68. In 1938 insult followed injury, or so air zealots thought. After thre

B-17s intercepted the Rex (an Italian ocean liner) over seven hundred mile

east of New York, the Navy temporarily succeeded in restricting Air Corp

aircraft to a 100-mile zone off the coast. The lead navigator of the B-17

was Capt Curtis LeMay.

69. The Baker Board’s recommendation was explicit: “To assist i

correcting the present unsatisfactory condition of unit training, th

committee recommends the early creation of the Air Corps Board and tha

when created this board give prompt attention to the formulation of uniform

tactical doctrines for all types of aircraft units.” Quoted in Lt Col W. C

McChord, chief of the Air Corps Plans Division, memorandum to actin

chief of the Air Corps, 29 November 1935, 1, AFHRA, file no. 167.

(1935–1936).

70. Gen Laurence S. Kuter, transcript of oral history interview by Tom

Sturm and Hugh Ahmann, 30 September–3 October 1974, 165, AFHRA, fil

no. K239.0512-810.

71. In this respect, the ACB’s charter paralleled those of othe

branch-specific boards, including the Infantry Board, the Coast Artiller

Board, and the Chemical Warfare Service Board. AR 95-20 first authorize

an Air Service Board on 1 August 1922. The provisions of the regulatio

subsequently remained in effect, but the board accomplished little until th

Baker Board inspired its reconstitution in 1934. (A revised AR 95-20 wa

the instrument of change.)

72. Lt Col R. M. Jones, memorandum, subject: Major Aircraft Advisor

Board, 8 April 1936, 2, AFHRA, file no. 167.5 (1935–1936). Jones identifie

three other questions that were of special concern to the Air Corps at th

time: Did two-seat fighters have any utility? Should fighter developmen

emphasize interception or escort responsibilities? What types of all-purpos

aircraft were suitable for aerial observation? In the case of two-seat fighter

and fighter escort, the decisions later made by the Air Corps had unhapp

consequences in the early phases of World War II.

232
73. Maj Gen Orville A. Anderson, transcript of oral history interview b

Dr. Donald Shaughnessy, 27 October 1959, 6, AFHRA, file no

K239.0512-898. Anderson served as secretary of the ACB and thu

immodestly saw himself as the organization’s direct link to General Arnold.

74. Maj Gen Henry H. Arnold, ACTS graduation speech, 12 May 1939, 4

AFHRA, file no. 168.7027-9.

75. Robert T. Finney, History of the Air Corps Tactical School, 1920–1940

USAF Historical Study 100 (1955; reprint, Washington, D.C.: Governmen

Printing Office, 1992), 31.

76. See Air Corps Board Report 31, The Functions of the Army Air Forces

29 October 1936, 2, AFHRA, file no. 167.5-31.

77. “Analytical Study of Joint Action of the Army and the Navy,” pt. 2

n.d., AFHRA, file no. 167.5-31.

78. Air Corps Board Report 3A, Revision of Air Corps Field Manual (FM

1-5), defined the Air Corps’s perceived obligations to the Army and Navy. I

the case of the Army, ACB-3A insisted that support aviation was not 

tactical tool of war. Instead, it was an operational-level weapon best use

against the rear area of hostile forces, where it could apply its full strikin

power against concentrated targets with minimum losses and maximum

results. Consequently, in future wars air attacks would most likely predat

the contact of surface forces and operate against enemy aircraft, lines o

communications, command headquarters, supply installations, and troo

concentrations. If a battle did occur, support aviation would grudgingl

operate in a battle zone but only if absolutely necessary. It would strik

troop transports, mechanized forces, and enemy formations. Last, in 

postbattle environment, support aircraft would perform counterai

operations and interdict hostile routes of retreat or the arrival of enem

delaying forces. In the case of the Navy, the role of land-based aviation i

fleet actions would include attacks against battle-line, fast-wing, o

individual vessels; attacks against light forces threatening battle-line flank

or disrupting friendly flanking maneuvers; the interdiction of hostile ai

operations through offensive operations; and attacks against convo

vessels. In particular, bombers would attack armed vessels, supply ship

and transports, and naval bases. See draft of Air Corps Board Report no

3A, “Revision of Air Corps Field Manual,” 20 November 1939, 24, 27–28, 39

AFHRA, file no. 167.5-3A.

79. See ibid., 3. The report’s authors made the claim even though the

admitted that the Air Corps could not sustain air operations against th

homeland of any major foreign power from bases in US territory. Howeve

they believed that bomber technology was changing so rapidly that the da

of long-range operations was imminent.

80. Air Corps Board Report 31, annex 2, p. 1.

81. Ibid., 5 (main text).

82. Ibid., annex 2, pt. B, 6; and annex 2, pt. C, 17.

83. “Status of Studies of the Air Corps Board as of December 31, 1940

1, AFHRA, file no. 167.5.

233
84. See Air Corps Board Report 35, Employment of Aircraft in Defense o

the Continental United States, annex 2, 7 May 1939, 3, AFHRA, file no

167.5-35.

85. Ibid., annex 4, p. 1. ACB-35 based its argument on a major principl

of war—economy of force. To use aircraft against objectives that are withi

range of ground or naval weapons is to use them in lieu of rather than i

support of those weapons. See annex 4, p. 3.

86. “Analytical Study of Joint Action of the Army and the Navy,” 3.

87. Air Corps Board Report 35, 1–2.

88. For a thorough discussion of how FDR came to support airpower a

a favored instrument of diplomacy and national defense, see Jeffery S

Underwood, The Wings of Democracy: The Influence of Air Power on th

Roosevelt Administration, 1933–1941 (College Station, Tex.: Texas A&M

University Press, 1991).

89. The evolution of bomber technology, although outside the purview o

this discussion, played a critical role in the Air Corps’s success against th

Navy and in transforming a mere theory of airpower into reality. In th

1920s, bombers were cumbersome and lightly armed machines tha

trundled along at 110 MPH. Their operating ceiling, bomb-carryin

capacity, and defensive firepower were also limited. Such aircraft, like th

Curtis Condor and Barling bomber, were much too vulnerable to carry out 

successful bombing campaign in the face of hostile fighters. By 1932

however, bomber technology suddenly leapt past fighter capabilities. (Th

change was attributable to innovations in large civilian aircraft, which the

positively affected bomber development.) When it appeared in 1931, th

Boeing B-9 represented a significant leap in bomber technology, although 

was an interim aircraft (only nine saw service). The plane containe

preliminary engineering items later found in the B-17, which at this poin

was entering the advanced design phase. Better yet were the follow-on B-1

and B-12. The Boeing B-10, for example, was an all-metal, midwin

monoplane with retractable landing gear. It could go 235 MPH (at least 1

MPH faster than contemporary fighters), climb up to 21,000 feet, and carr

five machine guns. Its other novel features included an enclosed cockpi

cowling over the engines, and cantilevered wings. Such development

encouraged new experimentation, and in September 1934, Boein

introduced the XB-17. This all-metal, midwing monoplane could do th

work of four B-10s. It could also travel at 250 MPH, carry an internal bom

load of twenty-five hundred pounds for twenty-six hundred miles, an

operate up to 30,000 feet. Here for the first time in history, Hap Arnol

observed, was airpower “you could put your hands on.” When fighte

technology improved in the late 1930s, it was too late from a doctrina

standpoint. The Air Corps’s prewar commitment to four-engined bomber

and long-range operations was irreversible. See Thomas H. Greer, Th

Development of Air Doctrine in the Army Air Arm, 1917–1941, USAF

Historical Study 89 (1955; reprint, Washington, D.C.: Government Printin

Office, 1985), 46–47.

234
90. 

Testimony of General M. M. Patrick, 71.

91. Ibid., 53.

92. Bullard, 21.

93. “[Coast Defense,] the Army Viewpoint,” n.d., 2, AFHRA, file no

211.33. Internal evidence in the statement suggests that it appeared in th

1930s.

94. See Hanson Baldwin, to Haywood Hansell, letter, ca. 16 May 1939

2, AFHRA, file no. 168.7148. Baldwin was the military and nava

correspondent for the New York Times. He was also a Naval Academ

graduate, which may partially explain the venom in his statement. See als

“Statement of Brigadier General H. A. Drum,” 2.

95. “Relation of Air Corps Expenditures to Total War Departmen

(Military) Expenditures,” 1, AFHRA, file no. 167.6-5.

96. 1st Lt William A. R. Robertson, “Progress in Military Aviation,” n.d

11, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-61Y (1898–1937 folder); see also “Statement o

Brigadier General H. A. Drum,” 7.

97. Hugh Knerr, microfilm A1878, 109, AFHRA, file no. 168.7028-1.

98. Gen Nathan Twining, transcript of oral history interview by Arthu

Marmor, November 1965, 6, AFHRA, file no. K239-0512-634; and Ge

Howell M. Estes Jr., transcript of oral history interview by Lt Col Robe

Zimmerman and Lt Col Lyn Officer, 27–30 August 1973, 38, AFHRA, file no

K239-0512-686. General Estes entered military service in the late 1930s

His recollections, therefore, may reflect an attitude shaped more by Worl

War II than by the interwar years.

99. See Copp as a representative example.

100. Maj Gen Jarred V. Crabb, transcript of oral history interview by L

Col Thomas Julian and Maj Donald Goldstein, 17 and 28 April 1970, 8

AFHRA, file no. K239-0512-622.

101. Haywood S. Hansell Jr., “American Air Power in World War II

chap. 2, microfilm 34142-43, 4–5, AFHRA, file no. 168.7148. See also Cap

Charles Walton, “Is an Air Force Capable of Independent Action to a

Extent Sufficient to Justify the Employment of the Term ‘Air Warfare’ in 

Sense as Comprehensive as Our Present Use of the Terms ‘Land Warfare

and ‘Naval Warfare?’” 1 May 1929, 16, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-16F. Of th

dozens of ACTS student papers this author has read, the title of Captai

Walton’s paper has no peer.

102. “Notes,” n.d., 1, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-32.

103. Col B. Q. Jones, “Air Forces in the Theater,” lecture to Army Wa

College, 4 March 1939, 17, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-14B.

104. See “Statement of Brigadier General H. A. Drum,” 5, 61.

105. Ibid., 6; see also Wilson, 1 (George section), 18 (Webster section).

106. William Mitchell, in “Testimony of General M. M. Patrick,” 74.

107. Ibid.

108. For a background to this struggle, see R. Earl McClendon, “A

Checklist of Significant Documents Relating to the Position of the Unite

States Army Air Arm in the System of National Defense, 1907–1945

235
(Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Documentary Research Division, 1949); and Maj Guid

Perera, “A Legislative History of Aviation in the United States and Abroad

March 1941, AFHRA, file no. 167.401-28.

109. By 1925, and with the waning influence of Billy Mitchell, senio

airmen sought more immediate goals. Mason Patrick, for example

advocated to the Morrow Board that Congress create permanent aviatio

committees in both houses to develop definite, comprehensive, and evolvin

government policies on civilian and military aeronautics.

110. Maj Gen Charles Menoher, “Address Given at Society of Automotiv

Engineers Dinner,” 10 March 1920, 8, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-130. Maso

Patrick expressed similar sentiments in his “Testimony of General M. M

Patrick,” 56.

111. Perera, 57, 65.

112. See Milling, “Air Power in National Defense,” 4.

113. For a discussion of the following boards and commissions o

inquiry, see Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinkin

in the United States Air Force, vol. 1, 1907–1960 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: A

University Press, December 1989), 29–48; and Greer, 21–29, 71–73.

114. The Army Reorganization Act of 1920 codified this view into la

and made the Air Service a regular combat arm. It also provided for a chie

and assistant chief of staff, and it further codified a professional schoo

system.

115. Foulois, 199–200. Dargue later served as assistant commandant o

ACTS from 1934 to 1938.

116. According to Benny Foulois, the Morrow Board’s accommodation

may have been part of a preemptive attempt to weaken the political impac

of Billy Mitchell’s upcoming trial. See Foulois, 201.

117. Hoyt, 83.

118. Perera, 61. As in previous boards and commissions that wer

hostile to the Air Service/Air Corps, the membership of the Baker Boar

was an issue. Major General Foulois, for example, was the lone Air Corp

representative and faced off against four generals assigned from the Arm

General Staff, among other opponents. In contrast, an obviously biase

Foulois thought the Howell Commission was the “most objective” board o

inquiry in the interwar period. In addition to the above recommendations, 

also supported the creation of the Civil Aeronautics Board and the Civi

Aeronautics Authority (i.e., the forerunner of the Federal Aviatio

Administration).

119. For the above statistics, see C. A. McMahan, John Folger, an

Stephen W. Fotis, Graduates of the Air Corps Tactical School, 1921–1940

April 1953, 3, 5, AFHRA, file no. K243.041-2.

120. William Sherman, Air Tactics, sect. 2 (“Fundamental Doctrine of th

Air Service”), 1922, 5, AFHRA, file no. 248.101-4A.

121. Milling, The Air Service Tactical School, 1.

122. Ibid.

123. Ibid.

236
124. See Training Regulation 440-15, Air Tactics, 1926, AFHRA, file no

248.211-65A.

125. Air Service Tactical School, Bombardment, 1924–1925, 66, 83

AFHRA, file no. 248.101-9.

126. Air Service Tactical School, Bombardment, 1926, 4, AFHRA, file no

248.101-9.

127. See Futrell, 31.

128. Air Service Tactical School, Employment of Combined Air Force

1925–1926, 3, AFHRA, file no. 248.101-7A.

129. Ibid., 3–4, 12, 29.

130. Sherman, Air Warfare, 6, 21, 23, 32, 130, 209–10, 217.

131. Arnold was an impatient man who demanded immediate result

from his commanders. Without a rapid return on investment, he worrie

that funding for strategic air operations would disappear and therefor

threaten his dream of an independent Air Force with an autonomou

mission. To Arnold, Hansell’s dogged and misplaced attempt to perform

HAPDB in the Pacific theater was an example of “too little, too late.” A

Hansell’s successor, Curtis LeMay abandoned HAPDB for low-level, almo

indiscriminate incendiary attacks against Japanese urban areas.

132. Kuter showed early signs of promise. Col Millard Harmon, fo

example, described him as “an exceptional officer who should be given 

rating of ‘Superior plus’. [He] possesses superior qualifications for staf

assignment and for future high command.” See “Official Statement o

Service,” 30 January 1942, 2, Laurence Kuter Papers, box 1, folder 13

Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

133. Quoted in Kenneth Schaffel, “Muir S. Fairchild: Philosopher of Ai

Power,” Aerospace Historian 33 (September 1986): 168.

134. Kuter, oral history interview, 132, 163.

135. This synopsis of ACTS bombardment theory appears in Haywood S

Hansell Jr., The Strategic Air War against Germany and Japan: A Memoi

(Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1986), 7, 10.

136. Donald Wilson, “Long Range Airplane Development,” Novembe

1938, 6, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-17.

137. Ibid.

138. Ibid.

139. See “Address by Major General Frank Andrews before the Nationa

Aeronautic Association,” 16 January 1939, 8, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-20.

140. Kenneth Walker, “Memo to Assistant Commandant, ACTS,” 2

September 1932, 3, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-13.

141. Hansell, The Strategic Air War against Germany and Japan, 12.

142. Ibid., 12–13.

143. Col Grover Brown, “Concepts of Strategic Air Warfare, Part I

lecture to Air War College, 3 December 1951, 4, AFHRA, file no

K239.716251-28. At the time, the War Department prohibited the Air Corp

from constructing target folders on other nations. The practice was not i

keeping with the avowedly defensive military policy of the United States.

237
144. See Lt Col William O. Ryan, 

Military Aviation, lecture at Arm

War College, 6 March 1940, 11, AFHRA, file no. 248.211-14.

145. Since Weimar Germany deliberately reconstructed its ruine

physical plant and business practices along American lines, the problem o

“mirror imaging” was especially troublesome in World War II. Se

Klaus-Juergen Mueller, ed., The Military in Politics and Society in France an

Germany in the Twentieth Century (Oxford: Berg, 1995).

146. Gen Orvel Cook, transcript of oral history interview by Hugh N

Ahmann and Maj Richard Emmons, 4–5 June and 6–7 August 1974, 101

AFHRA, file no. K239.0512-740.

147. Ibid.

148. Ibid.

149. Col Hugh Knerr, to commanding general, 3d Wing, GHQ Air Force

letter, 14 March 1936, AFHRA, file no. 248.126-4.

150. Ibid. (first endorsement).

151. Lt Col George E. Lovell, memorandum to Brig Gen G. C. Brant, 2

March 1936, AFHRA, file no. 248.126-4.

152. Lt Col M. F. Harmon and Maj Oliver Gothlin, “Comments on Ai

Corps Tactical Document,” attached to Knerr letter, 2.

153. Lt Col A. H. Gilkeson, “Indorsement to Commanding General, 2n

Wing, GHQ Air Force,” on Knerr letter, 2.

154. For the specifics of AWPD-1 and the creation of the plan, see Jame

C. Gaston, Planning the American Air War—Four Men and Nine Days in 194

(Fort Lesley J. McNair: National Defense University Press, 1982).

238
Chapter 7

Alexander P. de Seversky

and American Airpower

Col Phillip S. Meilinger*

Fighter ace, war hero, aircraft designer, entrepreneur, stun

pilot, writer, and theorist, Alexander P. de Seversky was one o

the best known and most popular aviation figures in Americ

during World War II. His passion was airpower, and hi

mission was to convince the American people that airpowe

had revolutionized warfare, becoming its paramount an

decisive factor. De Seversky pursued this goal relentlessly fo

over three decades. In truth, although generally regarded as 

theorist, his ideas on airpower and its role in war were no

original. Rather, he was a synthesizer and popularizer—

purveyor of secondhand ideas. His self-appointed tas

entailed selling those ideas to the public, who could then

influence political leaders to make more enlightened defens

decisions. At the same time, de Seversky wore the mantle o

prophet, using his interpretation of history and logic to predic

the path that air warfare would take. Events would show tha

he enjoyed more success as a proselytizer than as a prophet

*I want to thank the following individuals, who have contributed their criticism

and ideas to this essay: Duane Reed of the Air Force Academy special collection

branch, Ron Wyatt of the Nassau County Library, Josh Stoff of the Cradle of Aviatio

Museum, Steve Chun of the Air University Library, Col “Doc” Pentland, Lt Col Pe

Faber, Dr. Dave Mets, Dr. Dan Kuehl, and Mr. Russell Lee.

 Regarding sources, de Seversky died in 1974 without heirs. Apparently, most of h

files and personal papers were then deposited in the Republic Aircraft Corporatio

archives on Long Island. When that company went defunct a decade later, what wa

left of de Seversky’s papers went to the Nassau County Library, also on Long Islan

The collection is incomplete; much of it is taken up with copies of the several hundre

articles, press releases, speeches, and radio broadcasts de Seversky gave over th

years. Although these papers are of great value, virtually nothing of a personal natu

is contained therein; nor is there much in the way of official correspondence. Materi

of a technical nature regarding de Seversky’s patents and aircraft designs has bee

transferred to the Cradle of Aviation Museum, located in a hangar on the old Mitch

Field, Long Island.

239
His ideas, like those of many air theorists, outran th

technology available to implement them.

Born in Tiflis, Russia (now Tbilisi, Georgia), on 7 Jun

1894, Alexander grew up near Saint Petersburg. His fathe

was a wealthy poet and actor who also had a taste for thing

mechanical; for example, he purchased two aeroplanes in

1909—purportedly the first privately owned aircraft in Russia 

Alexander inherited not only his father’s theatrical flair bu

also his technological inclination—he experimented with

mechanical devices as a boy, even designing several aeroplan

models. Not atypically for a young man of his class, Alexande

went off to military school at age ten, graduating from th

Imperial Russian Naval Academy in 1914, shortly before th

outbreak of the Great War. After serving for several months on

a destroyer flotilla, Ensign de Seversky transferred to th

navy’s flying service, soloing in March 1915 at Sebastapo

after a total flight time of six minutes and 28 seconds.1

Posted to the Baltic Sea, de Seversky and his squadron

sought to prevent the German navy from clearing mines tha

Russian ships had placed in the Gulf of Riga. On his firs

combat mission on the night of 2 July 1915, he met with

disaster. As he attacked a German destroyer, antiaircraft fir

struck his aircraft, causing it to crash into the water. Th

concussion detonated one of the aircraft’s bombs, killing hi

observer and blowing off de Seversky’s right leg below th

knee. Miraculously, he survived; a Russian patrol boa

rescued him, and after eight months in convalescence, h

returned to active duty with an artificial limb.2

Assigned a job in aircraft production, de Seversky applie

his mechanical acumen to the design of aeronautical device

that would make a pilot’s job easier, designing such devices a

hydraulic brakes, adjustable rudder pedals, and specia

bearings for flight controls. He also experimented with 

sophisticated bombsight and aircraft skis for landing on ic

surfaces. His inventions won him an award in 1916 for the top

aeronautical ideas of the year.3

Although designing aircraft was important work, d

Seversky wanted to return to flying duty, but superiors denie

his request. Nevertheless, when in early 1916 a group o

dignitaries visited his airfield to witness the test flight of a new

240
aircraft, de Seversky surreptitiously took the place of th

scheduled pilot and put the aircraft through its paces for th

assembled crowd. This stunt caused an uproar, fueling talk o

a court-martial for “endangering government property.

Fortunately, the czar himself heard of the incident, decide

Russia needed colorful heroes, and intervened to have d

Seversky returned to combat flying duty. 4

Over the next year, he flew 57 combat missions and score

13 kills of German aircraft. On one mission, he and hi

wingman bombed a German airfield and then attacked seven

planes in the air, shooting down three, despite receiving ove

30 bullet holes in his own aircraft.5 For this exploit, the cza

presented him a gold sword. His wooden leg did not seem t

bother him. In fact, he later claimed that the injury made him

a better flyer because it forced him to think more deeply abou

what he was doing, rather than simply rely upon physica

ability. Even so, the war remained a dangerous activity fo

him: his good leg was broken in an accident on the ground

and on one combat sortie he was shot in the right leg—

although now he required the services of a carpenter rathe

than a doctor. 6

By mid-1917 the Russian monarchy had fallen. Due to lac

of reinforcements, de Seversky’s squadrons—he was now chie

of pursuit aviation for the Baltic Sea—could not prevent th

German fleet from entering Russian waters. He fled when

German ships shelled his headquarters but did not get far in

his damaged aircraft. After stripping the plane of its guns, h

set it afire and began walking towards the Russian lines

Unfortunately, he ran into a band of armed Estonian

peasants, who debated turning him over to the Germans for 

reward. Upon learning that their captive was the fame

“legless aviator,” however, they sent de Seversky on hi

way—with his machine guns. This escape earned him th

Cross of Saint George, Imperial Russia ’s highest decoration

Alexander E. Kerensky, head of the provisional government

then posted Lieutenant Commander de Seversky t

Washington, D.C. , as part of the Russian naval mission. Th

Bolshevik government, which took power soon after

confirmed these orders, but within a few months of his arriva

241
in America, his mission dissolved. Nevertheless, de Seversk

elected to stay. 8

After working briefly with the American Air Service as an

aircraft inspector in Buffalo, New York, de Seversky foun

himself out of work. Young, aggressive, and ambitious, h

soon opened a restaurant in Manhattan. He fell in love with

America, and when fellow émigrés complained of conditions in

their new home, he grew impatient and exclaimed, “If you

don’t like it in this country you can always go back t

Brooklyn.”9 “Sascha,” as friends now called him, still viewe

aviation as his chief interest, and in 1921 he met Brig Gen

Billy Mitchell, the controversial and outspoken assistant chie

of the Air Service. Mitchell was then trying to “prove” th

obsolescence of surface ships through a series of bombin

tests. However, he feared that his aircraft’s bombs were no

powerful enough to sink heavily armored warships. D

Seversky later claimed he suggested to Mitchell the idea o

dropping bombs next to the ships—not on them—to cause 

“water hammer” effect that would open the seams in the sid

of the vessel below the waterline. Although this idea did no

originate with de Seversky, it had validity. 1 0 In July 192

Mitchell’s aircraft used the water-hammer principle to sin

several capital ships, including the German battleship

Ostfriesland, off the Virginia coast.

Over the next several years, de Seversky worked with

military airmen at McCook Field, Ohio , designing a gyroscopi

bombsight hailed by Gen Mason Patrick, Air Service chief. In

addition, he began work on an idea he had conceived durin

the war. While flying in formation with another Russian plan

one day, he playfully reached up and grabbed the trailing wir

radio antenna of his mate, flying along “connected” to th

other plane for several minutes. He suddenly realized that on

could also use a wire or tube to transfer fuel from one aircraf

to another in flight. Combat had taught him tha

bombardment aircraft were vulnerable to enemy fighte

planes; thus, one needed escort fighters to provide protection

to the bombers. However, the smaller fighters did not have th

range to escort bombers all the way to the target and back. Ai

refueling offered a solution. Although his wartime superior

would not allow him to experiment with such a device at th

242
time, de Seversky revisited the idea when he worked with th

Air Service , producing an innovative air refueling device use

on the “Question Mark” flight of 1929, when an Air Corp

aircraft remained aloft for seven days.11 In 1927 de Seversk

became a naturalized US citizen and received his commission

as a major in the Air Corps Reserve. He was always quit

proud of regaining military rank and for the rest of his lif

preferred to be called “major.”

In 1931 he founded Seversky Aircraft Corporation and ove

the next decade perfected a host of patents and designs

including split flaps, metal monocoque construction, 

fire-control unit for aircraft guns, retractable landing gear an

pontoons, and specialized aircraft flight instruments.1 2 He ha

obvious talent for design, his innovative SEV-3 amphibian

setting world speed records in 1933 and 1935. Derivations o

this model became the BT-8 (the first all-metal monoplan

trainer built in the United States ) and the noted P-35.

The P-35 was the first all-metal monoplane fighte

mass-produced in the United States , incorporating suc

innovations as an enclosed cockpit, retractable landing gear

and cantilever wings. The Air Corps purchased 137 P-35s, th

direct ancestor of the famed P-47 Thunderbolt .

13 The P-3

featured two other unusual characteristics. First, it wa

extremely fast; a civilian version of it won the Bendix Air Race i

1937, 1938, and 1939. 14 Considering the fact that contemporar

fighter planes could barely keep pace with new bombers such a

the B-17, this was quite a feat. Second, it was specifically

designed for long range (it could fly from coast to coast with only

two refuelings), unlike other fighter aircraft of the day, whic

were suitable only for point defense. Remembering his wa

experiences, de Seversky recognized the need for fighter aircraf

with the range to escort bombers.

15 One solution was the ai

refueling device he had already patented, but extensive use o

this system would have to wait another two decades. During th

Vietnam War, tactical fighters became strategic bombers as 

result of air refueling. In the late 1930s, however, peopl

considered such an expedient too inefficient and costly

Designers, therefore, had to devise a method to extend the rang

of aircraft without air refueling.

243
Most of them thought that building a long-range escort fighte

was technically impossible, reasoning that any plane with th

necessary range would have to be quite large in order to carr

the requisite fuel. A large aircraft needed more than one engin

and might require additional crew members, which, in turn

meant even larger size, more weight, more fuel, and so forth. In

short, escorts soon looked like the bombers they were designe

to protect and thus would become easy prey for enemy fighter

De Seversky, virtually alone among designers, was convince

that one could build a long-range escort by using internal fue

tanks, which would not sacrifice the attributes characteristic o

a successful fighter.

At the same time, de Seversky called for increase

armament on fighter planes. Whereas standard equipmen

generally consisted of two .30-caliber machine guns, h

advocated the inclusion of six to eight .50-caliber guns.1

However, when de Seversky suggested this, as well a

increasing range by adding more wing fuel tanks, the Ai

Corps turned him down, deeming such innovations no

“sufficiently attractive to pursue.”17 This clash of opinion wa

doctrinal at least as much as it was technological. American

tactical airmen such as Claire Chennault eschewed th

concept of fighter escort . Although acknowledging th

vulnerability of bomber aircraft, they did not relish an escor

mission that would put fighter aircraft in what they saw as an

inherently defensive and passive position. Most Air Corp

fighter pilots at the time shared this rather peculiar notion

Not until 1944 did American airmen, because of operationa

necessity, embrace the mission of fighter escort, reconcilin

need with the imperative to maintain an offensive an

aggressive character.1 8 In any event, this doctrinal disagree

ment had serious consequences for the relationship between

de Seversky and the Air Corps , already strained by hi

emotional and flamboyant personality.

His heroic exploits in the war were well known, as was hi

prowess as a stunt pilot. His wife, the beautiful Evelyn

Olliphant, was the daughter of a prominent New Orlean

doctor, and she also became a well-known figure. After thei

marriage in 1925, she met many of the famous aviation

figures of the day. Too often, however, she felt at a loss when

244
the men congregated in corners to discuss flying. Sh

therefore decided to take flying lessons and surprise he

husband; after she won her wings in 1934, her first passenge

was Jimmy Doolittle . Evelyn became a noted aviatrix in he

own right, logging several thousand hours and appearin

frequently on radio and in the newspapers to discuss he

experiences and push for more women in aviation.1 9 She an

Sascha made a handsome and vivacious couple, noted fo

their gala parties. One magazine even referred to Alexander a

“one of the ten most glamorous men in New York.”20

More significantly, he had obvious technical ability as a

aeronautical engineer. His aircraft designs won him th

prestigious Harmon Trophy, presented by President Franklin D

Roosevelt in 1939, and the Lord and Taylor American Design

Award for 1940. He was not, however, a businessman. Hi

corporation never made a great deal of money and ra

constantly behind in its production orders. De Seversky argued

that his aircraft were so original that they required new

manufacturing techniques, which took time.2 1 The Ai

Corps—indeed, most of his senior colleagues in the company—

disagreed.

Executives at Seversky Aircraft complained that thei

president was too busy designing new aircraft instead o

building the ones already on order. He spent too much mone

and traveled too frequently on publicity tours. He was 

lackadaisical manager. The Seversky Corporation was a fairly

small company during the Depression years, and the major fel

close to his labor force. One shop worker later recalled d

Seversky walking into his Long Island factory, announcing i

was too nice a day for work, and ordering everyone down to th

beach for a picnic. He supplied the beer.2 2 Such affability migh

have won affection, but it did not fulfill military contracts.

Gen Henry H. Arnold , chief of the Air Corps, had great respec

for the models de Seversky produced, but as war approached in

Europe, he needed aircraft companies ready and able to mee

the challenges of greatly increased production. The Seversk

Corporation had a part to play in Arnold’s future but only if i

restructured its senior management.2 3 In short, Arnold wanted

de Seversky out. In May 1939, while de Seversky was out of th

country, his board of directors removed him as president; in

245
October it ousted him entirely and changed the name of th

company to Republic.

24

De Seversky was outraged; moreover, he never forgav

Arnold for the role he had played in his removal. 2 5 For th

next several years, de Seversky blamed Arnold for ever

deficiency—real or perceived—that he found in American

airpower. In his files he kept a list of statements made b

Arnold , each accompanied by unflattering comments. Fo

example, when Arnold opined that dive-bombers might prov

useful in combat, de Seversky commented, “Anothe

demonstration of how slow his mind digests the lessons of th

war.” Similarly, when Arnold drew comparisons between

different types of aircraft, de Seversky grumbled that “thes

excerpts show how his mind rambles and how reckless hi

statements are.”26

In truth, de Seversky’s removal from business had positiv

results: Republic reorganized to become one of the top aviation

companies of the next three decades. The P-47 Thunderbolt , th

descendant of the major’s P-35 , proved vital to American ai

success in the war. Based on de Seversky’s track record up t

the time of his removal, Republic probably would not hav

responded so effectively to the challenge of war under hi

guidance. In addition, sudden unemployment left him time fo

other pursuits. Specifically, he used his considerable charm an

communication skills to write and talk about his favorite topic

airpower. From this point on, the technical aspects of th

major’s career faded into the background as his primary focu

became the education of the American public regardin

airpower. Events would prove that de Seversky was far mor

influential as an author than as a builder.

When de Seversky began writing about airpower, he enjoye

two advantages over the theorists who had preceded him

First, he was not a serving military officer and therefore did

not fear the retaliation of irked superiors. In view of the fac

that Giulio Douhet and Billy Mitchell had been court

martialed for pressing their views on airpower too strongly

this consideration was a substantial one. Second, because o

de Seversky’s background as a successful aeronautica

engineer and designer, he was less likely to fall into hyperbol

when discussing aircraft capabilities—the blight of othe

246
airpower advocates. The freedom to speak his mind, with

formidable technical authority, coupled with his dynamic an

energetic personality, made him enormously popular in a ver

short time.

De Seversky’s voluminous writings shared certain

characteristics. First, they demonstrated a willingness to take on

military leaders and their cherished beliefs. Second, the

displayed a deep-seated anti-Navy bias that grew over time. D

Seversky also employed a strategy of taking his case directly t

the American people, bypassing intermediate filters imposed b

military officials. Finally, the major had an unshakable belief in

the effectiveness and efficiency of airpower.

For example, airpower theorists typically criticized th

conservative and traditional thinking of surface commanders

whom they considered relics of a bygone age. They did no

understand the new air weapon, seeing it merely as an

evolutionary development—a useful tool that would help them

achieve their surface goals. This attitude was standard fare

But de Seversky went a step further by taking on th

leadership of the Air Corps, accusing it of equally outdate

thinking. Specifically, he pointedly charged Arnold with

stymying innovative thought in aircraft development an

being more concerned with “military politics” than with

building effective airpower.2 7 When in mid-1941 the Wa

Department announced a reorganization that created th

semiautonomous Army Air Forces (AAF), most airmen hailed i

as a major step towards a separate service—their cherishe

goal. Not so de Seversky. He saw it as a dangerous half

measure—an “administrative enslavement”—to keep airmen in

their place, a ploy by Arnold to gain promotion. He did no

believe it would seriously advance the cause of airpower. In 

letter to President Roosevelt, he argued that the move wa

“positively harmful” because it gave an illusion of progres

where none really existed.2 8 As a consequence of thes

gratuitous and personal attacks, Arnold kept de Seversky at 

distance; thus, these two powerful voices for airpower worke

at cross-purposes, precisely at a time when they should hav

been close allies.

Throughout his career, de Seversky consciously attache

himself to the Billy Mitchell legend. He said once that Mitchel

247
was his best friend, and he wrote several articles about th

general, even dedicating his first book to his mentor’

memory. This affinity was not necessarily healthy because d

Seversky inherited Mitchell’s inordinate distaste for the Navy 

The saying that there is no greater antipathy towards idea

than that felt by the apostate was certainly true of forme

naval officer de Seversky. His writings consistently stresse

the fleet’s lack of importance, arguing that sea power wa

obsolete and that surface ships were doomed in the face o

airpower. Like Mitchell, he often compared the cost of ships t

that of aircraft, noting that one could buy hundreds of plane

for the price of a single battleship . He even began one articl

with the blunt announcement that “our great two-ocean

multi-billion-dollar Navy, now in construction, should b

completed five or six years from now—just in time to have al

of its battleships scrapped.”2 9

However, de Seversky not only denigrated the gunships bu

also questioned the utility of aircraft carriers, seeing them a

little more than attractive targets. He discounted their abilit

to project power ashore, asserting the inferiority of carrie

planes to land-based planes. Conveniently ignoring the Pear

Harbor attack, he stated that if carriers attempted to strike 

land power equipped with an air force, the latter would sin

them long before their planes could perform any constructive

purpose. 3 0 Like Mitchell’s attacks, de Seversky’s incessan

barbs needlessly antagonized the Navy , while also spurring i

to greater activity. Indeed, although the claim that Mitchell—

and, by extension, de Seversky—was the father of nava

aviation is far too strong, it does contain a kernel of truth.

As with most people of his generation who had live

through one world war only to see another spawned in it

wake, de Seversky believed that wars had become total

Distinctions between soldiers and civilians no longer existed—

all people were part of the war effort. To de Seversky, thi

meant that all citizens might pay the ultimate price in wa

and thus should have a voice in determining how those war

were fought. In a dictatorship, rulers make war with littl

regard for the will of the populace—but not in a democracy

War strategy had become far too important to be left t

military leaders. The people must have knowledge of the inne

248
workings of war so they can have a voice in its conduct

“over-all strategy, like any other national policy that affect

the entire nation, is the province of the people.”31 Air wa

especially was too new and too powerful, and affected peopl

too directly for them to be ignorant of its principles. An

educated public would make its opinions known to th

politicians, who in turn would determine military policy. D

Seversky saw educating the people as his duty : “I am

convinced that the best contribution I can make to America i

to draw attention to what seems to me the need for an

effective program of national defense in the air in order t

provide genuine security for our country.”32

Over the next decade, the major would write two books an

scores of articles and press releases, and would give hundred

of radio addresses. His first literary task upon leavin

business in 1939 involved telling of aeronautical conditions in

Europe . He visited Britain , France , Germany, and Italy an

because of his international reputation, was able to talk with

leading airmen and aircraft manufacturers and tour thei

factories. He returned to America both sobered and heartened

On the one hand, he was convinced that Hitler was bent on

war, even predicting that it would break out in Septembe

1939. 33 He did not think the French were ready for such 

war; although their air force had some useful aircraft designs

political corruption prevented their mass production. On th

other hand, he was pleased with British developments—h

flew the Hurricane and Spitfire and came away impressed b

their speed and armament. He rated these aircraft far superio

to anything the Germans had and predicted that the Royal Ai

Force (RAF) would prevail in any test with the Luftwaff

because of this qualitative superiority.3 4 Few people were a

sanguine about Britain ’s chances, but the major’s prediction

proved accurate.

Exactly what form de Seversky expected the war would tak

during its initial stages remains unclear. Certainly, h

believed airpower would play a key role, but no evidenc

indicates he embraced the concept of strategic bombing

Indeed, despite his connections with Billy Mitchell , hi

concentration as an engineer on fighter aircraft and on th

249
technological challenges they presented suggests he had no

given a great deal of thought to the issue of strategic airpower 

This perspective changed when war broke out in Septembe

1939. Five campaigns particularly impressed him. First

Germany’s quick defeat of Poland convinced him that airpowe

dominated ground forces—a lesson reinforced by the French

campaign the following year. France ’s rapid collapse shocke

most of the world, but de Seversky simply remarked that th

Maginot Line had become the tomb for a nation that ha

refused to look skyward. 35 As in World War I, the French ha

relied on their army. This stubborn attachment to tradition

proved disastrous.

Two other campaigns gave different lessons: Norway an

Crete demonstrated the superiority of airpower over nava

forces. In both instances the Royal Navy, reputedly the fines

in the world, had been decisively repulsed—not by German o

Italian sea power, which the British had quickly dispose

of—but by the Luftwaffe. The British fleet lay helpless befor

an enemy that controlled the air. 36 At Crete , for example, th

Luftwaffe sank four British cruisers and six destroyers, whil

severely damaging an aircraft carrier and three battleships

Because of such staggering losses—the worst defeat of the wa

for the Royal Navy—the fleet could not hold the island. Later

the sinking of the British dreadnoughts Prince of Wales an

Repulse off the Malayan coast by Japanese land-based aircraf

served to heighten de Seversky’s scorn for the capital ship .

De Seversky also argued that the rescue of the British arm

from Dunkirk was possible only because the RAF controlle

the air above the beaches. Air superiority permitted the Roya

Navy to move in and evacuate over three hundred thousan

troops.37 Had the Luftwaffe owned the skies, the British would

not have attempted such an operation; if they had, the result

would have resembled those at Norway and Crete. Airpowe

had saved the remnants of the British army.

The Battle of Britain was also compelling insofar as i

demonstrated how improperly structured and poo rly le

airpower could squander a numerical advantage. Interest

ingly, although de Seversky had predicted a British victory

another famous American aviator, Charles Lindbergh , argue

that nothing could stand up to the Luftwaffe ’s might

250
Moreover, he believed that because Britain was doomed, th

United States should cut ties with that country and build u

its own air strength. 38 De Seversky countered that airpowe

had shrunk the globe to such an extent that US isolation wa

a thing of the past. Americans could no longer sit behind thei

oceans and ignore the affairs of Europe; rather, they mus

support England because her fight, inevitably, would one da

be theirs.39 In February 1942 de Seversky collected thes

lessons, combined them with his ideas on airpower, an

produced Victory through Air Power—a book designed to aler

America to the challenges of a modern, total war in which i

was now involved, and to offer a strategy based on airpowe

for fighting that new form of war.

Victory through Air Power first takes the reader through 

brief, selective history of the war, much of which repeats wha

de Seversky had said the previous year. People who ha

followed his many magazine and newspaper articles would

have found little new in this survey. De Seversky reaffirme

airpower as the key to victory, maintaining that the airplan

had eclipsed traditional forms of land and sea warfare. H

retells the stories of Poland, Norway, France, Crete, and th

Battle of Britain and derides the generals and admirals wh

attempted to fight with the methods and tactics of previou

wars: “The lessons of this war can’t be shouted down b

invoking the glories of the past.”4 0 Although other people ha

begun to awake to this new form of war and sense it

implications, de Seversky emphasized that it was a revolution

demanding equally revolutionary responses. Unfortunately

America was not prepared for this challenge.

Perhaps because he was still obsessed with what h

considered unfair treatment by the AAF , de Seversky felt th

need to recount the story of his unsuccessful attempts to sel

advanced fighter aircraft to the government. He regales th

reader with details about his ideas for increasing the rang

and firepower of American planes, only to have them snubbe

by military officials. These sections smack of self-justification

and are of limited value. In fact, because de Seversky insiste

on singling out Hap Arnold for attack, military airmen did no

welcome his message. 41 Once again, he alienated the ver

people he should have courted. On the other hand, h

251
performed a useful service by calling attention to problem

that existed in America’s aircraft rearmament program.

De Seversky pointed out that American fighter planes wer

inferior to those of the other major belligerents. They did no

have the speed, range, altitude, or armament to contest with

frontline enemy fighters. Yet, press releases emanating from

AAF, the government, and industry pretended that American

planes were the best in the world.4 2 De Seversky rejected such

claims with disdain: “No one in his senses would pretend tha

the P-40 is a match for the Messerschmitt or the Spitfire.”4

Some people accused him of lacking patriotism, of lowerin

the morale of American airmen, and of disclosing importan

information to the enemy. The major dismissed these charge

by maintaining that the people had a right to know the truth

otherwise, problems would remain uncorrected. 4 4

Besides presenting a bleak picture intended to alert th

public to the backward state of American airpower, d

Seversky also expressed his views on the nature of air warfare

His most important idea held that airpower was an inherently

strategic weapon. By this he meant that airpower’s ability t

fly over enemy armies and navies enabled it to strike directly

at a country’s most vital areas: its capital, industry

government, and so forth. Surface forces, on the other hand

generally fought only at the tactical level of war—force agains

force—hoping through an accumulation of victories in battl

to position themselves for strategic, or decisive, militar

operations. Surface commanders realized, however, that thei

operations would prove far easier and more successful i

airpower supported them. De Seversky cautioned against this

declaring that supporting an army tactically would squande

airpower’s unique capability. One should employ airpowe

primarily as a strategic weapon and use it against targets tha

had strategic significance. Similarly, de Seversky rejected th

view that the objective of war was to occupy territory—an

outdated concept. Strategic airpower could destroy th

facilities and structures that made an area useful to th

enemy: “Having knocked the weapons out of his hands an

reduced the enemy to impotence, we can starve and beat him

into submission by air power.”45 This accomplished, on

252
required occupation of only a humanitarian or politica

nature: the Red Cross or similar organizations would suffice.

Second in importance, de Seversky stressed the necessity o

air superiority. The first two years of the war clearly

demonstrated that whoever controlled the air also controlle

the land and sea below. The French campaign especially

illustrated the price an army had to pay when the enemy ai

force dominated the sky above it. To de Seversky, the mos

effective method of preventing this and protecting friendly

soldiers involved gaining and maintaining air superiority a

the outset of a campaign.

De Seversky argued that one must seek this key battle fo

air superiority as early as possible and conduct it with utmos

vigor. Other air theorists, notably Mitchell and Douhet , ha

advocated achieving air superiority by attacking enem

airfields and aircraft factories—not by engaging the air forc

itself. Their rationale for this approach was twofold: first

before the in vention of radar, forcing an aerial battle wa

considered nearly impossible. In Douhet ’s formulation, 

stronger air force could safely ignore its weaker opponent, an

the weaker air force would be foolish to look for a fight i

would probably lose. 4 6 Second, they avoided discussion of an

air battle because it tended to contradict one of their basi

premises of air warfare—that it eliminated the bloody an

prolonged counterforce battle .

De Seversky rejected these arguments. Enjoying th

hindsight provided by the first two years of the war, he saw

that an air battle not only could occur but, indeed, generally

would. As a consequence, de Seversky insisted that one mus

resolve the air battle sooner rather than later. In fact, he late

maintained that the RAF should not have stopped its dayligh

bombing operations and retreated to the safety of night, 

decision that did not eliminate the air battle but merely

delayed it.47 British Bomber Command eventually suffere

greater losses in its night operations than did the American

Eighth Air Force attacking in daylight. Significantly, d

Seversky even implied that air superiority could become an

end in itself: once a country had lost its air force and th

enemy could devastate it at will, a rational government would

sue for peace. In other words, although de Seversky claime

253
that airpower could avoid the type of prolonged battle tha

occurred between armies, his call for an air battl

reintroduced it—only now it would take place at 20,000 feet.

De Seversky did not claim in Victory through Air Power tha

airpower alone could win the war. Rather, he maintained tha

the airplane had become the dominant and decisive elemen

in modern war. The vital role of land and sea forces was t

hold the enemy in place while airpower pounded him int

submission. In addition, the army and navy had to seize an

hold air bases from which one could launch strategic ai

strikes against the enemy’s heartland. Indeed, this was th

strategy for the Pacific: the war against Japan was essentially

a struggle for air bases. Far-flung enemy islands had littl

strategic consequence; rather, they were useful as air base

for striking the Japanese home islands.

As a way of lessening the dependence of airpower on thes

overseas air bases, de Seversky pushed for the development o

“interhemispheric” bombers that could strike the enemy from

the United States. He stated that such global bombers would

“change the whole picture of law enforcement”; the mer

threat of American airpower would be enough to keep th

peace. 4 8 He pointed to the massive B-19 and Martin flyin

boat as examples of the type of long-range aircraft h

envisioned, claiming that these behemoths had a payloa

capacity of over 30,000 pounds while also enjoying a

unrefueled range of eight thousand miles. De Seversky wante

thousands of such aircraft built. Unfortunately, his technica

expertise deserted him in this instance. Both of these aircraf

were underpowered and had structural shortcomings; the

never came close to the performance de Seversky claimed fo

them and never reached production.

For the military to utilize airpower effectively, de Seversk

called for a defense department with equal branches for land

sea, and air. He remained convinced that the older service

would never allow airpower to reach its full potential as 

strategic weapon, simply be cause they did not understand it

Similarly, airpower needed to remain separate and distinct a

the theater and tactical levels. Because of its great speed

range, and flexibility, airpower should be centralized and use

en masse over the entire depth and breadth of a theater

254
Under the control of land or sea commanders, airpower would

languish at the tactical level and would not realize maximum

effectiveness.

De Seversky’s last message in Victory through Air Powe

dealt with targeting. If airpower were indeed an inherently

strategic weapon, then one should take great care t

determine the proper objectives for an air campaign . The fac

that bombers could strike any thing did not mean they should

strike every thing. Most air theorists argued that all countrie

had vital centers which allowed the state to function

effectively: government, industry, transportation networks

financial systems, power grids, and so forth. Precisely which

of those objectives were most vital and which specific target

within those categories one should attack and in what priorit

remained unclear. Douhet, for example, merely stated that th

will of the civilian population was the key objective, allowin

the “genius of the commander” to determine how best to affec

that will .

4 9

De Seversky was similarly vague. He did, however, rejec

popular will as a specific target, although not for humanitaria

reasons. The war had demonstrated a surprising huma

resiliency, and prewar predictions of urban populations quickly

panicking and breaking under air attack had proven wrong. D

Seversky therefore emphasized the importance of industria

targets. In truth, de Seversky was merely echoing American Ai

Corps doctrine that had been in place for at least a decade prio

to the war. Unfortunately, like most air theorists, he did no

specify which part of the enemy’s industry one should target 

Debates then raged among Allied air planners over the prope

objectives for attack—candidates included oil, electricity

chemicals, rubber, and ball bearings. De Seversky did no

contribute to this debate, opting instead for an air campaign t

obliterate all aspects of an industrial infrastructure. Given th

size and complexity of a modern state’s industrial base

combined with the limited destructive capacity and accuracy o

contemporary bombs, this approach was highly simplistic an

unsophisticated. De Seversky, like so many air thinkers

overestimated the physical damage of bombing.

The critical response to Victory through Air Power wa

divided. Predictably, soldiers and sailors found it both

255
inaccurate and dangerous, questioning de Seversky

s claim

regarding the effectiveness of airpower in the war and totally

rejecting his prophecies of air dominance. One naval advocat

sniffed that although the book “purports to be a serious study” i

was actually “a slipshod affair” with a “Jules Verne” qualit

about it.5 0 A Navy public relations official candidly admitted

however, that the book posed a “special threat” because i

“reaches the popular mind, and the popular mind reacts on

Congressmen, and the first thing you know you are going t

have Congress telling you and your colleagues in the Navy tha

you are not abreast of modern trends of thought in the matter o

how to make war.”5 1 Airmen also had concerns about the book

but for different reasons. Although they welcomed the call for 

separate air force , de Seversky’s stinging attacks on Arnold

troubled them. As a result, the AAF ignored the book, although

some people made behind-the-scenes attempts to discredit it.5 

One de Seversky supporter deplored such machinations, writin

that “the drive to ‘destroy’ Seversky is the symptom of a deepe

struggle, under the surface, between military diehards an

military progressives.”53

On the other hand, several informed commentators foun

the book both fascinating and significant. For example, on

wrote that “it is the duty of every adult citizen who can lay hi

hands on $2.50 to buy it and ponder its message.” Anothe

commented, “While many specific statements of this book ma

be questioned, an open-minded reader is obliged to conclud

that the author is more nearly right than wrong in his views.

Finally, one said simply that “it is more important fo

Americans than all the other war books put together.”5 4

The public was enthusiastic about Victory through Air Power

and its status as a Book of the Month Club selection guaranteed

a wide and literate audience. The publisher even brought 

out in paperback—rare for a serious work at that time

Consequently, an estimated 5 million Americans read it. Give

de Seversky’s many other articles and radio addresses, Georg

Gallup estimated that over 20 million people knew of d

Seversky and his message—an astounding figure in the day

before television.5 5 In fact, Walt Disney approached de Seversk

with a plan to turn Victory through Air Power into a movie.

256
The famed cartoon filmmaker wished to contribute to th

war effort by making military training films. Donald Duc

went to war to fight the Nazi menace, Mickey Mous

admonished people to pay their taxes promptly, and militar

units sported over twelve hundred military insignia bearin

Disney cartoon characters.56 Disney himself later said that h

had had a deep interest in aviation for years and “sensed tha

air power held the key to the outcome of this war.”57 Although

millions of people had read the major’s book, Disney realize

that millions of others had not, and his unique ability to us

visual images and cartoons would serve to educate them a

well. Disney believed he would probably lose money on th

movie but stated, “I’m concerned that America should see it

and now is no time to think of personal profits.”58

The movie, which opened on 17 July 1943, begins with 

cartoon introduction to the history of flight up to World War II

The picture then switches to de Seversky, shown in his offic

surrounded by world maps, airplane models, and blueprints

The major relates his message of airpower and its importanc

to modern war. 59 Superb graphics illustrate his ideas. Naz

Germany is depicted as a huge iron wheel with factories at th

hub, pumping planes, tanks, ships, and other war equipmen

out the spokes for use along the thick rim. Allied armies chip

away at this rim by attacking individual tanks and planes, bu

the Nazis react by simply redirecting war material from on

spoke to another to counter the threat; the rim is too strong t

break. Aircraft then bomb the factories of the hub directly

destroying them and causing the spokes to weaken and th

rim to collapse. In another particularly memorable sequence

Disney animates the book’s depiction of Japan as an octopu

with its tentacles stretched across the Pacific, encirclin

dozens of helpless islands. Allied armies and navies futilely

attempt to hack away at these thick tentacles and free th

islands. American airpower, represented by a fierce an

powerful eagle, then repeatedly strikes the head of the octopu

with its sharp talons, forcing the beast to release the outlyin

possessions so it can defend itself. However, it cannot fend of

the eagle and eventually expires under the attacks. The Unite

States achieves victory through the air. Even today, the movi

remains an extremely powerful piece of airpower propaganda.

257
Although the film was not a commercial success, it had 

significant impact. Possibly because two of his old friends on

the AAF staff asked him to go easy, de Seversky removed al

personal bile from the movie version—the film doesn’t even

mention Arnold and the growing pains encountered b

American aviation. As a result, the Air Force embraced th

film, finding it useful for educating recruits on airpower.60 Ai

Marshal Jack Slessor, himself a noted air theorist and then

commander of the RAF ’s Coastal Command, congratulated d

Seversky: “It is certainly first-class educational value to peopl

who are capable of thinking reasonably clearly fo

themselves.”61 The film so impressed Winston Churchill tha

he insisted that President Roosevelt watch it with him durin

their summit meeting in Quebec in August 1943. 6 2 Soon afte

the war ended, de Seversky interviewed Emperor Hirohito

who claimed to have watched the movie and to have been

deeply troubled by its predictions concerning the fate of hi

country at the hands of American airpower.6 3 Nevertheless

the movie had serious problems.

In keeping with de Seversky’s antipathy towards the Navy

the movie depicts sea power in a hopelessly weak an

ineffective light—indeed, it shows most of the surface ship

resting on the bottom of the ocean. The Army fares littl

better; its tanks become mere toys, easily pushed over b

attacking aircraft. In fact, although the movie took only thre

months to produce, military censors took another 10 month

to clear it. Apparently the Army and Navy hierarchy pressure

Disney to stop the project.64

In addition, the film grossly exaggerates the accuracy an

effectiveness of bombing attacks. Every bomb dropped in th

movie hits its target—all of which are factories or railroa

yards—and nothing falls in urban residential areas. In 

surprising sequence, the film depicts the new interhemispheri

bomber advocated by de Seversky. Hundreds of these hug

aircraft, based in Alaska, relentlessly pummel Japan . But the

have no escorts; instead, the bombers bristle with radar

controlled machine guns that shoot down enemy interceptors i

droves. Considering de Seversky’s spirited push for long-rang

escort and his claims that bombers would be unable to defen

themselves adequately, this scene seems somewhat bizarre. 65

258
For the rest of the war, de Seversky continued to call for 

strategy dominated by airpower. He wanted military leaders t

emphasize emerging weapons, not obsolescent ones, but the

largely rejected his pleas. Like Douhet and Mitchell befor

him, de Seversky saw little need for historical precedents t

buttress his theories. Using history would lead to employin

strategies of the past. Since generals actually continued t

discuss the campaigns of 1918, they might as well examin

those of ancient Greece and Persia for all their relevance t

World War II!

6 6 He wanted massive air attacks against th

enemy’s vital centers—not peripheral pinpricks. At one poin

he wrote in exasperation, “We are stabbing the enemy with

penknives, trying to bleed him to death, instead of wieldin

the axe of true air power.”67

When the war ended, de Seversky visited both theaters an

for nearly eight months wandered the defeated countries

talked to survivors, saw scores of bombed-out cities an

factories, and interviewed high-ranking military and civilian

leaders. Not surprisingly, he concluded that airpower ha

been the decisive factor in victory by destroying the will of th

German and Japanese leadership. 68 He did not denigrate th

efforts of the other services, which he deemed essential, bu

he nevertheless saw airpower as the instrument primarily

responsible for bringing victory. This proved especially true in

Japan , where the atomic strikes eliminated the need for 

bloody invasion of the home islands by giving the emperor, a

he put it, “an excuse to make peace.” De Seversky conceded

however, that Japan ’s far smaller military and industria

capacity, as well as its qualitatively inferior airpower, mad

the country an easier opponent. The Japanese simply did no

understand airpower, a situation exacerbated by the decision

to disperse their industry into small “cottage factories

throughout the cities. This practice not only curtaile

production but also made area attacks almost inevitable: th

Japanese thus committed “industrial hara-kiri.”6 9

Surprisingly, de Seversky was skeptical about the powe

and significance of the atomic bombs. Expecting to fin

Hiroshima and Nagasaki “vaporized,” he instead found th

burned-out rubble characteristic of German cities that ha

suffered extensive aerial or artillery bombardment. Thi

259
discovery led him to conclude that the importance of th

atomic bomb was greatly exaggerated; to him, it was jus

another weapon. In fact, in one interview he referred to it as 

mere “firecracker” that created much noise and light but littl

else. This stance gained him much criticism from both

scientists and political leaders—and even labeled him 

military conservative!70

De Seversky’s argument on this subject was not mature

Although the ability to use the medium of the air ha

revolutionized the nature of war, dismissing atomic bombs a

merely new weapons of little import was simplistic. One mus

exploit the air medium—and do this through the actua

employment of weaponry. Thus, airmen should hav

appreciated the great importance of developing air weapons

but such was not the case. Little effort had gone int

developing aerial bombs between the world wars. The fact tha

iron blockbusters of 1917 were quite similar to those o

1945—and remained so for another three decades—proved t

be a major oversight. Without effective weapons, the militar

often wasted airpower. Thus, although the Allies had ai

superiority over Germany and Japan , they could not force 

rapid decision because their bombs were either too weak or

more importantly, too inaccurate to do so. Initially, d

Seversky also fell into the myopic snare of not recognizing th

importance of radical new air weapons such as the atomi

bomb. He did, however, change his views when the hydroge

bomb, hundreds of times more powerful than the atomic device

detonated over Japan, became part of the American arsenal.

Confrontation with the Soviet Union quickly turned d

Seversky into a cold warrior, profoundly suspicious of th

Kremlin’s motives: “They would break every promise the

make if it suits them.”71 (One certainly wonders whether hi

Russian heritage gave him special insights or peculiar biases

Pessimistically, he thought that the Soviet worldview wa

irreconcilable with the West’s, thus making violen

confrontation inevitable. If this were true, then his argument

regarding the folly of contesting with a powerful land foe b

building a large army seem appropriate. To de Seversky

common sense demanded that America face such an enem

by utilizing its unique strength—aeronautical technology.

260
De Seversky believed that America remained inherently an

airpower nation. Young people should see their destinies in

the sky—a notion of his that antedated the war. In fact, som

of his earliest radio broadcasts were for young listeners an

explained how airplanes worked, how he had becom

interested in them, and why airpower was essential t

America’s future. 7 2 His persuasion extended to adults as well

“In this aeronautical age we ought to become a nation o

aviators, in order to achieve mastery of the sky—just as in th

past, in the age of sea power , England was a nation of sailors.

He then expanded on this analogy: Rome had been the maste

on land, England on sea, and now America in the air. All use

this mastery of a particular medium to dominate the world

and give it peace.73

The major was convinced that America had the advantage

in this crucial area. Not only had we employed strategi

airpower in the war while the Soviet Union had not, but als

we were fortunate in having friendly neighbors. The Soviets

on the other hand, had to build a large army to protect thei

vulnerable and extensive borders. Like Douhet , Mitchell, an

Alfred Thayer Mahan, de Seversky clearly saw the significanc

of geopolitical factors and wrote for the peculiar American

situation.7 4 In his view, airpower—especially if armed with

nuclear weapons—seemed the only sane path to provide th

world a “Pax Democratica.”75 This was a variation of a them

that de Seversky had repeated for years: airpower an

technology were related in an unusually close and symbiotic

fashion. To a far greater degree than surface forces, airpowe

depended on a strong and vibrant scientific and industria

base. America possessed such a base; the Soviet Union did

not. Moreover, when de Seversky contemplated the future o

space—which he considered merely an extension of terrestria

airpower—he became even more convinced of America ’

potential dominance.

Like most people at the time, de Seversky was surprised b

the North Korean invasion in June 1950. He immediately

rejected arguments for American involvement, believing i

would play into Soviet hands. Fighting a peripheral wa

against Soviet proxies would slowly bleed the United State

white and drain it of its resources.76 Significantly, his secon

261
book, Air Power: Key to Survival, published soon after th

outbreak of the war, prophesied that Korea would be 

mistake for America and would fester inconclusively for years

According to de Seversky, the Book of the Month Club wante

to publish his new work as its main selection under the titl

Peace through Air Power but was displeased with hi

comments regarding the Korean War. The club’s contacts with

military and political leaders in Washington assured it tha

the Korean police action was a minor distraction that would

be over quickly. Club officials therefore asked de Seversky t

modify his strident views on Korea to conform to conventiona

wisdom. When he refused, they backed out of their offer t

feature the book. De Seversky noted ruefully that because h

told the truth no one wanted to hear, his book sold 30,00

copies instead of six hundred thousand. 7 7

Sounding almost isolationist , de Seversky argued agains

US involvement throughout the Korean War. Presiden

Truman’s dismissal of Gen Douglas MacArthur—a man fo

whom he had great respect—angered him, but he thought th

action justified if it led to a serious reappraisal of American

policy.

7 8 Such a reappraisal did in fact occur, but much to d

Seversky’s chagrin, the climactic hearings before the Senat

tended to ratify the limited war policy so abhorred by Mac

Arthur. The major’s proposed solution was far more direct.

Air Power: Key to Survival argued that “triphibiou

operations”—the synergistic actions of air, land, and se

forces, which he admitted were necessary in World Wa

II—were now a thing of the past. In a favorite analogy, h

likened the situation to the man who wanted to cross a river

One contractor tells him to build a tunnel under the water

another suggests a ferry to cross on the surface of the water

while the third proposes a bridge to span above the river

Perplexed and indecisive, the man elects to pursue all thre

ideas, at enormous cost and effort. De Seversky saw thi

happening with American defense policy. Instead, h

maintained that as airpower increased its range to a truly

global scale, one would have little need for vulnerable surfac

forces that would play bit parts in a major war against th

Soviet Union . Why have a navy when there were no sea lane

to protect and no enemy fleet to contest them? In a viciou

262
comment, he dismissed fleets as henceforth existing merely in

“vestigial form as a transport auxiliary of air power, but even

that will be temporary.”7 9 Indeed, he was convinced that th

Air Force (an independent service since 1947) should b

dominant within the defense establishment and was suspiciou

of calls for greater “unification” of the armed forces. De Seversk

thought that unification, like the old AAF idea of 1941, was 

trick to keep airpower tied to the surface: “Because their primar

functions have been obsoleted by science, the older services ar

trying to perpetuate them by bureaucratic law.” America wa

more than ever an airpower nation whose destiny lay in air an

space. Calls for “balanced forces” were an archaic an

uninspired method of defense planning that diluted the poten

and decisive aspects of airpower.80

When “massive retaliation” became official US strateg

during the Eisenhower administration, de Seversky embrace

it (indeed, his writings since the end of World War II ha

called for much the same thing, though without the catch

title). He rejected notions of limited war, stating that the

inevitably ended in stalemate. Moreover, airpower lost it

special advantages in such conflicts; Korea was an aberration

and it must stay that way. Unfortunately, Korea would lea

“orthodox thinkers” to believe that such conventional war wa

still likely. On the other hand, in an era of decreasing defens

budgets but increasing commitments, he—as well as the new

president and his advisors—saw airpower as the only plausibl

solution. Such a strategy also necessitated a technologically

first-rate air force, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

Clearly, de Seversky had come a long way since the day

before World War II, when he called for a balanced defense o

land, sea, and air forces, while also rejecting suggestions tha

airpower alone could win wars. By the mid-1950s, he saw

global airpower as the solution to America’s security needs. In

some of his more outrageous suggestions, he called for 

Department of the Air Force that contained a Bureau of Ships

a Bureau of Ground Forces, and bureaus “for other auxiliar

units.” The Navy would be drastically reduced so that only it

antisubmarine warfare activities and naval logistics function

remained. As for the Army, it should number a maximum o

250,000 troops, and its primary mission would be t

263
maintain order in our country during an atomic holocaust, a

well as to protect our domestic air and missile bases.

Obviously, he was now consigning the Army and its leaders t

the same dustbin occupied by the Navy . George Marshall ha

“infantryitis,” Omar Bradley (“the old monkey”) possessed 

weak intellect, and Dwight Eisenhower would “destroy an

slaughter our youth” in areas like Korea if he were electe

president. (As noted above, he miscalculated dramatically

regarding Eisenhower’s intentions and was pleasantly

surprised by most of his defense policies .) The Army, however

would also serve as an occupational police force after airpowe

had decided the matter. 81 Accomplishing all this was an Ai

Force that received two-thirds of the defense budget and tha

contained not a “mere” three hundred B-36 bombers then in

procurement plans, but three thousand such goliaths t

demolish potential adversaries with nuclear weapons from

bases in the United States .

82

He had interesting beliefs on the targeting strategy behin

such strikes. After achieving air superiority, global airpowe

(exemplified initially by manned bombers and later b

long-range guided missiles) would strike the industrial cente

of the enemy. De Seversky did not advocate merely bombin

cities or targeting the population. Such moves would prove

counterproductive because “dead people don’t revolt.” Instead

he wanted to drive a wedge between the people and thei

leaders by attacking communications and transportation

networks—by “disarming the government.”83 This would resul

in an “internal blockade” of a country, causing paralysis an

inability to conduct war effectively. This emphasis clearly

differed from that espoused by Douhet, who called for attack

on the population in order to foment rebellion. It als

contrasted the thinking of theorists at the Air Corps Tactica

School (ACTS) in the 1930s, who concentrated on enem

industry as a means of breaking the capability—not th

will—of an enemy to fight. Consequently, de Seversky offered 

unique theory of strategic airpower—related to, but distinc

from, that of his precursors.

The Air Force was also studying the idea of “air policing” in

the early 1950s. Air planners had looked at the experiences o

the Royal Air Force in the Middle East between the wars. In

264
some cases, the RAF had been quite successful at controllin

large tribal areas through threatening air attack and, i

necessary, discreetly using it. Significantly, the RAF could

maintain order in places like Iraq and Transjordan at 

fraction of the cost of using ground forces for the sam

mission. In 1950 the Air Staff considered resurrecting thi

idea, terming it Project Control, and chose de Seversky t

participate as a member of the lengthy study that ensued.

The basic premise of the project was that one could us

airpower to pressure the Soviet Union into following policie

favorable to the West. If persuasion and threats prove

unsuccessful, then selective strikes—with atomic weapons 

necessary—would put teeth in the threats. The Air Staf

assumed that Soviet leaders would react just as backward

tribes of the 1920s had reacted.8 4 This proposal—which

sounded to some extent like de Seversky’s “internal blockade

plan—was, of course, never implemented. However, it receive

serious consideration from the Truman and Eisenhowe

administrations.

This entire idea of persuasion or “air policing” signified a

evolution in de Seversky’s thought. In Victory through Ai

Power, he had discussed only two methods of applyin

military force: occupation—the traditional strategy of groun

warfare—and destruction, now possible through airpower

Over the next decade he modified this view, seeing not only

that airpower made possible the “neutralization” of an enemy

but also that peaceful applications of airpower could achiev

national objectives. Viewing airpower as an enormously

effective propaganda tool, he advocated the delivery of “ideas

as well as essentials such as food, clothing, and medicine vi

airpower to win friends and undermine enemies. Testifyin

before Congress in 1951, he exclaimed that too many peopl

saw airpower as nothing more than “bombs, bombs

bombs.”8 5 Yet de Seversky himself was guilty of this tendency

Indeed, by advocating massive retaliation and at the sam

time calling for a relatively benign air policing strategy, d

Seversky created a contradiction that he never resolved.

One may attribute this ambivalence, in part, to d

Seversky’s role as a transitional figure. He joined the militar

theorists and doctrine formulators of the 1920s and 1930

265
(represented by Douhet , Mitchell, and the ACTS instructors

and the civilian academicians of the 1950s and 1960

(characterized by Bernard Brodie and Herman Kahn 

Physically and intellectually, he had a foot in both camps: as 

former combat pilot and reserve officer, he could relate to th

military pilots of the Air Corps. As a businessman, designer

and writer, he also was at home with civilian thinkers wh

devised elaborate models to describe “the balance of terror.”

De Seversky continued to write at a frenetic pace until th

mid-1960s, publishing one more book in 1961, America—To

Young to Die, and scores more articles.8 6 Although h

continued to move in and out of various business ventures

his heart never seemed in them; preaching the gospel o

airpower remained his primary interest. In truth, his writing

became increasingly repetitious and technologically dated. Th

major was not an expert either in jet engine technology or th

airframe design it required, and his writings on guide

missiles and spaceflight were embarrassingly off the mark. 8

By the late 1950s, little of what de Seversky wrote retaine

either originality or interest, although he did play a useful rol

at Maxwell AFB, Alabama, where he periodically lecture

young officers on airpower theory. Over the years, he lecture

to over one hundred thousand officers, reminding them o

their duty to study and promote airpower. Even in hi

seventies, he could deliver a spellbinding speech laced with

his own peculiar brand of humor and metaphor. At Maxwell

he felt at home.

The major died in 1974 at age 80. His wife, Evelyn , wh

took her own life due to despondency over a long illness

preceded him by seven years.

Alexander de Seversky was the most effective and prolifi

airpower advocate of his era. His hundreds of articles an

lectures reached millions. One must remember that he did no

write to influence military leaders (they were a hopeless case)

rather, he wrote for the man in the street. Because of hi

homey, down-to-earth style, he spoke the language tha

average Americans could understand.

His ideas on airpower were not original. Someone else ha

already articulated virtually everything he proposed. Douhet

Mitchell, Hugh Trenchard , Ira Eaker , even Hap Arnold , hi

266
bête noir, had already written of the unique characteristic

and capabilities of airpower, its revolutionary nature, and it

role in forever changing the face of war. His calls for ai

superiority, global range, and an industrial-based targetin

scheme were not new. De Seversky’s role was to take thes

ideas, repackage them, cover them with a modicum of technica

credibility, and then sell them to the American people.

He was enormously popular, and his publication record wa

staggering—over one hundred major articles and severa

hundred lesser ones. Scarcely a month went by during World

War II and the decade after when his articles did not appear in

major magazines. Because his target audience comprise

average Americans, he wrote for publications such as Th

American Mercury, Reader’s Digest, The Atlantic, Ladies’ Hom

Journal, and Look —representing a huge and divers

readership. Tens of millions of Americans knew of d

Seversky, and he enjoyed access to the media and the peopl

that was the envy of anyone attempting to influence publi

policy. In fact, Gallup polls showed that the number o

Americans supporting an independent air force jumped from

42 percent in August 1941 to 59 percent in August 1943

although he certainly was not the sole cause. 88

De Seversky sold basic, uncomplicated ideas. War ha

become total, involving all the resources and people of 

nation. In such a titanic struggle, America must maximize it

unique strength—technological superiority granted b

airpower. Other countries might be willing to pay a heavy

price in blood and treasure to achieve their aims, but Americ

must not. She must restructure her defense and devis

strategies that relied on airpower. Because an air forc

differed fundamentally from armies and navies, it mus

remain a separate service, commanded by airmen wh

understood its unique qualities—especially its ability t

operate routinely as a strategic weapon . Airpower thus offere

the hope of avoiding the bloody land battles of the world wars

To enhance airpower’s ability to avoid such battles, one mus

give it global range. As long as aircraft remained shackled t

airfields near the enemy, surface forces would need to seiz

and defend those airfields; such action could precipitate th

prolonged land campaign that de Seversky hoped to avoid

267
The United States must build interhemispheric bombers

whose primary aim was to gain control of the air—tha

achieved, an enemy became helpless. Perhaps mos

importantly, the American public—not just military an

political leaders—must understand all these ideas. In order t

ensure that this was the case, America must see itself as an

airpower nation and look skyward for its destiny.

Like many other air theorists, de Seversky exaggerated th

effectiveness of airpower. He overestimated the physical an

psychological effects of strategic bombing. In this sense, h

shared the shortcomings of his predecessors. Like Douhet an

Mitchell, de Seversky understood the importance of moral

and will, realizing that, somehow, one must modify or ben

the enemy’s will. Unlike them, however, he rejected the notion

that urban area bombing best produced this effect. Instead

he opted for airpower’s use against enemy industry o

infrastructure.

All of these men had the same goal—to break, or at leas

shape, enemy will—but chose different mechanisms to reac

that goal. In short, they identified different key centers agains

which airpower should concentrate. Again, like Douhet an

Mitchell, de Seversky combined this emphasis on psychologica

goals with a penchant for selecting highly mechanistic method

The major was convinced that a finite number of planes an

bombs, delivered on specific targets, would equal victory. Ai

strategy consisted of destroying target sets, resulting in 

curious blend of psychology and science.

In the parlance of more classical military theory, he melde

Carl von Clausewitz and Henri de Jomini. But the produc

was not altogether satisfactory. For example, he never seeme

to appreciate the fact that nuclear weapons had an even

greater impact on the human mind than on physica

structures. They represented a threshold, and discussion

about their use far transcended considerations of militar

effectiveness.

De Seversky clearly misjudged the technical obstacles t

building large aircraft. His trumpeting of the Douglas B-1

and Martin flying boat proved premature. He designed 

“superclipper” in the late 1930s, but it never got off th

drawing board due to technical difficulties. Although the B-2

268
constituted a significant advance over the B-17 and B-24, i

did not approach the capabilities de Seversky called for in an

interhemispheric bomber. Even the massive B-36—not 

viable weapon until 1950—fell short of his predictions. In

sum, building large aircraft differed significantly from

designing fighter planes.

He did not foresee that precisely because total war—

especially in the nuclear age—was “unprofitable,” warfar

would be limited or driven down to the unconventional level

such wars dissipated airpower’s advantages. De Seversk

argued passionately against America’s involvement in limite

wars such as those in Korea and Vietnam . He assumed thi

stance partly for cogent strategic reasons: if the Soviet threa

to Europe represented the major concern, then one should no

become distracted by relatively minor conflicts in Asia . On th

other hand, his admission of strategic airpower’s effectivenes

against modern industrialized nations amounted to a taci

admission of its ineffectiveness against poor agrarian

societies. And admitting the limited, “low intensity” nature o

future wars amounted to admitting that airpower had clea

limitations. That was unacceptable.

Finally, to an illogical and unreasonable degree, h

denigrated the importance of armies and navies. Even in th

total wars he predicted, surface forces would have played 

greater role than merely serving as airfield gate guards an

bomb transporters. One of the distressing traits of airpowe

theorists is their tendency to claim too much for their chosen

weapon. Airpower does not have to win wars alone in order t

be decisive, any more than does an army. True unification—

what today we would call “jointness”—recognizes that al

weapons and services have unique strengths and weaknesses

Wise commanders choose those weapons and capabilities tha

will most effectively and efficiently accomplish their objectives

In the type of war envisioned by de Seversky, the uniqu

capabilities of airpower were at a premium. But airpowe

alone could not do everything.

Nevertheless, Alexander P. de Seversky captured the essenc

of a new weapon of war—and peace—and then conveyed a

understanding of that essence to millions of Americans in a wa

unduplicated by anyone else, before him or since. He mad

269
terms like victory through airpower and peace through airpowe

familiar to an entire generation. As a prophet, he was mediocre

As a propagandizer, he was exceptional.

Notes

1. “Alexander P. de Seversky,” U.S. Air Services, August 1937, 18–19.

2. Samuel Taylor Moore, “Amazing Adventures of Legless Aviator,” Ever

Week Magazine, 1929, clipping in de Seversky Papers, Cradle of Aviatio

Museum archives, Long Island, N.Y. [hereinafter Cradle archives]; an

Chloe Arnold, “An Ace with One Leg and Nine Crosses,” New York Sun, 2

October 1918, 9.

3. Alexander P. de Seversky [hereinafter APS], “I Owe My Career t

Losing My Leg,” Ladies’ Home Journal, May 1944, 107.

4. James Farber, “Major de Seversky—Engineer,” Popular Aviation

August 1935, 88; and Paul Harvey, “One Bootstrap,” Flying, Septembe

1957, 26.

5. Aeronautics, 23 August 1916, 16. For more information about d

Seversky’s wartime exploits, see Rear Adm B. Doudoroff (his forme

commander), to United States Embassy, letter, 30 March 1918, Cradl

archives.

6. APS, transcript of radio broadcast, 7 October 1938, Nassau Count

Library archives, Long Island, N.Y. [hereinafter Nassau archives]

Interestingly, de Seversky’s father and brother were also military pilots; i

fact, the former was a member of Alexander’s squadron and thus 

subordinate!

7. APS, transcript of radio broadcast, 1932, Nassau archives. De Seversk

also received the Orders of Saint Ann, Saint Stanislaus, and Saint Vladimir.

8. Officially, his name was Alexander Procofieff-Seversky. However, whe

he was passing through Paris in 1918, French authorities inadvertentl

replaced the hyphen with a “de.” Seversky liked the change and from the

on relegated Procofieff to a middle name and used the “de.” “Mr Procofief

from the North,” The New Yorker, 5 October 1940, 14. His trip out of Russi

was actually an escape. Since he was an aristocrat, local Bolshevik official

viewed him with distrust, despite his war record.

9. Ibid.

10. APS, “I Remember Billy Mitchell,” Air Power Historian, October 1956

179; “Alexander P. de Seversky,” 19; and APS, “Sky Blazers,” transcript o

radio address, 24 August 1940, Nassau archives.

11. APS, transcript of radio broadcast, 9 January 1940, Nassa

archives; and “Military Men Favor Air Refueling Flights,” New York Times

17 August 1930, 17. For the bombsight, see Major General Patrick t

adjutant general, letter, 18 September 1924, Cradle archives; and C. L

Paulus, Materiel Division, memorandum, subject: Seversky’s Employmen

at McCook Field, Ohio, n.d. [ca. October 1941], Air Force Museum archives

270
de Seversky file, Wright-Patterson AFB, Ohio. The Air Service became th

Air Corps in 1926 and the Army Air Forces in 1941.

12. A. D. McFadyn, “Major Alexander de Seversky,” Journal of the Paten

Office Society, April 1937, 273–76.

13. For a good description of the P-35 and its lineage, see Joshua Stoff

The Thunder Factory: An Illustrated History of the Republic Aviatio

Corporation (Osceola, Wisc.: Motorbooks, 1990), 11–35; and Edward T

Maloney, Sever the Sky: Evolution of Seversky Aircraft (Corona del Ma

Calif.: World War II Publications, 1979).

14. The Bendix Race was flown between Burbank, California, an

Cleveland, Ohio—a distance of 2,045 miles. Interestingly, when told by th

Air Corps that the P-35 was too advanced for Army pilots, de Seversk

asked aviatrix Jackie Cochran to fly the plane and demonstrate it

simplicity and reliability. Cochran flew the P-35 to victory in the 193

Bendix. Dan Dwiggens, They Flew the Bendix Race (Philadelphia: J. B

Lippincott, 1965), 94–110.

15. De Seversky to Air Vice Marshal Sholto Douglas, letter, 8 April 1939

Cradle archives.

16. In 1967 de Seversky recalled experimenting with 37 mm and 82 mm

cannon mounted on flying boats in 1917. Speech to the Naval War College

28 April 1967, de Seversky Papers, Nassau archives. De Seversky argue

for greatly increased armament, including rockets, on fighter aircraft a

early as 1934. APS, “How Can Pursuit Aviation Regain Its Tactica

Freedom?” U.S. Air Services, March 1934, 16–17. He reiterated this idea i

“Lest We Forget,” U.S. Air Services, January 1937, 16–17.

17. De Seversky wrote letters to several high-ranking Air Corps officers

including at least four to the chief of the Materiel Division, in May and Jun

1938, making such suggestions, but evidently the only response was from 

Lieutenant Colonel Volandt at Wright Field, Ohio, who stated that the Ai

Corps simply was not interested. Copies of all letters are in the Cradl

archives.

18. Capt Claire L. Chennault, “Special Support for Bombardment,” U.S

Air Services, January 1934, 18–24; and Stephen L. McFarland and Wesle

Newton, To Command the Sky: The Battle for Air Superiority over Germany

1942 –44 (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991).

19. Evelyn de Seversky, transcript of radio broadcast, 22 June 1933

Nassau archives. In addition, both the de Severskys generally took thei

cocker spaniel, “Vodka,” along on their flights; she logged over on

thousand flying hours.

20. “Presenting Alexander P. de Seversky,” Pathfinder, 13 Februar

1942, 16; New York Daily News, 1 August 1967, 12; APS, “Scoring th

Stunt Contest,” The Sportsman Pilot, May–June 1933, 10–12, 45–48; an

John F. Whiteley, “Alexander de Seversky, A Personal Portrait,” Aerospac

Historian, Fall 1977, 155–57.

21. Alexander de Seversky, interviewed by Murray Green, New York

N.Y., 16 April 1970, Green Papers, USAF Academy archives, Colorad

271
Springs, Colorado. The difficulties and bickering between de Seversky an

the Air Corps over the BT-8 contract’s fulfillment is illustrative. Se

pertinent letters and reports, October 1935–March 1936, Cradle archives

De Seversky also received the Harmon Trophy in 1947 when Presiden

Truman lauded his tireless efforts during the war to alert the America

public to the importance of airpower.

22. H. H. Arnold Jr., interviewed by Murray Green, Sheridan, Wyo., 2

August 1972, Green Papers, USAF Academy archives; and Landers to d

Seversky, letter, 6 April 1942, Cradle archives. This letter contains 

number of affidavit attachments regarding de Seversky’s lawsuit again

Republic. The various charges and countercharges are spelled out here

including the record of a phone conversation between de Seversky’s lawye

and General Arnold, in which the latter gives credit to de Seversky as a

engineer but notes that “someone else should handle other parts of th

business.” Another letter tells de Seversky he is spending too much mone

on his business trips. Wattes to de Seversky, letter, 26 November 1938

Cradle archives.

23. Arnold’s motives are confirmed by his wartime chief of staff. See L

Gen Barney Giles, interviewed by Murray Green, San Antonio, Tex., 12 Ma

1970, Green Papers, USAF Academy archives. One should note, however

that in an effort to boost company profits, de Seversky sold 20 aircraft t

Japan in 1938, a move not welcomed by the Air Corps. Stoff, 23.

24. “The Founder Complains,” Time, 2 September 1940, 56–57; an

press release from H. A. Bruno and Associates (de Seversky’s lawyers), 2

August 1940, Cradle archives.

25. Even 30 years after these events, de Seversky’s 1970 interview i

laced with anger and bitterness towards Arnold for taking his compan

away from him. On the other hand, Arnold asked his Materiel Division t

search its records, talk to personnel who had worked with de Seversky, an

get all available information on his employment at McCook Field, Ohio, i

the 1920s. Unsigned memorandum, 8 October 1941, de Seversky file, Ai

Force Museum archives, Wright-Patterson AFB, Ohio.

26. APS, “Analysis of Statements Made by General H. H. Arnold,” 2

May 1943, Nassau archives.

27. APS, “The Ordeal of American Air Power,” American Mercury, Jul

1941, 7–14; and idem, “Victory through Air Power!” American Mercury

February 1942, 149.

28. De Seversky to FDR, letter, 11 July 1941, copy in Green Papers

USAF Academy archives; and “Seversky Calls Army Air Set-Up N

‘Unification,’ but Misnomer,” New York Herald Tribune, 3 July 1941.

29. APS, “The Twilight of Sea Power,” American Mercury, June 1941, 647.

30. APS, “Navies Are Finished,” American Mercury, February 1946, 137

idem, “Ten Air Power Lessons for America,” Flying and Popular Aviation

July 1941, 62; and idem, “When Will America Be Bombed?” America

Mercury, April 1942, 415.

272
31. APS, 

Air Power and Space Supremacy, speech to Virginia Militar

Institute, 7 March 1958, Nassau archives; and Evelyn de Seversky

transcript of radio broadcast, 2 June 1942, Nassau archives.

32. APS, “I Am an American,” transcript of radio broadcast, 27 Jul

1941, Nassau archives.

33. “Seversky Fears September War,” New York Post, 13 July 1939.

34. APS, “My Thoughts on the War,” Popular Aviation, April 1940, 19

“Seversky Feels British Could Balk Invasion,” New York Herald Tribune, 

June 1940, 5; and APS, transcript of radio broadcast, 20 June 1940

Nassau archives.

35. “Ten Air Power Lessons,” 14; and APS, “America Repeats Europe’

Aviation Mistakes,” American Mercury, October 1941, 401–4.

36. APS, “Hard Facts on Air Power,” American Mercury, August 1940

406–14; “‘Umbrella’ of Air Held Vital to Navy,” New York World Telegram, 

June 1940; and APS, transcript of radio broadcast, 26 May 1941, Nassa

archives.

37. APS, “The Twilight of Sea Power,” 648–49.

38. APS, “Why Lindbergh Is Wrong,” American Mercury, May 1941

519–32; and idem, “Why the Luftwaffe Failed,” The Atlantic, March 1942

293–302.

39. APS, “Aviation vs. Isolation,” Vital Speeches of the Day, 1 July 1941

557–58.

40. APS, transcript of radio broadcast, 26 May 1941, Nassau archives.

41. The previous month de Seversky had written Congress, once agai

recounting his plans for a long-range, heavily armed escort fighter in 193

and complaining that Arnold had rejected his offers. De Seversky to Truma

Committee Investigating National Defense, letter, 18 January 1942, Nassa

archives.

42. APS, Victory through Air Power (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1942)

213–53; see also idem, “Aviation Ballyhoo vs. Aviation Facts,” America

Mercury, September 1942, 263–74.

43. “Seversky’s Reply to Critics,” New York Herald Tribune, 25 Augu

1942. This is apparently a response to a statement made by Arnold in 

book he coauthored the previous year: “Comparative tests indicate there i

little difference and no great disparity between them [the P-40 and Spitfire

in speed, climb and maneuverability.” Maj Gen H. H. Arnold and Col Ira C

Eaker, Winged Warfare (New York: Harper, 1941), 22.

44. “Wing Tips,” Steel, 14 September 1942, 100; and David Brown

“Victory through Hot Air Power,” Pic, 15 January 1943, 7.

45. APS, Victory through Air Power, 307.

46. Giulio Douhet, The Command of the Air, trans. Dino Ferrari (1942

reprint, Washington, D. C.: Office of Air Force History, 1983), 244–50.

47. APS, “World War III and How to Win It,” Coronet, January 1955, 118

48. APS, “Memo on Enforcement of Peace through Air Power,” 6 Januar

1943, Nassau archives.

49. Douhet, 50.

273
50. Hanson Baldwin, 

Victory through Air Power? No! Sea Power, Jun

1942, 6–8; and Hoffman Nickerson, “Seversky, Air Power! Nickerson, No

Enough!” Field Artillery Journal, July 1942, 543–49. For the most viciou

response, see Maj Gen Paul B. Malone, “Victory through Air Prophets?

Skyways, November 1942, 6–9, 74–75.

51. Quoted in Russell Lee, “Victory through Air Power: American Arm

Air Forces, Navy and Public Reactions to the Book and Film during Worl

War II” (master’s thesis, George Mason University, 1992), 87.

52. Ibid., 54–62. After the war, Arnold wrote to Gen Carl Spaatz, hi

successor as commanding general of AAF, that de Seversky wa

“dangerous” because of his incessant carping on the alleged failures o

American airpower during the war. Arnold to Spaatz, letter, 9 March 1946

copy in Green Papers, USAF Academy archives. Interestingly, de Seversk

had great respect for Gen Frank Andrews, Arnold’s contemporary, who wa

then commander of the Caribbean theater. Andrews died in a plane crash in

May 1943.

53. William Bradford Huie, “What’s behind the Attacks on Seversky?

American Mercury, February 1943, 156.

54. Clifton Fadiman, review of Victory through Air Power, The Ne

Yorker, 25 April 1942, 74–76; Donald W. Mitchell, “The Dominance of A

Power,” review of Victory through Air Power, The Nation, 23 May 1942, 604

and Huie, 155.

55. Cited in Lee, 34; see also Richard Shale, Donald Duck Joins Up (An

Arbor, Mich.: University Microfilms International, 1982), 69. That wa

approximately one of every six Americans at the time.

56. Walton H. Rawls, Disney Dons Dog Tags (New York: Abbeville, 1992)

6. Perhaps the most well known Disney military insignia was that used b

the Flying Tigers, the famed air unit based in China.

57. Transcript of BBC radio broadcast, 17 September 1943, Nassa

archives.

58. APS, transcripts of radio broadcasts, 13 August 1943 and 3

January 1944, Nassau archives; and idem, “Walt Disney, an Airman in Hi

Heart,” Aerospace Historian, Spring 1967, 7.

59. De Seversky had taken a Dale Carnegie course in 1933 to improv

his public speaking skills. Nevertheless, when rehearsing the script for th

movie, he stated that German troops landed on Norway’s beaches—

pronouncing that word as if it were the term for female dogs. Disney the

decided that Sascha needed elocution lessons. APS, “In the Lyons Den,” 1

August 1943, Nassau archives.

60. Kuter, memorandum to Arnold, 23 June 1943, copy in Gree

Papers, USAF Academy archives. The two friends were Gen Larry Kuter an

Gen Hal George. Gen Laurence Kuter, interviewed by Murray Green, Ne

York City, 17 April 1970, Green Papers, USAF Academy archives; and Lee

78–83.

274
61. Slessor to de Seversky, letter, 29 September 1943, Nassau archives

Between the wars, Slessor wrote a volume on airpower theory that is stil

considered a classic: Air Power and Armies (London: Oxford, 1936).

62. Kuter interview; and John Gunther, Taken at the Flood: The Story o

Albert D. Lasker (New York: Harper & Row, 1960), 281–86.

63. De Seversky interviewed Hirohito on 2 November 1945. APS

transcript of radio broadcast, 1 November 1945, Nassau archives; an

idem, “Report to Secretary Patterson on the Pacific War,” 11 February 1946

6, Nassau archives. The emperor reputedly added that he was convince

early on that airpower would eventually determine the outcome of the war.

64. Lee, 43–50.

65. The “superplane” is mentioned in the book but does not play a

prominent a role as it does in the movie. Victory through Air Power, 316

When asked later about this seeming contradiction in his stance on th

need for escort at that point in the war, de Seversky maintained that the

had attempted several ways to explain this problem in the film, but all suc

solutions were too complex. They therefore decided to go with the easy—

admittedly fanciful—depiction in the movie. APS, “Air Power and th

Future,” lecture at Royal Canadian Air Force Staff College, 25 August 1947

Nassau archives.

66. APS, “Outlines, Quotations, Lessons, etc.,” ca. 1945, Nassa

archives.

67. APS, “Bomb the Axis from America,” American Mercury, Decembe

1943, 680. De Seversky’s advocacy of “precision bombing” at the same time h

spoke of obliteration and destruction from the sky is an interesting paradox. T

a far greater degree than his contemporaries in AAF, he saw airpower as 

blunt instrument rather than a rapier. Given the technology of the time, d

Seversky’s perspective on this issue was the more realistic one.

68. APS, “Report to Secretary of War Patterson,” 10 September 1945

3–4, Nassau archives.

69. APS, “Report to Secretary Patterson on the Pacific War,” 11 Februar

1946, 2–7.

70. Patterson Pacific Report, Supplement on Atomic Bombings, Nassa

archives; APS, “Atomic Bomb Hysteria,” Reader’s Digest, February 1946

121–26; and idem, transcript of radio broadcast, 15 February 1946, Nassa

archives. Of note, a long-time naval adversary accused de Seversky o

conservatism. See Fletcher Pratt, “Seversky and the Bomb,” New Republic

11 March 1946, 41. At this point, de Seversky did not understand th

danger posed by nuclear radiation.

71. APS, “The Only Way to Rearm Europe,” American Mercury, Marc

1949, 269.

72. APS, transcripts of radio broadcasts, 17 August 1940, 27 July 1941

10 August 1941, and 7 February 1942, all in Nassau archives.

73. APS, transcript of radio broadcast, 27 July 1941, Nassau archive

and idem, speech to the Conference Board, New York City, 19 March 1942

Nassau archives.

275
74. APS, King Features Syndicate article, 12 September 1952, Nassa

archives. De Seversky wrote several dozen essays for King Features, most o

which were published as newspaper editorials.

75. This philosophy is fully developed in de Seversky’s second book, A

Power, Key to Survival (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1950). See also idem

“The US Air Force in Power Politics,” Air Affairs, Winter 1949, 477–90.

76. APS, “Wonder Weapons Can’t Win a War,” This Week, 10 Septembe

1950, 4–8; and idem, “Korea Proves Our Need for a Dominant Air Force

Reader’s Digest, October 1950, 6–10.

77. APS, “Evaluation of the Air Weapon,” lecture to Air War College

Maxwell AFB, Ala., 19 November 1953, 4–5, US Air Force Historica

Research Agency, Maxwell AFB, Alabama [hereinafter AFHRA], fil

K239.716253-63.

78. APS, King Features Syndicate article, 16 April 1951, Nassa

archives; and idem, “Build an Invincible Air Force Now,” Vital Speeches o

the Day, 1 January 1951, 176.

79. APS, Air Power, Key to Survival, 68–79; and idem, “Navies Ar

Finished,” 143. Not surprisingly, de Seversky later strongly oppose

American involvement in Vietnam, for much the same reasons. “Dealin

with a Major Subject,” New York News, 20 June 1971, 7–9; and APS

speech to Squadron Officer School, Maxwell AFB, Ala., 18 March 1971

Nassau archives.

80. APS, “Our Current Inferiority Is Not Scientific,” Vital Speeches of th

Day, February 1958, 238–42; and idem, “Our Antiquated Defense Policy

American Mercury, April 1949, 389–99.

81. APS, interviewed by Mike Wallace, 20 September 1957; idem

memorandum for record, 15 April 1951; and record of telephone con

versation with Gen Elbert Wedemeyer, 11 April 1951, all in Nassa

archives. De Seversky’s choice for the Republican nomination in 1952 wa

Robert A. Taft.

82. APS, “Build an Invincible Air Force Now,” 175.

83. APS, “New Concepts of Air Power,” lecture to Army War College

Carlisle Barracks, Pa., 18 March 1952, 10–16, AFHRA, file K239.716252

63; idem, “Evaluation of the Air Weapon,” 11–12; and idem, Air Power, Ke

to Survival, 183–90.

84. For a good discussion of the British Air Control experiences of th

1920s and 1930s, see David E. Omissi, Air Power and Colonial Control: Th

Royal Air Force, 1919–1939 (New York: Saint Martin’s, 1990). For the be

discussion of Project Control, see Maj George R. Gagnon, “Air Control

Strategy for a Smaller Air Force” (master’s thesis, School of Advance

Airpower Studies, Maxwell AFB, Ala., 1993).

85. APS, transcript of testimony before Senate Armed Services an

Foreign Relations Committees, 21 February 1951, 734, Nassau archives.

86. APS, America—Too Young to Die (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1961). Thi

book is a highly polemical piece, as the name suggests, containing few ne

276
ideas. It did, however, call attention to the growing importance of electroni

warfare in airpower employment.

87. See, for example, APS, “Artificial Gravity for Spaceships,” Scienc

Digest, October 1946, 5–8; and idem, “Your Trip to Mars,” Pageant, Augu

1952, 5–15.

88. George H. Gallup, The Gallup Poll: Public Opinion, 1935–1971, vol. 

(New York: Random House, 1972), 293, 399.

277
Chapter 8

Strategic Airpower and Nuclear Strategy:

New Theory for a Not-Quite-So-New

Apocalypse

Dr. Karl P. Mueller*

Many of the other chapters in this book plow surprisingly

untilled ground. As Phillip Meilinger notes in his introduction t

this volume, the amount that has not yet been written (or in th

case of Giulio Douhet, simply translated) about strategic- an

operational-level airpower is often startling. The subject o

nuclear strategy is quite different: its theoretical soil has bee

cultivated nearly to the point of exhaustion, and in many place

it has been virtually paved over by 50 years of intense study.

During its first two decades, nuclear strategic though

reached a plateau of maturity, where it essentially remain

today. Although it is not quite the case that nothing new ha

been said about this subject since Thomas Schelling’s Arm

and Influence and Bernard Brodie ’s Escalation and the Nuclea

Option appeared in 1966, subsequent work in the field

generally has been limited to offering marginal (though often

extremely significant) insights, challenges, and illumination o

the work that went before.1 Both new nuclear technologica

developments and new nuclear policy debates, some of them

important, have engaged scholars and other participant

during the last 30 years, but, with few exceptions, thes

matters represent the reemergence of much older precursors.2

The relative stasis of strategic nuclear thought during th

last generation has led some people to characterize it as 

theoretical dead end, ultimately rendered obsolete by the en

of the US-Soviet cold war, if not before. In reality, however, th

field reached an early theoretical plateau due to its rapid

initial development, along with the intrinsic simplicity of th

*The author thanks Mark Bovankovich, Mark Conversino, Thomas Ehrhard, C harle

Glaser, Jonathan Kirshner, John Mueller, Robert Pape, Dan Reiter, and Jeffrey Reneha

for their generous advice and comments on this essay.

279
subject. Although a lifetime of scholarship is insufficient fo

most students of conventional warfare to master their subject

any reasonably intelligent undergraduate can learn th

essentials of nuclear strategy in mere hours of instruction an

study—or can become reasonably expert in the subject in 

semester. Indeed, 93 minutes spent watching Stanle

Kubrick’s consummate film Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learne

to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) will teach attentiv

viewers much of what they need to know in order t

understand the principal nuclear debates .

3

These factors made nuclear strategy an unpromisin

subject for most writers of dissertations during the secon

half of the cold war, but they did not make it unimportant

Rather, the theories and insights developed by theorists of th

“golden age” of deterrence theory—and subsequently refine

by their successors—remain relevant, and one can see thei

growing influence on (or at least their congruence with

conventional airpower theory today.

Because other writers have already ably documented an

recounted the historical development of nuclear weapons4 an

nuclear strategic theory5 in far more substantial works, thi

essay does not seek to retell this story. Nor does it attempt t

summarize the evolution of US or other nuclear strategies an

war plans6—the development of which occurred parallel to bu

often almost completely disconnected from the work of nuclea

strategic theorists—or of nuclear arms control.

7

 Instead, th

following sections offer a brief sketch of the technologica

aspects of the nuclear revolution , as well as a primer on th

enduring principles of nuclear strategic thought, focusing on th

similarities and differences between this discipline and the othe

major strands of airpower theory. Finally, the essay conclude

with a discussion of both the contemporary relevance (an

irrelevance) of nuclear strategy and its relationship with

contemporary theories of nonnuclear airpower.

The Nuclear Revolution

Most technological revolutions happen gradually, resultin

not from a single event but from the cumulative effect of 

number of related innovations. This was certainly the cas

280
with the aviation revolution—and with the nuclear revolution

as well. In both instances, technological development

paralleled the development of theories about their implication

and application, with theorists sometimes leading the way an

sometimes trying to keep pace with advances driven b

technological imperatives. However, there probably has neve

been another revolution quite so dominated by technologica

forces as this one, or one in which theory and doctrine were s

deductively derived from characteristics of the weapons whos

use they were intended to guide. Therefore, one ma

reasonably begin with an overview of the key technologica

elements that accumulated to form the mature nuclea

strategic world that we have known since the late 1960s

before turning to the theories that seek to explain it.

Nuclear Warheads

During the Second World War, the Anglo-America

Manhattan Project produced the first atomic bombs—tested in

New Mexico and then dropped at Hiroshima and Nagasaki in

the summer of 1945. The Soviet Union tested its first atomic

bomb in 1949, followed by Great Britain in 1952. This firs

generation of nuclear weapons derived its revolutionar

explosive power from nuclear fission —the splitting of heavy

unstable elements (uranium 235 and plutonium 239) int

smaller atoms, releasing vast amounts of energy as blast

light, heat, and other forms of radiation.8 Early atomic bomb

were on the order of one thousand times more powerful than

conventional explosive bombs of similar size; fission weapon

subsequently became smaller and more efficient, evolving int

today’s tactical nuclear weapons.

9

The destruction that a single atomic bomb could wreak on 

city or other target was comparable to that inflicted by 

massive conventional air raid involving hundreds of heavy

bombers. (One should recall that the deadliest bombing raid o

the Second World War occurred not at Hiroshima or Nagasak

but Tokyo , on the first night of the US firebombing of that city

9–10 March 1945.) One may fairly say that with thi

technology, airpower had finally caught up with Douhet’

imagination. A state equipped with heavy bombers carryin

281
atomic bombs could destroy many of its enemy

s cities in

rapid succession, even in the face of substantial defenses. 1 0

The next (and the last, to date) fundamental advance in

nuclear explosive technology came in the 1950s, as all three o

the nuclear powers developed thermonuclear (or hydrogen

weapons. Using atomic explosives as triggers, hydrogen

bombs employ nuclear fusion—the combining of heavy

isotopes of hydrogen into heavier helium atoms—to produc

explosions one thousand times more powerful than those from

similar-sized atomic bombs, or a million times more powerfu

than conventional explosives. Although a postwar atomic

bomb could devastate the center of a medium-sized city, 

reasonably large thermonuclear weapon could obliterate 

large metropolitan area—even if delivered with considerabl

inaccuracy. Nuclear attack now threatened major powers no

only with massive urban casualties and devastation but als

with effective national destruction.1 1

Subsequent developments in nuclear warhead technolog

have occurred around the margins, as weapons have becom

smaller with specialized characteristics—such as reduced o

enhanced radiation effects or penetration ability. 1 2 With th

arrival of thermonuclear warheads, the locus of nuclea

development shifted to the systems used to deliver weapons t

their targets.

Delivery Systems

Heavy strategic bombers designed to carry conventiona

bombs dropped the first nuclear weapons on their targets, an

bombers remained the only major nuclear-delivery system fo

the following decade. Subsequent generations of bomber

offered advancements in payload, range, and speed, especially

with the arrival of jet engines and aerial refueling. Designer

increasingly optimized aircraft to carry nuclear weapons

although most also retained some capability to delive

conventional ordnance. The problem of penetrating enemy ai

defenses became more difficult with the development an

evolution of surface-to-air missiles (SAM), necessitating th

development of higher- and faster-flying bombers. In th

282
1960s, emphasis shifted to penetrating enemy territory at ver

low altitudes in order to evade detection and interception.

The 1950s saw the development of missiles a

nuclear-delivery systems, beginning with short-, medium-

and intermediate-range ballistic missiles (S-, M-, and IRBM)

and culminating in intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBM)

capable of striking the United States from bases in the Sovie

Union or vice versa. The first public demonstration of an

ICBM occurred when the USSR used such a rocket to launch

Sputnik I into orbit as the first artificial satellite in 1957

producing unprecedented alarm in a United State

accustomed both to virtual invulnerability to direct attack an

to a comfortable lead on the Soviets in all things technological

ICBMs and other ballistic missiles differed in severa

important respects from the bombers they first supplemente

and soon began to supplant. They were far faster and able t

travel from one superpower’s territory to the other’s in

something on the order of 30 minutes. They could not b

intercepted (until antiballistic missiles [ABM] were developed)

whereas only some of the bombers would successfull

penetrate enemy air defenses. Land-based missiles als

proved more economical to maintain than bombers and thei

crews and proved more suitable to tight centralized control

Both of these characteristics appealed to the Soviet Union 

which would end up investing a far higher proportion of it

strategic nuclear resources in ICBMs than would the Unite

States. On the other hand, one could not recall missiles afte

launch,1 3 which meant they had to wait at their bases

perhaps vulnerable to attack, until the proper authoritie

decided to launch them. Further, they were inferior t

bombers in payload, accuracy (until the 1980s), and—abov

all—versatility. Early ballistic missiles also required fuelin

with highly volatile liquid propellants prior to launching—

which required warning time—and they could remain fuele

and ready to launch only for a matter of hours before the

would have to stand down for a considerable period. But th

development of more advanced rocket fuels later remove

these limitations.

Similar weapons took to the sea in the form of sea-launche

ballistic missiles (SLBM), beginning in the early 1960s

283
Generally smaller and shorter ranged than their land-base

counterparts, as well as solid-fueled, SLBMs offered th

tremendous advantage of being based on platforms difficult o

impossible to detect and attack prior to missile launch. 1

Their principal disadvantage was a significant reduction in

accuracy compared to ICBMs, which persisted until th

United States deployed the Trident D-5 SLBM in the lat

1980s.1 5 SLBMs were also less easily controlled by centra

authorities than were land-based systems since thei

submarines had to be able to operate with a considerable

degree of autonomy. This is probably why they played 

relatively small role in the Soviet arsenal compared to those o

the United States, Britain , and France.

As improvements in radar, missiles , and interceptor aircraf

increased the difficulty of slipping through hostile air defenses 

another response was to equip bombers with standof

weapons—nuclear-armed missiles that one could fire at a targe

from some hundreds of miles away. One could use thes

weapons as the aircraft’s primary armament instead of free-fal

bombs, to reduce the bomber ’s exposure to enemy fire, or could

fire them at early warning radars and SAM sites in order t

suppress the enemy’s defenses and make penetration easier.16

A new technology with profound strategic implication

appeared in the late 1960s with the development of multipl

independently targeted reentry vehicles (MIRV). By replacin

the single warhead on a missile with a postboost vehicle o

“bus” carrying multiple—and now very accurate—warhead

(or reentry vehicles [RV]),1 7 each of which could strike 

different target, a single missile conceivably could destroy 

larger number of the enemy’s nuclear weapons (providin

incentives to strike first in a crisis, as discussed in more detai

below) or other dispersed targets. Multiple warheads were als

potentially useful for penetrating antimissile defenses sinc

they would increase the number of objects the defender had t

intercept. By the late 1970s, more than half of the US ICBM

force and all of its SLBMs were MIRVed.

The latest development in strategic nuclear-delivery system

actually to have become operational is stealth technology, whic

makes aircraft difficult to detect by radar. Although stealth ha

achieved its greatest prominence by enabling US aircraft t

284
penetrate enemy air defenses in order to launch conventiona

bombing attacks, Northrop developed the B-2 “Spirit” stealt

bomber as a penetrating nuclear bomber to attack targets

including mobile Soviet ICBMs, discussed further below.

In addition to the major strategic systems—bombers

ICBMs, and SLBMs—a variety of other, shorter-range deliver

systems were developed for tactical nuclear weapons—smalle

warheads intended for use against enemy military forces on o

near the battlefield. These included fighters and attack

aircraft , short-range missiles and rockets, howitzers and othe

artillery pieces, atomic demolition munitions, cruise missiles

torpedoes, and depth charges. Cruise missiles eventually

became important strategic nuclear weapons, as their range

and accuracies increased and their ability to fly low-altitude

terrain-following flight paths reduced their vulnerability t

interception to a very low order. Strategic nuclear cruis

missiles were deployed on ground launchers, aircraft, surfac

ships, and submarines. Most tactical nuclear-delivery system

were dual-capable—that is, suitable for carrying eithe

conventional or nuclear warheads.

Still other nuclear-delivery systems have been planned o

developed without being deployed.1 8 Most notably, the Oute

Space Treaty of 1967 outlawed the placement of nuclea

weapons in orbit (or on the Moon), and an internationa

agreement in 1971 proscribed the placement of nuclear weapon

on the oceanic floor. Space-based weapons were especially

threatening because they could attack with little warning

similar concerns led to a ban on testing SLBMs in depressed

trajectory mode, in which a submarine fires the missile at 

shallower angle than normal in order to shorten the length of it

flight and minimize the defender’s warning. The most recen

nuclear-delivery system not quite to appear was the so-calle

supergun, under construction in Iraq prior to the Gulf War.

1 9

Basing

The evolution of nuclear warheads and their deliver

systems has principally focused on features familiar in almos

all airpower theory—firepower, accuracy, speed, range

penetration ability, and flexibility. An additional area o

285
concern (to nuclear strategists, perhaps the most importan

one of all) relates to the basing mode of nuclear weapons

especially as this affects their survivability in the event of an

enemy first strike.

Protecting bombers from preemptive attack remained 

relatively straightforward problem, particularly before th

development of nuclear-armed missiles. When air bases wer

vulnerable only to attack by manned aircraft, one could

develop and maintain sufficient early warning capabilities an

alert levels to enable the bombers to take off before the enem

could destroy them on the ground. Another obvious response

but one the United States did not quickly adopt, was th

basing of bombers far from the enemy’s bases in order t

maximize warning times in the event of an enemy attack.

Perhaps the greatest direct impact that civilian strategist

ever had on American nuclear policy came in the 1950s, when

Albert Wohlstetter and others at RAND explained to the Ai

Force that the US bomber force could be vulnerable to 

surprise nuclear attack at its forward bases around the Sovie

periphery. 20 The appearance of ballistic missiles complicate

this problem considerably, further encouraging the dispersa

of bomber forces to secondary airfields in the event of a crisi

and the maintenance of some US bombers on constan

airborne alert. The deployment of SLBMs , with their shorte

flight times, made the problem worse, but one could stil

reasonably expect successful launch of at least a portion of an

alert bomber force before its bases came under attack

Advances in surveillance satellites’ ability to detect enem

missile launches reinforced this expectation.

The problem of ICBM survivability proved more challenging

since the missiles had to stay on the ground until authoritie

made a final decision to launch. One could not launch early

ICBMs on short notice, due to the need to fuel them, and an

enemy could easily destroy their above-ground launch sites

During the 1960s, the advent of storable liquid (later solid

rocket propellants, the deployment of ICBMs in hardene

underground silos, and the development of SLBMs carried b

nuclear-powered submarines addressed these problems.2

Because one could reliably destroy hardened silos—relatively

resistant to blast effects—only by the explosion of a warhea

286
in close proximity, an enemy would have to attack each silo

separately and would need to use only fairly accurate weapon

against them. Thus, SLBMs would not prove useful fo

attacking ICBMs . Further, if two states had similar number

of single-warhead ICBMs (assuming they were less than 10

percent effective) and if one attacked the other’s missiles, th

attacker’s entire arsenal would not destroy all of th

defender’s ICBMs , leaving the attacker disarmed and th

defender able to retaliate with its surviving weapons. SLBMs

effectively immune from preemptive attack except when thei

submarines were in port, reinforced this pattern.22

ICBM survivability came under much greater threat a

ICBM accuracies increased and as MIRVs appeared

Consequently, these technologies quickly became the bête

noires of arms control advocates (along with ballistic missile

defenses, discussed below). If each side in a confrontation

possessed one thousand ICBMs with four warheads apiece

half of either force could attack each of the enemy’s ICBM

with two warheads and possibly eliminate his force in a firs

strike.2 3 The chance that land-based missile forces might b

vulnerable to preemptive attack led to a variety of responses

the primary one being deployment of missiles on mobile

launchers instead of in fixed silos in order to keep an enem

from knowing the locations of the missiles . Although th

United States canceled its plans for mobile ICBMs with th

demise of the cold war, the Soviet Union deployed two mobile

ICBM systems—one carried on railroads and the othe

road-mobile. In response, the United States planned to us

the B-2 stealth bomber to hunt and attack these weapons. A

variety of other basing schemes also addressed the ICBM

vulnerability problem, especially during repeated deliberation

about how to deploy the American MX (Peacekeeper) missile in

the 1970s and 1980s.2 4

However, the presence of a variety of types of strategi

nuclear weapons systems complicated the problem o

launching a disarming first strike. Much as th

rock-scissors-paper interactions of infantry, cavalry, an

artillery dominated Napoleonic land warfare, the triad o

bombers, ICBMs, and SLBMs proved quite robust during mos

of the cold war. Once the target state detected a first-strik

287
ICBM launch, it would have perhaps 25 minutes to launch 

large number of alert bombers. On the other hand, if th

attack began with a rapid SLBM strike to catch the bomber

on the ground, the target might have time to launch its intac

ICBM force in retaliation before the enemy could attack it. An

no matter how one planned an attack, it could not destroy th

enemy’s patrolling missile submarines, which would therefor

provide a robust second-strike capability against area target

such as cities. 2 5

Strategic Defenses

All of these calculations assumed that, as Douhet an

Stanley Baldwin had once predicted about conventiona

airpower, the bombers (and the missiles) would always ge

through—or at least that enough of them would to inflic

catastrophic losses on the target nation. One had considerabl

incentive to intercept attacking missiles and aircraft—

familiar problem during the bomber age. As had happene

before, the capabilities of fighter aircraft to intercept bomber

and of bombers to avoid interception raced against each othe

as speeds, ceilings, rates of climb, ranges, firepower, an

sensor capabilities improved. SAMs, first developed b

Germany at the end of the Second World War, joined th

combination of early warning radars, interceptors , an

antiaircraft artillery (AAA). The United States deployed SAMs

air-to-air missiles, and rockets armed with small nuclea

warheads to increase the effectiveness of its air defenses. Th

improving capabilities of air defense systems prompted rapid

developments in electronic warfare and standoff weapons, 

shift to low-level flight profiles to take advantage of difficultie

that ground clutter imposed on radar detection, and research

into stealth technologies to reduce the visibility of aircraft t

radar and other sensors. Although never easy for the bomber 

getting through modern air defenses was not impossible—an

nuclear weapons meant that one could not disregard even 

low percentage of successful penetrations.

Ballistic missiles presented an even more difficult defensiv

problem. In order for a SAM to be an effective ABM, it neede

to be able to shoot down an extremely small, sturdy projectil

288
reentering the atmosphere at perhaps 20 times the speed o

sound, with relatively little time to detect and track the target

During the 1960s, the United States developed several such

systems to the testing stage, involving large exoatmospheri

interceptor missiles with thermonuclear warheads as a firs

line of defense, backed up by shorter-range missiles with

small nuclear warheads to attack RVs that had penetrated th

first layer.26

The arms race between ballistic missiles and ABMs ha

several highly unattractive features. First, as one sid

developed its ABM system, the other could simply increase th

number of warheads it could launch in order to ensure tha

some of them would penetrate the defenses. This meant tha

one state could render itself immune to a nuclear first strik

only if the other allowed it to do so (or ran out of money)

However, a less-than-perfect ABM system might allow th

owning state to launch a successful first strike, since defense

capable of stopping only part of the enemy’s total nuclea

arsenal might prove quite effective against the weake

retaliatory strike of a state just subjected to massive nuclea

attack. Therefore, ABM opponents argued, investing in

extremely expensive defenses made sense only for an

aggressive nation—to protect second-strike countervalu

forces otherwise vulnerable to preemptive attack or to limi

damage from a strike by a minor nuclear power undeterred b

retaliatory threats.27 The combination of high prospective

costs and limited strategic benefits led the United States an

the Soviet Union to sign a treaty as part of the Strategic Arm

Limitation Treaty (SALT) I agreement in 1972, effectivel

banning ABMs.

2 8 With the country vulnerable to nuclea

missile attack, US investment in defenses against bomber

became of limited value and gradually tapered off.

From the earliest days of the nuclear era, the desire to limi

damage in the event of an enemy nuclear attack also led to civi

defense efforts to protect populations and industry. In th

United States , civil defense lost some of its viability and most o

its popularity once the Soviet Union had achieved the ability t

deliver large numbers of thermonuclear weapons against th

United States . Soviet enthusiasm for civil defense persisted to 

greater extent, and the United States often interpreted it as 

289
sign of willingness to fight a nuclear war. Eventually, however

it became clear that Soviet civil defense preparedness wa

considerably lower in reality than in rhetoric. 29

Ballistic missile defense (BMD) returned to prominence in

the 1980s after President Ronald Reagan’s announcement in

1983 of a Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) program to build 

space-based ABM system, which quickly became known a

“Star Wars” to almost all but its most intense advocates. 3

Although SDI involved research into a new generation o

sensors and weapons—particularly a wide range of lasers an

other directed-energy weapons—the strategic and budgetar

debates surrounding it were virtually indistinguishable from

those about ABMs 20 years earlier. Again, the prospects fo

developing the complete missile shield that Reagan envisione

(generally referred to as the “astrodome” concept) appeare

weak, even within the SDI organization; a variety of les

comprehensive defenses remained attractive to many peopl

but drew criticism as being unreasonably expensive

technologically infeasible, or of limited value except as 

supplement to a US first strike against the USSR. Th

apparent decline of Soviet hostility in the late 1980

(attributed in part to Moscow’s recognition that it could no

afford to engage in expensive BMD and other arms races with

the United States) resulted in reduced spending on SDI, bu

the program continued, shifting its emphasis to theater BMD

against shorter-range missiles launched by regional power

such as Iraq.

Principles of Strategic Nuclear Theory

Many of the rudiments of nuclear theory have alread

appeared in the preceding sections, for they are inextricably

tied to—and largely derived from—the infrastructure o

nuclear technology. Although nuclear strategic theory may b

the single most deductive body of thought in the socia

sciences, its development proved something less—but perhap

not far less—than a logical inevitability.

Again, one should consider the parallels between analyse

of strategic airpower during the interwar years and strategic

nuclear airpower after the Second World War. In both cases

290
theorists based their works on relatively limited empirica

evidence. Douhet and his counterparts could look back at th

limited applications of airpower during the Great War an

extrapolate what the next war might look like. They could

refer to the ways in which states and populations reacted t

the privations inflicted upon them by bombing and blockad

during the war, and to the ways in which armies responded t

bombardment and exsanguination on the front lines

Similarly, nuclear theorists could examine the physical

psychological, and political evidence provided by atomic an

conventional strategic bombing during the Second World Wa

and seek to integrate this and other historical knowledge with

more recent technological developments.31 In both cases, th

next war looked like something one should assiduously avoid

although anticipating its details involved considerable—i

educated—speculation. According to Harold Macmillan, “W

thought of air warfare in 1938 rather as people think o

nuclear warfare today.”3 2

Important differences existed between the two cases

however. First, for all the postwar theorists’ hypothesizin

about the future, in general they did not face grea

uncertainties about the physical effects of the weapons unde

discussion (though some of the nuclear scientists wh

developed the atomic bomb deduced many of the essentials o

postwar nuclear deterrence theory before the advent of an

real information regarding actual weapons effects). 33 Second

a far smaller number of theorists, few of them with academic

training, dominated airpower thought during the interwa

period. Most of them were serving military officers wit

operational rather than strategic experience, facing man

nonintellectual challenges, including the preservation o

advancement of their beleaguered service arms. The closes

interwar equivalent to the community of (mostly American

postwar nuclear theorists was the US Air Corps Tactical Schoo

(ACTS) of the late 1930s. A comparison of the two is striking.

Despite the intellectual fertility of ACTS, the theories i

generated were dominated by the work of a gifted few who ha

to be concerned not only with predicting the future but als

with ensuring that independent strategic airpower would have

a prominent role in it. On the other hand, strategic nuclea

291
airpower was the subject of intense study by a larg

community, including many highly trained and intelligen

people who could focus the bulk of their energies on th

subject. Finally, one should note that after 1945 the US

military almost completely abdicated its traditiona

responsibility for strategic airpower thought, passing it to th

civilian experts they employed and whose guidance the

occasionally followed. Strategic Air Command (SAC) planner

remained occupied with compiling theoretical target lists an

operational-level war plans and continued in general t

approach strategic airpower much as their wartim

predecessors had during the Combined Bomber Offensive.

34

This is not to hold up RAND as the intellectual heir o

Plato’s academy; indeed, it inherited the legacy of Douhet an

Alexander de Seversky. However, the nuclear theorists enjoye

the advantage of being, if not powerful themselves, at leas

consultants to the makers of military policy rather than

prophets in the wilderness. They did not have to persuad

their audience that nuclear strategy or nuclear weapons wer

important or cost-effective. Perhaps more significantly, for th

most part their policy-making audience accepted their statu

as strategic experts, although this did not mean that thei

opinions necessarily carried weight. In fact, the opposite wa

more often true: the evolution of US nuclear strategy an

weapons development would have differed radically at 

number of points if nuclear strategists had been mor

influential and military and political leaders less so. But it did

make their enterprise one of Big Science—in some ways no

unlike the Manhattan Project itself.

In spite of the similarities between Douhet’s vision of th

nature of the next war and that of the nuclear strategists, the

developed very different theories. Douhet’s postwa

intellectual successors did not share his belief in th

inevitability of another great (total) war. Douhet did no

envision mutual assured destruction (MAD), although h

could have done so. Instead, he argued that strategic bombin

would make wars inexpensive by ending them quickly an

efficiently, providing an escape from the prolonged carnage o

another Great War. If the next war were going to be cheap

states had little reason not to fight it. The nuclear theorists

292
having seen in the Second World War (like the Great War) tha

one cannot easily terrorize modern nations into surrendering

could not pretend that another total war would be less than

horrific. They recognized that states fearing catastrophe would

try to avoid it.

The body of theory that emerged from their effort

emphasizes a relatively small number of central concepts

most of which are relevant to—and many of which ar

borrowed from—arenas of the military and other socia

sciences not directly connected to nuclear strategy.

Deterrence

The most fundamental concept in nuclear strategy i

deterrence , the idea that states will not attack each othe

when the expected costs and benefits of attacking appear les

attractive than the expected value of not attacking. Thus, b

shifting the balance in favor of the latter option, one can aver

war. 3 5 Strategic airpower seemed to add to this calculus th

ability to make war unpleasant for a prospective attacker b

means independent of fighting the foe on the battlefield

nuclear weapons radically increased the amount of such

damage one could inflict in a relatively short time.3 6 Becaus

of their ability to punish a state massively for launching an

attack, successful or not, atomic —especially thermonuclear—

weapons permitted their owners to adopt security strategie

based on deterrence rather than defense.

The distinction between deterrence and defense is importan

and widely misunderstood.37 On the one hand, deterrence ha

to do with changing the enemy’s beliefs about how good or ba

war will be, relative to the alternatives. A punitive threat o

nuclear retaliation may deter, and so may a threat to defeat a

invader’s army, making war look unappealing by making defea

appear likely. 38 The latter approach to deterrence is commonl

known as deterrence by denial, although some theorists prefe

to reserve the “deterrence” label for punishment alone.3 9 By th

same token, one could well speak of deterring through reward

or other positive incentives—by increasing the attractiveness o

not attacking rather than (or in addition to) making attackin

look worse. 40

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Defense, on the other hand, has to do with making war les

unpleasant for oneself. Of course, many policies contribute t

both defense and deterrence, especially deterrence by denia

Building up conventional military strength, for example

largely accounts for policy makers’ tendency to conflate th

two concepts. However, some defensive measures, such a

secret defenses unknown to the enemy, may not deter. Mor

importantly, some measures that contribute to deterrence b

making war bad for the enemy provide little in the way o

defense; of these, threats of nuclear retaliation against an

attacker’s homeland are probably the most conspicuous.

In fact, security policies based on deterrence rather than

defense existed before the nuclear age.

4 1 Although the nuclea

revolution increased states’ abilities to inflict injury upon an

enemy without first winning a war, conventionally arme

airpower had already made this possible to a limited degree

Many interwar airpower theorists and advocates believed tha

nonnuclear strategic bombing offered the opportunity to inflic

truly decisive levels of punishment upon an enemy, regardles

of how things transpired on the front lines. (Of course, man

of their estimates of the destructive power of conventiona

bombing were incorrect, but because deterrence takes place in

the mind of the adversary, such facts matter only when the

have an impact on beliefs.) Moreover, the same was often tru

even before the earliest rumblings of the airpower revolution 

most obviously through naval blockades against trade

dependent states.

Nuclear weapons and associated technologies brought t

the table the ability to inflict catastrophic damage against an

enemy, rapidly and relatively inexpensively. In one of Thoma

Schelling’s typically vivid expressions, they vastly increase

their owners’ power to hurt.42 Because nuclear weapon

systems generally didn’t have to fight the enemy’s nuclea

weapons, the balance of nuclear forces was irrelevant; th

relationship between weapons and targets determined th

ability to punish, and thus to deter—and one did not nee

many nuclear weapons to destroy even a large target

Similarly, if each side could inflict unacceptable levels o

damage on the other, it did not matter which one could caus

the greater amount. Thus, a powerful state could develop mor

294
nuclear striking power than it had any use for. Although

sound strategic reasons existed for the superpowers to build

what critics derided as overkill capability during the cold wa

both the United States and the Soviet Union could have buil

much larger nuclear arsenals than they actually chose to do.43

Assured Destruction and Mutual Assured Destruction

If deterrence is the foundation of most strategic nuclea

theory, the conceptual cornerstone of the edifice is assure

destruction—the ability of a state to destroy its enemy with 

retaliatory nuclear strike even after it is attacked. A stat

capable of assured destruction ought never worry about attack

from a state without such capability, since by choosing war, th

latter would commit national suicide. Two states having such 

capability exist in a relationship of mutual assured destruction

and never should attack each other. The United States ha

developed an assured destruction capability against the Sovie

Union by the mid-1950s, if not before. Nuclear experts ofte

believed that the Soviets did not attain this capability toward

the United States until they deployed substantial numbers o

ICBMs in the mid-1960s. As Richard Betts notes, however

Washington had begun acting as if the Soviet bomber force ha

produced a state of MAD a decade earlier.4 4

Beneath the elementary simplicity of this concept lies a hos

of debates about precisely what constitutes assured destruction 

but the essentials are straightforward. Having assured

destruction capability requires maintaining a nuclear force tha

can ride out a hostile first strike and still retaliate against th

enemy, inflicting so much damage that the fear of suc

retaliation deters the enemy from ever launching the first strike 

Targets for such a retaliation ought to be whatever the enem

values—and the enemy should know this or suspect it. Suc

countervalue targets typically include cities, and discussions o

the amounts of expected damage required to assure deterrenc

usually refer to civilian deaths and the destruction of industria

capacity. If the enemy valued something else, such a

conventional military forces or the lives of its leaders, one could

target these instead.4 5 Most such targets (with the exception o

leaders in effective shelters) are relatively easy to attack and d

295
not require a high degree of accuracy or speed in nuclear

delivery systems—unlike targets such as hardened missil

silos and underground command bunkers. Attacking th

latter requires more accurate warhead delivery and usually

involves greater urgency if the goal is to destroy a silo befor

missile launch; thus, accurate ICBMs, which possess thes

characteristics, have counterforce capability.

The survivability of second-strike nuclear forces is critical

since a nuclear state vulnerable to destruction by an enem

first strike not only lacks assured destruction capability bu

actually creates incentives for the enemy to strike first, in th

event of a crisis likely to escalate to nuclear war. As a result o

all of these factors, SLBMs are generally considered idea

second-strike countervalue weapons, since they are nearly

invulnerable while on station and their limitations with

respect to accuracy and command and control (C2) do no

create serious obstacles to performing this mission. However

even more vulnerable land-based systems can pose effectiv

threats of assured destruction , since a first strike would have

to destroy a very high percentage of a large force in order t

reduce its retaliatory potential to a level that would not b

tremendously destructive. Since even a massive countervalu

strike against a superpower would require only a relatively

small number of thermonuclear weapons, many believers in

the deterrent efficacy of MAD argued that the superpowers

cold war nuclear arsenals were much larger than necessary.

Fears about the vulnerability of land-based nuclea

weapons to an enemy first strike have prompted a number o

major changes in nuclear force postures. On the American

side, fears of a first strike by the strategic rocket forces of th

Soviet Union encouraged a shift away from forward-base

medium bombers and the ultimately abortive search for 

survivable basing mode for the MX ICBM. As for the Soviets

cumulative threats posed by the highly accurate MX, th

counterforce-capable Trident D-5 SLBM, and other new an

accurate US weapons such as the air launched cruise missil

(ALCM) spurred the Soviet adoption of mobile ICBMs in th

1980s. Improvements in missile accuracy did not threaten

either country’s strategic submarine forces, but the prospec

of relying on only one leg of the triad appealed to neither side

296
and (as discussed below) the Soviets had reason to worr

about the security of their fleet ballistic missile submarine

(SSBN) as well. Concerns about vulnerability also prompte

development of options to launch under attack (LUA) instea

of riding out an enemy first strike.

46

Assured destruction capability also requires that a state’

nuclear command, control, and communications (C 3

capabilities have a reasonable chance of surviving an enem

first strike in order to avoid strategic decapitation .

4 7 Thi

became the subject of extensive study by nuclear scholar

during the 1980s, when concerns about the robustness of U

nuclear C2 arrangements led to a major increase in investmen

in this area. Such programs would replace aging airborn

command-post aircraft and would harden communication

systems against the effects of electromagnetic pulse (EMP).

4 8

Although assured destruction and MAD underpinned

American declaratory nuclear strategy, at least from the early

1960s, lesser nuclear powers such as France have base

theirs on a variation on the same theme. When Sweden

considered developing nuclear weapons, the Swedish militar

aptly described this principle as “marginal cost deterrence”

the strategy of threatening to retaliate against an invader with

enough force not necessarily to destroy it but to significantly

negate any benefits the invader might anticipate from

conquering the small nuclear power.4 9 At heart, this is simila

to a superpower’s assured destruction threat, except that th

prospective attacker’s national survival may not be at stake

for the United States and the Soviet Union as well as lesse

nuclear powers, nuclear deterrence simply amounted t

making war look much less attractive than the alternative.5 0

This model of the adversary as a rational actor that on 

can rely upon not to launch a self-destructive war is centra 

to MAD , but it is often misunderstood. For assure

destruction to work as advertised, the deterred state nee

not be a rational, unitary actor (for no state actually is)—

only that it behave approximately as if it were rational. 5 1 Th

approximation of rationality is significant. MAD has room fo

states to suffer from substantial misperceptions; to make poo

decisions; and to be driven by domestic political, bureaucratic

and other factors beyond those of idealized internationa

297
statecraft. As long as one can rely upon the state not t

destroy itself deliberately, assured destruction should preven

the failure of deterrence;

52 one might say that deterrenc

theory assumes that states are characterized by no wors

than bounded irrationality . The elegance of MAD lies in it

total lack of subtlety.

For all its paradigmatic status, few concepts in internationa

relations have produced as much debate as has mutua

assured destruction. MAD enthusiasts, if one may call them

such, emphasize the stability of such a relationship and ten

to praise it with the same superficially lukewarm intensit

with which Winston Churchill lauded democracy as the wors

system of its sort yet devised—except for all the alternatives

Critics of MAD have attacked it on many grounds.5 3 Som

offer arguments about its strategic logic and assumptions

addressed below. Others base their opposition on mora

objections to the targeting of civilian populations 54—or on th

grounds that dangers posed by the existence of nuclea

weapons remain intolerably high, making their abolition

imperative.55

The basic argument about whether MAD acts as 

stabilizing force in international affairs also lies at the heart o

the central debate regarding nuclear proliferation —th

development or acquisition of nuclear weapons by previously

nonnuclear states. The conventional wisdom abou

proliferation traditionally was, and to a considerable exten

still is, that the spread of nuclear weapons is destabilizin

because (1) new nuclear states are likely to be less responsibl

than their predecessors and (2) arsenals of so-called threshold

nuclear states tend to be vulnerable to preemption—an

therefore will encourage it.56 However, a number of strategi

theorists have argued that if MAD stabilizes superpowe

relations, one should expect it to do the same for regiona

rivalries among smaller powers. This school of thought reject

as ethnocentric the argument that Third World states will b

more reckless in their handling of nuclear weapons than

Western states have been, and proposes that the nuclea

powers ought to help threshold nuclear states pass through

the transition period to survivable second-strike capability a

smoothly as possible.5 7

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Credibility

The preceding discussion of assured destruction focused on

issues of capability, but almost as important to nuclea

deterrence is the credibility of threats. Actually carrying out 

threat to use nuclear weapons would inevitably involv

significant costs for the state concerned,58 and these might wel

exceed the benefits, if any, expected from previous promises. O

course, although one need not automatically believe a

adversary’s threat, even a dubiously credible threat o

annihilation may concentrate the mind and carry deterren

weight. Credibility is an especially significant and potentially

problematic issue in two types of scenarios. One involve

extended deterrence—threats to retaliate in response to a

attack against a third party or other peripheral interest.59 Th

other involves situations in which an enemy launches a limited

attack, presenting the victim with a choice between backin

down and avoiding additional destruction or responding to th

attack and risking escalation to an all-out nuclear exchange

which would prove catastrophic for both sides.6 0

Making the response automatic would solve credibilit

problems posed by the possibility of a leader’s unwillingnes

in the breach to launch a threatened retaliatory strike. Thi

possibility found its apotheosis in Herman Kahn’

hypothetical invention of the “doomsday machine,” a

automated system that would trigger nuclear retaliation in th

event of attack without (or in spite of) human involvement—

later immortalized in Dr. Strangelove.

61 The United State

never opted to remove the human element from its deterren

threats, although some evidence exists that the Soviets did

adopt a system to launch some of their missiles autonomously

if the national leadership were incapacitated by an attack. 6

However, the “dead hand” was also at work in the West. Fo

example, the fact that SSBN crews might choose to launch

their weapons on their own initiative if their leaders an

country were destroyed served to bolster the American threa

of assured destruction against the possibility o

decapitation .

63 An additional variation on the doomsda

machine theme appeared in the 1980s, when scientist

discovered that a massive nuclear strike might produc

299
substantial global climatic change, raising the possibility tha

even a fully successful first strike could significantly injur

the country that launched it. 64

An opposite approach to the credibility problem entaile

providing leaders with limited nuclear options (LNO) tha

might prove relatively credible, whereas an all-out attac

would not. Much attention focused on LNOs in the Unite

States during the early 1970s, but they always existed t

some extent, even in the purest moments of the doctrine o

massive retaliation of the late 1950s.65 Although its opponent

often accused MAD of presenting leaders with a choic

between surrender and suicide in the event of limited attack

this never amounted to a fair accusation, since most of th

people who lauded MAD believed in the possibility of limite

countervalue attacks, at least for demonstration purposes.6 6

However, counterforce LNO enthusiasts parted compan

from MAD theorists in their beliefs about the controllability o

nuclear war. The former tended to envision a relativel

prolonged process of brinkmanship and escalation in which

one could recognize limited counterforce strikes as such; th

latter did not think that escalation would automatically occur

but they had little confidence that the fog of nuclear wa

would permit such subtle bargaining. MAD enthusiasts als

refused to be alarmed by the problem of limited threa

credibility, emphasizing that even a small possibility o

catastrophe is very frightening.

This debate reached its zenith with arguments for and agains

the need for escalation dominance—a concept promoted b

theorists who offered an alternative approach to nuclear strategy

commonly referred to as nuclear war fighting. 67 War fighter

who supported a “countervailing” strategy conceived of a ladde

of escalation ranging from limited and major conventional wa

up through levels of nuclear conflict with progressively fewe

limitations, before arriving at full-blown countervalu

apocalypse. They argued for the necessity of maintainin

escalation dominance—the ability to fight and win on whateve

rung of the ladder the enemy chose—to avoid having to choos

between losing, surrendering, or escalating to a more extrem

level of violence. In short, if the enemy could find—or invent—

300
rung on the ladder from which it could prevail, it would hav

an incentive to strike.

Skeptics of the countervailing approach rejected the premis

that such a ladder existed for several reasons. First, the

maintained that limitations of sensors and intelligenc

prevented one from distinguishing among subtly different level

of nuclear warfare.

6 8 Second, they argued that even if one could

make such distinctions, the scheme would work only if bot

sides conceived of the escalatory steps in the same way. Sinc

one might define levels of violence by the weapons used, th

types or numbers of targets attacked, the location of the target

or of the launchers, the scale of civilian damage, or other criteri

(evidence indicates that Soviet and American doctrine did indee

differ in these matters), they suggested that the war fighter

were trying to impose a degree of precision upon nuclear warfar

that it intrinsically lacked. Third, as discussed below, the

warned that war-fighting doctrines and the weapons system

associated with them would create instability and encourag

preemptive attacks. Finally, they insisted that MAD had n

serious credibility problems in the first place.69

The war-fighting school challenged other premises an

arguments of the MAD theorists in addition to their views on

escalation and the potential controllability of nuclear war. On

of these was their attitude towards nuclear superiority. Th

logic of MAD implied that a state could achieve a meaningfu

degree of nuclear superiority only if it gained the ability t

genuinely disarm the enemy by launching a first strike. Shor

of this, having a larger or more sophisticated nuclear arsena

than a rival didn’t matter, since the enemy retained it

assured destruction capability. Some war fighters responde

that while such might be the case in the corridors of RAND o

even the Pentagon , the appearance of nuclear inferiority—th

appearance of national weakness—was significant an

potentially costly in the international political arena.7 0

Another war-fighting response to this question was tha

smaller increments of nuclear superiority might indeed matte

to deterrence, since an enemy who did not believe in MAD

(especially one obsessed with correlations of forces) could wel

consider them significant. War fighters based this suggestion

in large part on a conception of the Soviet Union as a stat

301
less like the United States than MAD theorists believed it t

be. As the title of one such article described it, the Soviet

might think they could fight and win a nuclear war , with thei

leaders bunkered out of harm’s way and remembering that th

USSR had got along reasonably well in spite of the killing o

tens of millions of its citizens by Joseph Stalin and then b

the Great Patriotic War.

7 1 More generally, states might wel

behave in ways that American nuclear theorists would conside

irrational, so one needed to make potential enemies realize no

only that they would suffer if they started a war, but also tha

they would lose. In short, since punitive deterrence might no

suffice, one might require deterrence by denial.

The response to this argument essentially amounted to 

reiteration of the fundamentals of MAD . As Robert Jervis, th

standard bearer of opposition to the nuclear war fighters in th

1980s, put it, “MAD Is a Fact, Not a Policy.”72 Whatever th

differences among states’ nuclear doctrines and worldviews, th

basic logic of MAD is an inevitable consequence of the effects o

nuclear weapons and states’ pursuit of national survival. A stat

would have to behave with an unprecedented degree o

irrationality in order to deliberately run a considerable risk of it

own annihilation. Moreover, Jervis notes that irrationality ma

be more likely to reduce a state’s willingness to take risks than i

is to increase it.7 3

The various arguments of the war-fighting school wer

mutually supporting but not entirely interdependent. On

could accept some and reject others. Their most significan

interconnection lay in the policy prescriptions that followe

from them: all implied that the United States ought to inves

heavily in the development of tools required for nuclear wa

fighting. These included, among other things, highly robust C

systems and weapons optimized for counterforce attack

against hard targets. Perhaps most important of all, nuclea

war fighting called for strategic defenses—the bête noir o

MAD enthusiasts.

Nuclear Offense, Defense, and Stability

Long before the nuclear revolution, theorists and statesmen

concerned themselves with the stability implications o

302
different types of weapons.74 In arms control efforts both befor

and after the First World War, negotiators sought to reduce th

chances of war by banning or restricting the possession o

offensive weapons without preventing states from defendin

themselves against aggression. People widely accepted the basi

premise that offensive weapons facilitate aggression whil

defensive ones deter it; unfortunately, differentiating betwee

the two categories proved extremely difficult. Even heavy

artillery and long-range bombers might have defensive utility

while one might use even the most purely defensiv

weapons—such as fixed fortifications—for offensive purposes.

In a strategic relationship dominated by assured destruction 

the difference between stabilizing and destabilizing weapon

depends not on whether they are better for seizing or defendin

territory, but on whether they are better for starting and winnin

(or limiting damage in) a war or for retaliating against a

attacker. Thus, accurate, MIRVed ICBMs—ideal for destroyin

the enemy’s nuclear weapons—are relatively destabilizin

because of their value in a first strike and their comparativ

vulnerability. On the other hand, less accurate SLBMs optimize

for killing civilians are stabilizing, since their invulnerabilit

makes them useful in a second strike, while their lack o

counterforce capability prevents them from contributing muc

to an attempt to disarm the enemy. 75 At the risk o

oversimplifying the situation, one might say that being able t

kill weapons is bad, while being able to kill people is good

States whose populations are held hostage by the adversary wil

have to be nonaggressive. US-Soviet arms control talk

particularly emphasized restricting the numbers of MIRVed

ICBMs, although progress was slow until the late 1980s.76

This produces some counterintuitive results with respect t

strategic defenses. Since the vulnerability of weapons i

destabilizing, measures that increase their survivability—such

as mobility, hardening, and point-defense ABMs —contribut

to deterrence and to strategic stability. On the other hand

measures such as civil defense preparations and area-defens

ABMs, which reduce the vulnerability of cities and othe

countervalue targets, are destabilizing because they threaten

the adversary’s second-strike assured destruction capability

For the latter reason, among others, ABMs were an early

303
target of nuclear arms control efforts and were one of the firs

categories of strategic weapons virtually banned by agreemen

between the superpowers. 7 7

Sometimes explanations of the relationship between offens

and defense in the nuclear world state that nuclear weapon

reverse the traditional order of things—that defenses becom

offensive. This statement is partially correct: strategi

defenses do facilitate a nuclear first strike if they reduce—or i

the enemy believes they reduce—his assured destruction

capability. This is especially true of imperfect defenses tha

would be more useful for intercepting a retaliatory attack by 

crippled foe than for stopping a coordinated first strike

However, one cannot say that BMD , air defenses, and civi

defense are not defensive; by limiting expected damage in th

event of war, they do provide defense. Rather, they tend to b

antideterrent by encouraging an enemy to attack preventively

before one can deploy or improve them—or preemptively

before the state which possesses them can strike first and us

them as a shield against retaliation . On a more general level

strategic defenses have the potential to weaken deterrence b

making war less costly and therefore more attractive.

MAD enthusiasts see strategic defenses as extremely

dangerous, but war fighters find them very appealing, in par

because they could contribute to escalation dominance 

although they might still encourage preemptive or preventiv

attacks. They also might persuade an enemy who fears defea

rather than punishment that he would lose a war on the top

rung of the escalation ladder—a full-scale countervalue nuclea

exchange. More fundamentally, however, war fighters tend t

see damage limitation as important because their analysis o

MAD indicates that nuclear war is a significant possibility. In

contrast, MAD enthusiasts generally consider deterrence failur

under MAD quite unlikely unless one follows extremely ba

policies. Consequently, they see the stability benefits to b

derived from eschewing defenses as far more valuable than 

damage limitation capability that one should never need.

In considering stability, one must distinguish between th

capability to launch an effective first strike and the existence o

incentives to strike first. The former is very difficult to achiev

against an uncooperative state with substantial resources

304
However, circumstances exist under which a state migh

launch a preemptive or preventive attack even if it anticipate

that doing so would result in severe nuclear retaliation . I

nuclear war (or a comparable cataclysm, such as conquest

appeared inevitable—especially if it also appeared imminent—

states would have great incentives to attack first if doing s

would significantly reduce the amount of damage they would

eventually suffer (or perhaps dramatically increase the damag

they could inflict without increasing their own losses). In term

of deterrence theory, when the value of not starting a war begin

to look extremely bad, war becomes relatively attractive; stabilit

becomes endangered when states have reason to expect th

status quo to lead to catastrophe. It becomes especially

endangered when a state perceives a w indow of opportunity—

temporary chance to avert or mitigate the disaster.

In nuclear strategy, one can expect windows of opportunit

for preventive war when an adversary state appears likely t

acquire and use nuclear weapons in the near future—or t

acquire a first-strike capability that it does not yet possess. 7

Similarly, a state might perceive such a window if it

second-strike capability were threatened by an adversary’

anticipated development of strategic defenses, and if i

expected the adversary would then attack or otherwise exploi

this escape from MAD . In the early 1980s, Barry Posen

brought to light a particularly noteworthy preemption scenario

by observing that the Reagan administration’s new maritim

strategy for offensive naval operations in the Barents Se

during a conventional war in Europe would gradually destro

much of the Soviet SLBM force, endangering Moscow’s

second-strike capability. At the same time, one could expect 

conventional air war in Europe to incapacitate Soviet early

warning radar capability in the region, giving the Soviet Union

reason to fear being decapitated or disarmed by a surpris

Western nuclear first strike.

7 9

The Enduring Importance of

Strategic Nuclear Airpower Theory

In the post-cold-war era, nuclear theory remains important t

strategic airpower, as well as to other aspects of internationa

305
politics, in spite of the views of skeptics who see the subject a

an obsolescent and distasteful relic of the past. Nuclear war i

not likely today, but neither was it likely during the cold war

notwithstanding the shaking hands of the “doomsday clock

on the cover of The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists. Today

nuclear strategy and the theories it spawned and inspire

remain significant on several different levels.

First and most obviously, neither nuclear weapons no

mutual assured destruction has disappeared, and they ar

unlikely to do so anytime soon. Dramatic reductions in th

nuclear arsenals of the superpowers are under way, as th

result of both negotiated agreements and unilateral decisions

guided by the theories of deterrence and stability outline

above. US and Russian weapons are no longer aimed at thei

cold war targets, garnering widespread acclaim in spite of th

strategic (if not political) superficiality of this measure. Yet

nuclear weapons continue to lurk in the background as th

ultimate guarantors of American and Russian security, as wel

as British, French, Chinese, Israeli, Indian, and Pakistan

security. For each of these states, essentially the same nuclea

issues matter—survivability, first- and second-strik

capabilities, and potential adversaries’ expectations about th

values of war and peace. 80 Nuclear weapons continue to figur

into extended deterrence as well, most visibly in the 1990

during the Gulf War, when Britain and the United States a

well as Israel made veiled and unveiled threats to Iraq o

nuclear retaliation against chemical weapons attacks.

The spread of nuclear weapons continues to proceed ver

gradually, incessantly defying the expectations of proliferation

alarmists. Prospective nuclear powers, like their predecessors

have weighed the costs and benefits of joining the nuclea

club, and only a few see profit in it.81 Even the far les

expensive spread of biological and chemical weapons has been

slower than many people have expected, but sound reason

remain for serious concern about this less celebrated threat. 8

In deciding how to deal with each of these developments

scholars and statesmen again turn for guidance to deterrenc

and other theory originally developed for the nuclear world bu

relevant to other weapons of mass destruction (or individua

or small group destruction, for that matter). Interestingly, on

306
can see the roots of MAD not only in the early nuclear world

but also a decade earlier, when both Germany and the Allie

opted not to employ nerve gas and other chemical or biologica

weapons during the Second World War, largely due to fear o

reprisals by their enemies.8 3

In some respects, conventional airpower, too, resembles it

nuclear cousin more and more as advances occur in th

guidance of precision munitions, stealth, and other technologie

Contemporary arguments about the coercive impact of targetin

leaders, C2 systems, economic infrastructure, military forces, o

civilian populations essentially recapitulate debates abou

strategic nuclear targeting from the 1980s and before, save tha

conventional weapons would produce far less collatera

damage.

8 4 Schelling’s coercive principle of targeting what th

enemy values applies similarly in both the nuclear an

conventional worlds, underpinning both yesterday’s and today’

debates about the relative merits of punishment and denial

Similarly, “parallel attack ” and the quest for strategic paralysi

achieved with conventional airpower share a distinct kinship

with the pursuit of “splendid” first strikes and nuclea

decapitation .

The nuclear revolution in airpower meant that the bomb (i

not always the bomber) would in general get through and tha

nuclear powers could do all sorts of damage that they could

not do before to an enemy without needing to conquer him

first. To a considerable degree, the more recent conventiona

airpower revolution of smart weapons and stealth doe

something similar, except far less expensively, for both th

attacker and the target. Even the concept of MAD may b

relevant to sophisticated conventional strategic attack. If, a

strategic airpower advocates of several generations hav

argued, one can effectively cripple or destroy states from th

air with nonnuclear attacks against key economic

communications, and other assets, and if states value thei

own survival, it may not matter decisively for deterrence tha

this threat involves the deaths of thousands or hundred

instead of millions.

In other respects, however, conventional airpower become

less and less like nuclear force as its ability to destroy target

inexpensively and comparatively cleanly improves, and as it

307
employers (at least in the West) increasingly eschew the option

of attacking civilian targets. In short, the deaths of millions d

matter, and although conventional airpower possesse

impressive speed and firepower, thermonuclear weapons, fo

good or ill, provide the ability in extremis to annihilate—mor

importantly, to threaten to annihilate—an enemy state. Jus

as warfare is the ultima ratio of international politics, so i

nuclear attack the final argument in warfare. Its ver

extremity has always made nuclear war improbable, but th

vast destructive potential of the absolute weapon still make

both the possibility of its use and the theories created t

understand it important to both statesmen and strategists.

Notes

1. The most prominent works in the “golden age” nuclear deterrenc

pantheon include Bernard Brodie, ed., The Absolute Weapon: Atomic Powe

and World Order (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1946); William W. Kaufmann

ed., Military Policy and National Security (Princeton, N.J.: Princeto

University Press, 1956); Henry A. Kissinger, Nuclear Weapons and Foreig

Policy (New York: Harper & Row, 1957); Morton Kaplan, “The Calculus o

Deterrence,” World Politics 11 (October 1958): 20–43; Albert Wohlstette

“The Delicate Balance of Terror,” Foreign Affairs 37 (January 1959): 209–34

Bernard Brodie , Strategy in the Missile Age (Princeton, N.J.: Princeto

University Press, 1959); Daniel Ellsberg, The Theory and Practice o

Blackmail, RAND Report P-3883 (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1959)

Thomas C. Schelling, Strategy of Conflict (New York: Oxford Universi

Press, 1960); Herman Kahn, On Thermonuclear War (Princeton, N.J

Princeton University Press, 1960); Glenn H. Snyder, Deterrence and Defens

(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1961); Pierre Gallois, Th

Balance of Terror: Strategy for the Nuclear Age, trans. Richard Howar

(Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1961); Herman Kahn, Thinking about th

Unthinkable (New York: Horizon, 1962); André Beaufre, Deterrence an

Strategy , trans. R. H. Barry (New York: Praeger, 1965); Herman Kahn, O

Escalation: Metaphors and Scenarios (New York: Praeger, 1965); Bernar

Brodie, Escalation and the Nuclear Option (Princeton, N.J.: Princeto

University Press, 1966); and Thomas C. Schelling, Arms and Influence (Ne

Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1966), which probably remains th

single most important treatment of the subject.

2. One should note that “nuclear theory” and “deterrence theory” ar

related but not synonymous. Deterrence theory applies to much more tha

nuclear deterrence, and long after nuclear theory had matured, deterrenc

theory was (and is) the scene and subject of lively debate. For reviews o

deterrence theory per se and some of the debates about it, see, among man

308
others, Robert Jervis, 

Deterrence Theory Revisited,World Politics 3

(January 1979): 289–324; George Downs, “The Rational Deterrenc

Debate,” World Politics 41 (January 1989): 225–37; Paul C. Stern et al

eds., Perspectives on Deterrence (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989)

especially the editors’ introduction and Jack Levy’s essay “Quantitativ

Studies of Deterrence Success and Failure”; and Karl Mueller, “Strategy

Asymmetric Deterrence, and Accommodation” (PhD diss., Princeto

University, 1991).

3. Kubrick enlisted Thomas Schelling’s assistance as he set out t

update the 1950s novel Red Alert to the missile age and use it as the basi

for the screenplay for Dr. Strangelove . During this process, Kubric

concluded that the movie would have to become a comedy. Author’

conversation with Schelling, 12 October 1989. See also Fred Kaplan, Th

Wizards of Armageddon (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1983), 231; an

Alexander Walker, Stanley Kubrick Directs (New York: Harcourt Brac

Jovanovich, 1972), 156–221. Red Alert was also the basis for the dramati

movie Fail-Safe (1964).

4. See especially Richard Rhodes, The Making of the Atomic Bomb (Ne

York: Simon & Schuster, 1986); idem, Dark Sun: The Making of th

Hydrogen Bomb (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995); and Thomas B

Cochran, William M. Arkin, and Milton M. Hoenig, Nuclear Weapon

Databook, vol. 1, U.S. Nuclear Forces and Capabilities (Cambridge, Mass

Ballinger, 1984). On the Soviet and other nuclear weapons programs, se

also David Holloway, Stalin and the Bomb: The Soviet Union and Atomi

Energy, 1939 –1956 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1994); Steve

J. Zaloga, Target America: The Soviet Union and the Strategic Arms Race

1945 –1964 (Novato, Calif.: Presidio, 1993); Thomas B. Cochran, William M

Arkin, and Milton M. Hoenig, Nuclear Weapons Databook, vol. 4, Sovie

Nuclear Weapons (Cambridge, Mass.: Ballinger, 1989); Andrew Pierre

Nuclear Politics (London: Oxford University Press, 1972); Lawrenc

Freedman, Britain and Nuclear Weapons (London: Macmillan, 1980); Bria

Cathcart, Test of Greatness: Britain’s Struggle for the Atomic Bomb (London

John Murray, 1994); Wilfrid Kohl, French Nuclear Diplomacy (Princeton

N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1971); L’Aventure de la Bombe: De Gaull

et la Dissuasion Nucléaire (Paris: Librarie Plon, 1985); John Wilson Lewi

and Xue Litai, China Builds the Bomb (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford Universit

Press, 1988); Robert S. Norris, Andrew S. Burrows, and Richard W

Fieldhouse, Nuclear Weapons Databook, vol. 5, British, French, and Chines

Nuclear Weapons (Cambridge, Mass.: Ballinger, 1994); and Peter Pry

Israel’s Nuclear Arsenal (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1984).

5. In addition to Kaplan’s The Wizards of Armageddon and Richar

Rhodes’s works cited above, see also Bernard Brodie, “The Development o

Nuclear Strategy,” International Security 2 (Spring 1978): 65–83; Jervi

John Baylis and John Garnett, eds., Makers of Nuclear Strategy (New York

Saint Martin’s, 1991); Barry H. Steiner, Bernard Brodie and the Foundation

of American Nuclear Strategy (Lawrence, Kans.: University of Kansas Press

309
1991); and Alastair Ian Johnston, 

Chinas New Old Thinking: The Concep

of Limited Deterrence,” International Security 20 (Winter 1995/1996): 5–42.

6. Aaron L. Friedberg, “A History of the US Strategic ‘Doctrine’—1945 t

1980,” Journal of Strategic Studies (December 1980): 37–71; David Ala

Rosenberg, “The Origins of Overkill,” International Security 7 (Spring 1983)

3–67; Marc Trachtenberg, History and Strategy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeto

University Press, 1991); Lawrence Freedman, The Evolution of Nuclea

Strategy , 2d ed. (New York: Saint Martin’s, 1989); Desmond Ball, Targetin

for Strategic Deterrence, Adelphi Papers, no. 185 (London: Internationa

Institute for Strategic Studies [IISS], 1983); Peter Pringle and William Arkin

SIOP: The Secret U.S. Plan for Nuclear War (New York: Norton, 1983)

McGeorge Bundy, Danger and Survival (New York: Random House, 1988)

Steven T. Ross and David Alan Rosenberg, eds., America’s Plans for Wa

against the Soviet Union, 1945–1950, 15 vols. (New York: Garland, 1989)

and Anthony Cave Brown, ed., Drop Shot (New York: Dial/James Wade

1978).

7. The literature on nuclear arms control is truly immense. Among th

best of literally thousands of publications on the subject are Bernar

Brodie, “On the Objectives of Arms Control,” International Security 

(Summer 1976): 17–36; McGeorge Bundy, “To Cap the Volcano,” Foreig

Affairs 48 (October 1969): 1–20; Thomas C. Schelling and Morton H

Halperin, Strategy and Arms Control (Washington, D.C.: Pergamon

Brassey’s, 1961/1985); and Thomas C. Schelling, “What Went Wrong wit

Arms Control?” Foreign Affairs 64 (Winter 1985/1986): 219–33.

8. On the effects of nuclear weapons, see Samuel Glasstone and Phili

J. Dolan, eds., The Effects of Nuclear Weapons, 3d ed. (Washington, D.C

US Department of Defense and Department of Energy, 1977); US Congress

Office of Technology Assessment, The Effects of Nuclear War, augmented ed

(Detroit: Gale Research Co., 1984); Irving L. Janis, Air War and Emotiona

Stress (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood, 1951/1976); and Jeannie Peterso

and Don Hinrichsen, eds., Nuclear War: The Aftermath (Oxford: Pergamon

1983).

9. For an overview of nuclear warhead technology, see Cochran, Arkin

and Hoenig, Nuclear Weapons Databook, vol. 1, chaps. 1–2.

10. Writers often observe that Curtis LeMay’s bombing campaign agains

Japan in 1945 had a pronounced Douhetian flavor to it, as the armadas o

B-29s inexorably razed one Japanese city after another. However, on

should recall that the target country was effectively defenseless against th

onslaught in this case. Not until a single penetrating bomber could destro

a city were the civilian populations of evenly matched countries vulnerabl

to rapid destruction from the air, as Douhet had envisioned in “The War o

19—.” See Giulio Douhet, The Command of the Air, trans. Dino Ferrar

(1942; reprint, Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1983)

293–394.

11. The development of H-bombs also removed the constraint tha

limited plutonium supplies had previously placed on the expansion of th

310
superpowers

 nuclear arsenals, since thermonuclear weapons required fa

less fissile material than atomic bombs, relative to their destructive power.

12. It is theoretically possible to build as large an H-bomb as on

wishes, so the incentives to develop a still more powerful generation o

weapons have been limited. The “neutron bomb” was a tactica

thermonuclear weapon designed to have enhanced radiation and reduce

blast (ERRB) effects in order to inflict destruction on enemy military force

while minimizing the operational problems posed for friendly forces as 

result of tree and building blowdown and the destruction of territory. Se

Sam Cohen, The Truth about the Neutron Bomb (New York: Morrow, 1983)

Earth-penetrating warheads were developed in order to attack deeply burie

bunkers and other targets. During the 1980s, scientists devoted muc

effort to developing “third generation” nuclear weapons in the form o

H-bomb-pumped X-ray lasers as part of the US Strategic Defense Initiative

but this technology failed to live up to its advocates’ promises. See William

J. Broad, Teller’s War (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992).

13. Test missiles carry range safety packages to permit their self

destruction in flight, but this has never been a popular feature fo

operational missiles due to their owners’ fears that an enemy might be abl

to trigger the devices.

14. The United States also planned at one time to base Polaris SLBM

on surface vessels, included in the abortive multinational NATO Multilatera

Force (MLF), but surface ships obviously lacked much of the submarine’

invulnerability to preemptive attack, especially after the advent of satellit

reconnaissance.

15. Although the Trident D-5 is also less accurate than its land-base

contemporaries, it is accurate enough for use against hardened target

previously reserved for ICBMs and bombers, as discussed below.

16. Examples of the former included the British Blue Steel and th

much longer-range US Skybolt air launched ballistic missile (ALBM)

canceled in 1962; the most prominent defense-suppression missile was th

American short range attack missile (SRAM), carried by B-52s and othe

Strategic Air Command (SAC) bombers.

17. In the US arsenal, the number of warheads per MIRVed missil

ranged from three on the Minuteman III ICBM to 14 relatively small ones o

the Poseidon SLBM.

18. In addition, in recent years, ballistic missiles and other strategi

nuclear-delivery systems have also been adapted to carry nonnuclea

warheads, including fuel-air explosives (FAE) and solid kinetic-energ

projectiles.

19. Designed by Canadian artillery innovator Gerald Bull and intende

for the bombardment of Israel or Teheran, one supergun was unde

construction in Iraq in 1990; British authorities intercepted parts for 

larger version with a one-meter bore prior to shipment to Iraq.

20. See Kaplan, The Wizards of Armageddon , chaps. 6–8. Although SAC

gradually shifted to a bomber force posture exclusively employing long

311
range bombers based in the continental United States, similar concern

would arise again in the 1980s, when NATO faced the prospect of Sovie

SS-20 IRBM attacks using nuclear, chemical, or FAE warheads against it

major European bases for dual-capable strike aircraft.

21. The latter are known alternatively as SSBNs or (occasionally) flee

ballistic missile (FBM) submarines or, colloquially in the United State

Navy, “boomers.”

22. The conventional wisdom during most of the cold war held that th

Soviets were generally unable to detect and track US and British ballisti

missile submarines prior to launch, while the Western navies’ superio

acoustic-detection technology and the Soviets’ noisier submarines gave th

West a considerably greater but still significantly imperfect ability to trac

hostile SSBNs.

23. The number of warheads one can fire effectively against a singl

point target is limited by the problem of fratricide—the tendency of 

detonating warhead to destroy those following behind it.

24. Among the more or less exotic basing schemes for the MX was a ver

expensive “racetrack” (or “shell game”) system of multiple silos per missil

connected by underground rail lines, proposed by the Carte

administration; air launching from transport aircraft; road or rail mobility

launching from small coastal submarines or from superhardened, dee

underground bases; and the Densepack scheme initially favored by th

Reagan administration, which clustered missile silos so close together tha

warhead fratricide would make it impossible to attack more than a portio

of them in a single strike. Passive defenses for missile silos were als

discussed, including surrounding the silos with fields of closely space

metal stakes, upon which a warhead would impale and destroy itself befor

it could detonate. For detailed discussion and analysis, see US Congress

Office of Technology Assessment, MX Missile Basing (Washington, D.C

Government Printing Office, September 1981). In the end, the 50 MXs wer

placed in existing Minuteman ICBM silos, which did nothing at all t

address the survivability problem. ICBM survivability concerns also led t

the Small ICBM (“Midgetman”) program (later canceled) to produce 

single-warhead missile to be carried by hardened, off-road mobile launc

vehicles.

25. This pattern changed somewhat in the late 1980s with the arrival o

the Trident D-5, the first SLBM with sufficient accuracy to attack hardene

point targets such as missile silos, along with the deployment o

ultra-accurate Pershing II IRBMs and ground launched cruise missile

(GLCM) in western Europe, which promised to increase the ability of th

United States to destroy the USSR’s land-based nuclear systems in a fir

strike. (The deployment of the highly accurate, 10-MIRV-per-missile MX i

vulnerable silos probably did little to reassure the Soviet leadership abou

American intentions.) The relatively small Soviet SLBM force remaine

unaffected, but this too would come under threat in the 1980s, a

discussed below.

312
26. One problem with this scheme was that the electromagnetic puls

(EMP) produced by the detonation of the multimegaton, enhanced X-ra

radiation, exoatmospheric ABM warheads would have done considerabl

damage to electronic systems on the ground, including the ABM trackin

radars themselves.

27. Subsequent proposals to build a less capable US ABM system t

provide protection against an isolated, accidental Soviet missile launch or 

small Chinese nuclear attack were deemed unworthy of the necessar

investment. Exactly the same arguments would emerge in the late 1980s fo

constructing Global Protection against Limited Strikes (GPALS)—a smalle

version of the missile defense envisioned in the Strategic Defens

Initiative—using a constellation of “brilliant pebbles” orbital intercepto

missiles.

28. The ABM Treaty actually allowed each party to construct two ABM site

(later amended to one site) to protect the national capital, as well as an ICBM

base, each with no more than one hundred interceptor missiles. The Soviet

deployed (and continue to maintain and update) one hundred GALOSH ABM

around Moscow, but Congress ordered the single US Safeguard ABM sit

constructed near Grand Forks, N.D., to be deactivated one day after declarin

it operational in 1975, on the grounds of being cost-ineffective. On the US ABM

programs, see B. Bruce-Riggs, The Shield of Faith (New York: Simon 

Schuster, 1988); and Ernest J. Yanarella, The Missile Defense Controvers

(Lexington, Ky.: University of Kentucky Press, 1977).

29. In the end, the world’s most advanced civil defense program wa

probably that of Switzerland, perhaps due in part to the Swiss’s having s

little control over whether a superpower nuclear exchange might occur.

30. Among many works about SDI, see Steven E. Miller and Stephe

Van Evera, eds., The Star Wars Controversy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeto

University Press, 1986); US Congress, Office of Technology Assessmen

Strategic Defenses (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986)

Kenneth N. Luongo and W. Thomas Wander, eds., The Search for Security i

Space (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1989); William J. Broad, Sta

Warriors (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1985); and idem, Teller’s War.

31. For example, Janis.

32. “Expert advice had indicated that bombing of London and the grea

cities would lead to casualties of the order of hundreds of thousands, o

even millions, within a few weeks.” Harold Macmillan, Winds of Change

1914–1939 (New York: Harper and Row, 1966), 522. On fears of air attac

prior to the Second World War, see Uri Bialer, In the Shadow of the Bombe

(London: Royal Historical Society, 1980).

33. See, for example, Rhodes, The Making of the Atomic Bomb, 312

324–25.

34. See, for example, Kaplan, The Wizards of Armageddon, 45–47. O

this subject, see also Bernard Brodie, “Strategy as a Science,” World Politic

1 (July 1949): 467–88.

313
35. The seemingly obvious point that one must weigh the value of goin

to war against the value of not doing so is absolutely essential to deterrenc

theory; however, it is often ignored by deterrence theorists who find 

convenient to treat states’ satisfaction with the status quo as a constan

instead of an important variable.

36. See, among others, Brodie, Strategy in the Missile Age .

37. For the classic explanation of the relationship between thes

concepts, see Snyder, chap. 1.

38. See, for example, ibid., 14–16; and J. David Singer, Deterrence, Arm

Control, and Disarmament (Columbus, Ohio: Ohio State University Press

1962), 22–24.

39. See, for example, Patrick Morgan, Deterrence: A Conceptual Analysi

(Beverly Hills, Calif.: Sage, 1977), 20–22; Robert Art and Kenneth Waltz

“Technology, Strategy, and the Uses of Force,” in Art and Waltz, eds., Th

Use of Force, 2d ed. (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1983), 10.

40. The seminal presentation of such a broad perspective on deterrenc

can be found in Thomas W. Milburn, “What Constitutes Effectiv

Deterrence?” Journal of Conflict Resolution 3 (1959): 138–45. Among the fe

works to have seriously addressed the use of positive incentives fo

deterrence are David Baldwin, “The Power of Positive Sanctions,” Worl

Politics 24 (October 1971): 19–38; and Peter Karsten, “Response to Threa

Perception: Accommodation as a Special Case,” in Klaus Knorr, ed

Historical Dimensions of National Security Problems (Lawrence, Kans

University Press of Kansas, 1976), 120–63. For further discussion o

deterrence definitions, see Mueller, chaps. 1–2.

41. See George H. Quester, Deterrence before Hiroshima, rev. ed. (Ne

Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Publishers, 1986); John J. Mearsheimer

Conventional Deterrence (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1983); an

Barry R. Posen, The Sources of Military Doctrine (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornel

University Press, 1984).

42. Schelling, Arms and Influence, v.

43. It does not follow, of course, that these strategic reasons actuall

determined the size of the Soviet and American arsenals. Perhaps the be

known of many illustrations of this notion is Secretary of Defense Robe

McNamara’s decision to buy one thousand Minuteman ICBMs not becaus

he and President Kennedy thought they needed that many, but because i

seemed to be the smallest number acceptable to the Air Force an

Congress. See Desmond Ball, Politics and Force Levels (Berkeley, Calif

University of California Press, 1980), 232–52.

44. Richard K. Betts, Nuclear Blackmail and Nuclear Balanc

(Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1987), 144–79.

45. Exactly how much damage one must inflict in order to destroy a

enemy became the subject of considerable debate over the years. The be

known standard for assured destruction capability was that adopted b

McNamara during the Kennedy administration—that US retaliatory force

should be able to destroy 50 percent of the Soviet industrial base and kil

314
30 percent of the Soviet population after absorbing a Soviet first strike. Fo

discussions of the merits of different types of targets, see Desmond Ball an

Jeffrey Richelson, eds., Strategic Nuclear Targeting (Ithaca, N.Y.: Corne

University Press, 1986); Scott D. Sagan, Moving Targets: Nuclear Strateg

and National Security (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1989)

George Quester, “Ethnic Targeting: A Bad Idea Whose Time Has Come

Journal of Strategic Studies 5 (June 1982); and Michael J. Mazarr, “Militar

Targets for a Minimum Deterrent: After the Cold War How Much I

Enough?” Journal of Strategic Studies 15 (June 1992): 147–71.

46. On LUA, see US Congress, Office of Technology Assessment, M

Missile Basing, chap. 4.

47. Desmond Ball, Can Nuclear War Be Controlled? Adelphi Papers, no

169 (London: IISS, 1981); Paul Bracken, The Command and Control o

Nuclear Forces (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1983); Bruce G

Blair, Strategic Command and Control (Washington, D.C.: Brooking

Institution, 1985); and Ashton B. Carter, “The Command and Control o

Nuclear War,” Scientific American 252 (January 1985): 32–39. Bruce G

Blair, in The Logic of Accidental War (Washington, D.C.: Brooking

Institution, 1993), also describes Soviet C2 systems. See also Ashton B

Carter, John D. Steinbruner, and Charles A. Zraket, eds., Managing Nuclea

Operations (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1987); and on C3 i

less developed countries, see Peter D. Feaver, “Command and Control i

Emerging Nuclear Nations,” International Security 17 (Winter 1992/1993)

160–87.

48. In addition to short-warning SLBM strikes against leadership and C

targets, some decapitation scenarios involved the possibility of detonatin

large nuclear weapons at exoatmospheric altitudes in order to maximiz

their EMP effects, which would damage or destroy unhardened electroni

systems over an enormous area. See Ball, Can Nuclear War Be Controlled

10–12. Today small, nonnuclear, microwave-generating electroni

countermeasures (ECM) warheads are being developed for tactical weapon

to produce localized EMP-like effects against enemy C2 targets and othe

electronic systems.

49. French strategists refer to essentially the same concept a

“proportional deterrence.” See Beaufre. Charles de Gaulle characterized i

less abstractly as the ability “to tear off an arm” of the attacker. Thi

principle clearly lay behind the British Chevaline SLBM warhead program

in the 1970s, which was directed at enabling the single British SSBN o

patrol during a crisis to destroy Moscow, in spite of the ballistic missil

defenses deployed around that city, by firing all of its missiles at the Sovie

capital. See Norris, Burrows, and Fieldhouse, Nuclear Weapons Databook

vol. 5, 110–12. On the Swedish nuclear program and its eventua

abandonment, see Mitchell Reiss, Without the Bomb: The Politics of Nuclea

Nonproliferation (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), chap. 2.

50. However, assured destruction is more robust than marginal cos

deterrence because a threat to annihilate an enemy’s country is far les

315
sensitive to marginal changes in the amount of damage that one can inflic

than is a threat to destroy only one or a handful of highly valued targets

Therefore, although nuclear deterrence by smaller powers is similar to tha

of the United States or Russia, a potentially important difference exist

between the two classes of states with respect to considerations of crisi

stability.

51. For further debate regarding the validity of the rationalit

assumptions in deterrence theory, see, among many others, Philip Green

Deadly Logic (Columbus, Ohio: Ohio State University Press, 1966); Rober

Jervis, Richard Ned Lebow, and Janice Gross Stein, eds., Psychology an

Deterrence (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985); Edwar

Rhodes, Power and MADness (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989)

Richard Ned Lebow, “Rational Deterrence Theory: I Think, Therefore 

Deter,” World Politics 41 (January 1989): 208–24; Downs; Christophe

Achen and Duncan Snidal, “Rational Deterrence Theory and Comparativ

Case Studies,” World Politics 41 (January 1989): 143–69; and Paul Hut

and Bruce Russett, “Testing Deterrence Theory: Rigor Makes a Difference

World Politics 42 (July 1990): 466–501.

52. See, for example, George Quester, “Some Thoughts on ‘Deterrenc

Failures,’ ” in Stern et al., 59–60.

53. An additional school of criticism challenges not the nature of MAD

but the significance that many analysts attribute to it, maintaining tha

other factors so overdetermined the postwar peace among the nuclea

powers that their nuclear strategies, doctrines, and force postures hav

been inconsequential. See John E. Mueller, “The Essential Irrelevance o

Nuclear Weapons: Stability in the Postwar World,” International Security 1

(Fall 1988): 55–79; idem, Retreat from Doomsday: The Obsolescence of Majo

War (New York: Basic Books, 1989); and, in reply, Robert Jervis, “Th

Political Effects of Nuclear Weapons: A Comment,” International Security 1

(Fall 1988): 80–90.

54. See Russell Hardin et al., eds., Nuclear Deterrence: Ethics an

Strategy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985); Charles J. Reid Jr

ed., Peace in a Nuclear Age (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University o

America Press, 1986); Geoffrey Goodwin, ed., Ethics and Nuclear Deterrenc

(New York: Saint Martin’s, 1982); and Charles W. Kegley Jr. and Kenneth L

Schwab, eds., After the Cold War: Questioning the Morality of Nuclea

Deterrence (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1991).

55. For example, Jonathan Schell, The Fate of the Earth (New York

Knopf, 1982); and idem, The Abolition (New York: Knopf, 1984). For a

argument that nuclear accidents are inevitable (along with much evidenc

that they are extremely unlikely), see Scott D. Sagan, The Limits of Safety

Organizations, Accidents, and Nuclear Weapons (Princeton, N.J.: Princeto

University Press, 1993).

56. For one example among a plethora, see Lewis A. Dunn, “Nuclea

Proliferation: What Difference Will It Make?” in Fred Holroyd, ed., Thinkin

about Nuclear Weapons (London: Croom Helm, 1985), 118–36.

316
57. Kenneth N. Waltz, The Spread of Nuclear Weapons: More May B

Better, Adelphi Papers, no. 171 (London: IISS, 1981); John J. Mearsheimer

“Back to the Future: Instability in Europe after the Cold War,” Internationa

Security 15 (Summer 1990): 5–56; idem, “The Case for a Ukrainian Nuclea

Deterrent,” Foreign Affairs 72 (Summer 1993): 50–66; and Scott D. Saga

and Kenneth N. Waltz, The Spread of Nuclear Weapons: A Debate (New York

Norton, 1995). For counterarguments, see Sagan’s chapters in Holroyd; an

Steven E. Miller, “The Case against a Ukrainian Nuclear Deterrent,” Foreig

Affairs 72 (Summer 1993): 67–80. For an overview of the debate, see Pete

R. Lavoy, “The Strategic Consequences of Nuclear Proliferation” and th

subsequent symposium on the Waltz-Sagan dialogue, both in Securit

Studies 4 (Summer 1995): 695–810; and Devin T. Hagerty, “Nuclea

Deterrence in South Asia: The 1990 Indo-Pakistani Crisis,” Internationa

Security 20 (Winter 1995/1996): 79–114. On nuclear proliferation mor

generally, see, among a host of others, Leonard Beaton and John Maddox

The Spread of Nuclear Weapons (New York: Praeger, 1962); Stephen M

Meyer, The Dynamics of Nuclear Proliferation (Chicago: University of Chicag

Press, 1984); Rodney W. Jones, ed., Small Nuclear Forces and U.S. Securit

Policy (Lexington, Mass.: D. C. Heath, 1984); Leonard S. Spector wit

Jacqueline R. Smith, Nuclear Ambitions (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1990)

Benjamin Frankel, ed., Opaque Nuclear Proliferation, special issue of Journa

of Strategic Studies 13 (September 1990); Zachary S. Davis and Benjami

Frankel, eds., The Proliferation Puzzle (London: Frank Cass, 1993); an

Mitchell Reiss and Robert S. Litwak, eds., Nuclear Proliferation after the Col

War (Washington, D.C.: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 1994).

58. Even a state entirely immune from military retaliation could expec

under most circumstances to suffer nontrivial political and environmenta

costs as a result of launching a major nuclear attack.

59. Inevitably, threats to go to nuclear war over interests less than vita

to a state will have reduced credibility, as dramatized in the alliterativ

question of whether the United States would really trade Boston for Bonn o

Pittsburgh for Paris. For discussion of the subject of extended (sometime

called “type 2”) nuclear deterrence, see, among many others, Schelling

Arms and Influence; Brodie, Escalation and the Nuclear Option; Snyder

Alexander L. George and Richard Smoke, Deterrence in American Foreig

Policy (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974); John J. Mearsheimer

“Nuclear Weapons and Deterrence in Europe,” International Security 

(Winter 1984–1985): 19–46; and Paul K. Huth, Extended Deterrence and th

Prevention of War (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1988).

60. Conversely, coercive threats to use nuclear weapons for purpose

other than deterrence (what Thomas Schelling labeled “compellence”) hav

substantial credibility problems of their own and have caused much debat

regarding the question of whether nuclear weapons have utility fo

purposes other than self-defense. Regarding nuclear compellence, se

Schelling, Arms and Influence; Betts; Sean M. Lynn-Jones, Steven E. Mille

and Stephen Van Evera, eds., Nuclear Diplomacy and Crisis Managemen

317
(Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1990); Rosemary Foot, 

Nuclear Threats an

the Ending of the Korean Conflict,” International Security 13 (Winte

1988–1989): 92–112; and Alexander L. George and William E. Simons, eds

The Limits of Coercive Diplomacy, 2d ed. (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1994).

61 . Kahn, On Thermonuclear War, 144–53.

62. Bruce G. Blair, “Russia’s Doomsday Machine,” New York Times, 

October 1993, A35; and William J. Broad, “Russia Has ‘Doomsday

Machine, US Expert Says,” New York Times, 8 October 1993, A6.

63. See Edward Rhodes, Power and MADness, chap. 6. Similarly, th

possibility of unauthorized nuclear launches by dual-capable artillery unit

facing imminent destruction, as well as the existence of the British an

French independent nuclear forces, bolstered the credibility of NATO’

threat to escalate to nuclear warfare in the event of a successful Warsa

Pact invasion of West Germany.

64. This argument first appeared in R. P. Turco et al., “Nuclear Winter

Global Consequences of Multiple Nuclear Explosions,” Science 222 (2

December 1983): 1283–92; and Carl Sagan, “Nuclear War and Climati

Catastrophe: Some Policy Implications,” Foreign Affairs 62 (Winte

1983/1984): 257–92. Further study caused estimates of the probabl

severity of nuclear winter to diminish rapidly. See Starley L. Thompson an

Stephen H. Schneider, “Nuclear Winter Reappraised,” Foreign Affairs 6

(Summer 1986): 981–1005. For a critical overview of the debate an

indictment of the wild exaggeration of the initial research results, se

Russell Seitz, “In from the Cold: ‘Nuclear Winter’ Melts Down,” The Nationa

Interest 5 (Fall 1986): 3–17.

65. However, early LNOs were much less limited than many of thos

later developed following National Security Decision Memorandum (NSDM

242. See Lynn E. Davis, Limited Nuclear Options, Adelphi Papers, no. 12

(London: IISS, 1976); and Friedberg.

66. See Robert Jervis, The Meaning of the Nuclear Revolution (Ithaca

N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1989), chap. 3.

67. Among the archetypal statements of the war-fighting school ar

Colin S. Gray, “Nuclear Strategy: The Case for a Theory of Victory

International Security 4 (Summer 1979): 54–87; idem and Keith Payne

“Victory Is Possible,” Foreign Policy 39 (Summer 1980): 14–27; Paul Nitze

“Deterring Our Deterrent,” Foreign Policy 25 (Winter 1976–1977): 195–210

Walter Slocombe, “The Countervailing Strategy,” International Security 

(Spring 1981): 18–27; Victor Utgoff, “In Defense of Counterforce,

International Security 6 (Spring 1982): 44–61; and Robert Jastrow, “Wh

Strategic Superiority Matters,” Commentary, March 1983, 27–32. See als

Kahn, On Escalation . One should note that some prominent war-fightin

theorists such as Colin Gray were relatively skeptical of escalatio

dominance and countervailing. For detailed analysis of the war-fightin

school(s), see Charles L. Glaser’s excellent essay “Why Do Strategist

Disagree about the Requirements of Strategic Nuclear Deterrence?” in Lyn

Eden and Steven E. Miller, eds., Nuclear Arguments (Ithaca, N.Y.: Corne

318
University Press, 1989), 109–71; and Glaser

s Analyzing Strategic Nuclea

Policy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1990).

68. Indeed, in the 1980s, fears arose that even the most significan

intrawar escalation threshold of all—that between conventional and nuclea

war—might not be recognizable because attacks with powerful conventiona

weapons such as IRBMs with FAE warheads might be mistaken for nuclea

detonations.

69. Among the defenders of MAD against the war-fighting critiques, se

especially Robert Jervis, The Illogic of American Nuclear Strategy (Ithaca

N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1984); idem, The Meaning of the Nuclea

Revolution; Glaser, Analyzing Strategic Nuclear Policy; and idem, “Why D

Strategists Disagree about the Requirements of Strategic Nuclea

Deterrence?”

70. Many people offer this argument; perhaps the most prominen

instance is in Nitze. See also Benjamin S. Lambeth, “The Political Potentia

of Soviet Equivalence,” International Security 4 (Fall 1979): 22–39; Barr

Blechman and Robert Powell, “What in the Name of God Is Strategi

Superiority?” Political Science Quarterly 97 (Winter 1982–1983): 589–602

and Glaser, Analyzing Strategic Nuclear Policy, chap. 3.

71. Richard Pipes, “Why the Soviet Union Thinks It Could Fight and Win 

Nuclear War,” Commentary, July 1977, 21–34. One key but rarely addresse

problem with the argument that the Soviets might be inclined to start a wa

provided they could expect to fare better in it than would the United States

was that with both superpowers crippled, all leading powers in the postwa

world would be anti-Soviet, anti-Communist, or both. On the larger issue o

the problems of understanding an adversary’s goals and intentions, see Rober

Jervis, Perception and Misperception in International Politics (Princeton, N.J

Princeton University Press, 1976), especially chap. 3.

72. Jervis, The Meaning of the Nuclear Revolution, see title of chap. 3.

73. Jervis, “Deterrence Theory Revisited,” 299–300.

74. On offense-defense theory and its relationship to nuclear weapons

see Robert Jervis, “Cooperation under the Security Dilemma,” World Politic

30 (January 1978): 167–214; George H. Quester, Offense and Defense in th

International System (New York: Wiley, 1977); David Goldfischer, The Bes

Defense (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1993); and Sean M

Lynn-Jones, “Offense-Defense Theory and Its Critics,” Security Studies 

(Summer 1995): 660–91.

75. In practice, one can use weapons interactively to complicate matters

For example, one could use less accurate SLBMs to suppress enemy ai

defenses, thereby assisting bombers to attack hardened counterforc

targets.

76. Finally, under the recent Strategic Arms Reduction Talks (START) I

Treaty, Russia and the United States agreed to ban MIRVs on ICBMs and t

reduce the maximum number of warheads per SLBM to four.

77. Other incentives for the ABM Treaty included the desire to avoid th

expense of an intense arms race between offensive and defensiv

319
capabilities and the political damage that such a competition might do t

relations between the superpowers, even if effective strategic defense

proved to be a pipe dream.

78. Windows of opportunity are central to debates about the strategi

implications of nuclear proliferation as well. For discussion of the concep

see Richard Ned Lebow, “Windows of Opportunity: Do States Jump throug

Them?” International Security 9 (Summer 1984): 147–86; and Dan Reiter

“Exploding the Powder Keg Myth: Preemptive Wars Almost Never Happen

International Security 20 (Fall 1995): 5–34.

79. Barry Posen, “Inadvertent Nuclear War? Escalation and NATO’

Northern Flank,” International Security 7 (Fall 1982); and idem, Inadverten

Escalation: Conventional War and Nuclear Risks (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornel

University Press, 1991). See also Desmond Ball, “Nuclear War at Sea

International Security 10 (Winter 1985–1986): 3–31.

80. See, for example, Charles L. Glaser, “Nuclear Policy without a

Adversary: US Planning for the Post-Soviet Era,” International Security 1 

(Spring 1992): 34–78.

81. See Mitchell Reiss, Without the Bomb; and idem, Bridled Ambition

Why Countries Constrain Their Nuclear Capabilities (Washington, D.C

Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 1995).

82. In general, biological weapons represent a far more serious threa

than do chemical weapons. See Thomas L. McNaugher, “Ballistic Missile

and Chemical Weapons: The Legacy of the Iran-Iraq War,” Internationa

Security 15 (Fall 1990): 5–34; and Steve Fetter, “Ballistic Missiles an

Weapons of Mass Destruction,” International Security 16 (Summer 1991)

5–42. One should also note that nuclear materials such as plutonium

highly toxic if inhaled or ingested, can also be used as poisons. As with s

many facets of the nuclear revolution, Manhattan Project scientists ha

already foreseen such radiological weapons as early as 1941. See, fo

example, Richard Rhodes, The Making of the Atomic Bomb, 510.

83. In Cooperation under Fire: Anglo-German Restraint in World War I

(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1995), Jeffrey Legro argues tha

important organizational factors also discouraged the use of chemica

warfare by both sides.

84. See, for example, Col John A. Warden III, “Employing Air Power i

the Twenty-first Century,” in Richard H. Shultz Jr. and Robert L. Pfaltzgraf

Jr., eds., The Future of Air Power in the Aftermath of the Gulf War (Maxwe

AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, July 1992), 57–82. For a discussion o

Warden’s theories, see David Fadok’s essay in this volume; for critiques o

those theories, see Robert A. Pape Jr., Bombing to Win (Ithaca, N.Y.: Corne

University Press, 1996).

320
Chapter 9

Air Theory, Air Force, and Low Intensity

Conflict: A Short Journey to Confusion

Prof. Dennis M. Drew

As the end of the twentieth century approaches, American

airmen are confronted with two different but not mutually

exclusive visions of future warfare. The first, stemming from

the Gulf War, perceives airpower dominating modern

mechanized warfare. The second discerns modern mechanize

warfare—especially as demonstrated in the Gulf War—as 

thing of the past. In the latter view, the future of warfar

increasingly lies in the ill-defined realm of low intensit

conflict (LIC).

Both visions may be accurate; if so, the truth of the firs

vision has a great deal to do with the truth of the second. Afte

all, if airpower dominates “conventional” warfare, then

countries that cannot field superior air forces must emplo

“unconventional” means to gain military success.

This essay does not seek to bolster or challenge either o

these two visions. Rather, it explores the relationship between

LIC since World War II and the theory of airpower as perceive

by the US Air Force. The thesis is straightforward; specifically

the US Air Force has not effectively accounted for the realitie

of LIC in its theory of airpower.

As this essay demonstrates, to a large extent, the Air Forc

has ignored LIC as much as possible, preferring to think of i

as little more than a small version of conventional war. Bu

LIC is not just conventional war waged on a small scale

Rather, LIC differs fundamentally from conventional war. Th

reluctance of the world’s most powerful air force to addres

the peculiarities of LIC, combined with the predictions o

many people that such a conflict will be more common in th

future, creates an important void in US airpower theory. 1

To support these propositions, we must provide definitiona

clarity to the LIC muddle and examine how US airmen hav

321
reacted to the increasing challenge of LIC, both officially an

unofficially. Unofficially, the essay examines the literature on

the subject as it has evolved since World War II. Officially, i

examines the Air Force theory of airpower as expressed in it

doctrine over the same period.2 Although this analysi

concentrates on the era since the end of World War II, LIC ha

a much more storied history—as does airpower theory. Bu

after World War II, limited wars began to absorb inordinat

amounts of US blood and treasure. Further, after World War I

the US Air Force gained its independence as a fighting arm

with the responsibility to develop appropriate airpower theor

and doctrine.

Low Intensity Conflict Defined

The term low intensity conflict may be the most confusin

misnomer ever adopted by the US military. In the first place, th

term is ethnocentric because the intensity of any conflic

depends on where one stands. The struggle against th

Hukbalahap (Huk) insurgents in the Philippines may have bee

a LIC from the US point of view, but it was certainly not low in

its intensity for the Filipinos. In the second place, LIC is s

nondescriptive that it has become little more than the rubric fo

an incredible mélange of activities. At one time or another, on

could find in the low intensity stewpot a distinctive type o

warfare (insurgency and counterinsurgency), tactics (guerrill

methods and terrorism), short-duration conventional militar

operations (referred to euphemistically as “peacetim

contingency operations”), diplomatic activities (peacemaking

and police activities (peacekeeping).3

To bring some order and sense to a chaotic situation, th

Joint Chiefs of Staff published Joint Pub 3-07, Doctrine fo

Joint Operations in Low Intensity Conflict.

4

 This documen

limited the LIC playing field to (1) insurgency an

counterinsurgency, (2) combating terrorism, (3) peacekeeping

and (4) contingency operations. Although helpful in narrowin

the field, the four categories remain too broad for the purpose

of this analysis.

Within the four categories of LIC, one subcategory—

counterinsurgency—has remained particularly troublesom

322
and relevant for airmen. The nature of insurgency challenge

nearly every facet of US airpower theory and makes th

application of traditional airpower theory problematic. Thus

this analysis limits LIC to the insurgency/counterinsurgenc

problem. Although clearly an artificial limitation, it is mos

useful for the purposes sought here.

I have argued that insurgencies —particularly those whos

strategies derive from the classic teachings of Mao Tse-tun

and his many disciples—are fundamentally different from

conventional wars.

5

 Called variously “people’s revolutionar

wars” and somewhat later “protracted revolutionary wars,

insurgencies are revolutionary civil wars that diffe

fundamentally from conventional warfare in at least five ways

The first difference is time. Classically based insurgencies ar

designed to be protracted affairs. In the hands of an insurgen

battling an entrenched government, time becomes a weapon

The longer the insurgency remains in being, the more i

discredits the government trying to stamp it out. The longer th

insurgency remains active, the less the government appears t

be in control of its own destiny: “Time is the condition to be won

to defeat the enemy. In military affairs time is of prim

importance. Time ranks first among the three factors necessar

for victory, coming before terrain and support of the people

Only with time can we defeat the enemy.”6

In contrast, for at least the past two hundred years, th

desire to make wars shorter and victory more decisive ha

driven the development of conventional warfare in the Western

world. Much of the technology and virtually all of th

innovations in strategy and tactics had as their aim mor

decisiveness on the battlefield and thus wars of much shorte

duration and less cost. The development of strategi

bombardment theory is a case in point.

The second fundamental difference has to do with th

remarkable “duality” of classical insurgent strategy

Maoist-based insurgencies have a dual focus—one militar

and one civilian. On the civilian side, the object is to infiltrat

the entire population with insurgent sympathizers who can

undermine the government and spread disaffection. Further

they can aid the military side of the insurgency by gatherin

323
intelligence , recruiting guerrilla fighters, obtaining neede

supplies, and providing funds.

On the military side, the insurgent objective is to haras

government forces; demonstrate the government’s inability t

cope with insurgent forces; and after gaining the upper hand

take on government forces in conventional battles t

administer the coup de grace. As Douglas Pike has pointe

out, this remarkable duality provides the insurgency with 

built-in advantage. The government under siege must win

both the civilian and military struggles. The insurgent mus

win only one. Further, the government faces a dilemma in

resource allocation. Concentrating on the civilian struggl

risks defeat on the battlefield. Concentrating on the militar

struggle allows the civilian part of the insurgency time t

infiltrate deeper and more widely into the population an

governmental structures, perhaps risking a bloodless coup.

Conventional warfare, of course, is a web of military an

nonmilitary aspects—a basic Clausewitzian notion. Rarely in

conventional warfare do we find such a seamless web or such

an interdependence between the two aspects.

The third fundamental difference concerns the tactics use

by insurgent military forces . Guerrilla tactics are certainly no

unique to insurgencies . They have been used by regular force

in large “conventional” wars (Orde Wingate ’s Chindits in th

China-Burma-India theater in World War II) and by partisan

irregulars during the same sorts of conflicts (the Sovie

partisans and the French Maquis operating behind German

lines). These operations, however, remained ancillary to th

main military effort.

Insurgents use guerrilla tactics as their principal method o

military operation—and do so out of necessity. Insurgents ar

the weak fighting the strong—those out of power fighting thos

in power. Insurgents are often outmanned and nearly alway

outgunned. Guerrillas negate superior government firepower b

operating in small, dispersed groups that do not provid

lucrative targets. Guerrilla tactics also allow the insurgents t

“melt away” into the population from which they came. Thu

insurgents generally fight only when they wish to fight.8

The fourth peculiarity of insurgent guerrilla operations ha

to do with logistics. Looking at conventional logistic flow

324
schematically, one finds that the flow of logistic support is in th

same direction as the advance of the troops in the field. Lines o

supply stretch out behind fielded armies to the sources o

supply, in turn creating classic interdiction and strategic target

for airpower. Insurgent guerrillas, however, draw thei

sustenance from the very people they are trying to influenc

through both their military and nonmilitary operations.9 Agai

thinking in schematic terms, insurgent logistical flows ru

opposite from the direction of insurgent military operations. As 

result, airpower’s classical interdiction and strategic attack

missions may be of little value.

Of course, a “less than theoretically pure” insurgency ma

receive some support and logistical assistance from sources o

supply outside the country under siege (much more the cas

for partisans than insurgents). To the extent that insurgent

use outside sources, the more vulnerable they become t

interdiction and to strategic attacks.

The fifth and most important difference between

conventional warfare and protracted revolutionary warfar

concerns centers of gravity for both the government an

insurgent forces. In conventional warfare, although th

identification of an enemy’s center(s) of gravity may prov

difficult, they remain clearly defined for each antagonist. Tha

is, each side will have deployed its forces to protect its cente

of gravity. The enemy’s center of gravity will always be “ove

there” behind enemy lines. The central tenet of Western

military thought for at least the past two hundred years ha

been to attack or put one’s forces in a position to attack an

enemy’s center of gravity, thus either destroying the enemy’s

ability to resist or coercing capitulation.

By contrast, in an insurgency, both antagonists have th

same center of gravity —the people. Neither the government in

power nor the insurgency can long exist without support from

the people. Without some support from the people, or at leas

their neutrality in the struggle, the insurgent undergroun

infrastructure would find itself quickly exposed an

eliminated. With the destruction of the infrastructure, th

insurgency has no political arm, no intelligence apparatus, n

source of military manpower, and no logistical support. At th

same time, no government can survive without th

325
acquiescence of the people—least of all a government actively

opposed by an attractive and aggressive insurgen

movement.10 All of this, of course, brings into question th

applicability of Western military and US airpower theor

advocating the attack of an enemy’s center of gravity b

putting fire and steel on target.

The Rise of Protracted Revolutionary Warfare,

1945–64

Not long after World War II, Western democracies faced th

very different challenge of protracted revolutionary warfare

Many of the difficulties arose in Southeast Asia when th

collapse of Japanese forces created a power vacuum prior t

the return of the colonial powers.

In the Philippines, the Communist-led People’s Anti

Japanese Army quickly changed its name to the People’s

Liberation Army and changed its mission to establishing 

“People’s Democratic Republic by overthrowing American

imperialism.”11 The Huk insurgency was on.

By 1950 the insurgents had 15,000 men under arms

another 80,000 active supporters, and an estimated suppor

base of at least half a million. At one point during that crucia

year, insurgents threatened Manila itself with a force o

10,000. The government did not get the insurgency unde

control until 1954—and only after a shift in strategy tha

made civilian pacification programs (land reform and othe

social welfare reforms) an equal partner with military action.1 

One finds a similar story in Malaya . After the Japanes

surrender, the Communist-dominated Malayan People’

Anti-Japanese Army disbanded but reappeared in a new

guise, bent on throwing out the British. The situation in

Malaya , however, differed significantly from problems faced b

the government of the Philippines and by the French in

Indochina . In the Malayan case, the insurgent movemen

resided almost exclusively in the Chinese population—

ethnically and culturally distinct from the native Malays.1 3

The combined military-civilian campaign waged against th

Malayan insurgents was a strategic masterpiece, and, in

retrospect, the insurgents never came close to winning

326
However, the protracted affair sputtered on through 1958 (th

so-called Year of Mass Surrender)—not formally declare

finished until July 1960.

Meanwhile, the French faced very similar problems in

Vietnam. The Vietminh, who had fought the Japanes

occupation forces, resisted the return of the French an

finally took to the hills to wage a bloody protracte

revolutionary war. Unable to cope with the Vietminh, th

French gave up the attempt after a major defeat at Dien Bien

Phu in 1954. Left in the wake of the French disaster was 

divided Vietnam—the northern half controlled by th

victorious Vietminh and the southern half a rump stat

created from those areas of less pervasive Vietminh influence

The Vietminh would soon turn their attention to uniting all o

Vietnam.

The Unofficial Response

With a significant portion of Asia embroiled in

Communist-backed protracted revolutionary wars during th

late 1940s and much of the 1950s, one would have expected 

significant intellectual response from US airmen. However, th

interests of the US military largely emphasized other area

and other concerns. US airmen focused on organizationa

independence from the US Army and on missions that bes

justified independence (i.e., strategic bombing and, to a lesse

extent, deep interdiction ). Further, airmen were particularly

enamored with nuclear weapons that promised to bring th

concepts of strategic bombing to fruition.

The United States soon became involved in the Korean

conflict, which, although fought with frustrating limitations

was a conventional war. Korea , however, became a sideshow

for the US military. The “real” threat remained in Europe

where the Soviets faced the North Atlantic Treaty Organization

(NATO) with powerful forces and a threatening attitude.

Nor was there much room for thinking about protracte

revolutionary warfare in the years following the Korea

conflict. Europe remained the focal point. Military budge

cutting by the Eisenhower administration played directly int

the hands of people who believed that “atomic airpower” could

327
deter all forms of warfare and, if deterrence failed, could

quickly defeat any enemy. 1 4 Nuclear strategists, nuclea

deterrence theorists, and Strategic Air Command (SAC

dominated US thinking and military forces. In all of this, on

assumed that preparation for global war meant preparation

for wars of lesser magnitude. As demonstrated in th

Philippines, Malaya , and Indochina, the problem was not war

of a lesser kind but wars of a fundamentally different kind.

The struggles in Southeast Asia did spark some interest in

the professional military literature, although far less than th

major themes of “lessons” from World War II and Korea , th

Soviet confrontation in Europe, and nuclear subjects.

French general G. J. M. Chassin , air officer commanding

Far East, published an important article in an English

language journal in late 1952 that dealt exclusively with th

ongoing use of French airpower in Indochina . Although h

failed to address the fundamental differences between

conventional and insurgent warfare, he did offer insight

(prophetically for US airmen a decade hence) into appropriat

command structures, close support and interdiction missions

and the extreme difficulty of finding guerrilla targets:

In the tactical field the chief characteristic of the war in Indochina is

the invisibility of the enemy. . . . Here there are no columns on the

march . . . no convoys of vehicles. . . . Once outside the controlled

zone, there is not a soul to be seen in the fields. When an aircraft flies

over a village, the latter empties itself completely, even the domestic

animals taking cover. It needs an unusual degree of skill and

experience to detect the presence of Vietminh troops in the mountains

and forests, where they live under perfect camouflage.1 5

The professional journal of the US Air Force published only

two significant articles concerning airpower and the ongoin

insurgencies in Southeast Asia during the entire decade of th

1950s. One concerned the Huk rebellion in the Philippines;

1

the other addressed the broader concerns of tactical airpowe

in limited war but included a scathing indictment of th

French use of airpower in Indochina.

1 7 The Philippine articl

addressed broader civil-military issues at the level of overal

strategy but also discussed tactical lessons learned from hard

experience. The article attacking the French airpower effort in

Indochina concentrated on command and control (C 2) issue

328
and failed to give even passing mention to the very differen

kind of war the French faced.

Perhaps the most important document published during th

1950s was a three-volume analysis of the French effor

compiled by the French high command. 18 These remarkabl

volumes contain captured Vietminh documents describin

ways by which their tactics could obviate superior enem

airpower19 and the difficulty of interdicting an enemy wh

required few supplies and relied on a very primitive and easily

repairable logistic transportation system.2 0 Finally, thes

volumes directly called into question the applicability of th

central tenets of American airpower theory, which the French

referred to in these volumes as “the extremist thesis o

Douhetism.”21

The continuing problems in Southeast Asia during the latte

part of the decade and the election of John F. Kennedy to th

presidency in 1960 spurred more interest in insurgencies in

the professional literature.2 2 This was particularly true at Ai

University, Maxwell AFB, Alabama, where a number o

student research papers directly addressed issues related t

airpower and the wars in Southeast Asia .

One of the earliest of these research efforts showed th

influence of the Air Force fascination with nuclear weapons

the author calling for their use to seal off the borders of Lao

and Vietnam . He went on to address the problem of findin

enemy forces who used guerrilla tactics by suggesting the us

of “napalm blankets” to burn off the jungle cover, and th

application of chemical defoliants to kill vegetation too wet t

burn.23 Although the report was extreme in it

recommendation of nuclear weapons, the suggestion fo

defoliation proved prescient, given the Operation Ranchhan

defoliation program that began in January 1962. 2 4

During 1962 and 1963, Air University students produced 

number of insightful research papers concerning US

involvement in Southeast Asia . In general, they all addresse

counterguerrilla uses of airpower, but, in fact, most put th

problem in the broader context of counterinsurgency. The

reflected a general appreciation of the civil-military duality in

protracted revolutionary warfare and an awareness of th

inappropriateness of airpower’s traditional focus.25 One of th

329
studies called into question all firepower missions an

maintained that the supporting roles of airpower (airlift 

psychological operations, etc.) would likely prove mos

important. 26 Others, however, remained sanguine about th

use of aerial firepower against insurgents, even in the difficul

jungle terrain of Southeast Asia : “To moan the lack o

strategic targets or the ability to see tactical targets an

therefore conclude that air power is limited is to overlook th

inherent flexibility of the air vehicle. There is no such thing a

limitations or impossible conditions, only incorrect tactics o

poor employment.”2 7

Articles concerning insurgency in the professional journal

from 1960 through 1964 also increased significantly as US

involvement in Southeast Asia deepened. Remarkably few

however, dealt with the use of airpower. Noted academic

Peter Paret and John W. Shy published perhaps the mos

important article that provided insights into the philosoph

and strategy of protracted revolutionary warfare. Appearing in

the Marine Corps Gazette in January 1962, it provided an

authoritative tour de force on insurgencies and the problem

one faced when combating them.2 8 Unfortunately, the author

paid scant attention to airpower, and the article apparently

received very little attention from Air Force airmen. Th

Gazette and the corps continued their interest in the subjec

with an article on how President Sukarno crushed an

insurgency in Indonesia during 19582 9 and with a four-par

series on the struggle to put down the Huk insurgency.

3 0

Although the Marine Corps showed great interest in

protracted revolutionary warfare, Air Force airmen publishe

very little on the subject in their own professional journals. In

1962 a member of the History Department faculty at the Ai

Force Academy published an article about the use of airpowe

against the Huks,

31 and in late 1963 the Air University Review

carried a short article on using airpower to escort groun

convoy movements in Vietnam.

32 Beyond this meage

showing, the Air Force seemed either supremely unintereste

in the subject or assumed that, in terms of airpower

protracted revolutionary warfare was just conventiona

warfare writ small.

330
The Official Response

In spite of protracted revolutionary wars raging throughou

Southeast Asia from the end of World War II through th

decade of the 1950s, in spite of deepening involvement afte

the election of John F. Kennedy to the presidency, and in spit

of a growing body of literature on the subject, the officia

response of the Air Force was both slow and distinctly muted.

Air Force basic doctrine first appeared in 1953 and change

in 1954, 1955, and 1959. Each version seemed to assum

that the struggles in Southeast Asia did not exist and, for th

most part, that the Korean War had not happened. 3 3 None o

them mentioned terms and concepts such as LIC, protracte

revolutionary warfare, and guerrilla tactics. Not until the 195

edition was the broader concept of limited war even mentione

in basic doctrine.

At lower levels of Air Force doctrine, the story remaine

much the same. For example, the Theater Air Operation

doctrine manual published in 1953 did mention “specia

operations” but only in terms of inserting agents behin

enemy lines, supplying partisans, and delivering propaganda

The version reissued in 1954 made no further elaboration.3 4

Although the “official” Air Force seemed almost mesmerize

by strategic nuclear airpower throughout the 1950s, som

people seemed to recognize that the kinds of struggles seen in

Southeast Asia might require different responses. Fo

example, as early as March 1954, the Air Force vice chief o

staff sent a message to Air University, Tactical Air Comman

(TAC), and Far East Air Forces (FEAF) questioning whether o

not the Air Force could adequately respond to the challeng

presented by Ho Chi Minh , implying that the Air Force could

fight only a major war.35

The first concrete actions taken in response to the threat o

protracted revolutionary warfare included the establishment o

the 4400th Combat Crew Training Squadron (CCTS) at Eglin

AFB, Florida, in April 1961, followed by its absorption into th

newer and larger Special Air Warfare Center at the sam

location in April 1962. Both actions came only after direc

prodding by the Kennedy administration, which considere

the threat of insurgent warfare very real.

331
The 4400th CCTS , nicknamed Jungle Jim , trained foreign

airmen and at the same time developed appropriat

counterinsurgency tactics and techniques. In late 1961

Jungle Jim elements deployed to Vietnam in Operation

Farmgate . The Special Air Warfare Center had essentially th

same mission as Jungle Jim but was considerably larger an

better organized to develop specialized tactics, techniques

and procedures. 36

At the same time (April 1962), Gen Curtis E. LeMay, Ai

Force chief of staff, took official notice of the buddin

insurgency/ guerrilla warfare problem in the publication Ai

Force Information Policy Letter for Commanders . Here, h

discussed not only the ability of airpower to concentrat

firepower quickly but also other advantages that airpowe

could bring to such struggles:

Air forces also are essential in the fast transport and resupply of

counterinsurgent forces, as well as in providing reconnaissance, leaflet

delivery and defense against insurgent air activities. To the central

government of the nation under insurgent attack, airpower provides

quick access to all parts of the country so it can maintain civic morale

and stability through personal contact.

I would like to see you familiarize yourself with the literature on this

form of warfare. . . . And also remember these two facts: (1) general

war poses the primary military threat to the security of the Free World

and (2) it is under the umbrella of strategic superiority that the United

States has freedom of maneuver in the lesser forms of conflict.37

Two things are striking about this policy letter. First, th

broad approach taken to the value of airpower in other than

firepower roles is unusual, especially coming from the airman

most closely associated with strategic bombing doctrine

nuclear weapons, and SAC . The second notable point is th

continuing reference to strategic superiority and freedom o

maneuver in “lesser” wars rather than “different” wars. Even

at this late date, with personnel already deployed to Vietnam

in the Farmgate program, the Air Force still regarde

insurgent warfare as a lesser, rather than fundamentally

different, form of warfare.

On 21 September 1962, Brig Gen Gilbert L. Pritchard 

commandant of the new Special Air Warfare Center, spoke a

a symposium on limited war and counterinsurgency held a

332
part of the Air Force Association national convention. Late

published by the Air Force , Pritchard’s speech provided an

accurate primer on the classic concepts of insurgent warfar

and called for the close coordination and cooperation o

airpower with other forms of military power and with

nonmilitary government agencies in a comprehensive an

integrated campaign—including civic actions an

“nation-building.”38 Personnel at the Special Air Warfar

Center were doing their homework.

Just as clearly, interest by US airmen in insurgency an

counterinsurgency began to grow. The establishment of th

Special Air Warfare Center, the publication of information

policy letters, the symposium held by the Air Forc

Association , and the ever-deepening involvement of the Unite

States in the struggle for Vietnam culminated in a new Ai

Force basic doctrine manual in August 1964.

Given the fact that previous basic doctrine manuals had failed

even to broach the subject of insurgency, this document wa

remarkable. In one short chapter, the new manual provided 

very accurate description of insurgent warfare and the objective

of counterinsurgency. In terms of airpower, it described bot

firepower and nonfirepower missions, as well as some of th

difficulties in interdicting guerrilla lines of supply.39

However, in terms of the war that the Air Force was about t

enter, the scant two pages devoted to counterinsurgency ha

the flavor of “too little, too late.” The manual devoted a full 1

pages to air operations in general and tactical nuclear warfare

another two pages addressed conventional air operations

Although the Air Force recognized insurgency an

counterinsurgency, the emphasis in its doctrine (and b

inference, its thinking and theory) remained where it had been

since the advent of nuclear weapons and the creation of th

independent Air Force.

The Vietnam War and Its Aftermath,

1965–80

The war in Vietnam was a watershed event that tore at th

social fabric of the nation and bred distrust of th

government. It proved no less traumatic for the US Air Force

333
Even though some American airmen had given seriou

thought to the unique problems of protracted revolutionar

warfare, it quickly became clear that they remained firmly

wedded to the theory of strategic attack on an enemy’s vita

centers to produce victory.

When planning for full-scale intervention by US airpowe

began, it focused on North Vietnam rather than the struggle in

the South. The original Air Force plan called for a classi

strategic bombing campaign against the so-called 94-target lis

designed, among other things, to destroy “North Vietnam 

capacity to continue as an industrially viable state.”4 0 Such wa

not to be, at least not to the degree that US airmen envisioned

an aerial “blitzkrieg” against North Vietnam. Fears of escalation 

Chinese intervention, and even nuclear confrontation with th

Soviet Union convinced the political leadership that a “slow

squeeze” was more appropriate than aerial blitzkrieg.4 1

This produced the “Rolling Thunder ” bombing campaign

which would last from early 1965 until the fall of 1968

During that time, US aircraft would attack all of the origina

94 targets in a campaign controlled directly from the Whit

House and conducted more to send signals of strength an

resolve to the North Vietnamese than to destroy North

Vietnam as “an industrially viable state.” Airmen chafed unde

the tight political controls, restrictions, and lengthy bombin

pauses designed to entice the enemy to the negotiating table.

Airmen argued that because of all the political restriction

and bombing pauses, the bombing of the North did no

constitute a test of traditional airpower theory. Critics argue

that a traditional strategic bombing campaign was no

appropriate. In their view, the situation lacked the majo

assumptions behind strategic bombing theory. The struggl

was not a war to overthrow and destroy the North Vietnamese

and North Vietnam was not a modern industrialized state. 42

Ironically, strategic bombing advocates believed that thei

vindication lay in the two Linebacker air campaigns waged in

1972. In the first campaign, both strategic and tactical uses o

airpower played a significant, perhaps even decisive, role in

defeating the North Vietnamese “Easter offensive .” In

December of that year, President Richard Nixon turned

airmen loose to bomb previously restricted targets—includin

334
targets in Hanoi and Haiphong—in Linebacker 2. Shortly afte

this concentrated 11-day bombing campaign, the North

Vietnamese agreed to a cease-fire and the return of US

prisoners of war—a clear sign to many airmen that, had th

politicians turned airmen loose earlier, they could hav

completed the struggle in Vietnam quickly and successfully.

The Unofficial Response

One of the earliest responses by an American airman cam

with the publication of an important book by Maj Joh

Pustay, a member of the US Air Force Academy faculty

Pustay devoted an entire chapter to air operations in such

conflicts, drawing heavily on the experiences of the British in

Malaya , the French in Vietnam , and reports from US advisor

in Vietnam. Pustay paid particular attention to th

nonfirepower missions. As to firepower missions, he explaine

why aircraft should be able to fly low and slow and why the

would be well served to have a second crew member fo

spotting fleeting guerrilla targets in difficult terrain.4 3

At about the same time that Pustay published his book, th

Aerospace Studies Institute at Air University completed a stud

on the French use of airpower against guerrilla forces in Algeri

between 1954 and 1964. Although far from exhaustive an

relying on mostly secondary sources, the study did provide a

least one prophetic insight when the authors noted, “If the caus

of an insurgency is not, or cannot be, erased, then the bes

military effort will probably be defeated in the long run.”44

Perhaps the most important article published in th

professional military literature in 1965 was a lecture delivere

by Bernard Fall at the Naval War College . It provide

extremely lucid insights into the nature of protracted

revolutionary warfare that should have caused all US militar

leaders to reflect on the “American way of war” in th

Vietnamese context. 4 5

In retrospect, it seems amazing that a survey of th

American military literature reveals an almost total absence o

articles and books that dealt directly with the use of airpowe

in counterinsurgencies between the spring of 1965 and th

335
spring of 1967. Nor did the situation improve significantly fo

the remainder of the decade.

However, in April 1967 Maj Gen Rollen H. Anthis wrote an

article for Air Force Magazine that displayed both considerable

insight and considerable weakness of military thought

Anthis , the former commander of 2d Air Division (late

redesignated Seventh Air Force ) in South Vietnam from 196

to 1964, defended the use of airpower in Vietnam against it

critics. He cited the ability of airpower to find the enemy

transport troops and supplies to vital points, provide firepowe

to outposts under siege, maintain government lines o

communications (LOC) and supply, and harass enem

guerrilla forces. However, he failed to mention the importanc

of the nonmilitary side of insurgent operations and th

importance of integrating military and nonmilitar

counterinsurgent operations. 46

An Air War College student research paper of 1967 provide

a more balanced view of airpower in counterinsurgen

operations. Col Robert L. Hardie ’s study emphasized the dua

nature of insurgent warfare and the requirement to integrat

military and nonmilitary counterinsurgent operations

Drawing on the writings of insurgent war theorists as well a

the experience of the British in Malaya and the French in

Algeria, Hardie provided considerable evidence that the prope

use of airpower would depend upon the phase of insurgen

operations. 47 Hardie’s paper is significant, for it represents th

first example of a serious attempt to link insurgency theor

and experience directly to air operations. However, it was th

only such example found in the US professional literatur

until the decade of the 1980s.

As to the remainder of the 1960s, two other items in th

professional periodical literature are worth noting. The firs

article, written by a civilian historian working at Headquarter

SAC , touted the effectiveness of the B-52 bomber in counterin

guerrilla forces.48 The second, from Great Britain , provided th

first indication in the literature that aircraft on the ground wer

particularly lucrative targets for guerrilla operations and tha

this vulnerability would be a difficult problem to solve.4 9

Although the professional journals contained few articles on

airpower and protracted revolutionary warfare and although

336
Air University published little in the way of serious research

on the subject, civilian publishing houses provided a numbe

of books during the 1960s that should have made it clear t

airmen that the kind of warfare waged in Vietnam was ver

different from the nuclear or conventional war paradigm

reflected in US Air Force doctrine. Unfortunately, these book

dealt with airpower only tangentially.5 0

If the response by American airmen in professional militar

journals was sparse in the mid- and late 1960s, it was almos

nonexistent during the 1970s. The seriously mixed feeling

about the denouement of US combat involvement in Vietnam

the unfortunate final outcome of the struggle in 1975, th

desire to put the entire experience to rest, the perceived nee

to refocus on the Soviet threat, and a variety of other factor

combined to limit debate and research about airpower in

protracted revolutionary warfare.

51

The professional military journals in Great Britain had bette

luck in publication during the 1970s, but few of the article

dealt with the basics of airpower theory and doctrine i

protracted revolutionary war. Rather, they recounted historica

episodes or dealt with airpower very much at the tactical level.5 2

The publication in Great Britain in 1970 of the Royal Ai

Force (RAF) official history of the Malayan Emergency should

have been far more important. It laid out in detail—an

remarkable objectivity—RAF contributions to the successfu

counterinsurgent operations.53 No evidence indicates that thi

volume had a significant impact in the United States.

The commercial press boasted a wealth of book-length

literature during the 1970s. 5 4 These offerings included th

first memoirs of senior military leaders involved in th

Vietnamese struggle. 5 5 Unfortunately, they shed little rea

light on the use of airpower in counterinsurgency o

protracted revolutionary warfare. This was particularly

disappointing in the cases of Gen Edward Lansdale and Gen

William Momyer . Lansdale served as an advisor in both th

Philippines and Vietnam , but his book says little about th

use of airpower in those conflicts.

Momyer, who commanded Seventh Air Force in Vietnam

until 1968, produced an excellent operational history of th

air war in Vietnam but stayed away from in-depth analysis o

337
the peculiarities of airpower in that struggle. In his fina

chapter, however, he did draw some “lessons” about C2 (th

continuing validity of centralized control of airpower under 

single theater air component commander), counterai

operations (“the contest for air superiority is the mos

important contest of all”), interdiction (“we must focus . . 

upon the most vital supply targets: factories, power plants

refineries, marshaling yards, and the transportation lines tha

carry bulk goods”), and close air support (“the tactical ai

control system must be very responsive”).5 6 In fact, all of thes

“lessons” were reaffirmations of traditional views and could

have come from the history of a conventional war.

The Official Response

The first doctrinal response appeared in March 1967 with

the publication of an Air Force manual exclusively devoted t

“special air warfare.”5 7 A remarkably perceptive document

AFM 2-5, Tactical Air Operations Special Air Warfare, define

special air warfare as a rubric for the air aspects o

psychological operations (PSYOP), counterinsurgency, an

unconventional warfare.

58 The manual clearly indicated tha

military and nonmilitary counterinsurgency actions must b

totally intertwined and mutually supporting, and called for th

establishment of a “country team” (including representative

of the diplomatic mission, other civilian aid and information

agencies in-country, the military assistance advisory group

the unified military command, and the military componen

commands) to establish and direct a unified strategy. 59

The manual went on to indicate that the military portion o

the strategy must vary by the phases of the insurgency (a

obvious but unstated reference to classic protracte

revolutionary war theory) and that within these phases

special air warfare actions would range from nation-buildin

efforts to open combat.6 0 It stressed the difficulty of targe

identification during combat—separating friend from foe. Thi

was a crucial point because “military actions by friendly unit

which kill or injure innocent civilians can lose the loyalty of an

otherwise friendly village.”6 1 Again, this reference pertains t

classic insurgent theory and the fact that both sides in an

338
insurgency have the same center of gravity (the people) an

that their objective is to capture the support of the population

Unfortunately, the publication of AFM 2-5 did not establish 

trend. By September 1971, when a new edition of Air Forc

basic doctrine appeared, the so-called Vietnamization of the wa

in Southeast Asia was well under way; most US combat force

had withdrawn; and the war itself had begun to take on th

character of a conventional conflict. Interest began shifting back

to the pressing problems of confronting potential Communis

aggression in the more familiar climes of Europe and Korea .

The new basic doctrinal manual now devoted its fina

chapter not to the use of airpower in counterinsurgency, bu

to the broader subject of Air Force special operations. Thi

new rubric, intended to replace “special air warfare” used in

the 1967 version of AFM 2-5, introduced yet another new

term, foreign internal defense, by which the manual writer

meant counterinsurgency .

6 2

In the scant one-and-one-half page chapter devoted t

special operations, foreign internal defense rated only on

paragraph. It did, however, reinforce the notion introduced in

1967 that one must closely coordinate air operations with civ

actions as well as surface operations in a coordinated

military-civilian campaign to eliminate the causes of popula

disaffection and build a sense of national unity.

During the remainder of this period, doctrinal interest in

protracted revolutionary conflicts declined, at least in terms o

basic doctrine. The Air Force republished the basic doctrin

manual in January 1975, retaining only two generalize

subparagraphs (one pertaining to special operations and th

other to subtheater and localized conflicts). 63 The same sort o

very brief, very generalized treatment of insurgency-relate

topics carried forward to the 1979 edition.64

Intellectual Fervor and Official Disdain,

1980–94

The period beginning in 1980 and extending to the presen

writing has been a study in contrasts. On the one hand

enough time had passed since the trauma of the Vietnam

experience that more balanced and objective analyses of th

339
war began to appear from the pens of both civilian an

military analysts. Ongoing events further spurred interest in

limited warfare, LICs, and protracted revolutionary warfare

The mujahideen ’s protracted guerrilla struggle against Sovie

occupation of Afghanistan became of great interest. Closer t

home, insurgent movements in El Salvador and Nicaragu

and continuing guerrilla struggles in Guatemala and Peru

captured one’s attention. Other protracted struggles in th

Philippines and Sub-Saharan Africa helped prompt th

outpouring of research literature in the civilian and militar

press. During much of this period, LIC and, more specifically

protracted revolutionary warfare remained “hot” topics

thought by many people to presage the future.6 5

On the other hand, the official response of the Air Forc

reflected confusion and disdain. At one level, the Air Forc

made significant progress toward an airpower theory tha

included protracted revolutionary warfare. At another level

the service ignored and contradicted that theory. The result

as of this writing, is confusion.

The Unofficial Response

Compared to that of previous periods, the literature on

protracted revolutionary warfare was extensive. Importantly

analysts reached consensus about (1) the nature of LIC , (2

the general outlines of counterinsurgency strategy, (3) th

airpower technology required, and (4) the role of airpower in

the military portion of a counterinsurgency strategy.

Deryck Eller, Rod Paschall, Thomas Hammes, William

Olson , Larry Cable, and I all came to the conclusion that LIC

really means protracted revolutionary warfare (insurgency) or

at least within the low intensity field, that insurgency should

remain the central consideration of policy makers and th

military. 6 6 This conclusion is in line with the notions of Sam

C. Sarkesian, who noted that the “substantive dimensions o

such conflicts evolve primarily from revolutionary an

counterrevolutionary strategy and causes. . . . Limite

conventional wars and acts of terrorism are outside th

boundaries of low-intensity conflicts. Revolution an

counterrevolution are the major categories.”67

340
Prescriptively, these authors also demonstrated large area

of consensus. First, virtually all agreed that increasing th

legitimacy of the government under siege was the key t

successful counterinsurgency. Accordingly, the governmen

must secure the population from rebel threats and addres

the sources of insurgent dissatisfaction.68 To reach thes

goals, the government must cut across traditional lines o

authority and responsibility to produce a mutually reinforcin

interagency effort. Further, almost all the authors agreed tha

the military portion of the struggle must minimize lethality in

order to minimize collateral damage. The objective of militar

operations is not so much to kill insurgents as it is to coerc

them and destroy their political will.

However, both Grant Hammond and Cable emphasized tha

counterinsurgency is not some sort of sociopolitica

experiment. Hammond declared that we must see it for what i

is—war, albeit very different from traditional notions o

warfare.6 9 Cable reminded his readers of the “simple fact tha

once armed insurgency has commenced, it becomes th

functional equivalent of a total war of national survival in

which only one of the two contenders for power will be extan

at war’s end.”7 0

Airmen voiced considerable interest and consensus in th

airpower technology required in such conflicts.71 They nearly

universally agreed that very sophisticated aircraft with

attributes suitable for employment in high-speed conventiona

warfare are inappropriate and often ineffective in operation

against enemy forces using guerrilla tactics, particularly in

complex surface environments such as jungles. Jerom

Klingaman summed up the problem by saying that “visual

aerial reconnaissance and surveillance of the guerrill

operating area is most effective when conducted at low

altitude (below 1500 feet) and at low speed (under 125 knots)

The effectiveness of visual surveillance deteriorates rapidly

above these limits. Very few jet pilots actually saw a human

target during the war in Southeast Asia .”72

Further, the authors nearly universally agreed about th

utility of the helicopter , including the armed helicopter, fo

many important roles. However, several of them expresse

concern about slow, low-flying aircraft (whether fixed or rotar

341
wing) in light of the development of effective shoulder-fire

surface-to-air missiles (SAM). The Soviet experience in

Afghanistan proved particularly enlightening insofar as thes

missiles seemed to change the entire character of the air wa

against the mujahideen rebels. As Aaron Karp noted, “Th

Stinger has quickly become the most celebrated rebel weapon

of the West. Soviet Mi-24 Hind gunships, once the scourge o

the battlefield, have now become the quarry.”7 3

The right technology was only part of the problem for airmen

Best use of that equipment in a comprehensive strateg

presented a problem that had not previously received extensiv

attention. During this period, much of the literature attempted

at least in part, to examine the theoretical side of airpowe

employment in counterinsurgent operations.74 David Dean, fo

example, noted that “low-intensity conflict needs to b

considered in terms of assistance, integration of forces, an

intervention.”7 5 Writing in the mid-1980s, Dean focused on

using special operations forces rather than the whole Air Force .

Olson took a broader view, extending well beyond specia

operations. He noted, for example, that traditional tactica

airpower doctrine is inappropriate for counterinsurgencies

“Tactical air doctrine and the attending force structure ar

designed for conventional wars against conventional enemies

In most low-intensity conflict situations, control of the air i

established by default, while isolation of the battlefield, wher

there are few and fleeting fixed battles, is a non sequitur.”7 6

Olson went on to claim that airpower is most useful in

supporting roles such as reconnaissance, troop transport

resupply, and presence. 77 John Green agrees that thes

noncombat roles are central to the contribution of airpowe

but maintains that close air support and possibly clos

interdiction can prove crucial if enemy guerrilla forces eithe

attack isolated friendly forces or if one can fix them and forc

them to stand and fight.7 8

Drawing on the extensive literature of the RAF role in th

Malayan Emergency, I agreed that the supporting roles o

airpower are important—so important that to call them

supporting is difficult. The utility of the traditional role o

delivering firepower was controversial in Malaya and ha

remained so. However, technological advances in deliverin

342
aerial firepower may make it much more useful than the RAF

found it to be. The key to the effective use of airpower in 

counterinsurgent role, however, remains the total integration

of the airpower role in the overall military campaign—and th

total integration of the military campaign in the overal

politico-military struggle. In many ways, the military portion

of the struggle is the least important element of the effort.7 9

David Parsons produced the most innovative an

comprehensive theoretical approach but came to many of th

same conclusions as the authors previously cited. Using 

relatively obscure essay published in 1970 by Nathan Leites an

Charles Wolf Jr. as a framework, 80 Parsons produced both 

general philosophical approach to counterinsurgency and th

role of airpower in such efforts. According to Parsons, Leites an

Wolf characterized an insurgency as a system of inputs

conversions, and outputs—all three of which form centers o

gravity for an insurgent movement. A comprehensiv

counterinsurgent campaign must perform four functions

interdict inputs, disrupt the conversion process, reduce outputs

and build a government’s capability to resist.81

Although military forces can prove useful in performing al

four functions, their primary role lies in reducing outputs in th

form of insurgent military forces, particularly their leadership

cadre. In this role, conducting reconnaissance , maintaining ai

LOC, and flying close air support are most effective. However

airpower, in the form of PSYOP, can also be an effective tool i

disrupting the conversion process—and the maintenance of ai

LOC can be crucial to building a government’s legitimacy an

capacity to resist the insurgent movement.82

Airmen concerned with protracted revolutionary warfar

and other forms of LIC also experienced one sever

disappointment during this period. Critics hailed The Ai

Campaign: Planning for Combat (1988) by Col John M. Warden

III as the most significant theoretical work on airpower sinc

the days of Billy Mitchell. Unfortunately, Warden addresse

only conventional warfare and failed even to acknowledge th

fundamental differences between conventional warfare an

protracted revolutionary warfare.

83 The fact that Warden’

subsequent writings have also ignored the subject i

particularly unfortunate because his influence has become s

343
pronounced within the Air Force . As one of the architects o

the air campaign against Iraq in the Gulf War an

subsequently as the commandant of Air Command and Staf

College at Maxwell AFB, his stature as an authority on

airpower theory has grown significantly, and his influenc

over an entire generation of Air Force officers is enormous.8 4

The Official Response

With the introduction of a new basic doctrine manual date

16 March 1984, LIC had all but disappeared, save for tw

generalized paragraphs on special operations. But much mor

positive actions that held the promise of developing a theory o

airpower applicable to protracted revolutionary warfar

quickly overwhelmed this “slow start.”

In 1985 the Air War College ’s annual Airpower Symposium

at Maxwell AFB focused on LIC. Also in the mid-1980s, the Ai

Force established a Center for Low Intensity Conflict (which

quickly became an Army–Air Force venture) and took part in 

Joint Low Intensity Conflict Project sponsored by the Army’

Training and Doctrine Command. Each of these development

represented growing interest in the subject, although th

latter two developments produced nothing useful in terms o

airpower theory. 85

A major step forward was the publication in December 199

of an Army–Air Force pamphlet devoted to LIC.

8 6 It introduce

the internal defense and development (IDAD) strategy as th

basis for all actions (military and civilian) within the LIC aren

and brought together most of the concepts generally agree

upon in the professional literature over the previous 30 years

The pamphlet, however, presents its subject at a level o

abstraction that precludes specifics about the use of airpower

For example, appendix E, “A Guide to Counterinsurgenc

Operations,” includes only one sentence about airpower.8 7

The IDAD strategy, which blends interdependen

civil-military functions, was the most comprehensive plan ye

seen in official literature for preventing or defeatin

insurgencies. Its four functions—balanced development

mobilization of resources, population security, an

neutralization of insurgents—provided the framework for 

344
comprehensive doctrinal statement about airpower in

counterinsurgency operations that appeared two years later.

On 3 November 1992, the US Air Force published it

operational-level doctrine for foreign internal defense (by now

the accepted terminology for counterinsurgency) within th

IDAD strategy framework.8 8 In chapter three of the manua

appeared two paragraphs that represented the culmination o

more than 30 years of field experience, unofficial professiona

literature as well as official publications, symposia, and the like

The first of these two paragraphs discussed priorit

operations for airpower during the development an

mobilization functions of the IDAD strategy: “Where groun

lines of communication cannot be established and maintaine

because of terrain or enemy presence, aerial logistic an

communication networks carrying information, supplies, an

services to civilian elements establish a critical link between

the government and the population.”89

The second paragraph addressed priority of operations fo

airpower during the security and neutralization functions

“Insurgents generally possess no air capabilities . . . have n

heartland, no fixed industrial facilities, and few interdictabl

LOC. . . . Their irregular forces are deployed in small unit

that . . . usually present poor targets for air attack. In such

cases, air support for security and neutralization should b

used primarily to inform, deploy, sustain, and reinforc

surface elements of the internal security force.”90

These paragraphs constituted more than a statement o

operational doctrine. They embodied airpower theory stated in

the best traditions of the early airpower theorists. Like th

kind of warfare with which they deal, these paragraphs stan

conventional airpower theory on its ear.

Thus by 1992 airmen had made considerable progress in

modifying traditional airpower theory to the special case o

insurgency or protracted revolutionary warfare. However

during the 1980s and early 1990s, while these events wer

taking place, a very different chain of events that would stifl

and confuse the progress was also under way.

The perceived importance of protracted revolutionar

warfare was far from universal. A significant number o

military officers—many of them very senior—believed for on

345
reason or another that special attention to such

“unconventional” strategies was ill advised and perhap

counterproductive. For example, in the mid-1980s a ver

senior Air Force general officer told me that the Air Forc

should not be distracted by “those kind of wars” (insurgencies 

since we can always just “muddle through.” Rather, we should

concentrate on wars “that can eat our bacon.”

Eventually, the belief by some senior officers that protracte

revolutionary warfare was ordinary, unimportant, o

counterproductive from the standpoint of airpower, eliminate

discussion of the subject from the highest level of Air Forc

doctrine—AFM 1-1, Basic Aerospace Doctrine of the Unite

States Air Force (1992). The theory so painstakingly develope

thus languished at lower levels in an obscure manual o

operational doctrine—namely, the aforementioned AFM

2-11. 91 In fact, at one point the basic doctrine of 1992 appear

to contradict directly the theory promulgated in AFM 2-11

Specifically, AFM 2-11 notes that insurgents “have n

heartland, no fixed industrial facilities, and few interdictabl

LOC,”92 whereas AFM 1-1 declares that “any enemy with th

capacity to be a threat is likely to have strategic vulnerabilitie

susceptible to air attack.”9 3

Conclusion

US airmen have long been known for their fascination with

technology and the mental toughness required to press hom

a bombing attack against fierce resistance or to outduel an

enemy fighter. But they have never been known for thei

academic inquisitiveness, their devotion to the study of the ar

of war, or their contributions to the theory of airpower

Instead, American airmen have remained “doers” rather than

introspective “thinkers.”

Nowhere was that more evident than in the US Air Forc

approach to the problem of protracted revolutionary warfare

Wedded to the concept of “atomic airpower ” (and its power t

justify an independent Air Force) during the 1950s and early

1960s, American airmen virtually ignored the problem o

insurgent warfare until they entered the Vietnam War.

346
After the United States withdrew from Vietnam, bitte

memories, confusion about the impact of strategic bombing on

the war’s end, disagreement over the very nature of th

conflict, and the continuing Soviet threat made it all too eas

for US airmen to push the unsettled enigma of protracte

warfare into the background. Retreating to the familia

problems of strategic nuclear warfare and conventiona

warfare in Europe seemed much more comfortable.

But the problem would not go away. Afghanistan , E

Salvador, Guatemala , Peru , and other trouble spots forced th

subject to the surface in the 1980s, and some airmen began t

seriously investigate the peculiarities of airpower application

in insurgent warfare. They succeeded in producing a concise

well-reasoned modification of traditional airpower theor

based on the consensus developed over nearly 40 years o

experience, research, and publication.

Unfortunately, the doctrine they developed has not had th

impact it deserves. It remains buried in an obscur

operational-level doctrinal manual that few people know exist

and even fewer have ever read. Basic Air Force doctrine, th

capstone of Air Force airpower theory, remains virtually

unaffected at best and contradictory at worst. Most importantly

however, the theory so painstakingly developed—the one tha

airmen may need to deal with the post-cold-war world—remain

largely unknown.

In the grand scheme of things, the four-decade journey from

the grandiose theory of strategic bombardment and atomi

airpower to the subtle complexities of protracted revolutionar

warfare has been quite short. Unfortunately for America

airmen, the journey has ended in contradiction and confusion.

Notes

1. For example, see Richard E. Simpkin, Race to the Swift (London

Brassey’s Defence Publishers, 1985), chap. 18; and Martin van Creveld, Th

Transformation of War (New York: Free Press, 1991), particularly his shor

chapter entitled “Postscript: The Shape of Things to Come.”

2. Doctrine has many functions, but one can adequately define it as 

“framework for understanding how to apply military power. It is wha

history has taught us works in war, as well as what does not.” US Air Forc

basic doctrine is officially described as “what we have learned abou

347
aerospace power and its application since the dawn of powered flight

 and 

“broad conceptual basis for our understanding of war, human nature, an

aerospace power.” Finally, it is officially described as “the starting point fo

solving contemporary problems.” Air Force Manual (AFM) 1-1, Basi

Aerospace Doctrine of the United States Air Force, vol. 1, March 1992, v, vi

Although doctrine may not fulfill all of the requirements of a forma

academic definition of theory, it fulfills most of the same functions and i

that sense forms a “poor man’s” theory of airpower.

3. The Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) define low intensity conflict a

“political-military confrontation between contending states or groups below

conventional war and above the routine, peaceful competition among states

It frequently involves protracted struggles of competing principles an

ideologies. Low intensity conflict ranges from subversion to the use o

armed force. It is waged by a combination of means employing political

economic, informational, and military instruments. Low intensity conflict

are often localized, generally in the Third World, but contain regional an

global security implications” (emphasis added). Such a broad definitio

lends itself to the inclusion of a wide variety of activities, especially sinc

the upper boundary (conventional war) is not defined by the JCS. Joint Pu

1-02, Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms, 2

March 1994, 222.

4. Joint Pub 3-07, Doctrine for Joint Operations in Low Intensity Conflic

October 1990.

5. Col Dennis M. Drew, “Insurgency and Counterinsurgency: America

Military Dilemmas and Doctrinal Proposals,” CADRE Papers, no

AU-ARI-CP-88-1 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, March 1988).

6. Ho Chi Minh, quoted in Douglas Pike, PAVN: People’s Army of Vietna

(Novato, Calif.: Presidio Press, 1986), 219.

7. Ibid., 222–30. The Vietnamese called their version of this dua

strategy “dau tranh.” Pike also notes that “the basic objective in dau tran

strategy is to put armed conflict into the context of political dissidence. . . 

Conceptually they cannot be separated. Dau tranh is a seamless web

Ibid., 233.

8. Between 1965 and 1968 in the Vietnam conflict, 75 percent of all th

battles occurred at the insurgents’ choice of time, place, and duration

Further, fewer than 1 percent of the nearly 2 million allied small-un

offensive operations resulted in any contact with the enemy. See W. Sco

Thompson and Donaldson D. Frizzell, The Lessons of Vietnam (New York

Crane, Russak, 1977), 92, which quotes a national security stud

memorandum of 1968 to this effect.

9. To my knowledge, the first person to point out this logistic

phenomenon was Sir Robert Thompson, the British expert o

counterinsurgent warfare. See his book No Exit from Vietnam (New York

David McKay, 1970), 32–34.

10. Drew, 18–19.

348
11. Communist Party of the Philippines Secretariat, memorandum to th

Central Committee, quoted in Lt Col Tomas C. Tirona, “The Philippin

Anti-Communist Campaign,” Air University Quarterly Review, Summe

1954, 42–55.

12. Ibid., 46–52.

13. Daniel S. Challis, “Counterinsurgency Success in Malaya,” Militar

Review, February 1987, 57.

14. In 1957 Secretary of Defense Charles Wilson testified befor

Congress that the “capability to deter large wars also serves to deter smal

wars.” The following year, Wilson told the Congress, “There is very littl

money in the budget . . . for the procurement of so-called conventiona

weapons. . . . We are depending on atomic weapons for the defense of th

Nation.” Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinking i

the United States Air Force, vol. 1, 1907–1960 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: A

University Press, December 1989), 454, 459.

15. G. J. M. Chassin, “Lessons of the War in Indochina,” Interavia 

(1952): 670–75.

16. Tirona.

17. William M. Reid, “Tactical Air in Limited War,” Air Universit

Quarterly Review, Spring 1956, 40–48.

18. The first volume, written by the Instruction Bureau of Commande

in Chief Indochina, was entitled Notes on Combat in Indo-China (1954). Th

second volume, written by the Supreme Command Far East, was entitle

Lessons from the Indo-China War, vol. 2 (1955). The third volume

apparently also written by the Supreme Command Far East, was entitle

Lessons from the Indo-China War, vol. 3 (ca. 1955–1956). It is unclear whe

the English translations of these documents became available to the U

military. The Defense Documentation Center did not receive copies until 

January 1967. Not requesting and/or receiving copies prior to 1967 woul

represent a major failure of the US military to tap into the knowledge an

experience of a major NATO ally.

19 . Notes on Combat, 34. This Vietminh document accurately describe

what later became known as “clinging to the enemy’s belt”—that is

remaining so close to the enemy that both airpower and distant, heav

artillery fires become unusable.

20. Lessons from the Indo-China War, vol. 2, 297–98; and vol. 3, 32–37.

21. Lessons from the Indo-China War, vol. 3, 38.

22. Many people viewed Kennedy’s inaugural address, which promise

to “fight any fight, bear any burden,” as a sign that the United States woul

become much more heavily involved in wars such as those ongoing i

Southeast Asia.

23. Richard E. Stanley, “A Concept of Anti-Guerrilla Operations i

Indo-China” (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air Command and Staff College, Apri

1961), 44–54.

24. Guenter Lewy, America in Vietnam (New York: Oxford Universi

Press, 1978), 257. However, Lewy also notes that the British had made us

349
of defoliants in Malaya and that the United States began testing defoliant

as early as 1958.

25. See the following unpublished research papers: William R. Becker

“Air Power in the Fight against Guerrillas” (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Ai

Command and Staff College, 7 May 1962); John L. Phipps, “Basic Problem

in Counter-Guerrilla Air Operations” (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air Command an

Staff College, 7 May 1962); William C. Lockett Jr., “COIN in the Air: A Stud

of the Role of Airpower in Counterinsurgency” (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: A

Command and Staff College, 22 April 1963); and Rupert L. Selman, “Wha

Operational Concepts Should Govern the Use of Tactical Air Forces i

Guerrilla War?” (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air War College, April 1963).

26. Lockett states that “normally, there are no strategic targets, n

opposition to air superiority, and very few tactical targets. Therefore, ai

operations are primarily involved with indirect support of ground forces

(page 54).

27. Becker, 91.

28. Peter Paret and John W. Shy, “Guerrilla War and U.S. Militar

Policy: A Study,” Marine Corps Gazette, January 1962, 24–32.

29. D. G. Loomis, “Counter-Insurgent Operations in Indonesia-1958

Marine Corps Gazette, October 1962, 34–41.

30. N. D. Valeriano and C. T. R. Bohannon, “The Philippine Experience

Marine Corps Gazette, September 1963, 19–24; October 1963, 42–45

November 1963, 46–51; and December 1963, 41–43.

31. William J. Thorpe, “HUK Hunting in the Philippines, 1946–1953

The Airpower Historian, April 1962, 95–100.

32. James F. Sunderman, “Air Escort—A COIN Technique,” A

University Review, November–December 1963, 68–73.

33 . AFM 1-2, United States Air Force Basic Doctrine, 1953, 1954, Apri

1955, and December 1959. The next issue of the basic doctrine manua

(AFM 1-1) did not appear until fall 1964.

34. AFM 1-3, Theater Air Operations, September 1953 and April 1954

The next edition of this manual (AFM 2-1) did not appear until June 1965.

35. Message, DTG 302128Z, vice chief of staff, Headquarters USAF

March 1954, as quoted in David J. Dean, The Air Force Role in Low-Intensit

Conflict (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, October 1986), 87.

36. Dean, 87–94; and Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine

Basic Thinking in the United States Air Force, vol. 2, 1961–1984 (Maxwe

AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, December 1989), 257–58.

37. Curtis E. LeMay, “Airpower in Guerrilla Warfare,” Air Forc

Information Policy Letter for Commanders 16, no. 80 (15 April 1962).

38. Gilbert L. Pritchard, “Communism and Counterinsurgency: Air Forc

Role in Combined Support Action,” Air Force Information Policy Lette

Supplement for Commanders, no.113 (3 November 1962).

39. AFM 1-1, United States Air Force Basic Doctrine, 14 August 1964. See i

particular chap. 6, “Employment of Aerospace Forces in Counterinsurgency

6-1 through 6-2.

350
40. United States Department of State, United States-Vietnam Relations

1945–1967 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1971). This i

the official, multivolume “Pentagon Papers,” also published in two othe

unofficial forms. See in particular, McGeorge Bundy, “A Policy of Sustaine

Reprisal,” in vol. 4, C. 3:35, annex A, 7 February 1965. Also refer to th

narrative found in vol. 4, C. 3:4.

41 . United States-Viet Nam Relations, vol. 4, C. 3:4 and 3:35–38; William

Bundy, “Draft Position Paper on Southeast Asia” (29 November 1964), a

found in Gerald Gold, Allan M. Siegal, and Samuel Abt, eds., The Pentago

Papers, New York Times Edition (New York: Bantam Books, 1971), 373–78

John T. McNaughton, “Annex—Plan for Action for South Vietnam” (2

March 1965), as found in Gold, Siegal, and Abt, The Pentagon Papers, 434

and Doris Kearns, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream (New York

Harper & Row, 1976), 264–65.

42. Raphael Littauer and Norman Uphoff, eds., The Air War in Indochin

(Boston: Beacon Press, 1972), 37.

43. John S. Pustay, Counterinsurgency Warfare (New York: Free Pres

1965), 116–35. Pustay retired as a lieutenant general.

44. Concepts Division, Aerospace Studies Institute, “Guerrilla Warfar

and Airpower in Algeria, 1954–1960” (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University

March 1965), 88.

45. Bernard B. Fall, “The Theory and Practice of Insurgency an

Counterinsurgency,” Naval War College Review, April 1965, 21–37.

46. Rollen H. Anthis, “Airpower: The Paradox in Vietnam,” Air Forc

Magazine, April 1967, 34–38. Anthis maintained that field commander

recognized airpower as “dominant in combat” (page 34). He also stated tha

US airpower and nuclear superiority forced the Communists to resort t

insurgency and guerrilla tactics in their quest for world domination. This, o

course, raises the question of why the same insurgent/guerrilla tactics wer

used against the British in Malaya and the French in Vietnam, neither o

whom had overwhelming airpower—let alone nuclear superiority.

47. Col Robert L. Hardie, “Airpower in Counterinsurgency Warfare

Report no. 3373 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air War College, April 1967).

48. Robert M. Kipp, “Counterinsurgency from 30,000 Feet,” A

University Review, January–February 1968, 10–18.

49. P. Brighton, “The War in South Vietnam,” Royal Air Forces Quarterly

Winter 1968, 289–93. One sees the truth of this observation in the fact tha

sapper attacks on US air bases in South Vietnam destroyed 96 aircraf

(about one and one-third fighter-wing equivalents)—nearly 33 percent mor

than those destroyed in air-to-air combat and nearly as many as destroye

by the vaunted North Vietnamese surface-to-air missile systems. Nor doe

the figure of 96 destroyed include aircraft damaged and other destructio

accomplished by sapper attacks, which adversely affected air operations

Walter Kross, Military Reform: The High-Tech Debate in Tactical Air Force

(Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1985), 98.

351
50. Among the well-read books concentrating on the military struggl

that should have caught the serious attention of American airmen wer

Bernard B. Fall’s four books—Street without Joy (Harrisburg, Pa

Stackpole, 1961); The Two Viet-Nams: A Political and Military Analysis (Ne

York: Praeger, 1963); Viet-Nam Witness, 1953–66 (New York: Praeger, 1966)

and Hell in a Very Small Place: The Siege of Dien Bien Phu (Philadelphia

Lippincott, 1967)—Jules Roy’s The Battle of Dienbienphu (New York: Harpe

& Row, 1965); Ho Chi Minh’s On Revolution (New York: Praeger, 1967); V

Nguyen Giap’s The People’s War, People’s Army (New York: Praeger, 1962)

Douglas Pike’s War, Peace, and the Viet Cong (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Pres

1969); and Sir Robert Thompson’s No Exit from Vietnam (New York: Davi

McKay, 1969).

51. During the 1970s, Air University attempted to produce monograph

about important subjects/events in the Vietnam conflict, resulting in th

Southeast Asia Monograph Series published through the US Governmen

Printing Office between 1976 and 1979. Evidently, this effort was neithe

well organized nor supported because some of the nine monograph

produced appear to have been “sponsored” either by Air War College or Ai

Command and Staff College. Some appear to have been student project

while others were written by general officers. The final two monograph

were produced under the auspices of the Airpower Research Institute

Additionally, the subject matter varies widely, ranging from in-dept

analyses of individual air operations to broad views of entire air campaigns

The final monograph in the series is a “puff piece” about Air Force heroes o

the war in Southeast Asia. The lack of monograph titles (only nine coverin

nearly a decade of US involvement in Vietnam), the lack of consisten

sponsorship, and the occasionally slipshod editing and publishing of th

series may be a further indication of the lack of serious interest in th

Vietnam War following the US withdrawal. In a sense, US airmen may hav

been suffering from collective intellectual “battle fatigue.”

52. See, for example, the following: S. W. B. Menaul, “The Use of A

Power in Vietnam,” RUSI Journal of the Royal United Services Institute fo

Defence Studies, June 1971, 5–15; Thomas H. Henriksen, “Lessons from

Portugal’s Counter-insurgency Operations in Africa,” RUSI Journal of th

Royal United Services Institute for Defence Studies, June 1978, 31–35; an

Thomas Arbuckle, “Rhodesian Bush War Strategies and Tactics: An

Assessment,” RUSI Journal of the Royal United Services Institute for Defenc

Studies, December 1979, 27–33.

53. Royal Air Force, The Malayan Emergency, 1948 –1960 (London

Ministry of Defence, 1970).

54. Among the most important of these were three different editions o

the so-called Pentagon Papers, all published in 1971 by Beacon Press

Bantam Books (via the New York Times), and the US Government Printin

Office; Don Oberdorfer’s TET! (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1971); S

Robert Thompson’s Peace Is Not at Hand (New York: David McKay, 1974)

Robert Asprey’s War in the Shadows, 2 vols. (New York: Doubleday, 1975)

352
W. Scott Thompson and Donaldson D. Frizzell

s The Lessons of Vietna

(New York: Crane, Russak, 1977); Lewy’s America in Vietnam; and Pete

Braestrup’s Big Story (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1977).

55. Included among these were Edward Geary Lansdale’s In the Midst o

Wars (New York: Harper & Row, 1972); William C. Westmoreland’s A Soldie

Reports (New York: Doubleday, 1976); U. S. Grant Sharp’s Strategy for Defea

(San Rafael, Calif.: Presidio Press, 1978); and William W. Momyer’s Airpower i

Three Wars (Washington, D. C.: Government Printing Office, 1978).

56. Momyer, 337–38.

57. AFM 2-5, Tactical Air Operations Special Air Warfare, 10 March 1967

58. Ibid., 18. The manual defined “unconventional warfare” as efforts t

“strengthen or create resistance to enemy authority among the peopl

within enemy territory.” Put another way, unconventional warfare wa

insurgency rather than counterinsurgency.

59. Ibid., 13.

60. Ibid., 14.

61. Ibid., 16.

62. AFM 1-1, United States Air Force Basic Doctrine, 28 September 197

6-1.

63. AFM 1-1, United States Air Force Basic Doctrine, 15 January 1975

3-4, 3-6.

64. AFM 1-1, Functions and Basic Doctrine of the United States Air Force

14 February 1979, 1-9, 1-10.

65. During this period, both Simpkin and van Creveld published thei

widely read analyses, both of which predicted that such conflicts would b

the future of warfare. See note 1.

66. Deryck J. Eller, “Doctrine for Low Intensity Conflict” (pape

presented to the Ninth Air University Airpower Symposium, Air War College

Maxwell AFB, Ala., March 1985); Rod Paschall, “Low-Intensity Conflic

Doctrine—Who Needs It?” Parameters 15 (1985): 33–45; Thomas X

Hammes, “Insurgency—The Forgotten Threat,” Marine Corps Gazette, Marc

1988, 40–44; William Olson, “The Concept of Small Wars,” Small Wars an

Insurgencies, April 1990, 39–46 (although he did not directly so state, Olso

agreed by implication); Larry Cable, “Reinventing the Roun

Wheel—Insurgency, Counter-Insurgency, and Peacekeeping Post Cold War

Small Wars and Insurgencies, April 1993, 228–62; and Drew.

67. Sam C. Sarkesian, “Low-Intensity Conflict—Concepts, Principles

and Policy Guidelines,” in David J. Dean, ed., Low-Intensity Conflict an

Modern Technology (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, 1986), 12.

68. Drew, 35–36, refers to the co-option of the insurgent cause, whil

Cable, 235, refers to preemptive reforms.

69. Grant T. Hammond, “Low Intensity Conflict: War by Another Name

Small Wars and Insurgencies, December 1993, 231.

70. Cable, 252.

71. See, for example (listed in order of publication), Mark Lamber

“Counter-Revolutionary Air Power,” Interavia, May 1981, 475–77; Jerome W

353
Klingaman, 

Low-Intensity Conflict and Modern Technology: Light Aircraf

Technology for Small Wars,” in Dean, Low-Intensity Conflict and Moder

Technology; Anthony A. Cardoza, “Soviet Aviation in Afghanistan,” US Nava

Institute Proceedings, February 1987, 85–88; David A. Reinholz, “A Way t

Improve Our Marginal Counterinsurgency Airlift Capability,” Armed Force

Journal International, July 1987, 40–46; Victor J. Croizat, “Helicopte

Warfare in Algeria,” Marine Corps Gazette, August 1987, 23–25; Aaron Karp

“Blowpipes and Stingers in Afghanistan—One Year Later,” Armed Force

Journal International, September 1987, 36–40; Raymond Knox, “High Spee

Jets in a Low Speed War—The Utility of Tactical Airpower in Low-Intensit

Conflict” (Fort Leavenworth, Kans.: School of Advanced Military Studies, U

Army Command and General Staff College, 20 April 1989); Vance C

Bateman, “The Role of Tactical Air Power in Low-Intensity Conflict

Airpower Journal 5, no. 1 (Spring 1991): 72–81; and George C. Morris, “Th

Other Side of the COIN—Low-Technology Aircraft and Little Wars,” Airpowe

Journal 5, no. 1 (Spring 1991): 56–70.

72. Klingaman, 9.

73. Karp, 40.

74. See, for example (listed in order of publication), John D. Green

“Reflections on Counter Guerrilla Tactical Air Operations” (paper presente

to the Ninth Air University Airpower Symposium, Air War College, Maxwel

AFB, Ala., March 1985); William J. Olson, “Airpower in Low Intensit

Conflict in the Middle East” (paper presented to the Ninth Air Universit

Airpower Symposium, Air War College, Maxwell AFB, Ala., March 1985)

subsequently published in Air University Review, March–April 1986, 2–21

Dean, The Air Force Role; David Willard Parsons, “Toward the Prope

Application of Air Power in Low Intensity Conflict” (thesis, Nava

Postgraduate School, December 1993); and Dennis M. Drew, “Air Power i

Peripheral Conflict,” in Alan Stephens, ed., The War in the Air, 1914–199

(Royal Australian Air Force [RAAF] Base Fairbairn, Australia: Air Powe

Studies Centre, 1994), 235–70.

75. Dean, The Air Force Role, 110.

76. Olson, “Air Power in Low-Intensity Conflict” (AU Review version), 17

77. Ibid., 18.

78. Green, 7–11.

79. Drew, “Air Power in Peripheral Conflict,” 241–48, 263–64.

80. Nathan Leites and Charles Wolf Jr., Rebellion and Authority: A

Analytic Essay on Insurgent Conflicts (Chicago: Markham Publishing, 1970)

81. Parsons, 60–63.

82. Ibid., 71–75.

83. John A. Warden III, The Air Campaign: Planning for Combat (Fort Lesle

J. McNair, Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1988). Th

index of this book includes no listing for low intensity conflict, insurgency

counterinsurgency, protracted revolutionary warfare, or partisan warfare; 

includes only one reference to guerrilla warfare—in connection with th

futility of aerial interdiction against self-sufficient forces.

354
84. Actually, Warden has published very little. Other than his book, hi

only other publications are “Planning to Win,” Air University Review 34, no

3 (March–April 1983): 94–97; “Employing Air Power in the Twenty-fir

Century,” in Richard H. Shultz Jr. and Robert L. Pfaltzgraff Jr., eds., Th

Future of Air Power in the Aftermath of the Gulf War (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: A

University Press, 1992), 57–82; and “The Enemy as a System,” Airpowe

Journal 9, no. 1 (Spring 1995): 40–55. When he served as commandant o

Air Command and Staff College, he produced several unpublished essays

one of the most well known of which is “Air Theory for the Twenty-fir

Century.” For an insightful critique of Warden, see David S. Fadok’s chapte

in this volume.

85. The Army–Air Force Center for Low Intensity Conflict produced 5

major studies between 1987 and the present writing. Only three pertaine

directly to airpower: Logistic Support for Low Intensity Conflict—An Air Forc

Perspective; Planning Considerations for the Combat Employment of Ai

Power in Peacetime Contingency Operations; and A Security Assistanc

Example—The US Air Force and the African Coastal Security Progra

(Langley AFB, Va.: Center for Low Intensity Conflict, 1988, 1988, and 1989

respectively). Nonairmen dominated the Joint Low Intensity Conflict Projec

(only 13 percent of the participants were from the Air Force). Its final repo

addressed only three airpower issues—all concerning specialized aircraf

Joint Low Intensity Conflict Project Final Report (Fort Monroe, Va.: Joint Lo

Intensity Conflict Project, United States Army Training and Doctrin

Command, 1 August 1986).

86 . Field Manual (FM) 100-2 and Air Force Pamphlet (AFP) 3-20, Militar

Operations in Low Intensity Conflict, 5 December 1990.

87. Ibid., E-4.

88. AFM 2-11, Foreign Internal Defense Operations, 3 November 1992.

89. Ibid., 9, par. 3-3a.

90. Ibid., 9–10, par. 3-3b.

91. I was the team leader and one of the principal authors of the Ai

Force basic doctrine manual published in March 1992. Early drafts of th

manual contained extensive information about the peculiar nature o

protracted revolutionary warfare and extensive comment about th

employment of airpower in such conflicts. All of this was essentiall

eliminated at the general-officer level after lengthy arguments between m

and the general officers concerned. What remains are vague reference

rather than explicit theory.

92. AFM 2-11, 9–10, par. 3-3b.

93. AFM 1-1, Basic Aerospace Doctrine of the United States Air Force, vo

1, March 1992, 12, par. 3-5a(5). This particular assertion was inserted a

the general-officer level over my objections. Interestingly, vol. 2 of th

manual, which contains evidence for every doctrinal statement made in vol. 1

contains no evidence of any kind to support this particular assertion.

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Chapter 10

John Boyd and John Warden:

Airpower’s Quest for Strategic Paralysis

Lt Col David S. Fadok

A strategist should think in terms of paralysing, not of

killing.

—B. H. Liddell Hart

Since the advent of heavier-than-air flight in 1903, theorist

have posited numerous schemes to exploit the inherent abilit

of aircraft to rise above the fray of the battlefield and g

straight to the heart of an enemy nation. From seeds sown b

the Italian pioneer Giulio Douhet, strategic airpower theor

has steadily evolved throughout the twentieth century. Alon

the way, it has been fashioned by harsh lessons of war

advances in technology, and the visionary concepts of a few

select airmen.

Two modern-day theorists, Col John Boyd , now deceased, an

Col John Warden , now retired from the US Air Force, hav

significantly contributed to this evolutionary process. Although

Boyd does not offer an airpower theory per se, his thoughts on

conflict have significant implications for the employment o

airpower at all levels of war. In contrast, Warden has develope

an airpower theory but focuses primarily on the strategi

application of the air weapon. This chapter summarizes an

critiques each man’s thoughts as they pertain to strategi

conventional airpower.

1

 Further, it identifies and explains th

theoretical linkages and disconnects between the two an

highlights their contributions to the evolution of airpowe

theory.

Specifically, I contend that (1) Boyd ’s theory of conflict an

Warden’s theory of strategic attack share a theme common t

most, if not all, theories of strategic airpower—the goal o

defeating one’s adversary by strategic paralysis ; (2) thei

divergent thoughts on strategic paralysis represent tw

357
distinct traditions regarding the nature and purpose of theory

and (3) together, the paralysis theories of Boyd and Warden

represent a fundamental shift in the evolution of strategi

airpower thought from an emphasis on economic warfare t

an emphasis on control warfare.

2

 To demonstrate thes

assertions, one must first define the concept of strategi

paralysis.

Seven years after the “war to end all wars,” Basil H. Liddel

Hart published the first of his many books on military strateg

and modern-day war. Its clever title, Paris; Or the Future o

War, recalls the mythical defeat of Achilles by his opponen

Paris, via the surgical strike of a well-aimed arrow. As the titl

further suggests, attacking enemy vulnerabilities (instead o

strengths) could and should serve as the role model for th

conduct of war in the years ahead. The killing fields of World

War I had certainly made Paris’s strategy preferable; th

technologies of flight and mechanization seemed to make i

possible as well. Thus, the search began for those ke

vulnerabilities of an enemy nation that were crucial to it

survival and protected by the sword and shield of its arme

forces. Along the way, airpower theorists reintroduced th

notion of paralysis into the lexicon of military strategy.

These early air enthusiasts extolled the “third dimension

that the aerial weapon added to the battlefield. The airplane’

unique ability to rise above the fray of surface battle led man

people to speculate that airpower could defeat an enem

nation and its armed forces by incapacitating—o

paralyzing—the vulnerable war-making potential in the rear

Inflicting paralysis through aerial attack upon the Achille

heel of the enemy nation seemingly promised decisive victor

at significantly lower cost in terms of lives and treasure.

To more clearly define the concept of strategic paralysis, on

should examine the idea in light of the theoretical construct

developed by two preeminent military writers—the British

strategist J. F. C. Fuller and the German historian Han

Delbruck. Fuller’s typology helps distinguish what strategi

paralysis is, while Delbruck ’s demonstrates what it is not.

In The Foundations of the Science of War, Fuller sets out t

examine the nature of war as a science, beginning his stud

by introducing the concept of the threefold order. He insist

358
that this order is 

a foundation so universal that it may b

considered axiomatic to knowledge in all its forms.”3 Sinc

humans consist of body, mind, and soul, wars as human

activities must be subject to a similar constitution. Adoptin

the threefold order as the framework for his military study

Fuller posits three spheres of war—physical, mental, an

moral. 4 Respectively, these spheres deal with destruction o

the enemy’s physical strength (fighting power), disorganization

of his mental processes (thinking power), and disintegration o

his moral will to resist (staying power). Fuller adds that force

operating within these spheres do so in synergistic, no

isolated, ways: “Mental force does not win a war; moral forc

does not win a war; physical force does not win a war; bu

what does win a war is the highest combination of these thre

forces acting as one force” (emphasis in original). 5 Thi

threefold order proves useful in beginning to understand th

essence of strategic paralysis.

Paralysis of an adversary consists of physical, mental, an

moral dimensions. As a strategy, it entails the nonlethal inten

to physically disable and mentally disorient an enemy so as t

induce his moral collapse. Although nonlethal intent does no

necessarily preclude destructive action or prevent fata

results, it does seek to minimize these negative outcomes a

much as possible. 6 These physical, mental, and moral effect

may be short or long term, as required by one’s gran

strategy. Put another way, strategic paralysis aims at th

enemy’s physical and mental capabilities to indirectly engag

and defeat his moral will.

7

In addition to his threefold order, Fuller offers anothe

theoretical proposition in Foundations that helps defin

strategic paralysis . Appropriate for any scientist of war, Fulle

establishes a variety of battle principles to assist his student

of military strategy. The overriding principle that governs th

conduct of war—the “law” from which he derives nin

subordinate principles—is economy of force . What this law

contributes to the definition of strategic paralysis is th

concept of expending minimum effort to produce maximum

effect—something Paris did quite well against his nemesi

Achilles.

359
Having constructed a partial definition of paralysis (

three-dimensional strategy characterized by nonlethal inten

and force economization), we can now examine this notion in

light of Delbruck ’s typology, to further refine our concept b

demonstrating what strategic paralysis is not. In a trul

seminal work with a distinct Clausewitzian flavor, Delbruc

presents a comprehensive History of the Art of War within th

Framework of Political History . In it, he addresses tw

traditional strategies of combat—annihilation and attrition 

The strategy of annihilation aims to destroy enemy arme

forces, whereas the strategy of attrition seeks to exhaus

them. Unfortunately, as Delbruck himself feared, the majorit

of his readers misconstrued these as the strategy of the stron

(i.e., quantitatively superior) and of the weak, respectively.

Delbruck coins the term Ermattungs-Strategie (strateg

of attrition) as an opposite to Carl von Clausewitz’

Niederwerfungs-Strategie (strategy of annihilation) bu

confesses that “the expression has the weakness of comin

close to the misconception of a pure maneuver strategy.”

Since by definition, annihilation strategy always seek

destruction of enemy armed forces through decisive battle, h

worries that people will misinterpret his notion of attrition

strategy as the constant avoidance of battle through

maneuver. To clarify, Delbruck further defines the strategy o

attrition as “double-poled strategy,” one pole being battle an

the other maneuver . A military commander employing an

attrition strategy would continually shift between battle an

maneuver, favoring one pole over the other as circumstance

dictate. 9 Thus, while strategies of annihilation produce rapid

decisions through overwhelming defeat of enemy arme

forces, strategies of attrition produce more drawn-out affair

capped by the slow but steady softening of the enemy’s will.

10

In contrast, strategic paralysis is a strategy neither o

annihilation nor attrition but a third type of warfare. It doe

not seek rapid decision via destruction of enemy armed force

in battle. Likewise, it does not seek drawn-out decision vi

exhaustion of the enemy by continual shifting between th

poles of battle and maneuver. In contrast to both, it seek

rapid decision via enemy incapacitation by fusing battle an

maneuver. It bypasses battle with enemy armed forces in favo

360
of attack upon the sustainment and control of those arme

forces. Strategic paralysis is neither pure battle nor pur

maneuver but a unique melding of the two—“maneuver battle

against war-making potential.

To summarize, we note that strategic paralysis is a militar

option with physical, mental, and moral dimensions tha

intends to disable rather than destroy the enemy. It seek

maximum possible political effect or benefit with minimum

necessary military effort or cost. Further, it aims at rapid

decision through a maneuver battle directed against a

adversary’s physical and mental capability to sustain an

control his war effort in order to diminish his moral will t

resist. With this working definition in place, the chapter now

traces how the thread of strategic paralysis became woven

into the fabric of airpower thought.

In the wake of World War I, two British veterans of tha

tragic carnage—Fuller and Liddell Hart—weighed in on th

side of strategic paralysis . Fuller, the designer of what i

perhaps the first modern-day operational plan aimed at enem

paralysis (Plan 1919), later wrote that “the physical strength

of an army lies in its organization, controlled by its brain

Paralyse this brain and the body ceases to operate.”1 1 Fulle

insisted that such “brain warfare” remained the most effectiv

and efficient way to destroy the enemy’s military organization

and hence its military strength. To economize the application

of military force, one needed to produce the instantaneou

effects of a “shot through the head” rather than the slow blee

of successive, slight body wounds.1 2

Liddell Hart was Fuller ’s kindred spirit in the field o

military strategy . Like his fellow countryman, Liddell Hart wa

a vigorous advocate of strategic paralysis . Arguing that “th

most decisive victory is of no value if a nation be bled whit

gaining it,” he insisted that the more potent and economica

form of warfare was disarmament through paralysis—no

destruction through annihilation .

13

Fuller and Liddell Hart witnessed the introduction of th

aerial weapon in war, and both envisioned a decisive role fo

airpower in inducing strategic paralysis . Fuller predicted “an

army holding at bay another, whilst its aircraft are destroyin

the hostile communications and bases and so paralysin

361
enemy action

 (emphasis added). 1 4 Likewise, in 1925 Liddel

Hart reasoned, “Provided that the blow be sufficiently swif

and powerful, there is no reason why within a few hours, or a

most days from the commencement of hostilities, the nerv

system of the country inferior in airpower should not b

paralysed.”15 They were not alone in their grand visions o

airpower. Many veteran airmen of World War I supported th

cause. Two men—Hugh Trenchard and William Mitchell—

stand out because of their influence upon the initial develop

ment of strategic air doctrine.

Marshal of the Royal Air Force (RAF) Lord Trenchard , th

“father of the RAF,” believed in strategic paralysis. In 

memorandum of 1928 to the chiefs of staff on the war objec

of an air force, Trenchard explicitly states that the goal of ai

action is “to paralyse from the very outset the enemy’

production centres of munitions of war of every sort and t

stop all communications and transportation.”16 He argue

that paralyzing attacks upon an enemy’s “vital centres ” offe

“the best object by which to reach victory” because they obtain

“infinitely more effect” and “generally exact a smaller toll from

the attacker” than strikes against the surface and air force

that defend them. Coincidentally, across the Atlantic, a man

whom Trenchard met and influenced on the western front wa

airing similar views in a distinctly American manner.

An outspoken advocate of airpower, Brig Gen Billy Mitchel

also believed in strategic paralysis . In 1919 he asserted tha

aerial bombardment’s greatest value lay in “hitting an enemy’

great nerve centers at the very beginning of the war so as t

paralyze them to the greatest extent possible.”17 Six year

later, during his well-publicized court-martial, Mitchell spok

fondly of airpower’s unique ability to incapacitate one’s foes

Finally, in his last book, Skyways, Mitchell concludes tha

“the advent of airpower which can go straight to the vita

centers and entirely neutralize and destroy them has put 

completely new complexion on the old system of war. It is now

realized that the hostile main army in the field is a fals

objective and the real objectives are the vital centers. The old

theory that victory meant the destruction of the hostile main

army is untenable.”1 8

362
Clearly, both Trenchard and Mitchell were early proponent

of strategic paralysis. Their hauntingly similar writing

proclaim the revolutionary nature of aerial warfare. Th

airplane possessed a unique ability to avoid the blood

stalemate on the ground and to combine shock and firepowe

into a single weapon able to strike deeply into the enem

heartland. Given the substantial influence of Trenchard an

Mitchell on their respective air services, the notion of paralysi

became imbedded in the theoretical foundation of British an

American strategic air doctrine, resurfacing most recently in

the ideas of John Boyd and John Warden.

The tactical seeds of John Boyd ’s theory of conflict were sow

during the Korean War, when Boyd , a fighter pilot who flew th

F-86 Sabre in “MiG Alley,” developed his first intuitiv

appreciation for the efficacy of what he would later refer to a

“fast transient maneuvers.” Although the Soviet-built MiG-1

proved technologically superior to the F-86 in many respects

the latter’s hydraulic flight controls provided Sabre pilots 

decisive advantage over their opponents—the ability to shif

more rapidly from one maneuver to another during aeria

dogfights. Just when the MiG pilot began reacting to the initia

Sabre movement, a rapid change in direction would render th

enemy response inappropriate to the new tactical situation. Thi

agility contributed to the Sabre pilots’ establishment of a

impressive 10-to-one kill ratio against the formidable MiG-15. A

few years later at Eglin AFB, Florida, Boyd quantified thes

air-to-air combat lessons in the form of his energy

maneuverability theory—a collection of tactical principles tha

still guides the training of Ameican fighter pilots.

Yet, not until his retirement did Boyd set out to expand hi

tactical concepts of aerial maneuver warfare into a mor

generalized theory of conflict.1 9 Beginning in 1976 with 

concise, 16-page essay entitled “Destruction and Creation,

Boyd ’s strategic ideas evolved over the next decade into an

unpublished, five-part series of briefings—“A Discourse on

Winning and Losing.” Ironically, the “Discourse” itself is 

product of the very process of analysis and synthesi

described in “Destruction and Creation,” a cognitive proces

that Boyd insists is crucial to prevailing in a highly

unpredictable and competitive world. It is a form of menta

363
agility, 

a process of reaching across many perspectives

pulling each and every one apart (analysis), all the whil

intuitively looking for those parts of the disassemble

perspectives which naturally interconnect with one another t

form a higher order, more general elaboration (synthesis) o

what is taking place.”2 0 Using the dialectic process o

“Destruction and Creation,” Boyd embarked upon an in-depth

review of military history to unravel the mysteries of succes

and failure in conflict. Boyd ’s firm belief in fast transien

maneuvers instilled during his fighter days undoubtedl

influenced this scholarly exercise. The end product is an

eclectic and esoteric discourse on how to survive and win in 

competitive world.

Boyd ’s theory of conflict advocates a form of maneuve

warfare that is more psychological and temporal in it

orientation than physical and spatial. Its military object is “t

break the spirit and will of the enemy command by creatin

surprising and dangerous operational or strategic situations.”2 

To achieve this end, one must operate at a faster tempo o

rhythm than one’s adversaries. Put differently, Boyd ’s maneuve

warfare aims to render the enemy powerless by denying him th

time to cope mentally with the rapidly unfolding—and naturally

uncertain—circumstances of war.22 One’s military operation

aim to (1) create and perpetuate a highly fluid and menacin

state of affairs for the enemy and (2) disrupt or incapacitate hi

ability to adapt to such an environment.

Based upon an analysis of ancient and modern military history

Boyd identifies four key qualities of successful operations—

initiative, harmony, variety, and rapidity. 23 Collectively, thes

characteristics allow one to adapt to and to shape the uncertain

friction-filled environment of war. Boyd credits Clausewitz fo

recognizing the need to improve one’s adaptability in war b

minimizing one’s own frictions. In addition, borrowing from

Sun-tzu , Boyd insists that one can use friction to shape th

conflict in one’s favor by creating and exploiting the friction

faced by the opponent. He then relates this idea of minimizin

friendly friction and maximizing enemy friction to his ke

qualities of initiative, harmony, variety, and rapidity.

To minimize friendly friction, one must act and react mor

quickly than the opponent—specifically, by exercisin

364
initiative at the lower levels within a chain of command

However, a centralized command of what and why things ar

done must guide this decentralized control of how things ar

done. This shared vision of a single commander’s inten

ensures strategic and operational harmony among the variou

tactical actions and reactions. Without a common aim an

similar outlook on how best to satisfy the commander’s intent

subordinate freedom of action risks disunity of effort and an

attendant increase in friction.2 4

To maximize enemy friction, one should plan to attack with

a variety of actions that one can execute with the greates

possible rapidity . Similar to the contemporary notion o

parallel warfare, this lethal combination of varied, rapid

actions serves to overload the adversary’s capacity to properly

identify and address those events that appear mos

threatening. By steadily reducing an opponent’s physical an

mental capability to resist, one ultimately crushes his mora

will to resist as well.

Boyd argues that severe disruption occurs by rapidly an

repeatedly presenting the enemy with a combination o

ambiguous (but threatening) events and deceptive (bu

nonthreatening) ones. These multiple events, compressed in

time, quickly generate mismatches—or anomalies—between

those actions the opponent believes to threaten his surviva

and those that actually do. The enemy must eliminate thes

mismatches between perception and reality if his reactions ar

to remain relevant—that is, if he is to survive.

We should hamper the opponent’s ability to proces

information, make decisions, and take appropriate action

thus ensuring that he cannot rid himself of these menacin

anomalies. In consequence, he can no longer determine wha

is being done to him and how he should respond. Ultimately

the adversary’s initial confusion degenerates into paralyzin

panic, and his ability and/or willingness to resist ceases.

Boyd views the adversary as a three-dimensional being

consisting of “moral-mental-physical bastions, connections, o

activities that he depends upon.”25 To defeat this being, Boy

advocates standing Clausewitz on his head. Instead o

destroying “hubs of all power and movement,” one should

create noncooperative centers of gravity (COG) by attackin

365
the moral-mental-physical linkages that bind the hub

together. This destroys the enemy’s internal harmony an

external connection to the real world, producing paralysis an

collapsing resistance.

In perhaps the most well known feature of Boyd ’s theory, h

contends that one can depict all rational human behavior—

individual or organizational—as a continual cycling through

four distinct tasks: observation, orientation, decision, an

action . Boyd refers to this decision-making cycle as th

“OODA loop” (fig. 1).

Using this construct, the crux of winning becomes th

relational movement of opponents through their respectiv

OODA loops.

26 Whoever repeatedly observes, orients, decides

and acts more rapidly (and accurately) than his enemy wil

win.2 7 By doing so, he “folds his opponent back insid

himself” and eventually makes enemy reaction inappropriat

to the situation at hand. 28 The key to attaining a favorable

edge in OODA loop speed and accuracy (hence, to winning) i

efficient and effective orientation.

To survive and grow within a complex, ever-changing world

of conflict, we must effectively and efficiently orient ourselves

366
that is, we must quickly and accurately develop menta

images—or schemata—to help comprehend and cope with th

vast array of threatening and nonthreatening events we face

This image construction—or orientation—is nothing mor

than the process of destruction (analysis) and creation

(synthesis) described earlier. In Boyd ’s words, it involves th

process of “examining the world from a number o

perspectives so that we can generate mental images o

impressions that correspond to that world.”2 9 Done well, i

becomes the key to winning instead of losing. Don

exceedingly well, it becomes the mark of genius.3 0

The mental images we construct are shaped by our persona

experience, genetic heritage, and cultural traditions. The

determine our decisions, actions, and observations. 3

Observations that match up with certain mental schemata cal

for certain decisions and actions. The timeliness and accurac

of those decisions and actions are directly related to ou

ability to orient and reorient correctly to the rapidly unfolding

perpetually uncertain events of war. Mismatches between th

real world and our mental images of that world generat

inaccurate responses. These, in turn, produce confusion an

disorientation, which then diminish both the accuracy an

the speed of subsequent decision making. Left uncorrected

disorientation steadily expands one’s OODA loop until i

eventually becomes a death trap.

Tying the preceding comments together, Boyd proposes tha

success in conflict stems from getting inside an adversary’

OODA loop and staying there. The military commander can d

so in two supplementary ways. First, he must minimize hi

own friction through initiative and harmony of response. Thi

decrease in friendly friction acts to “tighten” his own loop (i.e.

to speed up his own decision-action cycle time). Second, h

must maximize his opponent’s friction through variety an

rapidity of response. This increase in enemy friction acts t

“loosen” the adversary’s loop (i.e., to slow down his decision

action cycle time). Together, these “friction manipulations

assure one’s continual operation within the enemy’s OODA

loop in menacing and unpredictable ways. Initially, thi

produces confusion and disorder within the enemy camp

Ultimately, it produces panic and fear that manifes

367
themselves in a simultaneous paralysis of ability to cope an

of willingness to resist.

Using an analytical model developed by political scientis

Robert Pape,

3 2 one can graphically depict Boyd ’s theory o

strategic paralysis (fig. 2). As Boyd himself would admit, hi

theory of conflict is quite esoteric. He speaks of dismemberin

the “moral-mental-physical being” of the enemy and of gettin

inside his “mind-time-space,” yet he offers few, if any

operational details about accomplishing these abstract aims

The absence of detail is particularly frustrating for th

practically minded war fighter whose profession centers on

translating relatively obscure political ends into concret

military ways and means. Although Boyd ’s purpose is not t

frustrate, neither is it to dictate.

As he tells it, John Boyd is a believer in theories, not theory—

in doctrines, not doctrine. 3 3 He refuses to advocate any on

approach, any one formula; following a single path to victor

makes one predictable and vulnerable. Moreover, through th

study of all theories and doctrines, the warrior accumulates 

full bag of strategic tricks. Then, as a particular conflic

unfolds, he can pick and choose from this bag as the situation

demands. So, although Boyd ’s work is void of practical recipe

for success, it is so by design.34 A more appropriate critique o

his discourse on winning and losing lies elsewhere.

Ironically, one of the greatest strengths of Boyd ’s theory is

at the same time, a potential weakness—his emphasis on th

temporal dimension of conflict. Reflecting an American bia

for fast-paced operations and the related preference for shor

wars, Boyd presumes that operating at a faster tempo than

one’s opponent matters—or, more to the point, that it matter

368
to the enemy. He may not care that we are 

OODA looping

more quickly. Indeed, it may be in his interest to refuse t

play by our rules. To illustrate this point, I turn to the game o

basketball.

If our opponent is not particularly suited to a “fast break

style of play, it is in his interest to slow things down if we ar

a “run and gun” team. If he refuses to play at our faster pac

and intentionally tries to slow things down, he may succeed in

taking us out of our game just enough to win—even if w

retain a relative advantage in speed throughout. Boyd would

no doubt argue that the fast-breaking side will paralyze it

opponent because of its quicker tempo, a point that may b

true in some instances. It is certainly true if the naturally

slower opponent agrees to speed things up. If, however, h

slows the pace down, knowing full well that our fans wil

tolerate nothing other than fast-break ball, he may sufficiently

frustrate our game plan so that, in the end, he wins. Thi

basketball analogy seems to apply even better when, as in

war, we remove the time clock.

In fact, Mao Tse-tung advocated precisely this approach a

the strategy for liberating China from the scorch of the Risin

Sun in the War of Resistance against Japan . In contrast t

both the subjugationists within the Kuomintang governmen

and the theorists of quick victory within his own Communis

Party, Mao proposed the notion of “protracted war” as the wa

for defeating the militarily superior Japanese aggressors.

In a series of lectures from 26 May to 3 June 1938, Ma

explained and justified his plans for protracted war agains

Japan , couching his descriptions and arguments in th

traditional Eastern dialectic of yin and yang. For Mao, thi

Taoist “duality of opposites” informed not only the object of wa

but also the strategy for war. He argued that in war, one seek

to destroy the enemy and preserve oneself. 3 5 This twofold objec

“is the essence of war and the basis of all war activities, a

essence that pervades all war activities, from the technical to th

strategic.” As such, “no technical, tactical, or strategic concept

or principles can in any way depart from it.”3 6

In consequence, he preached that one should no

characterize the War of Resistance against Japan by either th

“desperate recklessness” of perpetual attack or the “flightism

369
of perpetual retreat.37 Instead, the current military advantag

enjoyed by Imperial Japan demanded a blend of attack an

retreat—of operational/tactical swiftness and strategi

protraction. In this way alone could the Chinese resistanc

simultaneously preserve itself and defeat the enemy through

gradual erosion of his relative superiority.

Mao insisted that calls for quick victory within the Chines

Communist camp had no basis in an objective appraisal o

current capabilities and therefore played into the hands of th

Japanese army. Similarly, calls for national subjugation

within the Kuomintang government had no basis in an

objective appraisal of future possibilities. In other words, Ma

claimed that the Chinese could defeat Japan tomorrow if the

could survive today. Brandishing time as a weapon to achiev

the dual object of enemy destruction and self-preservation

Mao’s strategy of protracted war proved successful in th

Chinese resistance of Japan and, later, in the Vietnames

resistance to both France and the United States.

Boyd readily acknowledges the influence of Maoism and othe

Eastern philosophies of war on his own thoughts, an impac

most evident in his emphasis on the temporal dimension o

war—specifically, in his incorporation of the notion of time as 

weapon. Yet, Boyd fails to fully appreciate this weapon in th

context of Taoism’s yin and yang. The “duality of opposites

suggests—and twentieth-century revolutionary warfar

supports—the conclusion that time can be a most potent forc

in either its contracted or its protracted forms.

Throughout his retirement, Boyd has briefed his “Discours

on Winning and Losing” to hundreds of audiences in both

civilian and military circles, leaving copies behind to assure 

degree of permanence for his ideas. Interestingly, one of th

agencies he talked to several times in the early 1980s was th

newly formed Checkmate Division within the Air Staff at th

Pentagon. This division’s responsibilities include short- an

long-range contingency planning for the employment of th

United States Air Force. Eventually, this division would hav

as its chief our second modern-day theorist of strategi

paralysis.

3 8

John Warden has emerged as a leading advocate of forc

application in the third dimension. Credited as the originato

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of the air campaign that guided allied efforts during Operation

Desert Storm , Warden has a vision of twenty-first-centur

warfare that unabashedly asserts the dominance of aerospac

power over surface force . Furthermore, in concert with th

“Long Blue Line” of American air theorists, he contends tha

the most effective and efficient application of airpower lies in

the strategic realm. However, unlike the strategic air warfar

of his predecessors, particularly those at the Air Corp

Tactical School (ACTS), Warden ’s is more political than

economic in nature. Targeting enemy leadership to produc

desired policy changes is the overarching aim that should

guide the employment of air forces. In this respect, Warden

acknowledges an intellectual debt to the British militar

theorist J. F. C. Fuller. One of Fuller’s classic works, Th

Generalship of Alexander the Great, convinced him of th

efficacy of attacking the command element as a means o

defeating armed forces—a strategy of incapacitation through

“decapitation .”

While a student at the National War College , Warden began

to construct his theory of airpower. An academic thesis

originally planned as an examination of Alexander ’s genius

evolved instead into The Air Campaign: Planning for Comba

An influential text on the use of airpower in war, this book

focuses on translating national political objectives an

strategic military goals into theater campaign plans, with

primary focus on planning airpower’s contribution to th

overall effort. The book reflects the unique heritage o

American air theory and practice. Warden’s belief in th

predominant role of air superiority flows directly from th

pages of the Army’s Field Manual (FM) 100-20, Command an

Employment of Airpower (1943). Likewise, his emphasis on ai

strikes against enemy centers of gravity recalls the writings o

Billy Mitchell and his kindred spirits at ACTS with regard t

attacks against “vital centers” deep within the enem

heartland. 39

The main theme of The Air Campaign is that airpowe

possesses a unique capacity to achieve the strategic ends o

war with maximum effectiveness and minimum cost

Airpower’s inherent speed, range, and flexibility allow it t

strike the full spectrum of enemy capabilities in a swift an

371
decisive manner. Central to this theme is the Clausewitzian

concept of an enemy’s COG, defined by Warden as “that poin

where the enemy is most vulnerable and the point where an

attack will have the best chance of being decisive.”4 0 Properly

identifying these COGs is the critical first step in planning an

conducting military operations.

As suggested earlier, the incorporation of this notion o

COGs into airpower theory is by no means novel. However

Warden’s description above suggests that such centers ar

both strengths and vulnerabilities. 4 1 This dual nature o

COGs has implications for campaign planning, particularly in

terms of identifying which force—ground, sea, or air—is key

As Warden noted, “Air must be the key force when ground o

sea forces are incapable of doing the job because o

insufficient numbers or inability to reach the enemy center o

gravity.”42 Airpower’s ubiquity theoretically makes many mor

strategic COGs vulnerable to attack relative to surface forces

providing air forces with a higher degree of strategi

decisiveness.4 3

Although it stresses the importance of correctly identifyin

and appropriately striking COGs, The Air Campaign does no

elaborate on how to go about doing so. Warden’s process o

identifying COGs materialized some years after publication o

his first work. While working at the Pentagon , Warden

recognized the need for a coherent theory of airpower. Havin

searched for some organizing scheme appropriate to th

concept of COGs as related to airpower, in the late fall o

1988, he developed such a model in the form of five concentri

rings—an air force targeting bull’s-eye of sorts (fig.3).

Analyzing the enemy as a system, Warden contends tha

one can break down all strategic entities into five componen

parts. 44 The most crucial element of the system—th

innermost ring—is leadership. Extending outward from th

center, in descending importance to the overall functioning o

the system, are the rings of organic essentials, infrastructure

population, and fielded forces.4 5

Within each ring exists a COG or collection of COGs tha

represents “the hub of all power and movement” for tha

particular ring. If the COG is destroyed or neutralized, th

effective functioning of the ring ceases, which affects th

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entire system in more or less significant ways (dependin

upon whether it is an inner or outer ring). To facilitate th

accurate identification of these key hubs within each ring

Warden proposes the further breakdown of any given ring int

five subrings (of leadership, organic essentials, etc.) and thes

into five more, if necessary, until the true COG surfaces.

The central theme of the five-rings model is that the mos

effective strategic plan always focuses on leadership, first an

foremost. Even if leadership is unavailable as a target set, th

air strategist must still focus on the mind of the commande

when selecting COGs among the other rings. 46 Within thes

rings lie COGs that, when hit, impose some level of physica

paralysis, thereby raising the costs of further resistance in th

mind of the enemy command. 47 The implicit message is tha

destruction or neutralization of the leadership COG (s

produces total physical paralysis of the system, wherea

successful attack upon COGs within the other rings produce

partial physical paralysis but unbearable psychologica

pressure upon the leadership.

When Iraq invaded Kuwait in August 1990 and US militar

planners considered possible responses, Warden ’s Checkmat

Division developed an air option. Firmly believing in th

efficacy of striking enemy COGs, he resurrected the five-ring

373
model to guide the creation of a strategic air campaign . A

Warden observed, “This was a case where the theory existe

before the fact and the facts validated the theory.”48

Further refinement of his strategic air theory occurred in

the afterglow of Desert Storm . Warden drew several lesson

from the Gulf War that would influence his thinking. Amon

the most prominent were (1) the importance of strategic attac

and the fragility of states at the strategic level; (2) the fata

consequences of losing strategic and operational ai

superiority; (3) the overwhelming effects of parallel warfar

(that is, the near-simultaneous attack upon strategic COG

throughout the entire theater of war); (4) the value of stealth

and precision weaponry in redefining the principles of mas

and surprise; and (5) the dominance of airpower as the ke

force in most, but not all, operational- and strategic-leve

conflicts within the next quarter to half century. 4 9

Coupling his early thoughts on airpower with hi

experiences in the Gulf War, Warden established a theoretica

foundation for employing airpower in the twenty-first century

Fundamentally, this groundwork relates ends, ways, an

means. First, air strategists must appreciate the politica

objectives sought by military action (ends). Second, they mus

determine the best military strategy to induce the enemy t

comply, as defined by those political objectives (ways). Third

they must use the five-rings systems analysis to identify

which COGs to subject to parallel attack (means).

In terms of ends, Warden accepts Clausewitz’s maxim tha

all wars are fought for political purpose. Although wars ma

have their own distinct capabilities and limitations relative t

other tools available to the statesman, they are by natur

political instruments.5 0 Seen as such, wars are essentially

discourses between policy makers on each side. The aim of al

military action, then, is not the destruction of enemy arme

forces but the manipulation of the enemy leadership’s will

Warden elaborates:

Wars are fought to convince the enemy leadership to do what one

wants it to do—that is, concede something political. . . . The enemy

leadership agrees that it needs to make these political concessions

when it suffers the threat or the actuality of intolerable pressure

against both its operational and strategic centers of gravity. . . .

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Thus, one does not conduct an attack against industry or

infrastructure because of the effect it might or might not have on

fielded forces. Rather, one undertakes such an attack for its direct

effect on national leaders and commanders. 5 1

Warden proposes three main ways to make the enemy d

what one wants him to do—the military strategies of impose

cost (coercion), paralysis (incapacitation), and destruction

(annihilation ).5 2 Collectively, these strategies represent 

continuum of force application. The point chosen along tha

strategy continuum should coincide with the level of objectiv

intent.

An imposed cost strategy seeks to make continue

resistance too expensive for the enemy command. It attempt

to do so by estimating the opponent’s pain threshold, base

on his value system, and then exceeding this threshold a

violently and instantaneously as possible through

simultaneous or parallel attacks upon the designated targe

set . Theoretically, such attacks coerce the enemy leadership t

accept one’s terms and change its policy through the actua

imposition of partial system paralysis , as well as the potentia

or threatened imposition of total system paralysis .

A paralysis strategy seeks to make continued resistanc

impossible for the enemy command. It does so by thoroughly

and simultaneously incapacitating the entire enemy system

from the inside out. This total system paralysis, in turn

provides one the freedom of movement to change policy for th

enemy leadership without interference.

Finally, a destruction strategy seeks to annihilate the entir

system, making policy change by the enemy leadership

irrelevant. However, as Warden cautions, “the last of thes

options is rare in history, difficult to execute, fraught with

moral concerns, and normally not very useful because of al

the unintended consequences it engenders.”53 In light of thes

observations, he dismisses this military strategy as politically

unviable for twenty-first-century warfare. 54

Regarding means, Warden advocates the continua

breakdown of each strategic and operational ring until on

uncovers the key to partial or total paralysis . Such successiv

differentiation exposes the interdependent nature o

“connectedness” of the enemy as a system. 5 5 Consequently, 

375
thorough systems analysis may reveal COGs acting a

linkages between rings, as well as components within them.

Summarizing the salient points of Warden ’s theory o

strategic paralysis, one first notes that the air strategist mus

fully appreciate the general nature and specific content of th

objectives set by his political masters; these objective

prescribe the behavioral change(s) expected of the enem

leadership and suggest the level of paralysis needed to effec

the change(s). Second, the air strategist must focus al

energies in war on changing the mind of the enem

leadership, directly or indirectly, through the imposition of th

necessary level of paralysis upon him and/or his system

Third, the air strategist must analyze the enemy as an

interdependent system of five rings to determine those COG

within and between rings whose destruction or neutralization

will impose the necessary level of paralysis. Fourth, the ai

strategist must plan to attack all defined targets in parallel in

order to produce the most rapid and favorable decision.

At first glance, Warden ’s theory of strategic paralysis (fig. 4

is marked by a type of reductionism inherent in an

systems-analysis approach. It attempts to simplify complex

dynamic sociocultural phenomena (the constitution

operation, and interaction of strategic entities) by reducin

them to their basic parts or functions. In so doing, his theor

risks losing explanatory power and practical relevance.

Arguing that “social scientists make bad generals,” Elio

Cohen cautions against such an analytical approach t

military strategy since it regards the enemy as “a passiv

collection of targets,” assumes that the enemy resembles us

and considers technology rather than human nature th

controlling element in war. He goes on to argue that thes

376
assumptions 

discourage the detailed study of ones opponent

his language, politics, culture, tactics, and leadership.”5 6 Co

Pat Pentland contends that such comprehensive study i

crucial to effective strategy development since sociocultura

factors determine both the form or structure of an enemy an

the process or dynamics by which it operates.5 7

To be fair, one must note that Warden does not deny th

need for thorough examination of the enemy as a political

economic, military, and sociocultural system. In addition, h

would argue that, while the basic five-rings model may be an

oversimplified, “first order” analysis, successive differentiation

of the rings reveals dynamic interrelationships within an

between rings that are unique and important to the particula

society or culture in question. The standard five-rings mode

simply serves as a starting point for further “higher order

analysis, a theoretical framework to guide air strategists in

their critical task of identifying enemy COGs.

58 Thus

Warden’s model reflects a subtle holism which undercuts th

normal criticism that it is reductionist and oversimplistic.

Clausewitz may have penned a more accurate criticism ove

150 years before Warden published his ideas:

It is only analytically that these attempts at theory [i.e., those of H. D.

von Bülow , Antoine Henri Jomini, etc.] can be called advances in the

realm of truth; synthetically, in the rules and regulations they offer,

they are absolutely useless. They aim at fixed values; but in war

everything is uncertain, and calculations have to be made with

variable quantities. They direct the inquiry exclusively toward physical

quantities, whereas all military action is intertwined with psychological

forces and effects. They consider only unilateral action, whereas war

consists of a continuous interaction of opposites. (Emphasis added)59

As applied to Warden ’s theory of strategic paralysis , thi

Clausewitzian critique is threefold, as suggested by th

italicized passages in the above quotation.

First, even if Warden ’s analysis of the enemy system i

correct, his “synthesized” rule of targeting leadership does no

necessarily follow. Although his analogy with the human brain

is seductive, the center ring of leadership is not always th

most important target. Other rings (or linkages between rings

may, and often do, offer more lucrative COGs. Warden would

not disagree with this assessment but would insist that on

377
must select outer-ring targets so as to influence th

leadership’s cost-benefit calculus. But doing so assumes tha

this calculus remains relevant to the defeat of the enemy

which may or may not be true. The leadership may decide on

thing—the population or armed forces another. What matter

most—the true COG—may be what matters to the society as 

whole, not just to its leadership.

Second, despite Napoléon ’s observation that the moral is t

the physical as three is to one, Warden focuses exclusively on

the physical aspects of war. He justifies this by contendin

that one can mathematically represent enemy comba

effectiveness by the equation “combat effectiveness = physica

strength x moral strength.”60 Using this formula, one can

theoretically eliminate the fighting power of an opponen

through exclusive attack upon the physical component of tha

power. If one drives the physical variable to zero, the mora

variable can remain at 100 percent, yet combat effectivenes

remains zero. Additionally, Warden notes that destroyin

physical targets is easier than destroying the enemy’s mora

will to resist. He explains that “the physical is conceptually

knowable. So theoretically, if I knew everything about th

enemy, I could drive the physical side of the equation to zero

Morale, I know almost nothing about.”6 1 Practically, however

driving the physical side to zero (i.e., annihilating the enem

system) is, to borrow Warden ’s own words cited earlier, “rar

in history, difficult to execute, fraught with moral concerns

and normally not very useful because of all the unintende

consequences it engenders.”6 2 Consequently, one must stil

consider the issue of moral strength.

Third, Warden ’s theory deals with unilateral action taken

against an unresponsive enemy and thus disregard

action-reaction cycles and their attendant frictions that mark

the actual conduct of war. Again, Warden feels justified in

doing so because he claims that the parallel hyperwars of th

twenty-first century will eliminate the possibility of enem

reaction at the strategic and operational levels. In fact

Warden goes so far as to proclaim that the revolution in

warfare ushered in by Desert Storm has made mos

Clausewitzian notions irrelevant: “The whole business o

action and reaction, culminating points, friction, et cetera

378
was a function of serial war and the imprecision of weapons. . . 

[These nineteenth century concepts are] an accurate description

of the way things were, but not a description of how they ough

to be or can be.”6 3 Although theoretically possible, one ha

difficulty imagining real war that is reactionless and friction free

even if conducted in parallel fashion at hyperspeed. If huma

nature rather than technology is indeed the controlling elemen

in war, then war will remain an unpredictable, nonlinea

phenomenon, even in the presence of technological revolution.

The previous sections revealed notable overlap between th

theories of John Boyd and John Warden . Both men conten

that the target for all military action should be the enem

command and that the most effective and efficient mechanism

for translating military expenditure into political gain i

paralysis of that command. Although they may share certain

fundamental beliefs about the proper conduct of war, Boyd

and Warden diverge sharply in theoretical approach. Thei

distinct approaches represent two traditions regarding th

nature and purpose of theory, best personified by tw

nineteenth-century theorists of war—Antoine Henri Jomin

and Carl von Clausewitz.

The Jominian tradition believes that one can reduce th

practice of war (i.e., its strategy) to a set of general principle

or rules for scientific derivation and universal application. I

recognizes that the nature of war may change due to politica

and/or moral variables but that the conduct of war i

constant and governed by principles. For Jominians, theor

uncovers these immutable truths and advocates thei

adoption and use. In the words of Jomini himself, “Convince

that I had seized the true point of view under which it wa

necessary to regard the theory of war in order to discover it

veritable rules . . . I set myself to the work with the ardor of 

neophyte” (emphasis added).6 4

The Jominian school acknowledges that the nature of war i

complex and dramatic and that, consequently, its complet

mastery is truly an art form. However, the strategy of war i

scientific, knowable, constant, and governed by principles o

eternal validity. Borrowing a concept from the emergin

science of chaos and complexity, one notes that Jominians ar

predominantly “linear” thinkers regarding the conduct of war

379
They believe in a certain causality or predictability of action

taken in war. That is, they believe that similar inputs produc

similar outputs. Translated into the language of strategy, if 

given plan of attack is devised and executed in accordanc

with veritable principles of war, it will produce victory tim

and again.

Believing, as they do, that one can reduce strategy to 

science, Jominians tend to be more prescriptive than heuristi

in their presentation of military theory. In other words

Jominian theories tend toward teaching soldiers how to ac

rather than how to think. Theory should provide answers t

the warrior facing the daunting prospect of battle.6 5

In contrast, the Clausewitzian tradition views the practice o

war from a more nonlinear perspective. 6 6 Similar inputs o

strategies often do not produce similar outputs or desired en

states. War’s natural uncertainty makes it impossible t

guarantee that what worked yesterday will work tomorrow

This unpredictability demands that any theory of war be mor

heuristic than prescriptive since “no prescriptive formulation

universal enough to deserve the name of law can be applied t

the constant change and diversity of the phenomena of war.”6

As Clausewitz continued, “Theory should be study no

doctrine. . . . It is meant to educate the mind of the futur

commander, or, more accurately, to guide him in hi

self-education, not to accompany him to the battlefield.”68

Thus, the Clausewitzian school insists that the primar

function of military theory is to provide the intellectua

methods by which to unveil the answers to war’s perplexin

questions rather than to provide the answers themselves. I

should develop a mind-set or way of thinking rather than

prescribe rules of war; in the former lies the key to victory in

the midst of war’s fog and friction.

The Clausewitzian school seeks to permanently arm th

military commander with genius, which the Prussian himsel

defined as “a very highly developed mental aptitude for 

particular occupation.” In the profession of war, this menta

aptitude represents a psychological strength that entails 

harmonious balance of intellect and temperament and allow

one to function in the presence of uncertainty. Furthermore

one can develop this aptitude: “That practice and a traine

380
mind have much to do with it is undeniable.

6 9 Thus

Clausewitzians share the belief that one can define an

should teach the genius of war—a cherished conviction

similar to the Jominian belief in the principles of war.

Evaluating our theorists of strategic paralysis in this light

we note that Warden ’s thoughts are predominantly Jominian

in their character, content, and intent, while Boyd ’s ar

predominantly Clausewitzian. Warden ’s theory of swift

simultaneous attack against the enemy’s physical form, a

depicted by the five-rings model, is practical, concrete, an

linear. He prescribes direct and/or indirect attack upon th

enemy leadership as the way to impose one’s will in a world o

conflict. Though one may want to vary one’s tactical approach

if a “bullet through the brain” has worked once, it will alway

work; therefore, it should remain the strategic aim of militar

operations. 70

In addition, Warden ’s representation of combat effectivenes

as the multiplicative product of physical and moral strength

allows him to focus on the tangible variable in the equation t

the exclusion of the intangible one. Decimating the enemy’

physical capability renders his moral strength irrelevant

Thus, in both the practice and the theory of war, emphasis on

the physical sphere is understandable, acceptable, and—

indeed—preferable.

In contrast, Boyd ’s theory of maneuvering inside th

enemy’s mental process, as depicted by the OODA loop model

is more philosophical, abstract, and nonlinear. He recognize

the uncertainty of war and the subsequent need for menta

agility and creativity—in short, genius. He believes that on

can teach genius and sets out to do just that for his audienc

by means of the mental process of “destruction and creation.

He preaches familiarity with many different theories

doctrines, and models so that, through the genius o

“destruction and creation,” the military strategist can build

from the gems in each of them a plan of attack mos

appropriate to the situation at hand. Furthermore, through

extensive training and practice, the strategist can build such 

plan at a faster tempo than his adversary so as to fold him

back inside himself and ultimately defeat his will to resist .

381
Warden asserts that success in twenty-first-century war wil

result from adherence to the principles of parallel, inside-ou

attack. Boyd asserts that success in future war , as in all pas

wars, will result from genius in the face of menacin

uncertainty. As Grant Hammond observes, “Boyd know

certainty doesn’t exist; Warden wants it to.”71

Having explored the respective ideas of Boyd and Warden

and highlighted areas of convergence and divergence, we can

now examine the contribution of both theories to the evolution

of airpower thought in the twentieth century. As we shall see

the works of these two airmen represent a fundamental shif

in strategic air theory—one from paralysis via economi

warfare to paralysis via control warfare.

As the twentieth century passed its midpoint, the moder

world began a slow metamorphosis from an industrial society t

an informational society. Fueled by steady advances in compute

and communications technologies, this transfiguration continue

today. Interestingly, methods of aerial warfare appear to b

changing in parallel. Boyd and Warden stand as transitiona

figures in this evolution of strategic airpower theory. Although

paralysis remains the common underpinning for all twentieth

century thought on the subject, the theoretical transformation

represented by Boyd and Warden is one from economic warfar

based on industrial targeting to control warfare based on

informational targeting.

In the first half of airpower’s inaugural century, strategic ai

doctrines that evolved in both Great Britain and the Unite

States were fashioned by the theory of strategic paralysis an

a belief that one best induced incapacitation of a hostil

nation and its armed forces by striking directly at the enemy’

economic, war-making potential. RAF strategic bombardmen

doctrine reflected the man in charge from 1919 unti

1928—Air Marshal Sir Hugh Trenchard , whose air polic

aimed to bring about the disintegration and collapse of th

enemy’s war economy. In the last of his 10 years as air chief

he produced perhaps the clearest statement of his beliefs on

air warfare in the form of a memorandum to his fellow servic

chiefs. In it, Trenchard proposed the following war object fo

the RAF: “The aim of the Air Force is to break down th

enemy’s means of resistance by attacks on objectives selecte

382
as most likely to achieve this end.

 He went on to specify thes

military objectives as the enemy’s “vital centres ” of production

transportation, and communication from which the enem

sustains his war effort.7 2

Trenchard highlighted the moral effect of such attacks

claiming they would “terrorise munition workers (men an

women) into absenting themselves from work or stevedore

into abandoning the loading of a ship with munitions from

fear of air attack upon the factory or dock concerned.”7 3 Thus

British air policy had a dual nature in that it focused on

destroying enemy capability and will to resist. It sought t

produce strategic paralysis by means of the psychologica

dislocation and terror that ensued from economic disruption

and collapse.

Meanwhile, in the United States, the Air Corps Tactica

School took the lead in developing American doctrine fo

strategic bombardment. As mentioned, the preachings of Billy

Mitchell did influence this doctrinal development but so did

the ideas of a fellow World War I veteran, Col Edgar Gorrell. A

chief of the Air Service Technical Section in France , Gorre

was responsible for the Air Service’s strategic air program fo

the war. Writing after the war, Gorrell noted that “the object o

strategic bombing is to drop aerial bombs upon th

commercial centers and the lines of communications in such

quantities as will wreck the points aimed at and cut off th

necessary supplies without which the armies in the field

cannot exist” (emphasis added). 74 He went on to compare th

enemy’s armed forces to a drill bit. The “point” of the arm

would remain effective only so long as the “shank” o

supporting infrastructure remained intact. Break the shan

and the entire drill becomes useless.

The ACTS instructors fine-tuned Gorrell’s ideas of economic

warfare, transforming the “shank of the drill” into a closely

knit industrial web requiring precision bombardment t

unweave it.75 They did not discount the potentially

incapacitating effects on morale that such precise bombin

might provide as the natural consequence of economi

deprivation. However, the instructors primarily focuse

(publicly, at least) on the physical paralysis induced b

precise industrial targeting, as opposed to the British

383
emphasis on the physical and psychological paralysis o

economic area bombing.

Both the British and the American versions of economi

warfare through strategic air attack would be severely teste

after Germany’s lightning strikes into Poland and France

ignited World War II. The end of that war coincided with th

dawn of the Information Age. Alvin and Heidi Toffler conten

that this information revolution will transplant the industria

revolution of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries an

transform both wealth creation and war making accordingly. 7

Although theorists did not completely dismiss the notion o

strategic paralysis through economic warfare, a new form o

incapacitation warfare held great promise—control warfar

against an enemy’s systems of governance and information

processing. 77

John Boyd is one contemporary theorist who focuses on

paralysis through control warfare .

7 8 More specifically, h

concentrates on disorienting the mind of the enemy comman

by disrupting the process for exercising command and contro

(C2). Boyd represents this process in the form of the OODA

loop.

7 9 As we have seen, one ensures victory in conflict b

securing a temporal advantage over one’s opponent in transitin

the OODA loop , which in turn produces a psychologica

paralysis of his decision-making and action-taking processes.

In addition to being a governance loop, the OODA mode

represents the process of information collection, analysis, an

dissemination. In this sense, Boyd clearly reflects th

influence of the Chinese warrior-philosopher Sun Tzu on hi

thinking by highlighting the importance of information t

successful combat operations. He does so by tying it to spee

and accuracy in the decision cycles of strategic, operational

and tactical commanders. He who has better control of th

information flow can observe, orient, decide, and act in a mor

timely and appropriate manner and can thereby operat

within his adversary’s OODA loop . This control provides th

opportunity to deny and/or exploit the information channel

of one’s adversary while simultaneously protecting access t

one’s own channels.

Likewise, John Warden advocates paralysis through contro

warfare based on command targeting. However, in contrast t

384
Boyd 

s process-oriented theory, Warden focuses on the form

by which one exercises C2, euphemistically describing th

leadership bull’s-eye of his five-rings model as the brain an

all its sensory inputs. If, for political or practical reasons, on

cannot attain a direct “shot through the head,” indirect attac

through the destruction, disruption, and/or exploitation of th

brain’s informational and control channels can be equally

effective.

Warden also recognizes the importance of information

management to the effective operation of the enemy as 

system,80 speculating that the five strategic rings ar

connected by an “information bolt” that holds all the rings in

place. If the bolt is destroyed, components within the ring

may spin wildly out of control, 81 suggesting that information

linkages between rings may present the key to taking down

the entire enemy system.

Together, Boyd and Warden have transformed paralysi

theory as it pertains to strategic conventional airpower . The

have shifted the focus from war-supporting industry t

war-supporting command—from economic warfare to contro

warfare. Yet, Boyd and Warden do not represent the end of th

road. As many futurists predict, the information revolution

will continue to affect how governments and their militarie

wage war.

Former RAF Marshal Sir John Slessor once wrote, “If ther

is one attitude more dangerous than to assume that a futur

war will be just like the last one, it is to imagine that it will b

so utterly different that we can afford to ignore all the lesson

of the last one.”8 2 One of the foremost lessons of applyin

strategic airpower in the Persian Gulf War of 1991 was th

efficacy of information dominance .

8 3 By destroying Iraq’s eyes

ears, and mouth and by exploiting their own surface- an

aerospace-based data platforms, coalition forces quickl

established a form of information superiority that may hav

been as decisive as the more traditional control of the air. Th

increasing dependence of modern war-fighting machines upon

efficient information-processing systems will continue t

create opportunities to deny, disrupt, and manipulate th

collection, analysis, and dissemination of battlefield

information.84 Therefore, one may reasonably suggest tha

385
future wars will resemble Desert Storm in at least on

important respect—the strategic and operational pursuit o

information dominance via control of the war-fightin

“datasphere.”85

RAND’s John Arquilla and David Ronfeldt have terme

these future battles for information dominance “cyberwar.” A

they define it,

cyberwar refers to conducting, and preparing to conduct, military

operations according to information-related principles. It means

disrupting if not destroying the information and communications

systems, broadly defined to include even military culture, on which an

adversary relies in order to “know” itself. . . . It means trying to know

all about an adversary while keeping it from knowing much about

oneself. It means turning the “balance of information and knowledge”

in one’s favor, especially if the balance of forces is not.8 6

In a sense, Arquilla and Ronfeldt are speaking of inducin

strategic paralysis by attacking (physically and/o

electronically) key information-related centers of gravity, b

they nodes or connections.

Future advances in command, control, communications

computers, and intelligence (C4I) technologies and thei

integration with weapons-delivery platforms promise t

increase the tempo of twenty-first-century warfare.8 7 Friendly

and enemy OODA loops will “tighten” enormously as on

collects, analyzes, disseminates, and acts upon battlefield

information within a matter of minutes—not days. As a result

controlling the datasphere will become a top priority in most

if not all, future conflicts since “defeating the collection o

dissemination of the information [upon which “shooters” s

depend for effective strikes] will be tantamount to destroyin

the attacking platform itself.”88 Achieving information

dominance will become key to military victory, since it wi

provide both the means to remain oriented and th

opportunity to disorient the enemy. In this way, one can

obtain relative advantages in the speed and accuracy of th

OODA process.

Although the information revolution may not affect th

process of decision making as described by Boyd , it threaten

to fundamentally alter the form of the enemy system a

depicted by Warden ’s five-rings model. As Arquilla an

386
Ronfeldt astutely observe, there are both technological an

organizational dimensions to this new revolution.8 9

In his 1982 best-seller, Megatrends, John Naisbitt accurately

forecasts organizational trends that accompany the shift from

an industrial society to an information society. Centralization

gives way to decentralization, and networks replac

hierarchies.90 As they are currently unfolding in the busines

community, these trends produce what Naisbitt calls “a vertica

to horizontal power shift.”9 1 As strategic decision making an

control become decentralized, lateral cooperation betwee

semiautonomous agents and agencies becomes more vital t

effective system operation than top-down command.

However, as Alvin Toffler speculates, of the “big three

organizations—economic, political, and military—the militar

will likely be the last to undergo a vertical-to-horizontal powe

shift due to its particular affinity for hierarchical institution

Still, recent organizational adjustments within the US militar

ushered in by “total quality management” do mirror changes in

the business world and suggest that, even if the military is th

last to change, change will indeed occur.

If a worldwide military power shift does occur, it will make th

leadership bull’s-eye of John Warden ’s five rings increasingl

less relevant to system operation. On the other hand, 

vertical-to-horizontal power shift, with its emphasis o

“distributed problem-solving,”92 will add a great deal of credenc

to John Boyd ’s notion of noncooperative COGs. Control warfar

based on lateral cooperation targeting may indeed replac

control warfare based on top-down command targeting as th

paralysis “strategy of choice” in the twenty-first century. Yet, a

the Tofflers point out, all future warfare will not be exclusivel

“third wave,” or information, warfare. That is to say, “first wave

(agrarian) and “second wave” (industrial) war forms will no

disappear with the emergence of the Information Age. Instead

we will observe that “every large-scale conflict will b

distinguished by a characteristic combination of thes

war-forms. Put differently, each war or battle will have its ow

‘wave formation’ according to how the three types of conflict ar

combined.”9 3

Thus, although the future of strategic paralysis theory ma

lie in the concept of control warfare ushered in by Boyd an

387
Warden, actual plans to incapacitate an adversary ma

themselves remain “characteristic combinations” of the thre

war forms of paralysis discussed above—economic warfar

based on industrial targeting, control warfare based on

vertical command targeting, and control warfare based on

lateral information targeting.

Though experiencing a renaissance in the wake of Deser

Storm , the notion of strategic paralysis has been around fo

quite some time. The nonlethal intent of incapacitatin

(instead of annihilating or attriting) the enemy sprang quit

forcefully from the carnivorous trenches of World War 

Airpower’s first major war was one of mankind’s bloodiest an

most senseless. Unsurprisingly, then, air veterans of that wa

heeded the strategic call to “think in terms of paralysing, no

of killing.”9 4 Two modern-day airmen, John Boyd and John

Warden, have done just that.

As I have explained, Boyd ’s thoughts are process oriented an

aim at psychological paralysis. He speaks of folding an opponen

back inside himself by operating inside his OODA loop , a

action that severs the adversary’s external bonds with hi

environment and thereby forces an inward orientation upon

him. This inward focus necessarily creates mismatches betwee

the real world and his perceptions of that world. Under th

menacing environment of war, the initial confusion and disorde

degenerate into a state of internal dissolution that collapses hi

will to resist. To counter this dissolution, Boyd offers th

orientation process of destruction and creation—a form o

mental gymnastics designed to permit more rapid construction

of more accurate strategies in the heat of battle. His theory o

conflict is Clausewitzian in the sense that it remain

philosophical, emphasizes the mental and moral spheres o

conflict, and upholds the importance of teaching warriors how t

think—that is, teaching the genius of war.

Warden’s theory of strategic attack is form oriented an

aims at physical paralysis . It advocates parallel, inside-ou

strikes against an enemy’s five strategic rings, with

unwavering emphasis on the leadership bull’s-eye. Continua

differentiation of these rings by air strategists reveals thos

COGs within and between rings that, when struck

incapacitate the enemy system through the rapid imposition

388
of either total or partial paralysis . Warden 

s theory is Jominia

in the sense that it remains practical, emphasizes the physica

sphere of conflict, and upholds the importance of teachin

warriors how to act—that is, teaching the principles of war.

The ideas of Boyd and Warden complement each other and

together, have helped usher in the era of inflicting strategi

paralysis by means of control warfare. Although this genera

war form may become predominant in the Information Age

specific targeting schemes may need to vary somewhat. Thus

as always, the practical application of airpower theory mus

remain flexible and responsive. Tomorrow’s airmen should

remain forever mindful of the Tofflers’ warning that first- an

second-wave war forms do not disappear in the era o

third-wave conflict. Caveats aside, if twenty-first-centur

technologies ever enable nonlethal capability to match

nonlethal intent, then the strategic paralysis theories of John

Boyd and John Warden may offer the guidance necessary fo

effective and efficient operations inside the loops and rings o

first-, second-, and third-wave adversaries who threaten us.

Notes

1. In this respect, the works of Boyd and Warden represent a resurgenc

in strategic conventional airpower theory. As Col Phillip Meilinger argue

the three decades of airpower prior to Operation Desert Storm witnessed th

diminished doctrinal significance of strategic conventional airpower. H

cites two primary reasons for this phenomenon: (1) the organizational ris

of tactical airpower in the era of limited war and (2) the identification o

strategic airpower with nuclear weapons in the age of the atom. Lt Co

Phillip S. Meilinger, “The Problem with Our Airpower Doctrine,” Airpowe

Journal 6, no. 1 (Spring 1992): 24–31.

2. RAND’s John Arquilla and David Ronfeldt have coined the term

cyberwar to describe the nature of future conflict. The prefix cyber come

from the Greek root kybernan, meaning to steer or govern. They conten

that cyberwar is a more encompassing term than information warfare sinc

“it bridges the fields of information and governance better than does an

other available prefix or term.” A RAND colleague, Denise Quigley, offers th

German term Leitenkrieg, which roughly means control warfare. I prefer th

latter term to describe the content of Boyd’s and Warden’s theories o

strategic paralysis.

3. J. F. C. Fuller, The Foundations of the Science of War (London

Hutchinson, 1925), 47.

389
4. Interestingly, Fuller

s three spheres bear notable resemblance t

Clausewitz’s famed trinity of armed forces (physical), government (mental)

and population (moral).

5. Fuller, 146.

6. Nonlethal intent distinguishes paralysis from more traditiona

strategies of annihilation. For a differing opinion, see Maj Jason B. Barlow

“Strategic Paralysis: An Airpower Strategy for the Present,” Airpower Journa

7, no. 4 (Winter 1993): 4–15. He contends that the difference betwee

paralysis and annihilation is one of technological capability rather tha

politico-strategic intent.

7. David Shlapak writes of “indirect engagement” as a mode of attac

whereby “the effect is meant to be felt primarily elsewhere than at the poin

of attack.” However, he defines paralysis as a “reduction in a combat forc

element’s capability resulting from indirect engagement of that element

(emphasis added). In contrast, I view paralysis as a direct engagement o

physical and mental capabilities so as to indirectly engage will. See Davi

Shlapak, Exploring Paralysis: An Introduction to the Study, RAND Repo

PM-107-AF (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, December 1992), 5.

8. Hans Delbruck, History of the Art of War within the Framework o

Political History, trans. W. J. Renfroe Jr., vol. 4 (Lincoln: University o

Nebraska Press, 1986), 279.

9. Generally, though not exclusively, relative numbers and/or materia

considerations dictated the decision for battle or maneuver. However, the

could also include such political factors as the aim of the war, possibl

repercussions within one’s own government or nation, and the individualit

of the enemy government and people.

10. Delbruck, vol. 1, 136.

11. Fuller, 314.

12. Ibid., 292.

13. Liddell Hart wrote that “a strategist should think in terms o

paralysing, not of killing. Even on the lower plane of warfare, a man killed i

merely one man less, whereas a man unnerved is a highly infectious carrie

of fear, capable of spreading an epidemic of panic. On a higher plane o

warfare, the impression made on the mind of the opposing commander ca

nullify the whole fighting power his troops possess. And on a still highe

plane, psychological pressure on the government of a country may suffice t

cancel all the resources at its command—so that the sword drops from 

paralysed hand.” Basil H. Liddell Hart, Strategy (London: Faber & Fabe

1954), 212.

14. Fuller, 181.

15. Basil H. Liddell Hart, Paris; Or the Future of War (New York: Dutton

1925), 40–41.

16. Quoted in Charles Webster and Noble Frankland, The Strategic Ai

Offensive against Germany, 1939–1945, vol. 4 (London: Her Majesty’

Stationery Office, 1961), 72.

390
17. Quoted in Thomas H. Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine in the A

Arm, 1917 –1941 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1985), 9.

18. William Mitchell, Skyways (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1930), 255.

19. Boyd’s theories have significantly affected the operational doctrine

of both the United States Army, as reflected in Field Manual (FM) 100-5

Operations, May 1986, and of the Marine Corps, as reflected in Fleet Marin

Force Manual (FMFM) 1, Warfighting, 6 March 1989. His ideas have ha

lesser influence upon Air Force and Navy operational doctrines.

20. John R. Boyd, “A Discourse on Winning and Losing,” August 1987

2, document no. M-U 30352-16, no. 7791, Air University Library, Maxwel

AFB, Ala.

21. William S. Lind, “Military Doctrine, Force Structure, and the Defens

Decision-Making Process,” Air University Review 30, no. 4 (May–June 1979): 22

22. This psychological paralysis often entails physical destruction, bu

such destruction is never an end in itself.

23. For Boyd’s analysis, see his “Patterns of Conflict” briefing within “A

Discourse on Winning and Losing.”

24. Boyd’s coupling of initiative and harmony stems from his study an

acceptance of the German concepts of Auftragstaktik (mission order tactics

and Schwerpunkt (focus of main effort).

25. Boyd, “Patterns of Conflict” in “A Discourse on Winning and Losing

141.

26. William S. Lind, “Defining Maneuver Warfare for the Marine Corps

Marine Corps Gazette 64 (March 1980): 56.

27. Boyd treats decision making and action taking as the process an

product of a unitary rational actor. However, as Graham Allison argues

other models of nation-state behavior account for the bureaucratic natur

of governments and the complications this introduces into the behaviora

equation. See Graham T. Allison, Essence of Decision: Explaining the Cuba

Missile Crisis (Boston: Little, Brown, 1971). Boyd would maintain, howeve

that minimizing the impact of such bureaucratic factors by streamlinin

organizational form and process is just another way to enhance one’s ow

OODA loop.

28. By “folding an opponent back inside himself,” Boyd simply mean

restricting an opponent’s ability to reorient to a rapidly changin

environment.

29. Boyd, “The Strategic Game of ? and ?” in “A Discourse on Winnin

and Losing,” 10.

30. Boyd’s dialectic process of destruction and creation correspond

fairly well to the modern scientific literature on genius. In “The Puzzle o

Genius,” Newsweek, 28 June 1993, 121, Sharon Begley suggests tha

genius rests in the ability to combine in novel ways elements from

seemingly unrelated fields. Interestingly, Boyd’s analysis/synthesis als

correlates with the bihemispheric organization of the human mind a

indicated by modern split-brain research. Pioneered by the Californi

Institute of Technology’s R. W. Perry, psychologist and cowinner of the 198

391
Nobel Prize, this research suggests a division of labor between the left an

right cerebral hemispheres of the brain. As Jan Ehrenwald explains i

Anatomy of Genius (New York: Human Sciences Press, 1984), the left side i

analytic and rational in its thinking, focusing on the trees. In contrast, th

right side is holistic and artistic, focusing on the forest. He then states tha

concerted evidence supports a combined left- and right-hemispheri

approach to the mental process we call genius (pages 14–19). R. Ochs

offers a similar definition of creative genius in Before the Gates of Excellenc

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). It involves bringin

something into being that is original (new, unusual, novel, and unexpected

and valuable (useful, good, adaptive, and appropriate).

31. This is precisely why Boyd claims that orientation remains the mos

important portion of the OODA loop.

32. Pape has introduced a methodology for analyzing strategic theories

particularly those dealing with the application of coercive airpower. Ver

simply, his approach links military means to political ends by way o

“mechanisms,” which address why theorists expect their proposed mean

or target sets to achieve the ends or desired results. In other words, if on

attacks a given target (means), something will happen (mechanism) t

produce the desired results (ends). Depicted graphically, TARGET →

MECHANISM → RESULT.

33. John R. Boyd, Maxwell AFB, Ala., interviewed by author, 30 Marc

1994.

34. For those disappointed readers still looking for an operationa

example of Boyd’s ideas, I offer the following, both of which were acceptabl

to Boyd as possible applications. The first is the Russian concept of th

operational maneuver group (OMG), a combined-arms team of raiders

paratroopers, and diversionary units designed to operate within enem

formations. As Dr. Harold Orenstein describes it, “Such activity changes th

classical concept of crushing a formation from without (by penetration

encirclement and blockade) into one of splitting it from within (by raids

airborne landings and diversions).” See Harold Orenstein, “Warsaw Pac

Views on Trends in Ground Forces Tactics,” International Defense Review 

(September 1989): 1149–52.

35. Clausewitz defines the “ultimate object” of war in identical terms

See Carl von Clausewitz, On War, ed. and trans. Michael Howard and Pete

Paret (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1976), 484.

36. Mao Tse-tung, Six Essays on Military Affairs (Peking: Foreig

Languages Press, 1972), 273.

37. Ibid., 299.

38. Regarding his briefings to the USAF Checkmate Division, Boy

implies that he implanted this idea of strategic paralysis in the Air Staff (se

Boyd, interview). However, the historical review presented earlier suggest

that this notion has underpinned US strategic air theory from its earlie

days. Boyd does not recall briefing John Warden directly, and Warde

claims to have only a superficial appreciation of Boyd’s ideas. He is

392
however, most familiar with those concerning air combat and energ

maneuverability, owing to his fighter background. Col John A. Warden III

commandant, Air Command and Staff College, Maxwell AFB, Ala

interviewed by author, 27 January 1994.

39. One detects a distinct “strategic” flavor to Warden’s discussions of ai

superiority and interdiction in The Air Campaign: Planning for Comba

(Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1988). Emphasizing th

“command is the sine qua non of military operations,” he advocates attackin

the three elements of command (information gathering, decision, an

communication) as part of the effort to win air superiority (pages 51–58)

Likewise, he clearly prefers “distant interdiction” against the source of men an

materiel as the “most decisive” form of interdiction (pages 94–95).

40. Ibid., 9.

41. In defining a center of gravity as “the hub of all power an

movement,” Clausewitz viewed COGs as strengths alone. Also, in his que

to reduce the enemy’s COGs to a single, omnipotent hub, Clausewit

diminished the strategic significance of interrelationships between COGs

He did acknowledge that one could not always reduce several COGs to on

(though these cases were “very few” in number). He also recognized 

certain “connectedness” between COGs when he wrote of their “spheres o

effectiveness” to describe the influence of one hub upon the rest. However

Clausewitz still advocated attacks upon the COGs themselves, overlookin

the possibility of targeting the vulnerable linkages between COGs. Thes

linkages and interactions are addressed by Boyd, Warden, and, mo

recently, Maj Jason Barlow through his creative concept of nationa

elements of value (NEV). For more on NEVs, see Barlow.

42. Warden, The Air Campaign, 149.

43. This assertion contains two presumptions: (1) an enemy’s COGs ar

material in nature and (2) an enemy possesses COGs that are vulnerable t

attack. Regarding the first presumption, certain nonmaterial COGs ma

actually be more vulnerable to attack by surface forces than by air forces

For example, if popular support is the strategic COG for a guerrill

insurgency, then surface forces may have the advantage over air forces du

to their ability to occupy territory and, if necessary, separate the populatio

from the insurgents. In terms of the second presumption, an enemy ma

have no vulnerable COGs at all due to the inherent redundancy and/o

resiliency of his system.

44. Warden defines a strategic entity as “any organization that ca

operate autonomously; that is, it is self-directing and self-sustaining.” As h

goes on to explain, this definition implies that his theory of strategic attac

against the enemy as a system is “as applicable to a guerrilla organizatio

as to a modern industrial state.” See Col John A. Warden III, “The Enemy a

a System,” Airpower Journal 9, no. 1 (Spring 1995): 55, note 1. Althoug

one can certainly argue with Warden’s contention that his theory applies t

all forms of warfare, one cannot insist (as many do) that he assumes th

enemy is a modernized nation-state. He does presume that one can analyz

393
the enemy, whether a nation-state or a guerrilla organization, as a system

of five strategic rings with leadership at the center.

45. Warden uses a biological analogy to draw parallels with the huma

body. The brain, receiving inputs from the eyes and central nervous system

represents the body’s leadership. Food and oxygen are two organi

essentials, while blood vessels, bones, and muscles provide th

infrastructure. Cells constitute the body’s population, while specifi

lymphocytes and leukocytes, along with other white blood cells, provid

protection from attack. A cessation in functioning of any part of the bod

will have a more or less important effect on the rest of the body. Althoug

this analogy is attractive in its simplicity and familiarity, Neustadt and Ma

caution that one must temper reasoning from analogies by considerin

differences as well as likenesses. See Richard E. Neustadt and Ernest R

May, Thinking in Time: The Uses of History for Decision-Makers (New York

Free Press, 1986), 41.

46. The terminology often used by Warden to discuss the leadership rin

suggests that, like Boyd, he treats governmental decision making as th

process and product of a unitary rational actor—Allison’s model 1 (se

Allison). However, he argues that one can describe and target the leadershi

bull’s-eye in terms of model 1 (rational actor), model 2 (organizationa

process), or model 3 (governmental politics). In fact, the analysis o

breakdown of the center ring into its subsystems will reveal the model 1, 2

and/or 3 dynamics at play. The job of the air strategist is to determine ho

best to influence leadership decision making, given its particular system

dynamics. Col John A. Warden III, commandant, Air Command and Staf

College, Maxwell AFB, Ala., interviewed by author, 17 February 1994.

47. Warden, interview, 17 February 1994.

48. Ibid.

49. Col John A. Warden III, “Air Theory for the Twenty-first Century

(Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air Command and Staff College, January 1994), 14–19

Interestingly, both Billy Mitchell and the Air Corps Tactical School dre

similar lessons from their examination of World War I; these lesson

subsequently affected their visions of future war and airpower.

50. Although the depiction of war as an extension of politics is widel

accepted in both civilian and military circles, two prominent militar

historians have recently cast doubt on this proposition in their late

publications. See Martin van Creveld, The Transformation of War (New York

Free Press, 1991); and John Keegan, A History of Warfare (New York: Alfre

A. Knopf, 1993). If, as they claim, war is a sociocultural phenomenon rathe

than a political one, this has significant implications for Warden’s emphasi

on enemy leadership as the critical center of gravity.

51. Col John A. Warden III, “Employing Air Power in the Twenty-firs

Century,” in The Future of Air Power in the Aftermath of the Gulf War, ed

Richard H. Shultz Jr. and Robert L. Pfaltzgraff Jr. (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: A

University Press, July 1992), 62, 67.

394
52. For additional detail, see Warden, 

Air Theory for the Twenty-firs

Century,” 8–14.

53. Ibid., 3.

54. In certain respects, Warden’s dismissal of destruction strategie

resembles Clausewitz’s idea that absolute war (involving pure violence an

the total annihilation of the enemy state) was virtually impossible t

conduct due to real-world constraints.

55. As mentioned in footnote 41, Major Barlow provides an excellen

discussion of the dynamic interactions between what he calls nationa

elements of value. He explains that these NEVs are both interdependen

and self-compensating—both critical attributes to consider when one i

trying to dismantle the enemy as a system.

56. Eliot Cohen, “Strategic Paralysis: Social Scientists Make Ba

Generals,” The American Spectator, November 1980, 27.

57. Col Pat Pentland, class notes, Course 633, Center of Gravit

Analysis, School of Advanced Airpower Studies. See also idem, “Center o

Gravity Analysis and Chaos Theory: Or How Societies Form, Function, an

Fail” (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air War College, 1993–1994).

58. Warden, interview, 17 February 1994.

59. Clausewitz, 136.

60. Warden, “The Enemy as a System,” 43. Again, notable parallels exis

between Warden’s formula and the following one developed by ACTS

NATION’S WAR-MAKING POTENTIAL = WAR-MAKING CAPABILITY x WIL

TO RESIST.

61. Warden, interview, 17 February 1994.

62. Warden, “Air Theory for the Twenty-first Century,” 3.

63. Warden, interview, 17 February 1994.

64. Antoine Henri Jomini, The Art of War, in Roots of Strategy, bk. 

(Harrisburg, Pa.: Stackpole Books, 1987), 436.

65. Interestingly, many prominent historians note that the Jominia

tradition has dominated American military thinking over the past centur

and a half. For example, Michael Howard argues that “it is in Jominia

rather than in Clausewitzian terms that soldiers are trained to think” sinc

the complicated craft of war is most easily taught by focusing on th

mechanics of military operations rather than on the more nebulous feature

of morale, genius, and so forth. Peter Paret traces this Jominian dominanc

back to the “intensely empirical atmosphere” of the late nineteenth century

Michael Howard, “Jomini and the Classical Tradition in Military Thought

and Peter Paret, “Clausewitz and the Nineteenth Century,” in The Theor

and Practice of War, ed. Michael Howard (Bloomington, Ind.: Indian

University Press, 1975), 13–14, 31.

66. In an extremely thought-provoking article, Alan Beyerchen argue

that Clausewitz himself was a “nonlinear” thinker and that On War is 

classic exposé of the essential nonlinearity or unpredictability of battle. Se

Alan Beyerchen, “Clausewitz, Nonlinearity, and the Unpredictability o

War,” International Security 17 (Winter 1992–1993): 59–90.

395
67. Clausewitz, 152.

68. Ibid., 141.

69. Ibid., 100, 110.

70. Col John A. Warden III, commandant, Air Command and Staf

College, Maxwell AFB, Ala., interviewed by author, 23 February 1994.

71. Grant T. Hammond, chair of national security strategy/professor o

international relations, Air War College, Maxwell AFB, Ala., interviewed b

author, 3 February 1994.

72. Quoted in Webster and Frankland, vol. 4, 72.

73. Ibid., 73. Trenchard deplored “the indiscriminate bombing of a cit

for the sole purpose of terrorising the civilian population.” That said, he di

focus heavily on the moral effects of strategic bombardment. The minutes o

a meeting he chaired in July 1923 quote him as advocating “the policy o

hitting the French nation and making them squeal before we did. . . . [Thi

is] more vital than anything else” (page 67). Similarly, Air Staf

memorandum 11A of March 1924 succinctly states that the prope

employment of the RAF is “to bomb military objectives in populated area

from the beginning of the war, with the object of obtaining a decision by th

moral effect which such attacks will produce and by the serious dislocatio

of the normal life of the country.” Col Phillip S. Meilinger, “Trenchard an

‘Morale Bombing’: The Evolution of Royal Air Force Doctrine before Worl

War II,” Journal of Military History 60 (April 1996): 256.

74. Col Edgar S. Gorrell, “Gorrell: Strategical Bombardment,” in The U.S

Air Service in World War I, ed. Maurer Maurer, vol. 2 (Washington, D.C

Government Printing Office, 1978), 143.

75. One should note that ACTS’s strategic bombardment doctrine wa

not the War Department’s official doctrine as laid out in TR 440-15

Employment of the Air Forces of the Army. Despite only lukewarm

endorsement by the Army General Staff, the school’s “high altitude

daylight, precision bombing” of the enemy’s industrial web did form a basi

for US air plans in World War II and is widely recognized as the definitiv

American strategic air doctrine in the interwar period.

76. The Tofflers contend that “the way humans make wealth and th

way they make war are inextricably connected. . . . It is still not full

appreciated that the great age of industrialism is behind us. The basi

system for wealth creation is being revolutionized—and war, as usual, i

mutating in parallel.” Alvin Toffler and Heidi Toffler, “War, Wealth, and 

New Era in History,” World Monitor 4 (May 1991): 52.

77. This notion of control warfare assumes that the enemy possesses 

developed, identifiable, and vulnerable system of governance an

information processing upon which he depends to conduct his affairs.

78. As Alan Campen points out, “Actually, the Soviet Union moved t

formalize targeting of command and control almost two decades ago when 

adopted Radio-Electronic Combat (REC) as a formal doctrine and create

forces to execute the concept of physical and electronic attacks on enem

command and control systems.” See Alan D. Campen, The First Informatio

396
War (Fairfax, Va.: Armed Forces Communications and Electronic

Association [AFCEA] International Press, 1992), xxi, note 6.

79. In his briefing “Organic Design for Command and Control,” Boy

specifically states that the OODA loop is, by its very nature, a C2 loop (pag

26). See “A Discourse on Winning and Losing.”

80. Warden states that precision, speed, stealth, and informatio

management are the essential ingredients of parallel warfare. Col John A

Warden III, “War in 2020,” Spacecast 2020 lecture, Air War College

Maxwell AFB, Ala., 29 September 1993.

81. Warden, interview, 23 February 1994.

82. J. C. Slessor, Airpower and Armies (London: Oxford University Pres

1936), x.

83. Andrew Krepinevich of the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD

defines “information dominance” as a relatively superior understanding o

an enemy’s political, economic, military, and social structures. He contend

that establishing such information dominance may be the decisiv

operation in future wars. See Andrew Krepinevich, “The Military-Technica

Revolution” (paper for the OSD Office of Net Assessment, Washington, D.C

Fall 1992), 22.

84. Clearly, our potential adversaries differ significantly in terms of thei

reliance upon advanced information technologies; consequently, th

viability of paralysis by control warfare based on information targeting mu

vary likewise.

85. In fact, the most recent Joint Publication 1, Joint Warfare of the US

Armed Forces, 11 November 1991, codifies the use of advanced technologie

to establish a favorable “information differential.” It states that “the join

campaign should fully exploit the information differential, that is, th

superior access to and ability to effectively employ information on th

strategic, operational and tactical situation which advanced U.S

technologies provide our forces” (page 57). In addition, the National Defens

University at Fort Lesley J. McNair, Washington, D.C., opened a School o

Information Warfare and Strategy in August 1994. Its 10-month-lon

curriculum focuses on advances in information technology and the way

these affect the definition of national security needs and the development o

military strategy.

86. John Arquilla and David Ronfeldt, Cyberwar Is Coming, RAND

Report P-7791 (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1992), 6.

87. This assertion does not imply that all future wars will be high-tech

hyperspeed infowars. I agree with Alvin and Heidi Toffler’s view that th

advent of information warfare does not eliminate other forms of conflic

Generally speaking, however, advances in information technology wil

increase the pace of twenty-first-century warfare, albeit to varying degree

based on the technological capabilities of the opposing sides.

88. Maj James L. Rodgers, “Future Warfare and the Space Campaign

Air Campaign Course Research Projects (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air Comman

and Staff College, 1993–1994), 116.

397
89. 

The Information Revolution reflects the advance of computerize

information and communications technologies and related innovations i

organization and management theory. Sea-changes are occurring in ho

information is collected, stored, processed, communicated and presented

and in how organizations are designed to take advantage of increase

information.” Arquilla and Ronfeldt, 2.

90. John Naisbitt, Megatrends: Ten New Directions Transforming Ou

Lives (New York: Warner Books, 1982), 1–2.

91. Ibid., 204.

92. “Distributed problem solving is the solution to problems through th

use of multiple cooperative (usually physically separated) problem solvers

Truly distributed problem solving must be contrasted with centralize

problem solving with remote execution. In true distributed problem solving

no one element has access to all the information which will be used in th

eventual solution. The essential issues involve the decomposition o

problems, insuring cooperation among problem-solving elements, managin

communications, and dynamically adjusting the system problem

statements in response to changes in the situation.” Maj George E. Orr

Combat Operations C3I: Fundamentals and Interactions (Maxwell AFB, Ala

Air University Press, 1983), 41–42.

93. Toffler and Toffler, 52.

94. Liddell Hart, Strategy, 212.

398
Chapter 11

An Ambivalent Partnership:

US Army and Air Force Perspectives

on Air-Ground Operations, 1973–90

Dr. Harold R. Winton*

It is my conviction that the characteristics commonly

associated with chamber music can be achieved in

symphonic orchestras far more readily than is customarily

imagined. It is a matter, first, of the excellence of the

players themselves, and second of the manner in which

they are trained to listen to what others are doing and to

make their individual part contribute to the ensemble

synthesis.

—George Szell

The era between the Vietnam War and Operation Deser

Shield proved highly significant for all of America ’s arme

forces but particularly for the Army and the Air Force, both o

which came out of Vietnam with a mixed legacy. On the on

hand, proponents could point to battlefield successes. On th

other, both internal and external critics contended that th

Army and the Air Force had failed to develop strategic an

operational concepts that contributed to preservation of an

independent, non-Communist Republic of Vietnam. Thes

analysts argued that although part of the failure to achiev

American political objectives lay at the doorstep of misguide

political direction and at times overly restrictive constraint

and restraints, the services themselves suffered from

intellectual deficiencies that detracted significantly from thei

overall effectiveness. Debates over these issues led to interna

turmoil in both services, though more so in the Army than th

*The author wishes to thank Andrew Bacevich, Dennis Drew, Douglas Johnso

Thomas Keaney, Phillip Meilinger, David Mets, and John Romjue for their substantiv

and useful comments on an early draft of this essay. All matters of fact and interpre 

tation herein remain, however, the author’s responsibility.

399
Air Force . Two other conditions affected both services: (1) th

emergence of technological capabilities that accentuated th

speed, lethality, and precision of weapons systems for both

land and air warfare and (2) the identification of a possible

Warsaw Pact invasion of western Europe as the single mos

significant threat for which the United States had to prepar

conventional forces.

This essay provides a critical, comparative analysis of Arm

and Air Force doctrine regarding air-ground operations in th

period 1973–90. For purposes of the analysis, the essa

defines air-ground operations as attacks from the air agains

enemy ground targets that have either tactical or operationa

consequence for friendly ground formations. One usually

classifies such attacks under the rubrics of close air suppor

(CAS) and air interdiction (AI). The essay excludes explici

consideration of tactical air reconnaissance and tactical airlift 

The analysis seeks to determine the degrees of commonalit

and divergence that marked the two services’ approaches t

air-ground operations and the underlying reasons for eithe

the compatibility or tension between the emerging doctrina

positions. Initial factors examined here include the service

reactions to the external influences mentioned above as wel

as the following internal factors: their visions of the nature o

war, their doctrine-development processes, and the roles o

key Army and Air Force personalities in shaping doctrine.

The first part of the essay focuses on the period from 197

to 1979, when the Army and the Air Force began 

partnership based primarily on the Army’s realization of it

need for Air Force support in executing its Active Defens

doctrine. The second examines the period from 1980 to 1986

when the Army’s move from a doctrine of Active Defense t

AirLand Battle and its grappling with the concept of th

operational level of war served to strengthen that partnership

The final section assesses the era from 1987 to 1990 in ligh

of the Army’s efforts to develop capabilities to execute dee

battle and of the emergence of unofficial thought within th

Air Force concerning the operational level of war.

This essay fits within the general field of peacetim

preparation for war and institutional responses to challenge

imposed by such preparation. As Michael Howard noted in

400
Military Science in an Age of Peace, a lecture he gave in

1973, one may find the fog of peace even more difficult t

penetrate than the fog of war.1 This situation requires militar

institutions in peacetime to navigate by dead reckoning, neve

quite sure of what they will encounter when the fog partially

lifts and the bullets, missiles, and electrons begin flying with

malice. Military leaders sailing through this fog of peace no

only must articulate a reasonably accurate vision of th

nature of future war and define new operational concepts fo

fighting it successfully, but also—through fiat, consensu

building, or some combination thereof—must convince thei

service that the course upon which they are embarked i

correct. Further, they must implement a coherent policy tha

will mold the service to meet its anticipated challenges.2 Non

of this is easy, but these peacetime challenges becom

significantly more difficult when the issues require the activ

participation of two services with significantly differen

institutional histories, self-images, and battlefield perspectives.

Unsurprisingly, the Army and the Air Force look at war from

two sharply contrasting points of view. To most Army officers

it is axiomatic that ground soldiers with weapons decide th

ultimate outcome of any war. The consideration of terrain i

part and parcel of everything they do. Although weathe

influences their operations, it does not preclude them

Furthermore, soldiers live where they fight: on the ground

with almost constant exposure to privation and danger. Th

primary force they must reckon with is the enemy groun

formation. But—and this is a very important but—virtually a

thinking soldiers also remain painfully aware of their need fo

air support : to keep the enemy air force off their backs and t

reduce the effectiveness of the enemy’s ground formations.

Airmen live in an entirely different mental and physica

universe. They do not accept the axiom that the ultimat

result comes from soldiers on the ground. Many airmen

believe passionately that airpower is a liberating force that can

produce tactical, operational, and strategic results quit

independently of land formations. Features of terrain are a

most minor nuisances that one must take into account when

planning flight routes and final approaches. Weather, on th

other hand, is a very significant consideration that can

401
severely degrade and, under certain conditions, prevent ai

operations. Although airmen’s exposure to danger i

intermittent, they rely absolutely on the proper functioning o

their equipment for survival in the hostile and unforgivin

environment in which they fight. Furthermore, most airmen

remain completely convinced that the sine qua non of effectiv

operations is the neutralization or destruction of the enemy’

air force and air defenses . This accomplished, all else can

follow. Although airmen largely depend upon soldiers to kee

enemy ground forces at bay, this dependence is nowher

nearly as strong as soldiers’ dependence upon them. Th

asymmetry of this dependence lies at the root of many of th

tensions that exist between the Army and the Air Forc

regarding air-ground operations.

Forming the Partnership, 1973–79

The Vietnam experience significantly affected both the Arm

and the Air Force, but in noticeably different ways. The Arm

was virtually shattered. The proud, confident days when

troops had helicoptered into the Ia Drang Valley and put t

flight multiple North Vietnamese Army (NVA) regiments were 

faded and distant memory by 1973. Instead, at the forefront o

the Army’s consciousness one found (1) a series of battles tha

were, at best, tactical stalemates and (2) a deep malais

brought about by an unpopular war, an inequitable draf

system, a progressive unraveling of small-unit discipline, an

a severe questioning of the competence and integrity of it

senior leaders. Although some voices placed the onus for th

Vietnam debacle on misguided policy and faulty militar

strategy directed from the E ring of the Pentagon , other

realized that if the Army were to provide effectively for th

common defense, it must reform itself both morally an

intellectually. The intellectual component of tha

transformation would center first in doctrine.

The Air Force experience in Vietnam was not as searing a

the Army’s, but it did possess some doctrinal implications

First, the evidence on AI remained mixed. Although it had no

appreciably altered support to guerrilla warfare , it ha

substantially disrupted the logistical flow to conventiona

402
offensive operations. Second, seven long years of operatin

under a badly fragmented command system significantly

reinforced the Air Force ’s institutional preference for a singl

air commander in each theater of operations, working unde

the direct purview of the theater commander. More ambivalen

were the implications of the Vietnam experience for the theor

of strategic attack in negating an opponent’s militar

capability and undermining his political will. On the on

hand, many Air Force analysts insisted that Linebacker 

demonstrated what airpower could do when politicians took

the gloves off. 3 More thoughtful analysts, however, pointed ou

that no panacea target set neutralized the military capabilit

of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRVN) and tha

President Richard Nixon purchased the political objective o

disengaging America from Vietnam with the carrot o

concessions as much as he imposed it with the stick o

airpower.4 In sum, Vietnam provided rather uncertain grist fo

the Air Force doctrinal mill.

Before examining the development of Army and Air Forc

doctrine in the period following the Vietnam War, one should

note that the two institutions have divergent perspective

about the nature and purpose of doctrine itself. In its militar

guise, doctrine forms the essential link between theory an

practice. It remains, in essence, a medium of transmission in

which general ideas about the nature, purpose, an

employment of violence in service of the state (theoretica

propositions) receive sanctioned, practical expression peculia

to the time and setting of the military institution promulgatin

the doctrine of a particular era. As such, doctrine alway

involves both thought and action.5 But the Air Forc

emphasizes the cerebral component of doctrine, while th

Army concentrates upon the musculature. The Air Force’

propensity to emphasize the conceptual component of doctrin

is clearly evident in the statement attributed to Gen Curtis E

LeMay, which appeared inside the front cover of the 198

edition of Air Force Manual (AFM) 1-1, Basic Aerospac

Doctrine of the United States Air Force: “At the very heart o

warfare lies doctrine. It represents the central beliefs fo

waging war in order to achieve victory. Doctrine is of the mind

a network of faith and knowledge reinforced by experience

403
which lays the pattern for the utilization of men, equipment

and tactics.”6

The Army view of doctrine seems much more practical

Chapter 3, “How to Fight,” of the 1976 edition of Field Manua

(FM) 100-5, Operations, meant exactly what it said. This doe

not imply that the Air Force’s doctrine has no active

component or that the Army’s has no theoretical content

Each is clearly a mix of both. Two distinct institutiona

preferences exist, however, and the divergence of thes

emphases was, in and of itself, a factor that complicate

cross-service communication.

Differing command echelons that developed each service’

most significant doctrine also influenced Army–Air Forc

communications on doctrinal matters. The Air Force doctrina

structure envisioned three levels: basic or fundamenta

doctrine, normally written at the Air Staff; operationa

doctrine, the responsibility of the major subordinat

commands; and tactical doctrine, developed by a variety o

schools and agencies.7 Army doctrine has a similar structur

but remains more closely tied to its level of organization. A

the top is capstone doctrine, the rough equivalent of Air Forc

basic doctrine but, as we have seen, a much more explici

guide to practice than its Air Force counterpart. Subordinat

doctrine addresses war-fighting and support concept

appropriate to corps, divisions, brigades, battalions, an

ultimately even minor tactical units.

The major difference between the Army and the Air Force afte

1973 was that the Army formed in that year a singl

organization—Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC)—

responsible for the development of virtually all its doctrine, from

the capstone manual to the lowest tactical publication. Thus

the Army had a powerful integrating agency that could, and did

make doctrine the engine that drove the Army. This developmen

directly reflected the personal philosophy of TRADOC’s first, an

arguably most dynamic, commander—Gen William E. DePuy

The more diffuse locus of doctrinal development in the Air Forc

reflected the anomaly that, LeMay’s assertion to the contrary

doctrine was a much more tangential concern in Air Force tha

in Army life. This diffusion also created problems in

institutional communication.

404
Both the Air Force and the Army recognized that th

former’s Tactical Air Command (TAC), which owned al

US-based aircraft that flew CAS and interdiction missions

was the logical point of contact for interaction with TRADOC

on doctrinal matters. Although the TAC -TRADOC dialogu

proved extraordinarily productive, it had two drawbacks. Th

most significant was that TAC did not speak for the Ai

Force—the Air Staff closely guarded its prerogatives in

doctrinal matters and reserved the right to review al

TAC-TRADOC agreements.8 From the Army perspective, thi

seemed to imply that when TAC and TRADOC worked out 

doctrinal solution to a common problem, someone on the Ai

Staff was standing in the corner with his fingers crosse

behind his back.9 The other, less significant, problem was tha

on doctrinal matters, TRADOC did speak for the Army. This a

times created frustration in the minds of Air Staff action

officers, who, when approaching their Army counterparts fo

coordination of doctrinal matters, received perplexed reaction

that said, in effect, “Don’t bother me; that’s TRADOC’

business.”10

Despite the perceptional differences on the nature o

doctrine itself and distinctly divergent institutiona

arrangements for the formulation thereof, one actually finds 

significant amount of cooperation between the two service

during the era between Vietnam and Desert Shield . That stor

begins with the development of the Army’s Active Defens

doctrine, published in 1976.

Three dynamics drove the 1976 edition of FM 100-5: th

reorientation of the American national security focus from

Indochina to Europe; the increased range, accuracy, an

lethality of direct-fire weapons evident in the Middle East Wa

of 1973; and General DePuy’s personal energy an

determination. The situation in Europe appeared grim. There

the insatiable manpower appetite of the war in Vietnam ha

bled Army forces white, and the continuously modernize

Warsaw Pact forces appeared capable of launching 

successful offensive into North Atlantic Treaty Organization

(NATO) territory. Further, the Middle East War of 1973 serve

as a wake-up call for the US Army. Both sides lost more tank

and artillery pieces than existed in the complete US inventor

405
of those systems in Europe, and Egyptian antitank gunners ha

successfully engaged Israeli tanks at distances of up to tw

thousand meters.1 1 Last, General DePuy supplied the energy t

apply the lessons that he derived from the Arab-Israeli War t

the fashioning of an American Army tactically capable o

repelling a Warsaw Pact invasion in Europe .

12

The centerpiece of this transformation was the 1976 edition

of FM 100-5. Clothed in a camouflage cover; replete with

numerous charts, graphs, and diagrams; written in a simple

direct style; and printed with the liberal use of eye-catchin

bold-and-italic, black-and-brown type; this manual wa

clearly designed to grab and hold the reader’s attention. Th

second paragraph of the opening chapter contained the clea

imperative that “today the US Army must, above all else

prepare to win the first battle of the next war” (emphasis in

original). 13 The entire second chapter provided a discourse on

the effects of modern weapons that graphically depicted thei

increased range and lethality from World War II to the Middl

East War of 1973. The chapter’s most arresting statemen

took the form of a stern injunction to its readers about th

capabilities of the modern tanker: “What he can see, he can

hit. What he can hit, he can kill.”1 4 The manual’s conceptua

heart lay in chapter 3, “How to Fight.” Here, soldiers learne

that “the most demanding mission that could be assigned th

US Army remains battle in Central Europe against the forces o

the Warsaw Pact” (emphasis in original) and that general

concentrate the forces, colonels direct the battle, and captain

fight the battle.1 5 The manual also informed them of the man

advantages of firepower: “MASSIVE AND VIOLENT

FIREPOWER IS A CHIEF INGREDIENT OF COMBAT

POWER. . . . FIREPOWER SAVES MANPOWER AND THUS

SAVES LIVES” (emphasis in original). 16

Contrary to many popular conceptions, the manual gav

almost equal coverage to offensive and defensive operations

providing 12 pages to the former and 14 to the latter. It als

stated explicitly in the defensive chapter that “attack is 

vital part of all defensive operations” (emphasis in

original). 17 Nevertheless, in the face of the overwhelmin

numbers of Warsaw Pact tanks envisioned on a breakthrough

frontage, the manual stipulated that active defense (th

406
phrase from which the doctrine drew its appellation) in th

main battle area would have to be elastic and tha

“counterattacks should be conducted only when the gains t

be achieved are worth the risks involved in surrendering th

innate advantages of the defender.”1 8

Of particular interest to this essay is chapter 8, “Air-Lan

Battle,” the second paragraph of which explicitly addresse

the Army’s dependence upon the Air Force: “Both the Arm

and the Air Force deliver firepower against the enemy. Both

can kill a tank. Both can collect intelligence , conduc

reconnaissance , provide air defense, move troops an

supplies, and jam radios and radar. But neither the Army no

the Air Force can fulfill any one of those functions completely

by itself. Thus, the Army cannot win the land battle without th

Air Force” (emphasis in original).1 9

This analysis paid particular attention to the suppression o

Warsaw Pact air defenses, asserting that “whenever an

wherever the heavy use of airpower is needed to win th

air-land battle, the enemy air defenses must be suppressed

(emphasis in original). 20 The manual depicted thi

suppression as a joint effort that required the integration o

the intelligence and strike capabilities of both services. I

cautioned, however, that even with the best of air defens

suppression, the Air Force , in a future European battl

against the Warsaw Pact, would not be able to provide th

unopposed CAS to which the Army had become accustomed in

its three previous wars. In short, the Army’s 1976 doctrina

prescription for a future war in Europe clearly recognize

cooperation with the Air Force as a tactical and institutiona

imperative.

Air Force basic doctrine in the period 1973–79 does no

reflect a similar sense of commonality. The 1975 edition o

AFM 1-1 was a bland document that reflected the desire of Ai

Force leadership for a manual that “more accurately and fully

restates the role and purpose of USAF aerospace power

relating [it] more directly to national policy and nationa

security strategy.”2 1 In other words, the manual sought t

demonstrate the Air Force’s relevance in the post-Vietnam era

It listed eight combat operational missions: strategic attack 

counterair, AI, CAS, aerospace defense of the United States

407
aerospace surveillance and reconnaissance, airlift, and specia

operations. It also provided the stock definitions of an

commentary on AI and CAS operations, the former defined a

those “conducted to destroy, neutralize or delay enemy groun

or naval forces before they can be brought to bear agains

friendly forces.” Aerospace forces engaging in interdiction ha

to be capable of timely response to fleeting point and are

targets. CAS operations were “intended to provide responsive

sustained and concentrated firepower of great lethality an

precision . . . in close integration with the fire and maneuve

of surface forces.” However, nothing in this edition of AFM 1-

indicated that the conditions for executing AI and CAS ha

recently undergone radical transformation or that clos

cooperation with the Army, particularly in the area of th

suppression of enemy air defenses (SEAD), had become a ke

element in the Air Force ’s ability to conduct these operation

without suffering unacceptable losses. 2 2

The 1979 edition of AFM 1-1 did little, if anything, t

improve this situation. Now widely derided by airpowe

analysts, the manual prompted one informed critic to refer t

it as “the nadir of Air Force doctrine.”23 Despite this criticism

it contained some useful elements. The closing chapter offere

a concise summary of the evolution of Air Force doctrine and 

selected bibliography of publications dealing with militar

history and strategy, NATO and joint doctrine, an

international relations. In perusing this list, however, one i

struck by the fact that it does not include a single work

dealing with the strategic, operational, or tactical employmen

of airpower! One is even more struck by the presence o

numerous penned sketches of people, ranging from Presiden

Jimmy Carter and former president Dwight Eisenhower to th

chief master sergeant of the Air Force and the ranking femal

officer on active duty at the time, each accompanied by 

seemingly relevant quotation. The manual appears to meet th

objective stated by its original drafters three years earlier t

“provide a document that is interesting, relevant, and usefu

at all Air Force organizational levels.”2 4 However, in attemptin

to be all things to all people, the manual also appears to los

its focus.

408
The fuzziness of Air Force basic doctrine, however, present

a somewhat misleading picture. Considerable evidenc

indicates that the Air Force was closely scrutinizing th

realities of a possible war in Europe and was activel

cooperating with the Army to reach mutually acceptabl

solutions to those problems. The concern with possible war i

reflected in the decision to develop a single-mission CAS

aircraft, and in a series of RAND studies commissioned by th

Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) and th

Air Force to examine the details of a possible Warsaw Pac

invasion of western Europe. The numerous joint venture

between TAC and TRADOC speak to the Air Force’

cooperation with the Army at this time.

Development of the A-10 ground-attack aircraft represente

the most tangible and, in many ways, most significan

indicator of the Air Force’s commitment to air-groun

operations between Vietnam and Desert Shield . The origin o

the A-10 goes back to the late 1960s, when Air Forc

planners, based on requirements evident in the Vietnam War

developed preliminary specifications for an ideal CAS

platform. Criteria included the ability to operate from short

unimproved airstrips; high reliability and ease o

maintenance; capacity to carry large amounts of tank-killin

ordnance; long loiter time; 350-knot speed with high

maneuverability; survivability for both pilot and plane in th

face of heavy air defenses ; and low cost.2 5 But how could on

kill tanks with air-delivered munitions? The A-10 answere

that question with its 20-feet-long, four-thousand-pound

seven-barrel Gatling gun that fired three to four thousan

rounds of 30 mm armor-piercing ammunition per minute. 2

Two quiet, reliable General Electric turbofan engines cante

upwards near the rear of the fuselage enhanced the plane’

survivability. A titanium “bathtub” that shrouded the cockpi

enhanced the pilot’s survivability. Although slightly

underpowered and ungainly, the “Warthog” was 

ground-attack pilot’s dream. From the Army’s point of view

fielding the A-10 not only underscored the Air Force’

commitment to the CAS mission, it also created a corpus o

pilots whose whole professional being centered aroun

providing that support.

409
The Air Force

s analytical focus began to shift toward th

problems of a European war in the mid-1970s. In late 1974

RAND produced a study that examined the implications o

air-and ground-delivered precision-guided munitions (PGM

for the defense of NATO.

2 7 The report concluded that PGM

might “add to the ‘glue’ of NATO and create problems for Pac

strategists.”28 In late 1975, RAND completed a study tha

examined the relative merits of additional manned aircraft

remotely piloted vehicles, and standoff munitions fo

improving air-ground capability in NATO.

2 9 The stud

concluded that for an investment of $1 billion over 10 years

CAS standoff munitions launched by A-10s would kill th

most armor and that terminally guided standoff munition

would kill the most enemy aircraft on the ground. 3 0

In May 1976, the Air Force sponsored a two-day conferenc

at RAND’s offices in Santa Monica, California, to explore in

some detail exactly how the Warsaw Pact ground forces migh

attack NATO.

3 1 Presenters included analysts from the Centra

Intelligence Agency, the Army’s Combined Arms Comba

Development Activity (a TRADOC agency), and RAND

Representatives from the Air Staff’s Directorate of Plans an

Operations and the USAF Fighter Weapons Center (a TAC

agency) at Nellis AFB, Nevada , also attended. Issue

addressed included how the war might start, principal attac

axes, the primacy of the offensive in Soviet doctrine, Sovie

concepts and tactics, logistical support, air defenses, an

chemical warfare capabilities. One presenter opined tha

Soviet forces arrayed in East Germany consisted of 31–3

divisions organized into five armies, possibly augmented by 2

additional Warsaw Pact divisions.3 2

Other RAND studies requested by the Air Force included 

1978 analysis of the effects of weather on battlefield ai

support in NATO and a 1979 assessment of the potentia

vulnerabilities of Warsaw Pact forces to attacks against thei

tactical rear areas.33 The main conclusion one draws from

these analyses is that in the early post-Vietnam years, the Ai

Force took its mission to support the Army in a European wa

very seriously indeed and engaged in a comprehensive effort t

determine how best to accomplish this mission.

410
The most obvious institutional arrangement that reflecte

Army–Air Force cooperation was the connection between

TRADOC and TAC. One finds the genesis of this dialogue

which emerged into a full-blown partnership, in the desire o

Gen Creighton W. Abrams, Army chief of staff, for clos

relations with the Air Force , and in a concern that during 

period of fiscal austerity, the two services not engage in

dysfunctional quarreling that could harm them both.3

Abrams directed DePuy to establish a close workin

relationship with his counterpart at TAC , Gen Robert J

Dixon; to ensure that both remained fully engaged in th

effort, he enlisted the support of Gen George S. Brown , Ai

Force chief of staff, who had served as his deputy for ai

operations and commander of Seventh Air Force in Vietnam.

3 

The commands held initial meetings in October 1973, an

on 1 July 1975 they established a joint office known as th

Directorate of Air-Land Forces Application (ALFA).

3 6 ALFA’

location at Langley AFB, Virginia , TAC’s headquarters and 

mere 15-minute drive from TRADOC’s headquarters at For

Monroe, Virginia , facilitated communication. Officers from

both services manned ALFA, whose actions were guided by 

joint steering committee headed by TAC ’s deputy chief of staf

for plans and TRADOC’s deputy chief of staff for comba

developments. A colonel, whose branch of service alternate

annually, directed ALFA on a day-to-day basis.3 7 On 15 July

1976, TAC and TRADOC each established an Air-Land Force

Program Office (ALPO) to convert ALFA’s recommendation

into service-specific programs.3 8

During the period 1975–79, ALFA successfully resolve

many of the tactical and procedural issues regarding air

ground interface on a highly lethal battlefield. A TRADOC-US

Army Forces Command (FORSCOM)-TAC publication

addressed airspace management—successfully tested in th

Return of Forces to Germany (REFORGER) exercise of 1976.3

The agency also produced a comprehensive volume on th

Soviet air defense threat and a study of this system’s

vulnerabilities.4 0 In September 1977, tests under ALFA’s aegi

conducted at Fort Benning, Georgia , evaluated techniques fo

the combined use of attack helicopters and A-10 aircraf

against enemy ground formations. ALFA also produced 

411
study examining ways to counter the emerging threat of th

Soviet Hind helicopter and prepared plans for the Fighte

Weapons Center at Nellis AFB and the Combined Arms Cente

(CAC) at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, to develop and evaluat

specific antihelicopter tactics.4 1

At higher levels, however, ALFA could not bridge the ga

between Army and Air Force views on air-ground cooperation 

The genesis of the problem was Abrams’s decision in 1973 t

eliminate the field army as an echelon of army organization

The demobilization of the Army and the elimination of th

peacetime draft at the end of the Vietnam War led to 

precipitous reduction in Army manpower. In order to satisfy

Congress with an acceptable “tooth-to-tail” ratio and stabiliz

the Army’s force structure, Abrams struck an agreement with

Secretary of Defense James Schlesinger to retain 16 division

on active duty in return for a guaranteed force of roughly

785,000. To hold up his end of the bargain, Abrams had to d

two things: (1) put a major portion of the support structur

into the reserves (which also acted as a prophylactic agains

the Army being called to war in the future without a reserve

call-up) and (2) cut manpower at command levels above th

division. Ergo, the field army as an organizational echelon

disappeared.4 2

The field army headquarters, however, had served as th

nexus of air-ground cooperation in both World War II an

Korea. The most famous example of this cooperation was th

virtual marriage between Lt Gen George Patton ’s Third Arm

and Brig Gen O. P. Weyland’s XIX Tactical Air Command.

4

The fundamental precept that emerged from this relationship

held that each field army would receive support from 

colocated tactical air command that worked for the theater ai

commander but whose raison d’être was assisting th

supported ground commander in the accomplishment of hi

mission. In January 1974, the Air Staff surfaced the problem

to the Army Staff, from which a proposal emerged for th

establishment of an Army tactical air support liaison elemen

located at the air force component commander ’s tactical ai

control center (TACC).

4 4 This arrangement proved insufficient

however, to provide detailed tactical coordination between

ground and air formations; and in January 1976 Dixon

412
notified DePuy that the situation required more work

particularly when multiple corps deployed in a singl

theater. 45 The proposal that emerged from these discussion

entailed retaining an Army element at the TACC, now

redesignated the battle coordination element (BCE) bu

supplementing this with a robust Air Force liaison element a

each corps headquarters, tentatively designated a tactical ai

coordination element (TACE). The Blue Flag exercise o

December 1977 tested this arrangement.4 6

In January 1978, TRADOC published its analysis of thi

exercise in an air-land forces interface study, which conclude

that the TACE provided adequate representation to the corp

and that the BCE provided adequate Army representation t

the TACC.

47 Two anomalies, however, surfaced in this report

The first was that it envisioned individual corps commander

communicating directly with the air component commande

regarding the redistribution of sorties among the corps—

clearly not a position the Air Force relished.4 8 The second wa

that it did not represent the opinion of corps commanders in

NATO, who felt that mere liaison at the corps level was no

enough—that the corps battle required much more detaile

interface with the Air Force than a liaison party could

provide. 49 Both of these issues derived from the demise of th

field army, and both continued to bedevil Army and Air Forc

planners in the years ahead.

In surveying the formation of the Army–Air Forc

partnership during the early post-Vietnam years, one mus

also consider the development of Army attack helicopters

During the Vietnam War, the Army had developed the AH-

Cobra , an attack variant of the ubiquitous “Huey.” Clearly

however, the Cobra had neither the lethality nor th

survivability to fight successfully in central Europe. Hence

the Army embarked on an ambitious program to design a new

generation of attack helicopter from the ground up, resultin

in the AH-64 Apache.

5 0 The Apache’s lethality derived from

eight laser-guided Hellfire missiles, a 30 mm chain gun, an

two pods of 2.75-inch rockets. Its design allowed it t

withstand single hits from 12.7 mm armor-piercing round

and 23 mm high-explosive cannon and continue to fly for 3

minutes. Equipped with a sophisticated target-acquisition an

413
night-sensor system, the Apache was, indeed, a formidabl

weapons system.

But its very effectiveness raised the question of whether th

Army had developed this helicopter because it did not trus

the Air Force to provide needed CAS . One cannot entirely rule

out this hypothesis. However, in the context of the Apache’

development, several other explanations appear at least a

operative as lack of interservice trust. First, the Apach

represented a logical continuation of attack helicopte

development during the Vietnam War. Second, it reflected 

belief shared by the Army and the Air Force that a Warsaw

Pact invasion of central Europe demanded the development o

a wide variety of antiarmor systems in large numbers. Third

one can view the Apache as a response to aggressive Sovie

development of attack aviation.

51

In summary, one sees in the early post-Vietnam years 

deliberate effort on the part of the Army and the Air Force t

prepare themselves to defend western Europe. The creation o

TRADOC and the conscious use of doctrine as the device t

refashion the Army in the wake of the Vietnam trauma drov

that service’s effort. In contrast, Air Force basic doctrin

appeared to lack a unifying vision. Nevertheless, the Air Forc

developed an aircraft tailor-made for killing enemy tanks in

Europe , and it carefully assayed both the Warsaw Pact groun

forces and the physical environment in which it would have t

operate to help the Army defeat them. Finally, th

TAC-TRADOC partnership embodied a promising start a

forging cooperation between the two services. Remaining

however, was the troubling issue of restoring the higher-leve

ground-air interface in the wake of the Army’s decision t

eliminate the field army as an organizational echelon.

Strengthening the Partnership, 1980–86

Over the next six years, the Army significantly revised it

capstone doctrine from Active Defense to AirLand Battle , th

latter term generating a great deal of misunderstanding

particularly during the Gulf War. One must remember tha

AirLand Battle was Army doctrine (i.e., it was not Air Forc

doctrine, and it was not joint doctrine). The Air Forc

414
rearticulated its basic doctrine in 1984, providing a somewha

more coherent view of the theory and application of airpowe

than had its predecessors. Air Force cooperation remained

absolutely essential to the execution of the Army’s AirLan

Battle doctrine. That cooperation was evident in th

development of the “31 initiatives,” which focused mainly on

programmatic activities between the Army Staff and Air Staff

and in ALFA’s publication of several practical biservice manual

However, the inherent tension between Army and Air Forc

perspectives regarding air-ground integration again surfaced

this time with regard to incorporating NATO doctrina

prescriptions for the control of AI into US Air Force practice.

General DePuy had clearly intended the 1976 edition of FM

100-5 to be widely read—it was. It also was widely debated. A

the debate matured, criticism of Active Defense focused on

several key issues. First, it was too oriented toward weapon

systems—soldiers became mere operators, not warriors. Second

the defensive method of moving from blocking position t

blocking position seemed to cede the initiative to the adversary

Third, the emphasis placed on winning the first battle left ope

the more important question of winning the last battle

Additionally, the doctrine’s focus at division level and below

omitted the important contribution made by the corps

particularly in disrupting Soviet second-echelon forces. Las

almost as insult added to injury, the manual contained n

consideration of the “principles of war.” Although outsid

analysts, in part, prompted and abetted this debate, it largel

remained an internal affair.52 Army officers read DePuy’s manua

closely, and the more they read it, the less they liked it.5 3

This dissatisfaction in the ranks corresponded to tw

developments at the top. On 1 July 1977, Gen Donn A. Starr

replaced General DePuy as TRADOC commander; and in Jun

1979, Lt Gen Edward C. Meyer, Army deputy chief of staff fo

operations and chief of staff designate, suggested to Starr

that the Army should begin work on a new FM 100-5. 54 Starr

was already so inclined. 55 Although as commander of th

Armor Center and as a DePuy protégé, he had served as one o

the key participants in developing the 1976 edition of FM

100-5, his perspective began to change when he took

command of V Corps in Europe.

56 Here, he realized the vita

415
importance of engaging Soviet second-echelon forces and no

simply blunting the initial attack. 57 When Starry assume

command of TRADOC, he began thinking and talking abou

the extended battlefield , a term that entered the TRADOC

lexicon in the form of an emerging concept briefed to an

approved by General Meyer in October 1980.5 8 Severa

months later, after continuing to cast around for a term tha

would adequately convey the sense of the doctrinal shift h

envisioned and after consulting with Lt Gen William R

Richardson , commander of the CAC , Starry announced hi

decision to refer to the Army’s approach to warfare as AirLan

Battle.

5 9

Two aspects of this decision are noteworthy. First, although

the doctrine espoused in the 1976 edition of FM 100-5 cam

to be known as Active Defense, it was a derived name—not 

given one. In contrast, Starry deliberately hung a label on hi

emerging doctrine. Second, although he may have partially

intended the “Air” part of AirLand Battle to make Army officer

more air-minded, one may conclude that he also intended t

signal the Air Force that the Army envisioned a stron

partnership between the two services on any futur

battlefield.6 0

The 1982 edition of FM 100-5 reflected both Starry’

guidance and the input of a number of midgrade officers wh

had found the previous edition badly wanting. 6 1 The new

manual addressed virtually all of the concerns raised by th

latter. Although it acknowledged the importance o

“armaments sufficient for the task at hand,” the manua

stated categorically that “first and foremost, [combat power

depends on good people—soldiers with character and resolv

who will win because they simply will not accept losing.”6

This statement marked a return to the Army’s traditional view

of war as a struggle waged between people who use weapons

consciously rejecting DePuy’s notion of war as a contest o

machines operated by people.

Analysis of the defense stated that it “consisted of reactiv

and offensive elements working together to rob the enemy o

the initiative”; approvingly cited Carl von Clausewitz’

description of the defense as a “shield of [well-directed] blows”

and explicitly warned against the Active Defense’s techniqu

416
of laterally shifting committed forces.6 3 Gone was the single

focus on the first battle. Instead, the manual introduced th

concept of an operational level of war that involved th

planning and conduct of campaigns, defined as “sustaine

operations designed to defeat an enemy force in a specifie

space and time with simultaneous and sequential battles

(emphasis added). 64 Throughout the manual, one foun

allusions to corps, divisions, brigades, and battalions workin

together to accomplish the mission.

Finally, the principles of war reappeared, albeit in an

appendix and apparently subordinated to AirLand Battle’

four “basic tenets of initiative, depth, agility, an

synchronization” (emphasis in original). 65 The tenet of depth

led to the concept of “deep battle ,” particularly significant fo

air-ground operations, for it clearly signaled the Army’

realization of the need to delay or disrupt (i.e., interdict) Sovie

second-echelon formations before they made contact with

friendly troops.

In one sense, however, AirLand Battle remained an

anomaly. Whereas the 1976 edition of FM 100-5 ha

contained a specific chapter focused on the dynamics o

air-ground operations, the 1982 manual limited its treatmen

of “joint operations ” to a series of wiring diagrams and an

explanation of the various responsibilities of unified an

specified commands, joint task forces , and service componen

headquarters. In short, the Active Defense embodied a much

greater elaboration of AirLand Battle than did the origina

version of AirLand Battle.

This changed in 1986, when the Army published a new

edition of FM 100-5, which reaffirmed the doctrinal thrust o

AirLand Battle but updated and expanded it, based on th

lessons learned in classrooms, war games , and field

exercises.6 6 This edition paid much more explicit attention t

the conduct of campaigns and major operations. Of particula

note for the conduct of air-ground operations was th

statement that

operational level commanders try to set favorable terms for battle by

synchronized ground, air, and sea maneuver and by striking the

enemy throughout the theater of operations. Large scale ground

maneuver will always require protection from enemy air forces and

417
sometimes from naval forces. Commanders will therefore conduct

reconnaissance, interdiction , air defense, and special operations

almost continuously. Air interdiction , air and ground reconnaissance

. . . must all be synchronized to support the overall campaign and its

supporting operations on the ground, especially at critical junctures.6 7

This was a much different statement than that contained in

chapter 8 of the 1976 edition, for it moved the locus o

concern from the winning of a single battle to the winning of 

campaign . It also reflected a growing maturity on the part o

Army doctrinal writers, for it specifically referred to supportin

operations on the ground. Further, it established the groun

forces’ need for air protection and for the synchronization o

interdiction with those forces, especially at critical junctures

However, this doctrinal statement implicitly accepted th

proposition that one would make critical decisions on how th

synchronization would take place in the context of campaign

objectives, not merely the tactical dictates of individua

battles. This realization brought it much more in tune with

the Air Force perspective on the employment of airpower.

The 1984 edition of AFM 1-1, now titled Basic Aerospac

Doctrine of the United States Air Force, formally updated tha

perspective. Apparently aware of the deficiencies of th

previous edition, Air Staff doctrine writers set out to give th

new manual “a new face and thrust.”68 They fully achieved th

former objective—the latter, partially. Packaged in a slim blu

binder, printed in understated blue type, and limited to 4

pages of text, the manual appeared to be a “statement o

officially sanctioned beliefs and warfighting principles which

describe and guide the proper use of aerospace forces in

military action.”69 Its four chapters dealt with the militar

instrument of power; the employment of aerospace forces

missions and specialized tasks; and issues of organization

training, equipment, and sustainment. The second chapte

contained the key doctrinal imperatives, reviewing th

oft-repeated characteristics of speed, range, and flexibility an

informing the reader of the importance of the “three essentia

factors in warfare: man, machine, and environment.”7 0 I

enjoined aerospace commanders to employ their forces as an

indivisible entity, conduct simultaneous strategic and tactica

actions, gain control of the environment, attack the enemy’

418
war-fighting potential, consider both offensive and defensiv

action, and exploit the psychological impact of aerospac

power.7 1 Discussion of the coordination of interdiction

activities with surface forces was particularly apt:

The effect of these attacks is profound when the enemy is engaged in a

highly mobile maneuver scheme of operation dependent on urgent

resupply of combat reserves and consumables. Air and surface

commanders should take actions to force the enemy into this intense

form of combat with a systematic and persistent plan of attack. The

purpose is . . . to generate situations where friendly surface forces can

then take advantage of forecast enemy reactions.7 2

Although the manual did not go as far as some critics migh

have liked in discussing the inherent fog and friction of war, i

did at least caution readers to respect the flexibility of enem

forces.73 Perhaps the most serious charge that one could leve

against it was its failure to explicitly consider the emergenc

of the operational level of war as the connecting link between

military strategy and tactics. But the Army, which had firs

articulated the strategic-operational-tactical paradigm in

American doctrine in 1982, was still working its way toward 

mature statement of the implications of that model during th

drafting of the 1984 edition of AFM 1-1. In sum, thi

statement of Air Force basic doctrine represented a mor

coherent explication of airpower principles than did it

predecessor and recognized some of the potential for th

cooperation of air and ground forces at the operational level

However, it stopped short of a fully developed typology of how

one could best achieve this synergism.

At the tactical level, however, the TAC -TRADOC partnership

was producing great dividends. Gen Wilbur L. Creech—

Dixon’s replacement at TAC —and Starry continued th

well-developed institutional dialogue and met quarterly fo

face-to-face consultations.7 4 The most obvious result of thi

cooperation was a series of joint manuals dealing with ke

issues of air-ground operations. These manuals emerge

primarily from Army–Air Force participation in the Blue Fla

command-post exercises at Hurlburt Field, Florida , and th

Red Flag force-on-force exercises at Nellis AFB but als

reflected an expansion of the TAC -TRADOC partnership t

involve the Marine Corps and the Navy. Further, they laid ou

419
procedures for joint SEAD , joint attack of the second echelon

joint air-attack team operations (employment of A-10s an

attack helicopters), and joint application of firepower.75 Thes

manuals represented a great deal of trial and error on the par

of Army and Air Force officers working hard to figure out wha

would probably work best. Their very existence and th

signatures of the multiple commanders who promulgate

them constitute vivid evidence of how strong the Army–Ai

Force partnership had become by the mid-1980s.

A formal understanding at the departmental level “fo

enhancement of joint employment of the AirLand Battl

Doctrine”

76 also strengthened the partnership. This April 198

document, signed by General Meyer and Gen Charles A. Gabrie

Air Force chief of staff, committed the two services to use th

1982 edition of FM 100-5 as the basis for seeking increased

integration of Army and Air Force tactical forces, enhancin

interservice planning and programming, continuing the dialogu

on doctrinal matters, working together on deep-attack systems

coordinating airlift requirements, and resolving issue

concerning the integration of AirLand Battle into theate

operations. A memorandum of understanding signed by Gabrie

and Gen John A. Wickham , the new Army chief of staff an

Gabriel’s West Point classmate, followed it in November 1983

This paper emphasized the planning and programmatic aspect

of the previous memo and pledged the services to “initiat

herewith a joint process to develop in a deliberate manner th

most combat effective, affordable joint forces necessary fo

airland combat operations.”77

Apparently fearful of resistance from within their own

services over “too much cooperation,” Gabriel and Wickham

instructed their operations deputies, Lt Gen John T. Chain

and Lt Gen Fred K. Mahaffey, to establish a small interservic

working group, reporting directly to these officers, that would

develop specific proposals to implement their agreement an

would not release information on the deliberations of thi

group to other members of the service staffs.7 8 Based on th

work of this group, Gabriel and Wickham , after some mino

internal coordination in each service, proclaimed thei

intention to move forward together in a publicly release

memorandum of 22 May 1984. 79 This agreement committe

420
the services to exploring 31 specific initiatives regardin

air-ground operations that dealt with issues of air defense

rear-area operations, SEAD , special operations forces

munitions development, combat techniques and procedures

and the fusion of combat information. 80

The 31 initiatives achieved mixed success. Within 1

months, action on 18 of them had been completed, includin

the Air Force ’s decision to cancel the development of a “mobile

weapons system” (an ersatz tank) for air base defense and 

ground-based radar jamming system; concomitan

cancellation of an Army program for an airborne rada

jammer; development of a joint tactical missile system

(JTACMS) and a joint surveillance, target attack radar system

(JSTARS); and agreement between TAC and TRADOC

regarding procedures for CAS in the rear areas. 8 1 The service

were not, however, able to implement the initiative that calle

for the transfer of HH 53-H PAVE LOW III search and rescu

helicopters from the Air Force to the Army.

82 And the

continued to have difficulty settling the issue of air-groun

interface at the operational level of war.

The focal point for this obstacle was the divergence o

perspectives over battlefield air interdiction (BAI), addresse

as initiative 21. BAI had a long and checkered past that aros

from three issues: (1) the divergence between the Army an

the Air Force concerning the relative authority of variou

command echelons in directing aircraft to provide groun

support , (2) the elimination of the field army as a groun

echelon of command, and (3) the influence of NATO tactical ai

doctrine on US Air Force doctrine. The Air Force comman

philosophy, expressed most recently in the 1984 edition o

AFM 1-1, was one of “centralize control—decentraliz

execution .”8 3 Although the doctrine did not spell out the leve

of centralization, the Air Force preferred control at the theate

of operations. Here, the air component commander would

recommend to the theater commander an apportionment o

assets among the functions of offensive and defensiv

counterair, AI, and CAS .

8 4 Based on the theater commander’

decision, the air component commander would allocat

specific numbers of sorties by aircraft type to subordinate ai

formations to perform the various functions. 85 The theater ai

421
commander , however, retained responsibility for control an

direction of the AI effort, and ground commanders supporte

by various air formations had a voice only in the suballocation

of CAS sorties to their subordinate units. As we have seen

however, the structure of the air-ground interface process wa

now in a state of disarray brought about by the disappearanc

of the field army.

The military command structure in Allied Forces Centra

Europe (AFCENT) and divergences between British an

American philosophies of air-ground operations furthe

complicated the problem. AFCENT’s organization included 

theater headquarters; a supporting air headquarters known a

Allied Air Forces Central Europe (AAFCE), which containe

the 2d and 4th Allied Tactical Air Forces (2ATAF and 4ATAF)

and two subordinate land headquarters—Northern Arm

Group (NORTHAG) and Central Army Group (CENTAG)

Although 2ATAF and 4ATAF remained subordinate to AAFCE

they had responsibility for providing air support to NORTHAG

and CENTAG , respectively. Although both ATAFs and both

Army groups were truly allied formations, the British

dominated 2ATAF and NORTHAG , while the American

dominated 4ATAF and CENTAG .

The British and Americans had distinctly differen

perspectives on air-ground operations. Based on philosophy

economics, and technology, the Royal Air Force (RAF

preferred to generate a large number of sorties in small

two-plane formations with relatively little centralized contro

It also preferred relatively shallow interdiction to dee

interdiction . The USAF, on the other hand, preferred a slightly

more “above the fray” approach that emphasized a fewe

number of large formations under relatively tight centralize

control. In light of its possession of platforms that could

conduct deep interdiction and its concern for the high densit

of air-defense weapons arrayed at and immediately behind th

front lines of Soviet forces, it preferred deep rather than

shallow interdiction.

8 6

In the development of NATO doctrine, however, one could

not ignore the British position. Therefore, a compromise in

NATO tactical air doctrine provided for both relatively deep A

and relatively shallow BAI.

87 This doctrine also provided fo

422
joint BAI and CAS in a category known as offensive ai

support (OAS).

88 Reflecting the British preference for th

nexus of air-ground operations at the army group/ATAF leve

rather than at the AFCENT/ AAFCE level, once the apportion

ment decision was made, OAS sorties were allocated to th

ATAF commanders. Furthermore, because the ATAF ha

responsibility for supporting an army group, the latter’

commanders had significant influence in determining how th

OAS sorties were suballocated among the corps under thei

command. On the whole, the US Army was quite satisfied with

this arrangement. The CENTAG commander had to trade of

proximity to his fighting corps for proximity to his supportin

air commander in choosing his command location. But th

OAS = BAI + CAS formulation gave him sufficient influenc

over air operations to prosecute the major land operations h

had to execute under the rubric of the theater campaign plan

Although this arrangement did not provide subordinate corp

commanders the amount of influence over air operations the

felt they required to deal with Soviet second-echelon

formations, it did give them access to an Army commander in

the person of COMCENTAG, to whom they could make thei

case for priority of both BAI and CAS sorties. The USAF 

however, remained much more ambivalent about BAI

Although the constraints of allied diplomacy had oblige

senior American airmen to accept it as NATO doctrine, the

were reluctant to incorporate into US doctrine any provision

for ground commanders to influence air interdiction.

An unprecedented “20-star” conference held at TRADOC in

October 1979 reviewed a number of air-ground issues

including the BAI question. Attendees at this meetin

included Generals Meyer, Lew Allen, Starry, and Creech , a

well as Gen John W. Vessey Jr., the Army vice chief of staff

who had served with the Air Force at Udorn AFB, Thailand

during the Vietnam War. At this meeting, the TAC briefer on

OAS stated that although use of the A-10 to attack Sovie

second-echelon forces was not desirable, it would be feasible i

both the Army and the Air Force were willing to “pay the price

in SEAD resources.8 9 The meeting produced a consensus tha

AI, counterair/air defense, and SEAD were the priority stud

issues for ALFA.

90 It failed, however, to resolve the essentia

423
procedural issues of BAI, for on 22 December 1979, the Ai

Staff issued a new position paper that proposed retainin

control and direction of BAI at the air component level—lik

AI.

91 This position represented a “doctrinal step backward” fo

TRADOC planners, who quickly rolled into high gear in thei

coordination with their TAC counterparts to reverse the Ai

Staff position. Agreements signed at the deputy chief of staf

level in April 1980 and at the command level in Septembe

1980 marked preliminary success in this regard.9 2

A long period of negotiation at the departmental leve

followed, culminating in a position paper on th

apportionment and allocation of OAS , signed off by th

operations deputies on 23 May 1981.9 3 In essence, thi

document constituted formal biservice cognizance of the NATO

doctrine on OAS spelled out in Allied Tactical Publication

27(B), Offensive Air Operations, previously ratified by th

NATO Tactical Air Working Group. It stipulated that in th

NATO Central Region , apportionment would take place at th

AFCENT/AAFCE level and that OAS allocation, including CAS

and BAI, would take place at the army group/ATAF level. I

also codified the previously agreed arrangement for assignin

an air support operations center (ASOC) to each corps

explicitly recognizing that “generally, only at Corps level wi

sufficient information be available to determine whether it i

possible to engage and counter a threat with conventiona

organic firepower or whether it is necessary to have thi

organic firepower supplemented by OAS .”94

In other words, the Army not only persuaded the Air Forc

to subscribe to the NATO doctrine on BAI but also extracte

an admission of the reality that the ATAF commander’s critica

decision on the allocation of OAS sorties between BAI and CAS

would depend upon intelligence developed at the corps leve

and passed through the army group to the ATAF. However

two problems arose. First, the position paper was just that—

statement of position, not doctrine. Second, the signature o

the Air Force deputy chief of staff for plans and operations did

not remove underlying Air Force reservations about giving th

Army influence over any form of interdiction .

9 5

In sum, between 1980 and 1986, the Army and the Ai

Force institutionalized the partnership formed from 1973 t

424
1979. This regularization, centered around the Army

development and refinement of its AirLand Battle doctrine

manifested itself in the series of “J” manuals produced by th

TAC/ TRADOC relationship and in the 31 initiatives at th

departmental level. The Air Force also developed a mor

coherent statement of its basic doctrine. Although thi

doctrine did not take explicit cognizance of the operationa

level of war articulated in the 1982 and 1988 editions of FM

100-5, it at least demonstrated a preliminary vision for how

air and ground forces might cooperate at this level. However

divergences of perspective remained about air-groun

interface: although the interdepartmental position paper on

OAS apparently resolved these differences, they continued t

boil beneath the surface.

Crosscurrents, 1987–90

From 1987 to 1990, the Army–Air Force partnership

continued to mature. Two developments, however, one in each

service, influenced the partnership in ways not immediately

apparent. The first was the Army’s effort to develop a detaile

doctrine for the corps’s conduct of deep battle ; the second wa

the publication of a National Defense University thesis entitle

“The Air Campaign: Planning for Combat,” written by 

relatively obscure Air Force colonel named John Warden .

The continuation of a number of biservice projects reflecte

the strength of the Army–Air Force partnership. By Decembe

1987, TRADOC and TAC, operating under the aegis of the 3

initiatives, developed a draft summary of requirements for 

follow-on to the A-10 as a CAS aircraft.9 6 By 1988 the service

estimated that their joint force-development initiatives ha

resulted in a savings of $1 billion dollars in cost avoidance. 9

Additionally, they had reached agreement on concepts for join

attack of Soviet helicopters, the alignment of air liaison

officers and forward air controllers with Army maneuver units

and a follow-on to the JSEAD manual of 1982. An articl

entitled “The Air Force, the Army, and the Battlefield of th

1990s” by Gen Robert D. Russ, Creech ’s successor at TAC

provided further indication of institutional solidarity. Her

425
Russ stated categorically that 

everything that tactical air doe

directly supports Army operations.”98

Meanwhile, the Army was hard at work developin

guidelines to help the corps commander fight the deep battle

This effort had begun in 1984 with formation of the Dee

Attack Program Office at Fort Leavenworth , operating unde

the CAC aegis.9 9 By 1985 CAC had produced a field circula

on corps deep operations. This publication contained an

integrating concept for fusing Army intelligence, fire support

air defense, and maneuver assets with tactical air support t

attack a Soviet second-echelon force, as well as the groun

and air infrastructure of Soviet CAS formations.100

In 1987 the Army took another step forward in the maturity o

its deep battle concept with the publication of a handbook

describing the capabilities of existing and developmental deep

battle systems. The handbook outlined an integrated group o

Army and Air Force systems to sense enemy targets, proces

information about these targets, communicate the information

to appropriate agencies, and control the Army and Air Forc

weapons used to strike them. The Air Force’s precision location

strike system (PLSS) and JSTARS and the Army tactical missil

system (ATACMS) were particularly important components o

the future architecture for deep battle .

101 This pièce d

résistance of deep battle publications, Corps Deep Operation

(ATACMS, Aviation and Intelligence Support): Tactics, Technique

and Procedures Handbook (1990), outlined the imperative for th

corps commander simultaneously to control significan

engagements in close operations, deny the enemy the ability t

concentrate combat power, attack enemy forces in depth, an

retain freedom of action in his own rear area.102 The key t

performing these functions lay in the corps commander’s ability

as part of a theaterwide concept, to influence enemy ground an

heliborne operations three to four days in the future.103 Thi

called for very close integration of the corps maneuver and fir

support assets with Air Force BAI and electroni

countermeasures.

104 In sum, the work was exactly what its titl

implied—a handy how-to book for use by corps commander

and their principal planners in sorting out the difficul

coordination issues involved in attacking second-echelo

divisions of a Soviet-style combined-arms army. It reflected six

426
years of hard thinking that conceptually represented th

practical link between technology developed to fight the dee

battle and the overarching doctrine of AirLand Battle.

One had to examine the other side of the coin, however. B

developing extended-range systems that allowed the corp

commander to fight the deep battle, the Army raised th

question of coordinating the effects of these systems with ai

operations. The immediate focus of this issue became th

placement of and procedures surrounding the fire suppor

coordination line (FSCL)—originally known as the “no-bom

line” and developed in World War II as a coordination measur

to mitigate against the chances of aircraft dropping ordnance on

friendly troops. It was defined as a line short of which the releas

of air weapons required the prior clearance of a groun

commander, and it applied primarily to aircrews returning from

interdiction and armed reconnaissance missions wit

unexpended ordnance, who wanted to be able to take advantag

of targets of opportunity without endangering friendly groun

forces. The rule of thumb for the FSCL was to place it at th

limit of the range of friendly artillery. As long as this rang

remained in the neighborhood of 10–15 kilometers beyond th

friendly front lines, this placement did not present much of 

problem because one would coordinate air strikes within tha

range with ground forces . However, with the advent of th

multiple launch rocket system (MLRS) and, later, ATACMS , th

Army had systems that could range out to roughly 30 and on

hundred kilometers, respectively. Additionally, the corps deep

attack manual envisioned Apache helicopter attacks to a dept

of 70 to one hundred kilometers beyond the front lines.

These newly developed capabilities placed the Army and th

Air Force at loggerheads. If, on the one hand, the FSCL wer

pushed out to the depths of new Army weapons, it would

significantly interfere with Air Force interdiction efforts an

could allow enemy forces to escape attack by friendly ai

formations. If, on the other hand, the FSCL were kep

relatively close to friendly front lines, the corps commande

would lose freedom of action in the employment of fire suppor

assets if he had to coordinate these fires with the Air Forc

prior to execution. This conundrum defied mutually

satisfactory resolution.105

427
Another indicator of the potential fraying of the Army–Ai

Force partnership was the publication in 1988 of Warden’

The Air Campaign: Planning for Combat.

106 One could interpre

this book on two levels. At the most obvious level, it was an

intelligent and imaginative tract that took the basic logic o

operational art—the linkage of strategic objectives and tactica

goals—and applied it to air warfare. As such, it addresse

classic military questions such as the relationship between

offense and defense, the trade-offs between concentration an

economy of force, the employment of operational reserves, an

the use of deception in war—all from an air perspective. In

this sense, it was hardly revolutionary. Many peopl

interpreted the book as simply the work of a thoughtfu

airman who wished to encourage his colleagues in the Ai

Force to consider the implications of operational art for th

practice of their profession. In another sense, however, i

constituted an airpower manifesto in the tradition of th

works of Giulio Douhet, Billy Mitchell, and Alexander d

Seversky. Although carefully qualified, a theme of airpowe

dominance ran through the book like a brightly colore

thread. Chapter subheads such as “Single Arms Can Prevail,

“War Can Be Won from the Air,” and “Command Is Tru

Center of Gravity” suggested an airpower-centered approach

to warfare that had perhaps not fully matured at the time o

publication.

That soon changed. The pivotal question that The Ai

Campaign had not addressed was, If airpower can be 

war-winning instrument, how does it become one? In th

summer of 1988, Warden conceived of an answer to tha

question. 107 Picturing an enemy society as a system, h

reasoned that its ability to generate power depended on fiv

subsystems: leadership, organic essentials, infrastructure

population, and fielded forces (in decreasing order o

significance).108 Warden represented these subsystems as fiv

concentric rings, with leadership in the center and fielde

forces on the circumference. This formulation directly

confronted a central concern of almost all airpowe

thinkers—what to target. To Warden the answer was clear

one should start at the inside and work out.

428
In ordinary times, Warden 

s book and his subsequen

musings on targeting philosophies would have held not much

more than academic interest. 109 Regardless of the strengths o

weaknesses of his approach to warfare, one thing remaine

certain: it was not Air Force doctrine. It did, however

represent a view in the Air Force that one could—perhap

even should—think of the application of airpower a

independent of ground operations. To this extent, i

constituted another crosscurrent in the story of Army–Ai

Force partnership

Conclusions

This study has endeavored to answer questions about th

areas of convergence and divergence between Army and Ai

Force perspectives on air-ground operations between the end o

the Vietnam War and the eve of Operation Desert Shield, an

the underlying causes for them. Clearly, the services agree

about a great deal—that CAS was important, that it was an Ai

Force mission, and that they needed a dedicated CAS platform

(and, therewith, a dedicated group of pilots whose sole trainin

focus would address execution of the CAS mission). They agree

on the importance of SEAD , the fact that it was a shared

responsibility, and the detailed procedures required to effect i

They agreed on the importance of attacking enem

second-echelon forces, the use of Army helicopters and Air Forc

platforms working in close cooperation to accomplish thi

mission, and the detailed tactical procedures required to do i

They disagreed over two issues: (1) the amount of influence tha

senior ground commanders should have over Air Forc

interdiction operations and (2) the mechanisms for coordinatin

the effects of fixed-wing air and extended-range Army systems

At the risk of being somewhat simplistic, one can conclude tha

although very significant agreement existed at the tactical level

noticeable divergence characterized the operational level.

One can gain insight into the dynamics behind thes

similarities and differences of perspective by surveying th

centripetal forces that tended to pull the Army and the Ai

Force together and the centrifugal forces that tended to pul

them apart.

429
One can attribute the relative cohesion and strength of th

Army–Air Force partnership from 1973 to 1990 in rough

priority to (1) the unifying effect of the NATO defense mission

(2) the close cooperation of personalities at or near the top o

each service, (3) a leadership shift in the Air Force that pu

fighter rather than bomber pilots in the majority of influentia

positions, and (4) the clarity of the Army’s vision of how i

intended to fight a future war that tended to pull the Air Forc

in its wake. The NATO defense mission gave each service 

clear and unifying mission. The ability to defeat a Warsaw

Pact invasion of western Europe below the nuclear threshold

remained, for the period under analysis, the single mos

significant criterion of operational effectiveness for both

services. When the Army and the Air Force looked at thi

challenge, each realized it needed the other. Despite the fac

that the Army had greater dependence on the Air Force than

vice versa, one could not deny that in the SEAD mission, th

Air Force distinctly needed Army help. Furthermore, in orde

to make manifest its contribution to the national defense, th

Air Force had to demonstrate its ability to destroy Soviet tank

as well as Soviet MiGs.

The close personal relations established between senior Arm

and Air Force leaders proved vital to the strength of th

partnership. The positive personal chemistry apparent in

among others, the Abrams/Brown , DePuy/ Dixon, Wickham

Gabriel, and Starry/ Creech relationships helped forge 

partnership in peace that would hopefully withstand the rigor

of war.110 A gradual but distinct change in Air Force leadership

abetted these relationships.

In 1960 bomber pilots held 77 percent of the top Air Forc

leadership positions—fighter pilots, 11 percent.111 By 197

the figures were 43 percent for bomber pilots and 41 percen

for fighter pilots; by 1990 they had largely reversed themselve

to 18 percent for bomber pilots and 53 percent for fighte

pilots. The more prominent role of fighter pilots in the Vietnam

War and the declining numbers of bombers in the inventor

seem to have driven this shift, at least in part. Although th

analysis has complications (e.g., General Brown had flown a

a bomber, fighter, and airlift pilot), the trend remains clear

further, one can legitimately suspect that the Air Force fighte

430
community proved slightly more favorably disposed t

welcome the Army’s doctrinal advances than did the bombe

community.

The final factor pulling the Army and the Air Force togethe

was the Army’s clear vision of how it wanted to fight a futur

war and its distinct realization that Air Force support wa

absolutely essential for winning one. Air Force centrality to th

Army’s view of tactics was integral to both doctrines of Activ

Defense and AirLand Battle; and the Army’s articulation of th

operational level of war in the latter also contained an explici

acknowledgment of the importance of coordinated air support

In something of a doctrinal muddle for several years afte

Vietnam, the Air Force appeared to follow the Army’s lead.

Some forces, however, tended to pull the services in

opposite directions. These included the operational difference

between the media in which they fought, the cultura

implications these differences engendered, varying approache

to the meaning of doctrine and the institutional structure fo

developing it, and the capabilities of emerging technology. Ai

and land forces fight in two distinctly dissimila

environments. The former enjoy the flexibility to focus thei

effects at different loci, depending on the strategic

operational, and tactical dictates of the moment; but thei

presence is relatively transitory. The latter offer the offsettin

advantage of much more permanent effects, but gravity limit

their flexibility. These diverging operating characteristic

produce cultural approaches to war that maximize th

inherent strengths of each force (i.e., flexibility an

permanence). Beyond these endemic difficulties of developin

common doctrine, the Army decided in 1973 to create a majo

subordinate command dedicated to the formulation an

promulgation of doctrine and the integration of that doctrin

into its training, organization, and equipment-developmen

systems. That decision, together with the Air Force’s choic

not to create such a command, made it difficult for the tw

services to develop a common doctrinal framework. Finally

the technological evolution that extended the ranges o

land-based indirect fire systems and armed helicopter

blurred the line between what had served as the relatively

431
exclusive operational domains of the two services, thu

creating new doctrinal challenges that defied easy solution.

Interestingly, the partnership between the two service

appeared to be independent of two factors that frequently pla

a role in interservice relationships: the size of the defens

budget and external pressure for cooperation. The partnership

began in the mid-1970s, when the defense budget fell steadil

in the aftermath of Vietnam, and it continued to prospe

throughout the 1980s, when the defense budget prove

relatively robust. Further, outside pressure for greater join

cooperation evidently did not foist the partnership on th

services. Congress passed the Goldwater-Nichols Departmen

of Defense Reorganization Act of 1986 well after th

TAC-TRADOC dialogue had matured into a partnership an

after the Wickham/Gabriel regime had officially formulated it

31 initiatives. Also, Doctrine for Joint Operations, the key join

publication resulting from the Goldwater-Nichols Act’s specifi

recognition of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff as th

promulgator of joint doctrine, was still in draft form in

1990. 112 The drive for jointness, therefore, had virtually n

effect on the cooperation established between the two service

during the period addressed in this essay. Although one could

argue that an earlier start on joint doctrine might have settle

unresolved issues between the Army and the Air Force prior t

1990, the extent to which joint doctrine can compensate for 

lack of internally generated interservice cooperation remain

to be demonstrated.

If one takes George Szell’s criteria for the production o

high-quality symphonic music as the basis for judging th

Army and the Air Force from 1973 to 1990, one finds that the

fall just short of the maestro’s high standards.113 They wer

magnificent individual performers. Each had equipped an

trained itself to play its part as a virtuoso. Each had als

listened to the other enough to recognize how they could mos

harmoniously blend their effects in a number of specifi

passages. But underlying philosophical differences about th

nature of their activity and certain matters of interpretation

had the potential to produce discordance. The quality of th

performance, therefore, would depend somewhat upon th

venue in which it took place. The acoustical properties of som

432
theaters would tend to magnify the harmony, while those o

others could just as easily emphasize the discordance.

From 1973 to 1990, the Army and the Air Force formed a solid

partnership centered around the Army’s ability to execute it

AirLand Battle doctrine with Air Force support. Extensiv

biservice training, doctrinal publications, and programmati

cooperation reflected the strength of this partnership. Ther

existed, however, an underlying ambivalence that one ca

attribute primarily to the services’ diverging perspectives abou

the modalities of air-ground cooperation at the operational leve

of war. Had war broken out in western Europe, one might argu

that the strengths of the partnership would have proved muc

more apparent than its weaknesses. However, the ambivalen

aspects of the partnership became rather more apparent in th

weeks and months after 2 August 1990, when Saddam

Hussein ’s tanks rolled into Kuwait , triggering the American-le

coalition ’s responses of Operations Desert Shield and Deser

Storm. This theater subjected the Army–Air Force partnership t

severe strain. Indeed, the performance resembled neither 

delicately balanced chamber session nor a finely tune

symphony but a concerto in which all performers believed the

were playing the featured instrument. Here, mutual listenin

skills proved exiguous, and the interaction between the tw

services at times resembled a dialogue of the deaf.114 But that i

another story.

Notes

1. Michael Howard, “Military Science in an Age of Peace,” Journal of th

Royal United Service Institute for Defence Studies 119 (March 1974): 2.

2. Stephen Peter Rosen, Winning the Next War: Innovation and th

Modern Military (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991), 8–22. Rose

highlights the need for senior military leaders to identify junior officers wh

share their vision of the new operational concept and to accelerate th

career advancement of those officers.

3. Gen William Momyer, who commanded Seventh Air Force in Vietnam

is explicit here: “It was apparent that airpower was the decisive facto

leading to the peace agreement of 15 January 1973.” William M. Momyer

Airpower in Three Wars (WWII, Korea, Vietnam) (Washington, D.C.: Office o

Air Force History, 1978), 243.

433
4. Mark Clodfelter, 

Nixon and the Air Weapon, in Dennis E. Showalte

and John G. Albert, eds., An American Dilemma: Vietnam, 1964–197

(Chicago: Imprint Publications, 1993),182–83.

5. On this point, see James J. Tritten, “Naval Perspectives on Militar

Doctrine,” Naval War College Review 48 (Spring 1995): 23.

6. Air Force Manual (AFM) 1-1, Basic Aerospace Doctrine of the Unite

States Air Force, 1984.

7. Ibid., v–vi.

8. The TAC problem was exacerbated by the fact that it did not eve

speak for the entire tactical air community in the Air Force. United State

Air Forces in Europe (USAFE) and Pacific Air Forces (PACAF), like TAC, wer

four-star commands with their own perspectives on air-ground operation

issues.

9. See, for example, discussion below of the Air Staff’s reversal o

TAC-TRADOC agreements on battlefield air interdiction.

10. Brig Gen Huba Wass de Czege, US Army, Retired, interviewed b

author, Fort Leavenworth, Kans., 16 February 1995.

11. Paul H. Herbert, Deciding What Has to Be Done: General William E

DePuy and the 1976 Edition of FM 100-5, “Operations” (Fort Leavenworth

Kans.: Combat Studies Institute, 1988), 30, 33.

12. Additional details on DePuy’s personal role and TRADOC’

institutional role in driving the lessons of the 1973 Middle East War into th

Army’s psyche are found in the “TRADOC Report of Major Activities, F

1974,” 1 August 1975, 14–19; “TRADOC Report of Major Activities, F

1975,” 20 September 1976, 1–10; and William E. DePuy, “Implications o

the Middle East War on U.S. Army Tactics, Doctrine, and Systems,” i

Richard M. Swain, comp., Selected Papers of General William E. DePuy (For

Leavenworth, Kans.: Combat Studies Institute, 1994), 75–111.

13. Field Manual (FM) 100-5, Operations, 1976, 1-1.

14. Ibid., 2-6.

15. Ibid., 3-1, 4.

16. Ibid., 3-5.

17. Ibid., 5-2.

18. Ibid., 5-13, 14.

19. Ibid., 8-1.

20. Ibid., 8-4.

21. History, AF/XO Directorate of Doctrine, Concepts, and Objectives, 

July–31 December 1993, 35, USAF Historical Research Agency, Maxwel

AFB, Ala. (hereinafter AFHRA), file no. K143.01.

22. AFM 1-1, United States Air Force Basic Doctrine, 1975, 3-2.

23. Dennis M. Drew, “Two Decades in the Air Power Wilderness: Do W

Know Where We Are?” Air University Review 37 (September–October 1986): 12

24. History, AF/XO Directorate of Concepts, 1 July–31 December 1976

62, AFHRA, file no. K143.01

25. William L. Smallwood, Warthog: Flying the A-10 in the Gulf Wa

(Washington, D.C.: Brassey’s [US], 1993), 10–11.

434
26. Details on the A-10

s design from ibid., 11–17.

27. James F. Digby, Modern Precision Weapons: Assessing Thei

Implications for NATO (U) (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1975). (Secre

Information extracted is unclassified.

28. Ibid., 76. The author of this report was forced to admit, however

that while the state of analysis for single weapons versus point targets wa

fairly well advanced, one could not find detailed studies that “treat groun

forces and air forces working together in a two-sided campaign.” Ibid., 77

Information extracted is unclassified.

29. Donald E. Lewis et al., An Analysis of Alternatives for Improving U.S

Air-to-Ground Capability in NATO (1980): Final Report (U) (Santa Monic

Calif.: RAND, 1975). (Secret) Information extracted is unclassified.

30. Ibid., vi. The report also examined the potential effectiveness o

remotely piloted vehicles (RPV), although its conclusions about them wer

ambivalent. It did note, however, that “as enemy ground defenses becom

more effective, RPVs (and standoff systems) become more attractive.” Ibid

viii. Information extracted is unclassified.

31. J. H. Hayes, H. A. Einstein, and M. Weiner, How the Soviet Groun

Forces Would Fight a European War: Proceedings of a Workshop Held at th

RAND Corporation, 19–20 May 1976 (U) (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1977)

(Secret) Information extracted is unclassified.

32. Ibid., 11–18, 204–5. Information extracted is unclassified.

33. See R. E. Huschke, Effect of Weather on Near-Term Battlefield Ai

Support in NATO: Weather and Warplanes VII (U) (Santa Monica, Calif

RAND, 1978). (Confidential) Information extracted is unclassified; and D. E

Lewis et al., Potential Vulnerabilities of the Warsaw Pact Tactical Rear

Analysis and Results (U) (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1979). (Secre

Information extracted is unclassified.

34. Herbert, 68. An address prepared by a member of the Air Staff fo

Maj Gen James R. Brickel, director of concepts, for presentation to th

Royal Air Force Air Power Seminar on 26 January 1978, explicitl

acknowledged the maturity of this relationship into a partnership. It state

categorically that “the TAC/TRADOC relationship has matured from 

dialogue to a way of life—a partnership.” The RAF made a special reque

for this presentation in order to study how it might work out a simila

partnership with the British army. History, AF/XO, “TAC/TRADOC

Partnership,” 1 January–30 June 1978, AFHRA, file no. K143.01.

35. Herbert, 68.

36. Annual Historical Review (AHR), TRADOC, FY 1976/7T, 2

September 1977, 55, TRADOC History Office, Fort Monroe, Va. (hereinafte

THO). ALFA was subsequently redesignated the Air-Land Forces Applicatio

Agency.

37. “TAC/TRADOC Partnership.” When the colonel came from the Ai

Force, he worked for the Army general, and vice versa.

38. Ibid.; and AHR, TRADOC, 57.

39. AHR, TRADOC, 56.

435
40. AHR, TRADOC, 1 October 1976–30 September 1977, 29 Augus

1978, 34, THO.

41. Ibid., 38.

42. Lewis Sorley, Thunderbolt: General Creighton Abrams and the Arm

of His Times (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1992), 322–25.

43. The definitive work on this subject is a manuscript by David N

Spires, “Air Power for Patton’s Army: The XIX Tactical Air Command in th

Second World War,” forthcoming from the Air Force History Support Office.

44. History, AF/XO Directorate of Doctrine, Concepts, and Objectives, 

July–31 December 1974, 35, AFHRA, file no. K143.01.

45. AHR, TRADOC, 1 October 1976–30 September 1977, 35.

46. Ibid., 36.

47. AHR, TRADOC, 1 October 1977–30 September 1978, 1 Novembe

1979, 177, THO.

48. Ibid.

49. This issue is discussed in depth, below.

50. For background on the Apache’s development and technical details

see Doug Richardson, AH-64: Modern Flying Aircraft (New York: Prentic

Hall, 1986), 4–5, 16–21, and 26–41.

51. Gen Bernard W. Rogers, supreme allied commander, Europe, t

various US senators and representatives, letter, subject: Fielding of th

Apache, 22 July 1982. This letter stated in part, “Since the early 1970s 

have been involved personally in the Army effort to field an AAH [advance

attack helicopter], and have seen previous attempts fail. During the sam

period, the Soviets have made steady and dramatic advances in this fiel

where we wrote the book.” Cited in ibid., 13.

52. One of the earliest external critiques was William S. Lind, “FM

100-5, Operations: Some Doctrinal Questions for the United States Army

Military Review 57 (March 1977): 54–65.

53. For a hard-hitting critique of Active Defense, see Gregory Fonteno

and Matthew D. Roberts, “Plugging Holes and Mending Fences,” Infantry 6

(May–June 1978): 32–36. Robert S. Doughty and L. D. Holder, “Images o

the Future Battlefield,” Military Review 58 (January 1978): 56–69, contain

a more scholarly and muted criticism that saw the “new tactics” as a

intermediate step in a longer process. See also John M. Oseth, “FM 100-

(Operations) Revisited: A Need for Better Foundation Concepts?” Militar

Review 60 (March 1980): 13–19. For additional details, see John L. Romjue

From Active Defense to AirLand Battle: The Development of Army Doctrine

1973 –1982 (Fort Monroe, Va.: US Army Training and Doctrine Command

1984), 13–21. For a perceptive assessment of the criticism of Active Defens

doctrine, see Richard M. Swain, “Filling the Void: The Operational Art an

the U.S. Army” (paper presented at the Kingston Royal Military Colleg

Military History Symposium, Kingston, Ontario, 23–24 March 1995), 15–22

54. Romjue, 30.

55. In an address to the Tactics/InterUniversity Seminar Symposium a

Fort Leavenworth on 30 March 1978, Starry defended the rationale behin

436
Active Defense but admitted that improvements could be made in th

doctrine and that emerging dialogue on the subject was useful. Donn A

Starry, “A Tactical Evolution—FM 100-5,” Military Review 58 (August 1978)

2–11.

56. For the subtleties of the DePuy-Starry relationship durin

development of Active Defense doctrine, see Herbert, 81–83.

57. Starry recollected this experience, noting, “The fact that we neede

to fight the deep battle, not just with firepower, but by going deep wit

maneuver forces as well, starting with attack helicopters, followed b

ground maneuver forces, much on the order that the Israelis did on th

Golan Heights in October 1973, highlighted the deep surveillance-deep fire

and command and control needs.” Gen Donn A. Starry, interviewed by Joh

L. Romjue, Fairfax Station, Va., 19 March 1993, THO. One of the interestin

aspects of this revelation concerns the way in which Starry’s perception o

the lessons of the Middle East War differed from DePuy’s. To Starry the wa

demonstrated the need to maneuver deeply; to DePuy it indicated the nee

to blunt the breakthrough attack.

58. Romjue, From Active Defense, 43.

59. Message, TRADOC commander, subject: Air Land Battle, 29 Januar

1981, THO. The Army experienced some initial debate about whether th

proper rendition of the term was Air Land Battle, Air-Land Battle, or AirLan

Battle. This discussion mirrored the as yet unresolved debate within the Ai

Force concerning the propriety of air power versus airpower. Starry’

consultation with Richardson was significant, for Richardson had drafte

the Meyer letter to Starry suggesting that it was time for a new version o

FM 100-5. Swain, “Filling the Void,” 21.

60. Starry confirmed that the term AirLand Battle had its roots in th

extensive discussions that had taken place between TAC and TRADOC

since 1973. Gen Donn A. Starry, US Army, Retired, Gettysburg, Pa

interviewed by author, 13 May 1995. Starry also told his doctrine writer

that getting the Air Force on board was absolutely necessary to make th

doctrine work. See de Czege, interview.

61. One of the interpretive issues here is the extent to which AirLan

Battle represented a logical extension of Active Defense and the extent t

which it represented an overthrow thereof. Starry took the former positio

(i.e., AirLand Battle = Active Defense + Deep Battle). Starry, interview, 1

May 1995. One of the two principal authors of the 1982 edition of FM 100-

saw the AirLand Battle and Active Defense doctrines as almost antithetical

De Czege, interview. Swain points out Richardson’s key role as th

intermediary between Starry and the doctrine writers and his role in

keeping these opposing views in balance during the drafting of the 198

edition of FM 100-5. Swain, “Filling the Void,” 24–28.

62. FM 100-5, Operations, 1982, 1-5.

63. Ibid., 10-1; 11-1, 9.

64. Ibid., 2-3.

65. Ibid., appendix B and 2-1.

437
66. FM 100-5, Operations, 1986, i. Wass de Czege, who also worked th

second draft of this edition, maintained that the first several years o

teaching in the School of Advanced Military Studies at Fort Leavenworth

for which he served as the first director, were essential to expanding th

treatment of the operational level of war. De Czege, interview.

67. FM 100-5, 1986, 28.

68. History, AF/XO, Director of Plans, 1 July–31 December 1981, 84

AFHRA, file no. K143.01.

69. AFM 1-1, 1984, v.

70. Ibid., 2-2, 4.

71. Ibid., 2-10-17.

72. Ibid., 2-14.

73. Ibid., 2-17. In December 1984, Lt Col Barry Watts, USAF, publishe

a trenchant critique of mainstream Air Force doctrine for its approach t

war as an engineering problem and its consistent disregard for th

Clausewitzian realities of uncertainty in war. Lt Col Barry D. Watts, Th

Foundations of Air Force Doctrine: The Problem of Friction in War (Maxwe

AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, 1984). No one knows the extent to whic

the Air Staff writers of the 1984 manual were aware of Watts’s work in it

draft form. Drew’s judgment is that although the 1984 edition of AFM 1-

had “many serious flaws, it is a quantum improvement over the 197

version.” Drew, 12.

74. AHR, TRADOC, 1 October 1977–30 September 1978, 176.

75. TAC Pamphlet 50-24/TRADOC Pamphlet 525-9, TAC/TRADOC

Concept: Joint Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses, 1981; TAC Pamphle

50-26/TRADOC Pamphlet 525-16/US Readiness Command (USREDCOM

Pamphlet 525-4, Joint Operational Concept: Joint Attack of the Secon

Echelon (J-SAK), 1982; TRADOC TT 17-50-3/TACP 50-20/USREDCOM PAM

525-5, Joint Air Attack Team Operations, 1983; and TACP 50-28/TRADOC

PAM 34-2/US Atlantic Fleet (LANTFLT) TIP-2/ Marine Corps Developmen

and Education Command (MCDEC) OH 6-2C/USREDCOM PAM 525-9

Joint Application of Firepower (J-FIRE) Reference Guide, 1984.

76. US Army, memorandum of understanding with US Air Force

subject: Joint USA/USAF Efforts for Enhancement of Joint Employment o

the AirLand Battle Doctrine, 21 April 1983, reprinted in Richard G. Davis

The 31 Initiatives (Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1987)

91–92.

77. US Army, memorandum of understanding with US Air Force

subject: Initiation of a Joint US Army–USAF Force Development Process, 

November 1983, reprinted in Davis, 93.

78. Davis, 40–47.

79. US Army, memorandum of agreement with US Air Force, subject: U

Army–US Air Force Joint Force Development Process, 22 May 1984

reprinted in ibid., 105–6. It is perhaps significant to note that this was 

memorandum of agreement, as opposed to the previous two memoranda o

438
understanding, suggesting a greater institutional commitment to the term

thereof.

80. Davis established these categories of initiatives for purposes o

historical analysis; the memorandum of agreement merely listed th

initiatives themselves. See Davis, 47–64.

81. Ibid., 71–79.

82. Ibid., 75.

83. AFM 1-1, 1984, 2-20.

84. According to Joint Pub 1-02, apportionment is “the determinatio

and assignment of the total expected effort by percentage and/or by priorit

that should be devoted to the various air operations and/or geographi

areas for a given period of time.” Joint Pub 1-02, Department of Defens

Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms, 22 March 1994, 31.

85. Joint Pub 1-02 defines allocation as “the translation of th

apportionment into total numbers of sorties by aircraft type available fo

each operation/task.” Ibid., 23.

86. See Steven L. Canby, “Tactical Air Power in Armored Warfare: Th

Divergence within NATO,” Air University Review 30 (May–June 1979): 2–20

87. This doctrine was codified in the NATO Allied Tactical Publicatio

27(B), Offensive Air Support, May 1980.

88. Stephen T. Rippe, “An Army and Air Force Issue: Principles an

Procedures for AirLand Warfare,” Air University Review 37 (May–Jun

1986): 63. For a more extended analysis of the OAS/BAI issue from th

ground perspective, see idem, “An Army and Air Force Issue: Principles an

Procedures for AirLand Warfare: A Perspective of Operational Effectivenes

on the Modern Battlefield” (thesis, School of Advanced Military Studies, Fo

Leavenworth, Kans., 1985).

89. ALFA, memorandum for record, subject: “20-Star Meeting

Headquarters TRADOC, 11 October 1979,” 12 October 1979, THO.

90. TAC deputy chief of staff, plans memorandum, subject: Update o

ALFA Activities, 17 October 1979, in History, TAC, 1 January–31 Decembe

1979, AFHRA, file no. K417.01.

91. Romjue, From Active Defense, 62.

92. The phrase “doctrinal step backward” comes from ibid.

93. Army deputy chief of staff for operations and plans/Air Force deput

chief of staff for plans and operations, information memorandum, subjec

USA and USAF Agreement on Apportionment and Allocation of Offensive A

Support (OAS), 23 May 1981, THO.

94. “USA and USAF Position on Apportionment/Allocation of OAS

attachment 2 to ibid., par. 6d.

95. The AF/XO history of the period reflects these reservations

“Following the Field Review, AF/XOXID forwarded much of the backgroun

data on the OAS Agreement to TAC and USAFE in an effort to defend th

issue. However, it is obvious that opinions continue to differ and tha

discussions on this subject will continue in the coming months.” History

439
AF/XO Director of Plans, 1 July–31 December 1981, 90, AFHRA, file no

K143.01.

96. AHR, TRADOC, 1 January–31 December 1987, August 1988, 93, THO.

97. AHR, TRADOC, 1 January–31 December 1988, June 1989, 36–37, THO

98. Gen Robert D. Russ, “The Air Force, the Army, and the Battlefield o

the 1990s,” Defense 88, August 1988, 13. Russ’s statement proved quit

controversial within some circles of the Air Staff because it seemed t

preclude the use of tactical air assets for strategic attack.

99. Army deputy chief of staff for operations and plans, memorandum

subject: Combined Arms Center Annual Historical Review, 11 Decembe

1984, attachment, “Deep Attack Program Office,” draft charter, CAC

historical files.

100. Field Circular 100-15-1, Corps Deep Operations (U), 1985, i

B1-29, CAC historical files. (Secret) Information extracted is unclassified.

101. Deep Operations Capabilities Handbook: Present and Future (U

(Fort Leavenworth, Kans.: US Army Combined Arms Center, 1987), iii

1–21, CAC historical files. (Secret) Information extracted is unclassified.

102. Corps Deep Operations (ATACMS, Aviation and Intelligence Support)

Tactics, Techniques and Procedures Handbook (Fort Leavenworth, Kans.: U

Army Combined Arms Center, 1990), 1–5, CAC historical files.

103. Ibid., 4–8.

104. Ibid., 4–16.

105. The TRADOC history of 1988 mentions an agreement signed tha

year by the service chiefs that established notification and coordinatio

procedures for Army fires beyond the FSCL. AHR, TRADOC, 1 January–3

December 1988, 35. However, as in the case of the BAI agreement signed b

the service operations deputies, the provisions of this agreement were no

incorporated into doctrine.

106. John A. Warden III, The Air Campaign: Planning for Comba

(Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1988).

107. Col John A. Warden III, USAF, Maxwell AFB, Ala., interviewed b

author, 6 June 1995. In this interview, Warden explicitly stated that hi

purpose was to create a new vision of airpower that would supplant th

Creech/Russ view that airpower’s primary function was to support the Army.

108. One can find the fully developed concept in Col John A. Warden

“The Enemy as a System,” Airpower Journal 9, no. 1 (Spring 1995): 40–55.

109. The role that Warden’s ideas played in shaping the America

military response to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in August 1990 is beyond th

scope of this study. One version of that story is dramatically outlined in Co

Richard T. Reynolds, Heart of the Storm: The Genesis of the Air Campaig

against Iraq (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, January 1995).

110. Starry was emphatic on this point. He stated categorically that “w

would not have had AirLand Battle had it not been for him [Bill Creech]. 

could not have carried it off by myself.” Starry, interview, 13 May 1995.

440
111. These figures and those that follow are taken from James M. Ford

“Air Force Culture and Conventional Strategic Airpower” (thesis, School o

Advanced Airpower Studies, Maxwell AFB, Ala., 1992), 60.

112. The Joint Chiefs of Staff issued Joint Pub 3-0, Doctrine for Join

Operations, as a test publication on 10 January 1990. AHR, TRADOC, 

January–31 December 1990, June 1991, 55, THO. The manual was no

published in final form until 1994.

113. Robert C. Marsh, “The Cleveland Orchestra: One Hundred Men an

a Perfectionist,” High Fidelity 11 (February 1961): 38.

114. The literature of the Gulf War is replete with instances of ineffectiv

communication between the Army and the Air Force. See, inter alia, Ric

Atkinson, Crusade: The Untold Story of the Persian Gulf War (New York

Houghton Mifflin, 1993), 151–52, 218–23, 338–40; Robert H. Scales, Certai

Victory: The United States Army in the Gulf War (Washington, D.C.: Office o

the Chief of Staff, United States Army, 1993), 174–81, 315–16; Richard M

Swain, “Lucky War”: Third Army in Desert Storm (Fort Leavenworth, Kans

US Army Command and General Staff College Press, 1994), 181–90

Michael R. Gordon and Bernard E. Trainor, The Generals’ War: The Insid

Story of the Conflict in the Gulf (Boston: Little, Brown, 1995), 203–4, 324–48

447–54, 494; and Barry D. Watts’s perceptive review essay of Gordon an

Trainor’s work, “Friction in the Gulf War,” Naval War College Review 4

(Autumn 1995): 105. For a dissenting view, see Edward Mann, wh

contends that “the air campaign plan would eventually meld perfectly wit

schemes of surface maneuver to be developed later.” Col Edward C. Man

III, Thunder and Lightning: Desert Storm and the Airpower Debates (Maxwe

AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, April 1995), 175.

441
Chapter 12

The Evolution of NATO Air Doctrine

Col Maris “Buster” McCrabb

The Atlantic Alliance played a central role in maintainin

peace in Europe—at least the absence of major war—since it

founding in 1949. It did not accomplish this by remainin

stagnant in its military strategies or doctrines; instead, i

underwent significant changes. This chapter assesses how it

air strategies and employment doctrines reflected those changes

The evolution of North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO

air doctrine highlights the intertwined nature of politica

imperatives and military strategy.

1

 This essay assumes tha

one cannot understand air doctrine outside the larger militar

strategy it supports and that, especially in the case of NATO

one must place the wider strategy within its political context

In NATO, Carl von Clausewitz’s dictum that war is an

extension of politics is a day-to-day reality.3

This chapter seeks to identify the sources and characteristic

of NATO air doctrine and trace its evolution from the beginning

of the alliance to the post-cold-war era. As NATO expands an

becomes engaged in out-of-area missions—such as thos

conducted in the former Yugoslavia —in the 1990s, its ai

doctrines must change to conform to new realities.4 A

understanding of the origins and evolution of the current ai

doctrine illuminates the “opportunity set” for this inevitabl

evolution. Further, the chapter highlights points of divergenc

and convergence between NATO and US air doctrines.

Briefly stated, NATO air doctrine reflects the alliance’s thre

political realities. First, the need to maintain alliance cohesion

requires that the alliance look and act defensively, drive fo

consensus, and consider the United States as only the firs

among equals. Second, the alliance must take full cognizanc

of unique national requirements—for example, British an

French autonomy, especially in nuclear weaponry, and th

issue of West Germany’s reintegration into Europe in th

443
1950s and the reunification with East Germany in the 1990s

Third, the alliance must recognize fiscal restraints that aris

from US global commitments and the competition for resource

arising from European social welfare commitments.5 In othe

words, as Richard L. Kugler so aptly remarked, one mus

remember that “strategy comes with a dollar sign.”6

NATO’s air doctrine also reflects the alliance’s militar

realities. For most of its history, the alliance confronted 

numerically superior foe and geopolitical realities tha

prevented a military strategy which traded space for time; th

alliance also relied on both the US strategic nuclear umbrell

and conventional reinforcements from North America

Further, NATO air doctrine is very much negotiated doctrine

especially cross-nationally—mainly between the United State

and the United Kingdom —and intranationally, among the US

services. The efforts of NATO’s Tactical Air Working Part

(TAWP) to write NATO’s air doctrines best exemplify thi

situation.7 Negotiated doctrine is neither necessarily bad no

bland; however, it is time-consuming because one mus

obtain consensus from a group of sovereign countries tha

belong to a voluntary association.

NATO’s influence on US Air Force doctrine has been

cyclical: closely associated in the 1950s and largely buil

around massive retaliation , the two doctrines began divergin

in the 1980s, as USAF doctrine began emphasizing offensiv

operations. They may, however, be reconverging in the 1990s

due to the influence of the Persian Gulf War. Further, th

Goldwater-Nichols Department of Defense Reorganization Ac

of 1986 mandated the development of joint US militar

doctrine, thereby enhancing and constraining the US

negotiation position. That is, the US position is now

consolidated, but USAF doctrine must more closely conform t

the larger set of US doctrine. Moreover, the US positions a

TAWP, for example, reflect the consensus views of all the US

services—not just the USAF .

This chapter outlines and explains the political and militar

context of NATO’s air doctrine because, as mentioned above

one cannot explain air strategy without understanding th

military strategy it supports, and one cannot understand th

military strategy without understanding its political context

444
The essay

s major divisions mark changes in NATO militar

strategy, focusing on the 1970s and 1980s—the “Golden Age

of the development of NATO air doctrine. This assessmen

does not imply a retrenchment in doctrinal developmen

within the alliance since that time. Rather, it suggests tha

those two decades represent the process of doctrinal creation

and refinement. Indeed, the 1990s may yet become the tru

Golden Age.

NATO’s Central Region receives most of the emphasis her

because therein lay the threat from massed Warsaw Pact an

Soviet forces. However, significant differences in doctrina

development existed between the Central Region and the othe

two major areas—the Southern Region and the Northern Region 

Also highlighted is the Supreme Allied Commander, Europ

(SACEUR) area of operations (which includes the three majo

NATO regions); however, discussion of Supreme Allie

Commander, Atlantic (SACLANT)8 is limited to air doctrine fo

tactical air support of maritime operations. Additionally, thi

chapter addresses the way in which NATO produces it

doctrine.9

Origins to 1967

Although this chapter does not intend to cover the politica

origins of NATO,

10 four key events greatly affected the militar

strategy adopted by the alliance in the early 1950s. First

NATO came into existence after the World War II allianc

among the great powers of the West (the United States and th

United Kingdom) and the Soviet Union had irrevocabl

dissolved. Failure to achieve a peace treaty, the Sovie

blockade of Berlin , and the continued presence of massiv

Soviet forces outside the USSR’s borders all pointed to an

increased, not decreased, security threat.1 1 The coup in

February 1948 that overthrew the democratically electe

government in Czechoslovakia prompted the eventua

formation of NATO in 1949.12 Second, after the Federa

Republic of Germany formed in 1949, certain states sought t

secure West Germany’s fortunes to those of its erstwhil

enemies in the West. France in particular wished to tie Wes

Germany politically, economically, and militarily to th

445
Western states. 1 3 Third, although countries recognized th

need for a security arrangement in Europe, an attack from

Soviet forces did not appear imminent. This perception

changed with the outbreak of war in Korea. Fourth, and mos

importantly, the United States overturned 150 years of it

history of avoiding formal overseas commitments with th

announcement of the Truman Doctrine and the Marshall Plan

both designed to tie the United States to the security an

prosperity of western Europe.

The first political hurdle the alliance overcame was the issu

of West Germany.

1 4 Treaties providing for the rearmament o

that country and its incorporation into NATO specified that th

new West German military become part of an internationa

command (NATO) and retain only limited capabilities fo

independent national command. Consequently, no Germa

command structure exists for air operations above the win

level, and all German air defense aircraft remain under NATO

command, even in peacetime—thus there is no uniquely

“German” air doctrine.

15

The second major political event occurred in 1966, when

France withdrew from the NATO military command structure

Explanations of this event generally emphasize the personalit

of French president Charles de Gaulle and his alleged

anti-Americanism, but the roots of the split lie much deeper. 1

For NATO, beyond having to move its headquarters from Pari

to Brussels, the French withdrawal posed problems related t

its military strategy: in times of crisis, what role would French

forces play, and to what extent would they be reintegrated int

the NATO command structure? And how would France emplo

the nuclear forces it was developing? According to French

defense planners, the answer to that question depended upon

the military situation in Europe in relation to France.

17

One of the fundamental issues NATO planners dealt with in

the formative years of the alliance was the kind of attack the

could expect from the Warsaw Pact.

1 8 Options included 

full-scale conventional attack following a buildup of forces; 

more limited attack against key NATO installation

(particularly nuclear ones), utilizing a high degree of surprise

or a full-scale conventional attack with minimum warnin

time. Compounding this problem was the need for US

446
reinforcements to arrive in time to shore up NATO forces—

believed insufficient to thwart the Warsaw Pact’s advances

NATO military planning assumed the worst case—an all-ou

attack with limited warning. Furthermore, in a comparison o

NATO weaknesses to the opposition’s perceived strengths

planners tended to assume that any such war would be o

short duration. The key question was how soon US

reinforcements could close on the continent.

The first formal statement of strategy, Military Committe

(MC) Report 14/1, adopted at the Lisbon summit in 1952, 1

dealt with the counteroffensive. That is, if Soviet force

invaded, a light force of 20–30 NATO divisions would screen

the attack until US strategic air forces could arrive to delive

an atomic interdiction blow against the invaders. NATO would

then launch a ground offensive to recover lost territory an

even free eastern Europe. MC 14/2 (1957) dropped the latte

requirement, assuming that a nuclear attack would leav

nothing worth liberating. 2 0

The strategy of 1957 also paved the way for stationing in

Europe what later became known as theater nuclear forces. 2

Although planners still accepted NATO ’s inferiority in

conventional power, they recognized that the bulk of Sovie

forces were in fact stationed in the USSR and would tak

some time to move forward. This fact, plus the economi

imperatives of providing for defense at minimum cost,22 led t

an acceptance of a “sword and shield” strategy whereb

permanently stationed troops would guard against a surpris

or rogue attack (the shield) while in-theater nuclear force

would threaten follow-on Soviet forces (the sword). 2 3

One can hardly overestimate the impact of nuclear weapon

on NATO’s military strategy.

2 4 On the one hand, they made u

for NATO’s numerical inferiority in conventional forces. On th

other, they permitted NATO to accept that gap in the capabilit

of its conventional forces in relation to the Warsaw Pact 

Furthermore, they presented a deterrent posture that appealed

to the European public. Finally, they promised defense at lowe

cost, which appealed to every NATO member. 25

This military strategy channeled NATO’s air strategy t

achieve three tasks in the early days of war: (1) secure th

initial deployment within the alliance from air attack , (2

447
protect ports for the follow-up deployment of US an

Canadian forces, and (3) preserve subsequent NATO groun

forces’ freedom of maneuver. At the same time, however

NATO recognized a need to attack Warsaw Pac

second-echelon forces and even airfields. How NATO expecte

to balance these requirements requires further investigation.

First, NATO planners did not see air forces as mere “flyin

artillery” that supported the ground force’s close battle—th

traditional use of close air support (CAS). They did recognize

though, that the alliance would need airpower if Warsaw Pac

forces achieved a breakthrough or if the initial NATO

deployment was incomplete. The primary air-to-groun

mission of NATO air forces entailed interdicting rear areas an

follow-on forces—the traditional mission of air interdiction

(AI). Furthermore, the primary targets for these missions wer

Warsaw Pact forces themselves, especially armored forces

rather than their means of transportation (e.g., trucks o

trains) to the front. Bridges were the only nonmobile target

generally mentioned in this context.

Second, these missions were to be flown largely within th

confines of East Germany, mainly to an operational depth o

about two hundred kilometers from the political borders—

stipulation reflected in NATO force structure. Most of th

alliance’s aircraft were of relatively short range, typifying thei

defensive nature. These missions sought to disrupt th

intentions of Warsaw Pact commanders by forcing them t

disperse as they moved towards the battle and to force 

deployment of air defense assets to protect second-echelon

forces and hence minimize NATO air losses at the front.

Forward defense, as both a strategic and an operationa

plan, stated that NATO should defend its Central Region (Wes

Germany) as far forward as possible, with defense beginnin

immediately behind the border, and that its forces should no

surrender territory without a fight. Again, planners alway

kept nuclear weapons in mind because political realitie

dictated that NATO could give little ground before having t

employ these weapons against invaders.

In this early period, USAF and NATO doctrine starts t

diverge over the use of air forces to secure command of th

air. Although USAF doctrine emphasized air superiority as 

448
prerequisite for further air operations, NATO softened this t

emphasize air defense that provided only a favorable ai

situation, because NATO believed it had insufficient aircraft t

dedicate to the air superiority role. Further, NATO emphasize

the “defense” aspect of air defense and did not foresee a large

offensive counterair (OCA) mission for fighter sweeps, escort

or a major commitment to attacking Warsaw Pact airfields

This thinking was in line with NATO ’s strategy of integrate

air defenses , whereby ground-based air defense system

enhanced fighter aircraft.

Another area of apparent divergence involved the efficacy o

aerial attack against vital targets—economic as well a

military—deep within enemy territory. Within a decade afte

the close of World War II, whose lessons taught many airmen

that the strategic bombing of Germany was at least a—if no

the—decisive element in Germany’s defeat, NATO abandone

plans to attack the sorts of targets hit by British and US

bomber fleets during the war. NATO’s reasoning was that i

did not wish to present even the appearance of being a threa

to the USSR, fearing that long-range conventional bomber

would suggest as much. Further, the advent of nuclea

weapons had changed air doctrines since World War II

altering the air bombardment equation in two ways: (1) th

immense destructive power of atomic weapons rendered them

ill suited for a precision bombing role and (2) most peopl

thought that a nuclear war would be over quickly. In such 

scenario, attacks against economic or industrial targets

because they seemed to offer mostly long-term benefits

became militarily insignificant. In reality, however, NATO

never really abandoned strategic bombardment but deferred t

the largely US-based bomber force to accomplish thi

mission.2 6 Thus, the one area of convergence between US an

NATO air doctrine—the one deemed most critical b

both—remained nuclear doctrine.

Although NATO political and military strategies served wel

during an era of unmatched US political and militar

dominance, external and internal changes to the alliance in

the mid-1960s caused the questioning and revising of both

strategies. This stimulated a quest for modernization o

449
conventional forces and a determination to confine any war t

the nonnuclear level.

Modernization, 1967–89

Starting in the late 1970s and continuing into th

mid-1980s, NATO substantially upgraded its conventional an

nuclear forces.27 The USAF removed most of its older weapon

systems and introduced newer aircraft such as the A-10

F-111F, F-15, and F-16. European countries introduced new

platforms such as the Tornado and F-16 into their inventories

although at a slower pace than did the United States. NATO

also acquired precision-guided munitions such a

laser-guided bombs, electro-optical guided bombs, precision

television-guided and infrared-guided antitank missiles, an

runway attack munitions. NATO ’s decision in 1979 to deplo

nuclear-armed ground launched cruise missiles (GLCM) an

Pershing II missiles—to enhance deterrence by counterin

Soviet SS-20s—proved both a major milestone in allianc

military history and a highly political act. Upgrades to th

command and control (C 2) arena included a NATO airborn

early warning (NAEW) aircraft, based upon the US E-3

airborne warning and control system (AWACS) aircraft, an

the allied C2 system.

The late 1960s witnessed numerous changes that would

ultimately lead to a major reexamination of NATO’s militar

strategy . Following years of modernization prompted by th

Soviet humiliation during the Cuban missile crisis of 1962, th

Soviets appeared to gain parity with US forces in the strategi

nuclear arena. Further, appraisals of Warsaw Pact capabilitie

led some people to conclude that NATO’s conventional force

were in a much better position than they were in the 1950s.2 

And in the political arena, a spirit of détente2 9 and movemen

towards arms reduction agreements3 0 between the superpower

led to a further lessening of tensions.

In 1967 NATO adopted MC 14/3, the strategy of flexibl

response, marking a significant change in both the politica

outlook and the military strategy of the alliance. 3 1 Although i

retained the option of a strategic nuclear response from th

United States 3 2 to counter any Warsaw Pact breakthrough in

450
Europe , the strategy placed new emphasis on conventiona

forces’ ability to deter—even defeat—an all-out attack from th

East. 33 This emphasis, however, did not imply either an

offensive strategy or a belief that the opposition had altered it

objectives. Conventional wisdom still maintained that th

Warsaw Pact was organized, trained, and equipped to conduc

a short-notice attack against Allied Forces Central Europ

(AFCENT) in order to achieve the Rhine crossings and captur

ports on the North Sea within a few days. 34 Perhaps the mos

significant change in MC 14/3 was that nuclear employmen

became part of a “deliberate escalation” rather than an

inevitable response to an invasion.35

USAF and NATO air defense doctrine continued to diverg

during this time period, as NATO continued to emphasiz

defensive counterair (DCA). For example, it increased its us

of hardened aircraft shelters and modernized ground-base

air defenses (such as Patriot missiles) as a counter to th

newer Warsaw Pact air forces. Notably, no other NATO ai

force sought the longer-range, more capable air-to-air fighter

such as the F-15 or F-14, which the United States brough

on-line in the 1970s. Furthermore, no countries other than

Great Britain planned to use the multinational Tornado

developed in an air defense variant, primarily for interdiction 

Nevertheless, this period remains the high point o

convergence between USAF and NATO air strategy , fo

planners framed USAF doctrine and force structure in almos

an exclusively European context. Furthermore, this period

saw the convergence of opinion between the US Army and th

USAF over the role of airpower on the NATO battlefield.3 6

In July 1970 Gen Andrew Goodpaster , SACEUR, requested

that the Military Agency for Standardization (MAS)37 form 

working party “to develop a tactical air doctrine that would

provide a common understanding of the role of air power in

allied operations, and a set of common procedures fo

successfully implementing air operations.”38 The primary drivin

force at work here was the strategy of flexible response. As NATO

began exploring a more robust conventional deterrent an

war-fighting strategy, the requirement for NATO ’s ground, air

and naval forces to work together effectively in a joint an

combined environment became more insistent, renderin

451
essentially national doctrines untenable. 39 The Air Board of th

MAS took two actions over the next several years. First, i

established working parties (e.g., the TAWP) to draft the doctrin

and procedures, which initially involved identifying agencie

within each member nation to represent national position

during the negotiations. For the United States, thi

responsibility fell to the Doctrine Division of the USAF’s Ai

Staff.4 0 Second, the MAS Air Board requested SACLANT’s inpu

following the latter’s objections that drafts coming out of th

working party failed to include practices of the naval air arm.

The document that would become Allied Tactical Pamphle

33 (ATP-33), Tactical Air Doctrine, took form through a serie

of working party meetings and drafts from November 197

until its release on 11 March 1976. One should note thre

points about the development of this seminal document o

NATO air doctrine. First, the initial US working party include

only USAF members, which prompted the US Navy to get th

development process out of USAF hands and into those of th

Joint Chiefs of Staff. Although the effort proved unsuccessful

the US Navy, Army, and Marine Corps soon joined th

development and coordination process. Second, th

development of ATP-33 brought to the fore the differences o

opinion on C2 of air assets, both among NATO membe

nations and within the US military. As David Stein points out

the USAF and Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europ

(SHAPE) wanted centralization of control functions at th

highest practicable level of command, while the US Navy , US

Marine Corps, and the United Kingdom ’s Royal Air Forc

(RAF) wanted decentralized control of air operations at th

lowest possible level of command. 41 This disagreemen

permeates discussions over NATO air doctrine to this ver

day. Finally, the process of developing, coordinating, an

finally ratifying this keystone document4 2 reveals the slownes

of doctrine development—almost six years from SACEUR’

original tasking to an approved document.

The last point becomes especially important in

understanding the role played by the United States in

developing NATO’s initial air doctrines. US officers workin

this process tended to have much shorter tours of duty than

other NATO members (especially the RAF). Thus, som

452
negotiations once thought final would reoccur as new US

action officers came on-line with less than complet

knowledge of the preceding negotiations. Further, thes

negotiations occurred during the infancy of US joint doctrine

The lack of a “US” position versus “USAF ” or “US Navy

positions complicated and slowed negotiations within th

working parties.4 3

Basic Tactical Air Doctrine

The purpose of ATP-33 is to ensure the effectiv

employment of NATO air resources in tactical air operations t

attain and maintain air superiority, interdict enemy comba

forces and their supporting installations, and assist—through

combined/joint operations—ground or naval forces in

achieving their objectives.4 4 This doctrine, like basic USAF

doctrine, recognizes the priority of air superiority—

perspective based on NATO ’s recognition that air superiorit

provides freedom of movement to friendly forces and, b

denying it to enemy forces, facilitates other NATO ai

missions. Furthermore, contrary to the beliefs of mos

airpower advocates, it foresees airpower as essentially playin

a supporting role to naval and ground forces. As shown later

efforts that allow a more independent role for airpowe

constitute one of the great doctrinal changes that NATO i

contemplating in the 1990s.

Basic NATO air operations include counterair, interdiction 

reconnaissance and surveillance, offensive air support (OAS

tactical transport, support of maritime operations, and othe

supporting operations such as electronic warfare, suppression

of enemy air defenses (SEAD), air-to-air refueling, search an

rescue, and special operations. Each of these operation

warrants a specific chapter in ATP-33, and most have a mor

detailed ATP of their own. (The doctrinal pamphlets on ai

superiority [ATP-42] and OAS [ATP-27] receive more detaile

treatment below.) First, however, one should examine th

doctrinal guidance on C2 of overall air operations provided in

ATP-33.

NATO defines command as the authority to direct

coordinate, or control one’s own forces; control is the authorit

453
to do those same tasks over forces not under the individual

command. Furthermore, C2 is divided between operationa

and tactical, the latter applying only to the accomplishment o

specific and generally local missions or tasks. 45 The pamphle

calls for the planning and direction of tactical air operations a

an air command operations center (ACOC), with contro

delegated to subordinate allied tactical operations center

(ATOC). The pamphlet stresses the principles of centralize

control (to promote an integrated effort in execution of plans

and decentralized execution (to provide flexibility in th

detailed planning and execution of those plans). 4 6 However, a

Stein observed above, the disagreement over the dividing lin

between these two defines the essential differences between

the United States and the United Kingdom and between

services in the US military.

Centralized control of air resources provides allotmen

apportionment, allocation , and tasking of resources. Allotmen

exercised by the commander having operational command

assigns forces among subordinate commands. Apportionmen

determines and assigns the total expected air effort b

percentage and/or priority, while allocation translates tha

determination into total numbers of sorties by aircraft type fo

each operation or task. Tasking, then, takes the allocation an

turns it into an order to an individual unit.4 7

Counterair Doctrine

One finds NATO’s doctrine for counterair in ATP-42. 4

Closely tied to it is ATP-40, Doctrine and Procedures fo

Airspace Control in the Combat Zone.

49 NATO has alway

recognized a need for air superiority. The two major areas o

disagreement lie in the role of attacks against the enemy’

integrated air defense system (IADS)—commonly referred to a

SEAD —and C2 of counterair resources.

The pamphlet defines counterair operations as “thos

operations conducted to attain and maintain a desired degre

of air superiority” to produce a “favourable air situation

essential for the successful conduct of combat operations.”5

Although doctrine separates these into “offensive” an

“defensive” operations, it recognizes that, particularly sinc

454
they often use the same resources, one cannot view them in

isolation from each other. ATP-42 considers SEAD part of th

offensive operations and defines it as activity which

“neutralizes, destroys or temporarily degrades enemy ai

defense systems in a specific area by physical attack and/o

electronic warfare.”51

SEAD became an important area of dispute between th

USAF and NATO. USAF doctrine considers SEAD coequal with

OCA and DCA, while NATO, as shown above, views SEAD onl

as part of OCA. Specifically, at the most basic level, USAF

doctrine assumes a global perspective whereas, obviously

NATO doctrine covers a more narrowly focused region. In th

1970s, the USAF had an opportunity to test its doctrines in

the skies over Vietnam. One important lesson it learned ther

was that SEAD deserved to be elevated to a position coequa

with OCA and DCA. Further, few NATO air forces other than

US forces have resources (such as the US F-4G Wild Wease

aircraft) for the SEAD mission.5 2 These countries feared that 

separate SEAD mission would require them to bu

SEAD -dedicated aircraft. Also, within NATO itself, a differenc

exists between separate allied tactical air forces (ATAF). A

Stein , Kimberly Nolan, and Robert Perry write, 2ATAF

(dominated by the RAF ) and 4ATAF (largely a USAF operation

“tend to operate as ‘national’ tactical air forces rather than a

a ‘combined’ force.”5 3 For example, although 2ATAF does no

have specific doctrine for SEAD, 4ATAF does.

The C2 of counterair operations flows from the major NATO

commanders (e.g., SHAPE ) through major subordinat

commanders (MSC—e.g., AFCENT) to principal subordinat

commanders (PSC—e.g., of Air Forces Central Europ

[COMAIRCENT]), who generally exercise operational control5

for counterair operations (and other air missions) though, in

practice, tactical control is further delegated to ATOCs an

their subordinate sector operations centers (SOC)

Furthermore, the operational commander designates an

airspace control authority (ACA), who has responsibility fo

planning, coordinating, and operating an airspace contro

plan. Key elements of this plan include airspace contro

measures and means such as control zones, restricted

operations areas, and transit routes. Finally, these measure

455
consist of positive and procedural controls plus establishe

rules of engagement.5 5

Some distinctions exist among NATO ’s Central, Northern

and Southern Regions as they relate to counterair operation

and airspace control concepts. In the Northern Region 

Norway and Denmark view their defense needs as largely

self-defense measures focused on maintaining territoria

integrity. However, they have not insisted on any reservation

to either ATP-40 or ATP-42.56 In the Southern Region , ongoin

disputes over national domain of the Aegean Sea complicat

airspace control systems in the eastern Mediterranean .

57

Air-to-Surface Doctrine

Although NATO countries generally agreed on the prope

air-to-air role of airpower, the air-to-surface role prove

considerably more contentious.5 8 The primary doctrina

pamphlet that covers these missions is ATP-27, Offensive Ai

Support Operations.

59 The four areas of disagreement include

battlefield air interdiction (BAI), follow-on forces attac

(FOFA), AirLand Battle, and C2 of these air resources

including request procedures, approval authority, plannin

locations, and control functions.

OAS operations involve those that support land forces. Th

first rendition of this doctrine, ATP-27(A), included thre

functions under the OAS umbrella: CAS , AI, and tactical ai

reconnaissance (TAR).

60 During discussions about revisions t

ATP-27(A) at the 1977 TAWP,

61 the USAF objected to th

inclusion of AI as an OAS mission because it is not a suppor

mission; its objectives derive from the overall goals of th

combined force—not those specifically derived from the lan

force commander . Furthermore, since these missions occu

outside the direct scope of land operations, they do no

require the detailed integration with the fire-and-maneuve

scheme of ground forces—a requirement inherent in CAS .

6

TAWP accepted this, and ATP-27(B) removed AI from OAS bu

replaced it with BAI: “air action against hostile surface target

which are in a position to directly affect friendly forces an

which requires joint planning and coordination” (emphasi

added).6 3

456
Some understanding of the evolution from AI to BAI rests on

the different approaches the RAF and the USAF took to th

management of airpower and air-to-ground coordination. 6

The Americans viewed airpower as a theaterwide asset with

inherent flexibility. As such, this required a C2 structure ove

the entire Central Region —the role of Allied Air Forces Centra

Europe (AAFCE). Although the British recognized th

flexibility of airpower, they preferred a national chain o

command (such as existed between the British-dominate

2ATAF and Northern Army Group [NORTHAG]) that would

provide a more direct and immediate means of coordination

The RAF feared that losing “control” over AI would limit th

ability of its airpower to relieve pressure on NORTHAG

forces.65 Therefore, it proposed BAI as a way to provid

additional air support (beyond CAS ) to NORTHAG . (BAI i

essentially a mission between the closely coordinated an

integrated CAS and AI , which, under ATP-27[B], required n

coordination of integration between ground and air forces.) In

order to solve the disagreement between the RAF and USAF 

the TAWP set up a “drafting committee” to iron out 

compromise. Notably, the committee included representative

of both the air and ground services of only three countries: th

United States , the United Kingdom, and West Germany.

The USAF voiced three objections to BAI. First, it imposed

air-ground coordination where none had previously existed

under the prevailing AI concept. Second, it require

coordination at a level—proposed to be the army corps—tha

seemed inconsistent with a theaterwide view of airpowe

management. Third, the USAF viewed BAI as an intrusion on

airpower prerogatives in determining the best employment o

scarce airpower resources. The final document, ATP-27(B)

reflected a compromise between the USAF and RAF positions

BAI, unlike CAS, would not be conducted under ground-forc

direction, thus maintaining the principle of centralized control

Furthermore, one could execute BAI to fulfill ground or ai

commanders’ requests and thus could fly BAI on either side o

the fire support coordination line (FSCL)—the traditiona

dividing line between CAS and AI. Finally, BAI was maintained

at the ATAF/army group level and not allocated down t

corps/air support operations centers (ASOC), as with CAS .

457
AirLand Battle and Follow-on Forces Attack

Several key initiatives converged in the late 1970s tha

would result in a strategic and operational split within NATO

The US Army, reacting to lessons learned in the Vietnam Wa

and the 1973 Yom Kippur War as well as an analysis o

emerging Warsaw Pact capabilities and doctrinal changes, 6

started to focus its doctrinal development on attacking enem

forces well before they entered the close-combat arena

Furthermore, it examined the utility of counteroffensiv

operations to defeat a numerically superior foe. All thi

resulted in AirLand Battle doctrine—not necessarily wel

received by NATO. Specifically, many NATO members mistook

the doctrine—an operational concept—for a strategic initiative

believing that, as a defensive alliance, NATO should no

advocate offensive operations into Warsaw Pact territory

Further, the doctrine relied on emerging—primarily

US—technologies that many NATO countries believed the

could ill afford, especially at a time when NATO wa

attempting to upgrade its main defensive forces.6 7 Also, man

NATO air force members saw AirLand Battle as an attempt t

gain control over air resources. The doctrine stressed shapin

enemy forces through deep attack , thereby implyin

ground-commander control over deep-attack assets that wer

primarily air assets.68 Further, AirLand Battle focused on th

corps as the operational maneuver force, an emphasis tha

went against an air perspective—particularly that of th

USAF—that stressed theaterwide air employment.

Since 1979, however, NATO had entertained an initiativ

involving the attack of Warsaw Pact second-echelon force

before they entered the main defensive belt. This initiative

formally announced by Gen Bernard Rogers, SACEUR, in

1983 and incorporated into ATP-35(A), Land Force Doctrine, in

1985, 69 was known as FOFA. Like others, it met a contentiou

reception within NATO. In one sense, FOFA was merely an

extension of the long-standing NATO doctrine of AI.

7

However, two of its implications disturbed many NATO

members. First, FOFA implied early border-crossing authorit

(something it held in common with OCA operations)—a highly

sensitive issue within NATO , especially for the West Germans

458
Second, some nations voiced concern that FOFA would draw

air resources away from operations such as counterair o

CAS/BAI—essential missions in the early days of a massiv

Warsaw Pact attack.7 1 Finally, many NATO member

remained skeptical over whether these “smart” technologie

would work or, even if they did, thought that the Soviet

would quickly (and inexpensively) find countermeasures t

them.

NATO OAS doctrine deals extensively with BAI and CAS

procedures for requests, approval, planning (especiall

targeting), controlling, and execution. ATP-27 provides th

clearest example of the different levels of detail found in

NATO, as opposed to US, doctrine. From one perspective

NATO doctrine is written for “generals to captains” or from th

“operational to the tactical level.” For example, ATP-2

includes organizational diagrams and flowcharts outlinin

how OAS requests (both preplanned and immediate) 72 ar

processed, planned, and decided—an essentially operational

level process. It also provides detailed tactical procedures an

techniques, including holding patterns for forward ai

controllers, tactics for attack aircraft, and standardize

terminology.

Aside from its level of detail, ATP-27 specifies that one can

initiate OAS requests from “any land force level of command

(emphasis added), 7 3 which emphasizes the support part o

OAS. However, it also calls for the planning of OAS as a join

air and ground responsibility accomplished at th

ACOC—envisioned as part of the joint command operation

center found at the ATAF/army group level. Further, th

pamphlet provides for the tasking of OAS missions from th

ATOC (which has tactical control over the flying units) via an

air tasking order /message (ATO/ ATM). One may furthe

delegate this tasking authority to an ASOC normally colocate

with a field army/corps—important because ATOC/ ASOC

normally has diversion authority, which allows th

accomplishment of higher priority missions by diverting lowe

priority missions. In most cases, this would entail divertin

BAI to CAS , although the opposite is possible—but improbable

The pamphlet does not address whether a BAI mission

requested by the air commander , is subject to diversion to 

459
CAS mission requested by the ground commander. Sinc

ATP-27 implies that CAS and BAI provide support to the lan

force commander, the diversion request would apparently tak

priority.

In sum, one can call the period following the adoption o

flexible response the Golden Age of NATO air doctrine. Befor

the Goodpaster initiative in 1970, the doctrine that existed wa

largely national. The doctrine that emerged was a negotiated

doctrine. No one member dominated the ideas concernin

airpower employment that NATO eventually adopted. Th

arguments and final outcomes of the BAI and SEAD issue

clearly point this out. Despite national preferences, airmen from

every member country held similar beliefs on the proper role o

airpower. The near unanimity over counterair operation

(besides SEAD ) and CAS attests to this fact.

During this period, NATO took the first steps toward

rationalizing its air structure, primarily through the creation

in 1974 of AAFCE , located at Ramstein Air Base, Wes

Germany, to command 2ATAF and 4ATAF. Although this did

not provide a true centralized control apparatus (for example

BAI was still allocated, tasked, and executed at the ATAF

level), it began the process of integrating air assets into 

theaterwide view versus a more narrowly defined (b

land-force boundaries) view of airpower. This move wa

essential if airpower intended to play a more decisive role in

blunting massive Warsaw Pact attacks through interdiction

against second-echelon (and deeper) forces. Furthermore

planning of air defense and offensive air operations becam

combined in the ATOC, which eliminated the false distinction

between these air operations. It also recognized th

importance of both missions to the counterair struggle an

acknowledged that one would likely use the same assets in

both roles. Again, this action highlighted a theaterwide view o

airpower employment.

NATO in the Post-Cold-War Era

Undoubtedly, the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact and th

Soviet Union represented the most monumental change tha

took place in NATO’s history. Although the collapse o

460
Communism in Europe was significant, to say the least, othe

events rank high in NATO ’s recent past. For example, despit

NATO’s peripheral involvement in the Persian Gulf War o

1991, many European NATO countries (and air forces) playe

a significant role in that conflict. Further, throughout it

history, NATO avoided out-of-area operations; however, by th

mid-1990s, it found itself actively involved in comba

operations in the former Yugoslavia .

74 Lessons learned from

the Gulf War and the Balkans affected the development o

NATO air doctrine in fundamental ways; further, NATO an

US air doctrines are once again merging in significant ways

mirroring the earliest days of the alliance.

Four major geopolitical changes occurred in the late 1980

and early 1990s: the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact and th

breakup of the Soviet Union ; the breakup of Yugoslavia and th

subsequent civil war; the Persian Gulf War; and th

denuclearization of NATO. The first event seemingly eliminate

NATO’s raison d’être, while the second and third reinforced th

fact that Europe—as well as areas critical to Europe—remain

less than peaceful; further, turmoil in these areas, even if it doe

not directly (or immediately) appear to threaten NATO, still pose

problems for the alliance. The final event eliminated a core par

of NATO’s long-standing military strategy. Even during th

heyday of conventional war fighting, nuclear weapons provided 

reassuring backstop to NATO war plans.

The demise of the Warsaw Pact generated both external an

internal military changes in Europe. Most importantly, Sovie

forces, which constituted the backbone of Warsaw Pac

capability, withdrew from eastern and central Europe, thus n

longer occupying territory adjacent to NATO . To militar

planners, this move seemed to offer substantially increase

warning time, even if Russian forces attempted to invad

western Europe. Likewise, the fact that former Warsaw Pac

members were politically distancing themselves from Moscow

offered the potential scenario that a resurgent Russia migh

have to fight its way west, even to reach NATO lands. Further

political instability in Russia and the rapid downsizing of th

military forces of former Warsaw Pact countries led the latte

to seek closer ties to NATO for purposes of security.

461
Internal changes in NATO often mirrored those in th

now-defunct Warsaw Pact . Foremost was the withdrawal o

substantial US forces from Europe. By the mid-1990s, th

United States maintained one army corps and fewer than 1

fighter squadrons in Europe—down from two corps an

almost 25 fighter squadrons. Furthermore, most of thes

combat units disbanded, thus reducing the number o

available units in the event of increased tensions in Europe

This downsizing also is taking place in the European states

For example, the German Bundeswehr (federal armed forces

will be cut from 515,000 to 370,000 personnel. Also

operational readiness postures will be reduced and man

aircraft, tanks, and warships will be retired. 75 Additionally, fo

both the United States and other NATO countries, domesti

fiscal pressures drastically reduced modernization initiatives

Finally, within western Europe, the Western European Union

(WEU) and Eurocorps both present Europe-only alternative

to NATO, while the Partnership for Peace (PFP) program ma

result in a further extension of NATO ’s area of operations righ

to the eastern limit of the European continent.7 6

Otto von Bismarck, the great nineteenth-century German

geopolitician, allegedly said that “some damn thing in th

Balkans ” would mark the end of stability in Europe. Som

people argue that his prediction came too bloody true in th

fields of France from 1914 to 1918. Some also believe that i

might again prove true in the 1990s, as civil strife run

rampant in the former republics of Yugoslavia . In thi

cauldron in 1994, NATO found itself conducting its firs

combat operations. The ironies are rampant. For 40 years

NATO girded for an onslaught of conventional forces from th

east; what it got was insurgency and terrorism in a civil wa

fueled by ethnic and religious forces. For 40 years, NATO

prepared on the central front, only to find its first operation in

its largely ignored Southern Region . For 40 years, European

NATO forces that planned to fight from their fixed areas an

air bases now found themselves deploying to fight. Finally

after 40 years of preparing to fight as NATO, it found itself a

only the military appendage of the United Nations, takin

orders from and requiring permission from a completel

separate political organization.

462
Although space precludes a full rendering of the role tha

NATO, both as individual member countries and as an

alliance, played in the Gulf War, one should note thre

important events. First, and most importantly, NATO did

respond as an alliance—for the first time in its history—to an

area (southeastern Turkey) few people would have imagine

and against a threat (Iraq) even fewer would have foreseen.7

The statement by the North Atlantic Council was unequivoca

on this point: “We note that the crisis in the Gulf poses 

potential threat to one of our Allies having common border

with Iraq, and we affirm our determination to fulfill th

commitments stipulated in Article 5 of the Washington

Treaty.”78 This posture reaffirmed the commitment made b

NATO secretary-general Manfred Wörner on 10 August 1990

Second, NATO responded with more than statements, sendin

the NAEW aircraft 7 9 to Turkey within a week of Iraq’s invasion

of Kuwait; activating the Naval On-Call Force Mediterranean

on 14 September 1990; and deploying the Allied Comman

Europe, Mobile Force (AMF)-Air 80 to bases in eastern Turke

in early January 1991. Most notably, these action

demonstrated the alliance’s political will (something man

commentators had questioned) and its basic defensiv

posture. The third key aspect of the Gulf crisis is that 14 o

the 16 NATO members sent forces to support the anti-Ira

coalition .

81 (Iceland has no military forces but did contribut

funds; Luxembourg has only minimal forces.)

In late 1991, NATO substantially changed the role o

nuclear weapons in its military strategy, reducing by 8

percent the substrategic stockpile—everything from GLCM

and surface-to-surface missiles to atomic artillery shells an

free-fall nuclear weapons carried by tactical fighter aircraft 

Most importantly, it changed the mission of these weapons

Traditionally, nuclear weapons played a backstop role t

preclude a Warsaw Pact victory, either through conventiona

means alone or through the Warsaw Pact’s own use of nuclea

weapons. However, the new strategic concept (see below) call

for the retention of NATO’s nuclear weapons as a deterrent t

the use of nuclear weapons or other weapons of mas

destruction, such as chemical or biological weapons.82

463
Despite the rapid changes that occurred from 1989 through

1991 and despite an image of lethargy, NATO ’s political an

military planning arms responded quickly and com pre

hensively to redirect the alliance’s strategy to cope with th

changes.8 3 From the London declaration in July 1990 to th

new strategic concept issued at the Rome summit in early

November 1991, NATO undertook the most comprehensiv

review of its strategy since its founding.8 4 Perhaps reflectin

the changed times, the new concept that replaced MC 14/

was the first to be made public. 8 5

The document did not change the purely defensive nature o

the alliance but reaffirmed it, as was the case with th

indivisibility of NATO’s security, the collective nature of it

defense, and the critical linkage between Europe and North

America. It recognized the absence of the monolithic threa

and its replacement by “a situation in which many of th

countries on the periphery of the Alliance were faced with

economic, social and political difficulties which might result in

crises and in turn could lead to a range of unpredictable

multi-faceted and multi-dimensional risks to Allied security.”8

The military forces needed to fulfill this new role—includin

deterrence and support for crisis management, peacekeeping

humanitarian assistance, and the defense of Allianc

territory—were flexibly organized into three tiers.87 The firs

tier consists of immediate-reaction forces and more capabl

rapid-reaction forces , made up of multinational,8 8 rapidly

deployable air, land, and sea forces.8 9 The second tier

comprising the bulk of the forces, includes regionally oriented

in-place, main defensive forces consisting of both active an

mobilization units. The third tier includes augmentation

forces primarily from Canada and the United States —als

made up of active and reserve forces .

9 0

In light of these changes, NATO’s doctrines—even th

process—could not help being affected. At the 18th TAWP , th

Air Board charged the meeting to consider including PFP

countries at future TAWPs and determining which ATPs could

be released to those countries, under the general NATO

guidance that any unclassified NATO document can b

released to a PFP country. This mandate placed the workin

party in a somewhat uncomfortable position of determinin

464
whether a previously unclassified document should now b

classified or whether parts of the document (such as th

detailed tactics, techniques, and procedures) should b

stripped out of the parent document and be made separat

documents. Some members expressed concern that certain

information, such as procedures for aborting a CAS attack, i

somewhat sensitive and that releasing that information could

come back to haunt NATO sometime in the future. In the end

however, the TAWP decided to release all of thes

publications, at least partly because ongoing and future join

exercises between NATO countries and PFP countries require

the sharing of these procedures to accomplish the exercise

successfully. 91

Despite ongoing changes, some key trends are emergin

within NATO’s air doctrine. The most fundamental change

sprang from a seminal paper on joint air operations written b

Maj Luigi Meyer of the USAF’s Doctrine Center, located a

Langley AFB, Virginia . This paper outlined US views (not jus

those of the USAF) on such issues as strategic attack 

command relationships, and battlefield control measures

Many of these concepts are making their way into NATO

doctrine. For example, Allied Joint Pub (AJP)-1(A), Allied Join

Operations Doctrine,92 states that its primary objective is “t

provide a ‘keystone’ doctrine for the planning, executio n

and support of allied joint operations.”9 3 The publication

includes strategic attack as an air operation , recommends th

designation of a joint force air component commande

(JFACC) to ensure unity of the air effort, and further recom

mends that the JFACC assume additional responsibilities a

air defense commander (ADC) and airspace control authorit

(ACA).

9 4 This “trihatted” approach precisely mirrors US join

doctrine and USAF doctrine. AJP-1(A) also includes a chapte

on command and control warfare (C 2W)—a rapidly developin

area of US doctrine.

One must still resolve the issue of whether these concept

will continue to filter down to other NATO doctrina

publications. For example, the proposed change three t

ATP-33(B) does not list strategic attack as an air operation

against enemy surface assets, retaining instead the classi

missions of AI and OAS , the latter still including CAS and BAI

465
However, the proposed section on C2

 of tactical air forces

while not specifically mentioning a JFACC, does include 

discussion of centralized C2 and decentralized tactica

execution not in conflict with US doctrine. Specifically, i

states that “unity of effort is best achieved when authority fo

command and control of the air effort is established at th

highest practicable levels under a designated commande

while ensuring tactical control is passed down to the leve

necessary to provide timely, flexible response to battlefield

initiative.” It further argues that “centralized control i

achieved through a designated air commander who directs th

total air effort by exercising operational control of tactical ai

forces assigned or attached.”95 Finally, the pamphlet does no

preclude strategic attack as an air operation. It specificall

defines interdiction , for example, as air operations “conducte

to destroy, neutralize, or delay the enemy’s military potentia

before it can be brought to bear effectively against friendly

forces” but delimits “the enemy’s military potential” to “thos

forces not engaged in close combat, his supplies . . . and th

means by which these unengaged forces and supplies ar

moved” (emphasis added). 96 In contrast, Meyer define

strategic attack as an action against enemy centers of gravity

which include “characteristics, capabilities, or locations from

which alliances, nations and military forces derive their will t

fight, their physical strength, or their freedom of action.”97 B

implication, this includes attacks against command, control

communications, and intelligence (C3I) targets, basi

industrial targets, and fundamental infrastructure targets no

solely devoted to military forces.

The latest versions of the counterair and airspace contro

pamphlets, however, continue to reflect NATO’s long-standin

commitment to the primacy of the air superiority mission, 9

especially DCA,

9 9 and the imperatives of an integrated

airspace control scheme. While not defining a JFACC/ ACA

relationship specifically, ATP-40(A) stresses that the ACA

must have the authority to plan, coordinate, and organize th

airspace control system (ACS), including all weapons (both

aerial and surface-to-surface) that operate within the ACS

The planning process, therefore, must include all users.100

466
Finally, ATP-27(C) on OAS still firmly holds to the concept o

BAI but specifies that OAS missions include only those flown

between the forward line of own troops (FLOT) and the corp

area of responsibility. This places OAS firmly in a battlefield

context and not as deep as either AI or strategic attack . Again

although not specifying the JFACC concept, ATP-27(C) doe

emphasize the requirement for unity of command under 

single air commander—specifically (in the Central Region 

COMAIRCENT, a PSC under commander in chief Centra

Europe (CINCENT).101 Notably, COMAIRCENT would hav

operational control of the forces assigned to that region. In

this case, the pamphlet specifies that CINCENT makes th

apportionment decision (again, the determination, b

percentage or priority, of how much of the total air effort goe

to a specific air operation ), based upon COMAIRCENT’

recommendation and after consultation with the othe

component commanders (e.g., the land and/or nava

commander ). NATO organizational charts anticipate thes

decisions, and the consequent planning functions will b

colocated at the joint command operations center while th

tasking of OAS (and all other air missions) will originate with

the combined air operations center.

In summary, NATO has undergone substantial political

military, and doctrinal changes in a relatively short period o

time. Certainly, NATO air forces have learned substantia

lessons from the experience of both the United States an

other countries in the Gulf War. Despite significant mergin

between US and NATO doctrine, vestiges of older doctrine

remain entrenched, the most notable example of which is BAI

In assessing the future direction of NATO air doctrine, Co

Robert D. Coffman, commander of the USAF’s Doctrin

Center , believes that NATO will ultimately accept the JFACC

and strategic attack, and that BAI will probably remain. H

also believes that, despite the drawdown of US forces in

Europe , the United States retains significant influence in

NATO’s doctrinal discussions. Finally, in assessing the impac

of the Goldwater-Nichols Act, which reinvigorated US join

doctrine, he maintains that the act served as a strengthenin

step for the United States because it forced other NATO

countries to face a unified doctrinal front from America.

102

467
Conclusions

NATO’s first priority has always been alliance cohesion; it

second, a deferral to national preferences—witness the initia

decision to sacrifice operational depth of maneuver in favor o

forward defense along the inter-German border (IGB) and th

preponderance of European air forces still deployed in thei

home countries. One also sees these priorities in th

deployment of NATO’s ground forces (and the subsequen

strain that placed on NATO’s air forces), which is more 

reflection of postwar occupation areas than militarily viabl

defensive positions.

The third priority of the alliance remains the stric

maintenance of the image and reality of a defensiv

organization, which enhances alliance cohesion in severa

ways. For instance, every nation can agree on the defense

Offensive operations imply an out-of-area objective

specifically rejected by NATO from its inception. From th

mid-1950s on, liberating eastern Europe or even Eas

Germany was never an overt objective. Further, presumin

that defensive forces are less expensive than offensive ones

this strategy eases the fiscal burdens of European

members—an especially critical point in the 1950s, when

Europe was rebuilding from the ashes of World War II. Also, 

defensive posture remains critical to maintaining stability in

Europe because it denies anyone an excuse to launch an

attack against the alliance.

NATO’s force structure, deployment posture, and ai

doctrines reflect these priorities. From its founding, th

alliance has employed a threefold air strategy. The firs

priority, air defense, did not imply air superiority as the USAF

defines it. Air planners never foresaw gaining command of th

air but focused more narrowly on achieving security against 

Warsaw Pact air attack on NATO’s ports and major lines o

communications. Furthermore, air defense remained largely 

passive campaign, featuring DCA patrols integrated with

ground-based systems, albeit paying some attention t

attacking Warsaw Pact airfields.

The second priority for NATO’s air forces was attackin

Warsaw Pact second-echelon forces. The early years saw thes

468
attacks as heavily orchestrated with NATO 

s ground forces

but later years saw an evolution to FOFA, which gave ai

forces freedom to attack lucrative targets in order to shape th

close battle. However, in all cases the strategy first called fo

attacks against Warsaw Pact forces, mainly armor, an

second, for strikes against countermobility targets, usually

bridges.

The third priority called for support of engaged groun

forces. From the beginning, NATO air strategists recognize

the expense of this mission. But they also recognized that i

might prove the most critical, especially in a short-warnin

attack scenario in which airpower might represent the only

significant combat power available to NATO commanders

Particularly after the adoption of flexible response in 1967, th

need to prevent a Warsaw Pact breakthrough took on greate

significance because of the ever-lurking presence of nuclea

weapons. NATO strategists truly wanted to take any measure

necessary to avoid employing these weapons of mas

destruction . Beyond purely moral reasons, they eventually

realized that nuclear weapons did not favor the side with

smaller conventional forces. Had Warsaw Pact force

accomplished a breakthrough, forcing NATO to emplo

nuclear weapons, presumably the Warsaw Pact would

retaliate in kind. The result perhaps would have been an even

quicker Warsaw Pact victory but at a considerably higher cos

to both sides—especially in civilian casualties .

Over the three periods examined here, a few themes emerg

regarding the influences of NATO air doctrine on USAF

doctrine and vice versa. Specifically, during the early years o

the alliance, NATO’s strategy for the use of nuclea

weapons—the doctrine of massive retaliation —fitted well with

USAF doctrine and force structure. 103 However, by the tim

NATO shifted focus in the late 1950s, the two doctrine

started to diverge. Whereas NATO contemplated a DCA battle

a reflection of its political imperatives, the USAF stressed th

need for an OCA campaign in order to destroy Soviet an

Warsaw Pact air forces that might deliver nuclear weapon

against the allies. In large part, this divergence reflected th

overwhelmingly strategic orientation of the USAF as oppose

to the more tactical focus of NATO. Another theme was tha

469
NATO planners did not envision total air superiority over all o

western Europe, seeking instead only local or battlefield ai

superiority, while USAF doctrine emphasized the critica

requirement for theaterwide air superiority as the first priorit

of an air force.

By the 1970s and 1980s, NATO and USAF doctrines wer

back in sync, not because NATO changed but because USAF

doctrine dramatically shifted from an offensive, global, nuclea

orientation to a conventional, European one. Perhaps th

most dramatic example of this shift lay in the changin

perception of the role of airpower in the opening days of 

conflict. Under the NATO scenario—assuming the numerica

superiority of Warsaw Pact forces, a Warsaw Pact initiative

and a requirement for US air and ground support—USAF an

NATO commanders recognized that a specific battle for ai

superiority, especially through offensive airfield attacks, would

have to wait. The immediate priority would be air defense o

ports, nuclear facilities, command centers, and movements o

NATO ground forces, along with battlefield support to preven

a Warsaw Pact breakthrough. 104

The latest version of USAF basic doctrine, published in

1992, had no link to NATO air doctrine105 and came at a tim

when NATO underwent massive changes. Unsurprisingly, th

two doctrines diverged somewhat. However, in the mid-1990s

both USAF/US joint doctrine and NATO doctrine ar

undergoing substantial changes that promise a new era o

convergence. One should note that the USAF doctrin

preceded both the joint and NATO doctrinal development. O

course, one should expect this, insofar as doctrina

innovations should come from the air service first, because o

its expertise and familiarity. It then diffuses through the othe

doctrinal outlets, such as joint doctrine or NATO pamphlets.

The role played by operating commands in doctrina

development reveals another important aspect of th

differences between the US and NATO experiences. Th

Goldwater-Nichols Act specifically defined a role for US

war-fighting commands (e.g., US European Command, Pacifi

Command, Atlantic Command, and others), whereas in NATO

the war-fighting commands (e.g., Allied Forces Central, Allie

Forces South, and their subordinate allied air commands) pla

470
a more limited role. For example, although the MSC/PSCs can

propose doctrinal changes, they have no vote in th

ratification process. Furthermore, although US joint doctrin

is authoritative and directive, US commanders can deviate fo

cause. NATO’s military commanders, however, are much mor

closely tied to the doctrinal prescriptions found in NATO

publications. Finally, for most NATO countries, NATO doctrin

is “national” doctrine, in that no other doctrine exists—as i

does in the United States. Thus, these NATO countries migh

take a much more interested posture in NATO doctrina

development. This is particularly true for countries such a

the United States, United Kingdom, and France , that have

more global interests and thus tend to write doctrine from tha

perspective, unlike other NATO countries with a mor

“European” view.

Three examples of convergence between US doctrine (both

USAF and joint)

106 and emerging NATO doctrine107 lie in C

arrangements, synergy from an integrated AI and groun

maneuver scheme, and the role of strategic attack agains

enemy centers of gravity. All three doctrinal manual

recognize unity of effort as a key requirement for successfu

integration of air resources, and all recognize the JFACC a

the proper mechanism for achieving this integration. 108 Each

relates how meshing AI with ground maneuver presents th

enemy with an “agonizing dilemma”: if the enemy disperses t

avoid air attack , he becomes more susceptible to piecemea

destruction by friendly maneuver forces; but if the enem

force concentrates, it leaves itself open for devastating ai

attack.

109 Finally, all three documents recognize that direc

attack against key enemy centers of gravity—most effectivel

accomplished by airpower—offers potential payoffs much

greater than those produced by air resources used in mor

traditional OAS roles.110

Undoubtedly, NATO air doctrine has undergone tremendou

changes over the past several years, matching the rapidly

changing geostrategic environment. Former foes are now

friends; former off-limits operations—out-of-area missions—

now occupy NATO’s day-to-day concerns; we have witnesse

an explosion in the technology of war; and we have learne

much from the lessons of the Gulf War. What other challenge

471
may lay on the horizon, and how will they become part o

NATO’s air doctrine?

In their study of the process and problems in th

development of NATO’s doctrine, Stein , Nolan, and Perr

emphasize two critical aspects. First, although nationa

doctrines often reflect unique national service traditions an

capabilities, gaining NATO-wide acceptance for those view

can prove difficult. This is especially true of US doctrine i

other countries believe it may harbor hidden agendas or ma

result in expensive modernization schemes. Second, the

argue that NATO has experienced difficulty keeping it

doctrine in tune with rapidly changing developments—both

technological and political.111 NATO finds itself in such 

situation now. The unanswered question is, How will its ai

doctrine evolve in light of these unprecedented changes?

One may gain some insight from the 18th TAWP held a

NATO headquarters in April 1995. At that meeting, som

familiar processes still existed: the degree of participation b

the various countries related mainly to the issue at hand. Fo

example, Spain did not send a delegate at all, while Turkey’

delegate attended sessions that dealt only with specific ATP

(such as the one dealing with airspace) in which it had 

particular interest. On the other hand, in order to facilitat

progress, delegates acting as individuals often attempted t

clarify issues or offer proposed solutions (especially when tw

countries differed). Likewise, the TAWP, recognizing the slow

and cumbersome process of making changes to existin

doctrine, acknowledged the need to speed up the process in

light of changing circumstances—witness the requirement t

update procedures used in CAS missions, found in tw

annexes of ATP-27.

AIRCENT had submitted extensive changes for new

procedures (e.g., on night CAS , laser operations, etc.), base

upon the experience of Operation Deny Flight (then bein

conducted by NATO over the former Yugoslav Republic o

Bosnia-Herzegovina). The TAWP, recognizing both th

existence of a short-term problem on updating guidance on

OAS procedures to get to the field and a long-term

philosophical debate on OAS , decided to hold the doctrina

debate in abeyance and proceed with updating the applicabl

472
ATP-27 annexes. It then continued the philosophical debat

with the goal of producing a “way ahead” framework for th

subsequent development of NATO air doctrine. Rapidly findin

common ground on the procedures, the TAWP recommende

that the Air Board quickly seek ratification of the procedure

and publish them as an interim supplement to ATP-27 whil

the more laborious work on the basic document’s philosoph

took place.

Thus, it appears that NATO air doctrine may be enterin

another Golden Age of development as air-minded people

sharing a common foundation of bedrock beliefs on the prope

way to employ airpower, struggle with the massive politica

and military changes under way within and outside NATO

and seek to produce air doctrines to cope with those changes.

Notes

1. The difference between doctrine and strategy often lends itself t

debate. As used in this chapter, strategy refers to a plan of action for th

allocation of resources—based upon an anticipated contingency an

specifying the simultaneous and sequential orchestration of militar

objectives—to achieve a political objective. Doctrine is “what we [the USAF

hold true about aerospace power and the best way to do the job in the Ai

Force.” Air Force Manual (AFM) 1-1, Basic Aerospace Doctrine of the Unite

States Air Force, vol. 1, March 1992, vii. Thus, since both terms deal wit

action and “doing the job,” they are used interchangeably throughout thi

chapter, except when they allude to a specific concept or document (e.g

the strategy of flexible response or NATO tactical air doctrine).

2. This is not to overlook economic, cultural, or even historica

explanations of NATO’s choice of strategy. However, this chapter argue

that, ultimately, one expresses those reasons in political terms

Furthermore, since this chapter focuses on military strategies, politica

reasons are of overriding importance.

3. This is especially true in the case of Germany. Largely due to it

experiences with a powerful General Staff, the strategy of the postwa

German air force lies in civilian hands. Furthermore, the German militar

embraces that concept and stresses that any NATO military plan must b

“directly and significantly shaped by policy considerations.” Mor

importantly, the German constitution prohibits planning for, or conducting

offensive war. Michael E. Thompson, “Political and Military Components o

Air Force Doctrine in the Federal Republic of Germany and Thei

Implications for NATO Defense Policy Analysis” (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND

Graduate School, 1987), 2.

473
4. Additionally, some people have argued that NATO organizations mus

undergo far-reaching changes. For one view, see Willard E. Naslund, NAT

Airpower: Organizing for Uncertainty (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1993).

5. It is easy to overlook the economic dimension of NATO or to simpl

dismiss it as penny-pinching. Yet, as Andrew J. Goodpaster (forme

supreme allied commander in Europe) points out, from the earliest days

the United States and western European countries recognized tha

“strengthened economies were an essential underpinning to sustained an

stable security efforts and to the military budgets and programs on whic

such efforts depended.” Article 2 of the NATO Treaty specifically recognize

this link. See Goodpaster’s “The Foundations of NATO: A Personal Memoir

in James R. Golden et al., eds., NATO at Forty: Change, Continuity 

Prospects (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1989), especially 25–26.

6. Richard L. Kugler, Commitment to Purpose (Santa Monica, Calif

RAND, 1993).

7. TAWP delegates, who represent 14 of the 16 countries currently i

NATO (Iceland has no military forces, and Belgium represent

Luxembourg’s interests), share a common heritage of airpower. Most ar

pilots—though the percentage of delegates from other services (army

marine forces, and navy) has increased over the years—and their countrie

ostensibly choose them as representatives because of their expertise in th

areas under discussion. Each country realizes that, because of the iterativ

nature of the doctrine-development process, compromise is better tha

confrontation, over the long run. In other words, except for rare instances

each country knows that it has more to lose than to gain from a rigi

insistence on national stances.

8. For most of its history, NATO has included three major command

SACEUR, SACLANT, and Channel Command, the latter absorbed b

SACLANT in 1994.

9. Countries assume responsibility for certain documents. For example

Great Britain is the custodian of Allied Tactical Pamphlet 33 (ATP-33)

Germany maintains ATP-27; and the United States is the custodian of ATP

40 and 42. These publications are reviewed on a periodic basis, an

proposals for change are submitted from the countries or the affected NATO

commands, collated by the custodian, and then reviewed at the workin

parties (e.g., the TAWP). The recommended changes are then proposed t

the working parties’ sponsoring board, which acts as the coordinating agen

to gain ratification from the individual countries (the NATO commands d

not have a vote). Once a sufficient number of countries ratifies the change

(each board decides the appropriate number), the board promulgates them

Group Capt Alan E. Hotchkiss, Royal Air Force (RAF), Retired, chairman

18th TAWP, Brussels, Belgium, interviewed by author, 26 April 1995. On

can find the detailed process in Allied Administrative Publication 3

Development, Preparation, and Production of NATO Publications, 1 July 1995

Much of the discussion in this chapter comes from this TAWP, which th

author attended as an observer. According to Group Captain Hotchkiss

474
who has successively attended nine of the 18 TAWPs, this one wa

representative of most TAWPs.

10. For information about the founding of NATO, see Don Cook, Forgin

the Alliance: NATO, 1945–1950 (London: Martin Secker & Warburg, 1989)

William Park, Defending the West: A History of NATO (Brighton, England

Wheatsheaf, 1986); or Escott Reid, Time of Fear and Hope: The Making o

the North Atlantic Treaty, 1947–1949 (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1977)

11. The rapid and extensive demobilization undertaken by the West afte

World War II had the effect of worsening this situation.

12. Josef M. A. H. Luns, former secretary-general of NATO, in Golden e

al., x.

13. The Schuman Plan (named after the French foreign minister)

announced in May 1950 and eventually becoming the European Coal an

Steel Community (the antecedent organization to the European Economi

Community formalized in the 1957 Treaty of Rome), is another example of 

measure undertaken to tie Germany and its former adversaries together.

14. West Germany also presented NATO with a significant militar

problem in that it forced the alliance into a strategy that became known a

“forward defense,” which in 1963 tasked NATO ground forces wit

defending the inner German border and precluded them from trading spac

for time.

15. Thompson, 2–3. See also Werner Kaltefleiter, “NATO and Germany

in Lawrence S. Kaplan et al., eds., NATO after Forty Years (Wilmington, Del

Scholarly Resources, 1990); and Ian Smart, “The Political and Economi

Evolution of NATO’s Central Region,” in Golden et al.

16. Pierre Melandri, “France and the United States,” in Golden et al

Melandri argues that events such as the Marshall Plan, Germa

rearmament, colonial policies (especially in Algeria and Indochina), th

1956 Suez crisis, and even the formation of NATO itself, bespoke increasin

French dependency on the United States, which sparked a nationalisti

backlash. Kugler points out that France, under the conditions of the 194

McMahon Act, which prohibited the United States from sharing informatio

about atomic weapons even to its allies, was not included in a 195

amendment that allowed Britain to receive nuclear help (page 86).

17. Melandri, 66.

18. This is not to imply that NATO waited until the Warsaw Pact’

founding in 1955 before assessing the attack options from the east. Rather

this constitutes a more general statement on the threat assessment NATO

planners undertook in these early years. Furthermore, while other Warsa

Pact countries did retain significant military forces, planners alway

considered Soviet forces the major threat, particularly those in easter

Europe.

19. MC 14/1 dates from the beginning of the alliance in 1949. However

NATO did not formally accept the force goals needed to implement th

strategy until the Lisbon summit in 1952. NATO intended to attain thes

goals by 1954 but never did so, abandoning them in December 1953

475
following the easing of tensions in Europe that arose from the signing of th

armistice in Korea and the death of Stalin. See William H. Park, “Defense

Deterrence, and the Central Front: Around the Nuclear Threshold,” i

Kaplan et al., 222.

20. Philip A. Karber, “NATO Doctrine and National Operationa

Priorities: The Central Front and the Flanks: Part I,” in Robert O’Neill, ed

Doctrine, The Alliance and Arms Control (Hamden, Conn.: Archon, 1987).

21. This chapter principally addresses NATO’s conventional strategy

However, no analysis of NATO military strategy gets very far before the issue o

nuclear weapons, both their deterrent effects and their employment options

comes to the fore. Without going into a detailed recap of nuclear deterren

strategy, suffice it to say that two concepts—central deterrence and extende

deterrence—are key. The first refers to the US strategic nuclear forces and thei

deterrent effect of precluding general nuclear war, which presumably woul

have included the NATO countries. The second refers to the deterrent effect o

US strategic forces precluding general war, either conventional or nuclea

within Europe, which presumably could have spread to general nuclear wa

between the United States and the USSR.

22. One must recall that western Europe was still rebuilding from th

devastation of World War II; despite the aid arriving under the Marshal

Plan, the European “economic miracle” was just beginning to unfold in th

mid-1950s.

23. Philip A. Karber and A. Grant Whitley, “The Operational Realm,” i

Golden et al.

24. Besides Park in Kaplan et al., see also Richard K. Betts, “Allianc

Nuclear Doctrine and Conventional Deterrence: Predictive Uncertainty an

Policy Confidence,” in Golden et al.

25. Park in Kaplan et al., 224.

26. The US Joint Chiefs of Staff made the same assumption i

approving the Mutual Defense Assistance Act of 1949. See Robert Fran

Futrell, Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinking in the United States Ai

Force, vol. 1, 1907–1960 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, Decembe

1989), 249.

27. The heart of this upgrade program is the Long Term Defens

Program, consisting of 10 separate yet integrated initiatives formall

adopted by NATO in 1978. However, the genesis of the modernization goe

back to the early 1970s.

28. See Barry R. Posen, “Measuring the European Conventiona

Balance,” International Security 9 (Winter 1984/1985); and John J

Mearsheimer, “Why the Soviets Can’t Win Quickly in Central Europe

International Security 7 (Summer 1982).

29. At the same time NATO adopted MC 14/3, it also adopted th

Harmel Report, which called for arms-reduction negotiations between th

Warsaw Pact and NATO.

30. Two examples were the NATO/Warsaw Pact Mutual and Balance

Force Reductions (MBFR) talks started in Vienna in 1968 and the 35-natio

476
Conference on Disarmament in Europe (CDE) held in Stockholm. The latte

evolved into the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE

and, as such, formally declared the end of the cold war with the signing o

the Charter of Paris on 20 November 1990.

31. One can trace the origins of this strategy to speeches made b

Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara in Athens at the NATO ministeria

meeting in the spring of 1962 and a commencement address he gave at th

University of Michigan at Ann Arbor a few weeks later. See Kugler, 140–42

He formalized the strategy in a draft presidential memorandum in 1965. I

that document, McNamara challenged the underlying assumptions o

NATO’s nuclear policy—specifically the notions that these weapons coul

somehow compensate for NATO’s inferiority in conventional forces and tha

the Europeans would really permit nuclear war on their territory. See Par

in Kaplan et al., 225.

32. By the mid-1960s, the United States had removed B-47 strategi

bombers and shorter-ranged ballistic missiles such as Jupiter and Tho

from Europe, largely due to its fielding of the longer-ranged B-52s

Minutemen ICBMs, and the advent of sea-launched ballistic missiles. 

proposal to establish a nuclear multilateral force under NATO control

floated briefly in the early 1960s, never gained acceptance and became 

dead issue by 1964. See Kugler, 154–63.

33. Gen Bernard Rogers, former supreme allied commander

characterized this strategy as “delayed tripwire.” See his “Greater Flexibilit

for NATO’s Flexible Response,” Strategic Review 11 (Spring 1983): 16.

34. Peter Stratman, “NATO Doctrine and National Operational Prioritie

The Central Front and the Flanks: Part II,” in O’Neill.

35. Besides the cost issue, NATO policy makers were unwilling t

separate themselves completely from nuclear weapons. Even if 

conventional defense were completely successful, it would leave much o

western Europe devastated but the Soviet homeland untouched.

36. In 1973, under the guidance of senior Air Force and Army leaders

the Air Land Forces Application (ALFA) directorate was set up to work ou

common tactics and procedures. A similar organization was established i

Europe between United States Air Forces in Europe (USAFE) and Unite

States Army Forces, United States European Command (USAREUR).

37. The MAS, dating from 1951, produces standardization agreement

(STANAG) and consists of three service boards (Navy, Army, and Air Force

and a joint board (to resolve differences between service boards) plus 

terminology and thesaurus section and the Office of Chairman. Se

Giovanni Ferrari, “Unglamorous Force Multiplier—The Military Agency fo

Standardization,” NATO’s Sixteen Nations, nos. 3/4 (1994): 19–22.

38. Quoted in David J. Stein, The Development of NATO Tactical Ai

Doctrine, 1970–1985 (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1987), 14.

39. David J. Stein, Kimberly Nolan, and Robert Perry, Process an

Problems in Developing NATO Tactical Air Doctrine (Santa Monica, Calif

RAND, 1988), 4. Willard Naslund believes that the United States hoped t

477
use NATO doctrine as a means of transferring US war-fighting concept

(which tend to a more offensive bent) to the overly defensive-minded NATO

Interviewed by author, Langley AFB, Va., 17 March 1995.

40. With the establishment of the USAF’s Doctrine Center in 1994, tha

responsibility now lies with that organization.

41. Stein, 17.

42. NATO ATPs have never been hierarchical, unlike US doctrina

publications; nor is there any logic behind their numbering. For example

although ATP-33 is the keystone document on tactical airpower doctrine

laying out the larger picture of air missions, ATP-27 elaborates on one set o

those missions—OAS—while ATP-42 limits itself to another set—counterai

At the 18th TAWP, the United Kingdom proposed a more rational structure

whereby ATP-33 truly became a keystone document (e.g., reducing some o

the detail and overlapping information contained in other ATPs), with th

other ATPs (e.g., ATP-27, -40, and -42) subordinate to it.

43. Stein, Nolan, and Perry, 7–10.

44. ATP-33(B), Tactical Air Doctrine, 1 November 1986, 1-1.

45. Further, coordination authority allows one to require consultatio

but not to compel agreement. Ibid., 3-2.

46. Ibid., chap. 3. The “B” designation refers to the second complet

revision of the document; minor revisions are made via changes. ATP-33(B

incorporating change one is the subject of this section. Change tw

(January 1992) and the proposed change three (December 1994) are th

subject of the section on post-cold-war/post–Gulf War revisions to NATO ai

doctrine.

47. Ibid., 3-4 through 3-5.

48. ATP-42, Counter Air Operations, March 1981; with change one, 2

January 1982.

49. ATP-40, Doctrine and Procedures for Airspace Control in the Comba

Zone, January 1977. A new pamphlet, discussed in the following section

was published in December 1994.

50. ATP-42, pars. 201–2.

51. Ibid., annex A.

52. Stein argues that other NATO members feared that “statements o

operational requirements would follow on the heels of any TAWP upgradin

of SEAD’s doctrinal status.” He further points out that the primar

objections came from the RAF, Belgium, and the Netherlands, althoug

they, along with other member air forces, “exhibited no reluctance i

accepting US SEAD support” (page 48 and notes 42–43).

53. Stein, Nolan, and Perry, 11.

54. In the Central Region, 2ATAF and 4ATAF commanders were PSC

whose command centers were ACOCs. Commander, Allied Air Force

Central Europe was an MSC who operated out of a regional air operation

center. The following section examines the evolution of these C 2 systems.

55. ATP-40, chap. 2.

478
56. Reservations occur when a member nation refuses to abide by 

particular section of the document. For example, the Netherlands registere

a reservation to three paragraphs of ATP-42 that deal with SEAD.

57. Stein, Nolan, and Perry, 5–6.

58. Naslund believes that this attitude arises from a systems orientatio

towards doctrine which holds that if a service (or country) owns a system, i

must control it. On the other hand, he believes that the British take a

opposite approach: since they do not own enough resources themselves

they wish to control those of other countries—hence their support of BAI

which, in essence, gives them fire support to their ground forces from othe

countries’ air forces. Naslund.

59. This section focuses on ATP-27(A), Offensive Air Support Operations

February 1975, and the (B) revision, published in May 1980 (as well as th

changes between the two). The following section on th

post-cold-war/post–Gulf War era examines proposed changes in the (C

revision.

60. ATP-27(A), par. 102b.

61. One should recall that the TAWP is the detailed working grou

organized by the MAS Air Board. It includes members from each country

except Luxembourg and Iceland, as well as every NATO regional command.

62. Stein, 27.

63. ATP-27(B), par. 106.

64. This paragraph and the following one are based upon Stein, 26–35

One should note that the BAI/AI discussion extended beyond an RAF-USAF

disagreement. The US Army and its AirLand Battle doctrine also played a

important role in the emergence of BAI as a separate category o

air-to-surface airpower employment. See Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas

Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinking in the United States Air Force, vol. 2

1961–1984 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, December 1989)

546–55.

65. NORTHAG covered the relatively flat, open spaces of the Nort

German plain and was defended by 17 divisions from five countrie

(Denmark, Holland, United Kingdom, Belgium, and West Germany) whos

land forces generally had less firepower than US forces further south (wh

also had more favorable defensive terrain). This situation was exacerbate

by NATO’s forward defense posture, which required these forces to b

spread thin along the inter-German border (IGB), and the Warsaw Pact’

blitzkrieg strategy, which sought a breakthrough along a narrow fron

followed by exploitation into NATO’s vital rear areas. This attack woul

destroy logistics networks, envelope NATO forces, and defeat them in detail

See Kugler, 433–37.

66. Of particular concern were Warsaw Pact (mainly Soviet) operationa

maneuver groups (OMG), which were highly mobile, second-echelon force

designed to exploit any breakthrough by first-echelon Warsaw Pact force

and then wreak havoc in NATO rear areas—particularly nuclear system

479
(storage and launch facilities), command centers, airfields, and logistic

dumps.

67. Critical technologies required for AirLand Battle included (1

intelligence technologies that could detect and identify Warsaw Pac

echelons and relay that data in a timely manner in order to strike at thes

(presumably) fleeting targets; (2) precision, all-weather attack resource

(both platforms and weapons); and (3) the support assets needed to ge

them through the dense Warsaw Pact IADS.

68. Naslund stressed this point, specifically relating his belief that th

US Army used the threat posed by Warsaw Pact OMGs to gain control ove

NATO’s deep-strike air assets.

69. The initiative was also proposed for inclusion into US joint doctrine

Joint Test Pub 3-03.1, Joint Interdiction of Follow-on Forces Attack, 16 Jun

1988, essentially followed the same logic as the NATO concept. Notably

FOFA never became part of either NATO air doctrine manuals or USAF

doctrine.

70. The primary difference between classic AI and FOFA was th

former’s emphasis on fixed targets such as bridges, while the latter focuse

on forces most likely on the move. Identifying moving targets in a timel

fashion required more sophisticated technologies. See Wing Commander A

V. B. Hawken, RAF, Follow-on Force Attack—Now and in the Future

Research Report (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air War College, 1990). The join

surveillance, target attack radar system (JSTARS), which played such a rol

in the 1991 Gulf War, was developed precisely for this mission, as was th

tactical missile system (TACMS) family of surface-to-surface missiles wit

“smart” antiarmor submunitions.

71. General Rogers refuted each of these concerns. Arguing that th

purpose of FOFA was to “restore flexibility to Flexible Response,” he claime

that FOFA was complementary to defensive operations because “defense . . 

protects our [NATO’s] means to attack Soviet follow-on forces, and attackin

in depth . . . will help to keep the force ratios at the GDP [General Defensiv

Position] manageable.” Finally, he strenuously disputed the idea that FOF

was a new strategy. See his “Follow-on Forces Attack (FOFA): Myths an

Realities,” NATO Review 32 (December 1984): 1–9 (quotes on pages 1 an

5). For an opposing view—one that claims FOFA was an “idea whose tim

may well have passed” because OMGs were so close to the first-echelo

forces that attack against targets any deeper than, say, one hundre

kilometers would be a waste of resources—see David Greenwood

“Strengthening Conventional Deterrence,” NATO Review 32 (August 1984)

8–12 (quote on page 9).

72. Preplanned requests include those passed up through the land-forc

chain of command; one includes them in the daily tasking afte

accomplishing the joint coordination and planning. Immediate requests ar

just that: immediate calls for air support beyond that provided in the dail

allocation of air resources. See ATP-27(B), par. 602. Often confused in thi

regard are airborne versus ground alert missions—both are allocated ai

480
resources, differing in the degree of responsiveness. Obviously, airborn

assets are the most responsive. ATP-27(B), par. 410.

73. Ibid., par. 506.

74. NATO’s 1949 charter specifically forbids involvement in operation

outside its members’ territories. Ironically, the United States, fearing tha

the alliance would become entangled in Europe’s colonial wars, insisted o

the inclusion of this provision. Now, of course, the United States, with it

global commitments, is seeking a change in this posture and more suppo

from the allies. See David C. Morrison, “Beyond NATO,” National Journal, 2

February 1991, 452–54. An interesting question undergoing debate withi

NATO is, Precisely what is “out-of-area”? Is not Europe (hence the Balkans

within NATO’s “area”? What of the southern rim of the Mediterranean

which is arguably contiguous with NATO’s area? Finally, what of the Middl

East, with its rich oil reserves upon which most European countries depen

(much more so than the United States)?

75. Thomas-Durell Young, The “Normalization” of the Federal Republic o

Germany’s Defense Structures (Carlisle, Pa.: US Army War College Strategi

Studies Institute, 1992).

76. In reformulating their strategy (discussed below), NATO politician

and planners recognized that NATO must forge closer links with the WE

and the Organization for Cooperation and Security in Europe (OCSE)

Thomas-Durell Young argues that such cooperation will provide a mean

for NATO members to coordinate on out-of-area operations withou

appearing to establish a situation in which member states might fee

“trapped” in other members’ “adventures” outside of NATO’s traditiona

areas of concern. See his “Preparing the Western Alliance for the Nex

Out-of-Area Campaign,” Naval War College Review 45 (Summer 1992)

28–44.

77. For a full discussion, see Jonathan T. Howe, “NATO and the Gul

Crisis,” Survival 33 (May/June 1991): 246–59. At the time, Admiral How

was commander in chief of allied forces in NATO’s Southern Region (whic

includes Turkey and the Mediterranean); thus, he had operationa

command over Southern Guard (NATO’s response to the crisis) and its tw

military measures—Dawn Set (in southeastern Turkey) and MedNet (in th

Mediterranean). Dawn Set included Operation Ace Guard, which involve

the deployment of the Allied Command Europe, Mobile Force (AMF)-Air an

Patriot missiles to Turkey (see below).

78. North Atlantic Council, Statement on the Gulf, 18 December 1990

par. 5. Article 5 of the treaty states that an armed attack against on

member is considered an attack against them all.

79. The NAEW aircraft maintained 24-hour coverage of eastern Turkey

As an aside, during the Gulf War, since Joint Task Force Proven Force

conducting US offensive air missions out of Incirlik, Turkey, did not hav

sufficient US E-3 AWACS aircraft to cover all its missions, it “borrowed

NAEW threat warning (not positive control) for some attack packages.

481
80. AMF-Air

s major forces included 18 Belgian Mirage Vs, 18 Germa

Alpha Jets, and six Italian RF-104G reconnaissance aircraft, plus a Dutc

Patriot surface-to-air missile battery. Additionally, six US F-15C aircraft a

Incirlik, as part of Proven Force, were placed on air defense alert unde

NATO control. Notably, NATO offensive aircraft were stationed at Erhac

Turkey—out of range of the Iraqi border, further testimony to their purel

defensive role.

81. “NATO Countries’ Gulf Role,” National Journal, 23 February 1991

454. Britain and France played the largest role, contributing both air an

ground forces to the coalition. However, both Italian and Canadian fighte

aircraft flew combat missions from the Arabian peninsula. The majority o

the other countries contributed naval forces plus essential basing an

overflight rights (especially Portugal and Spain).

82. See the Nuclear Planning Group communiqué of December 1991

Michael Legge, “The Making of NATO’s New Strategy,” NATO Review 3

(December 1991): 13; and Gen John R. Galvin, “From Immediate Defenc

towards Long-Term Stability,” NATO Review 39 (December 1991): 17–18. A

the time, Legge was the assistant secretary-general for NATO’s defens

planning and policy and chairman of the Strategy Review Group; Galvi

was SACEUR.

83. Manfred Wörner, “NATO Transformed: The Significance of the Rom

Summit,” NATO Review 39 (December 1991): 3. He was secretary-general o

NATO at the time.

84. For a summary of the London declaration, see the US Department o

State Dispatch, 8 October 1990, 163. Significant changes included callin

for a move away from forward defense, reducing readiness, reducing th

number and size of units and exercises, relying more on multinationa

forces and reconstitution, and modifying flexible response to make nuclea

weapons truly weapons of last resort. For the text of the Londo

declaration, see NATO Review, August 1990, 32.

85. Legge, 9. For the texts of the new strategic concept and th

accompanying Rome declaration, see NATO Review, December 1991, 19–22

25–33.

86. Legge, 12.

87. Galvin, 15.

88. The theme of multinational forces runs throughout NATO’

discussions. This concept replaces NATO’s “layer cake” approach, whereb

essentially autonomous national corps fought side-by-side under a (loosely

multinational command headquarters. It proved politically importan

because it spread German ground forces along the IGB, interspersed wit

other national corps. Doing so precluded a Warsaw Pact attack again

German forces only, which, some people believed, might have reduced othe

countries’ commitment to fight. It also tied the smaller NATO countries

such as Belgium and the Netherlands, to IGB defense. See Kugler, 214–20

As to multinationalism, three key issues are yet to be answered. The fir

concerns which countries will provide what types of forces to these units

482
The second issue involves logistics. Historically, NATO has relied on th

doctrine of national logistics, which requires each country to supply its ow

forces. Lacking complete standardization and interoperability, this doctrin

would create a nightmare of logistics in a multinational force. The thir

issue entails command arrangements. Traditionally, NATO senio

commands have either been allocated to a particular country (e.g., SACEUR

has always been a US general) or rotated on a rigid schedule. No one know

whether this practice will suffice in multinational forces. See Davi

Greenwood, “Refashioning NATO’s Defences,” NATO Review 38 (Decembe

1990): 2–8.

89. The immediate reaction force (IRF) is an augmented AMF of abou

five thousand troops able to deploy anywhere within Europe within 7

hours. The Allied Command Europe Rapid Reaction Corps (ARRC) consist

of upwards of one hundred thousand multinational troops deployabl

within six to 10 days. See David M. Abshire, Richard R. Burt, and R. Jame

Woolsey, The Atlantic Alliance Transformed (Washington, D.C.: Center fo

Strategic and International Studies, 1992), 22.

90. Galvin, 15–17.

91. A somewhat related issue that arose in the 18th TAWP dealt wit

former Warsaw Pact material now in NATO. For example, Germany retaine

a squadron of MiG-29 Fulcrum aircraft from the former East German ai

force. Delegates expressed concerns about identification-friend-or-foe issue

that directly affect NATO airspace control doctrine.

92. A preliminary draft is just a working document. After all the issue

are ironed out, a final draft is sent to the countries for ratification. A

outlined earlier, after ratification, the document (whether a change, majo

revision, or new document) is promulgated.

93. AJP-1(A), Allied Joint Operations Doctrine, 22 November 1996, par

0001.

94. AJP-1(A), chap. 18, “Joint Air Operations and Airspace Control.”

95. ATP-33(B), proposed change three, December 1994, par. 306. At th

18th TAWP, the United Kingdom proposed suspending further work o

ATP-33 and -27 pending a complete review of NATO air doctrine. Much lik

the earlier TAWP that established a separate forum to work out th

differences between the United States and United Kingdom over BAI (se

above), this TAWP established a working group—which met in Germany i

1995—to study these issues (e.g., the Meyer paper and a contending Unite

Kingdom proposal).

96. Ibid., par. 505–6.

97. Maj Luigi Meyer, memorandum to Tactical Air Working Part

agencies, subject: US Paper on Joint Air Operations, Department of the Ai

Force, 27 July 1994, 5.

98. ATP-42(B), Counter Air Operations, December 1994. Paragraph 50

states that “Offensive Counter Air should be the prime consideration in th

effective employment of friendly tactical air resources.”

483
99. Ibid., par. 802c: 

Indeed, the first positive indication of an impendin

conflict may be the need to conduct air defence operations.”

100. ATP-40(A), Doctrine for Airspace Control in Times of Crisis and War

December 1994, chap. 3.

101. In the early 1990s, NATO renamed some of its MSCs and PSCs

Hence, AAFCE became AIRCENT.

102. Col Robert D. Coffman, USAF Doctrine Center, Langley AFB, Va

interviewed by author, 17 March 1995.

103. Gen Thomas D. White, Air Force vice chief of staff, said that th

strategy allows recognition of the Air Force as an instrument of nationa

power. Furthermore, he noted that the strategy was in line with the ideas o

Giulio Douhet, Billy Mitchell, Hap Arnold, and other early airpowe

theorists and leaders. See Futrell, vol. 1, 432.

104. Futrell, vol. 2, 494–95. Futrell extensively quotes Gen David C

Jones, USAF chief of staff, who came to the chief’s position from

commanding all USAF and allied air units in Europe. General Jone

explicitly outlined NATO’s air requirements of blunting the Warsaw Pac

armor attack, providing some battlefield air superiority, and attackin

Warsaw Pact second-echelon forces.

105. Col Dennis Drew, USAF, Retired, team chief and principal author o

the 1992 edition of AFM 1-1, interviewed by author, Maxwell AFB, Ala., 1

March 1995.

106. For USAF doctrine, the primary publication is AFM 1-1. For join

doctrine, the key publication for operations is Joint Pub (JP) 3-0, Doctrin

for Joint Operations, 9 September 1993.

107. For NATO, the keystone doctrine for the planning, execution, an

support of allied joint operations is AJP-1(A).

108. See AFM 1-1, vol. 1, par. 3-1; JP 3-0, chap. 2; and AJP-1(A), chap

18, sec. 3.

109. See AFM 1-1, vol. 1, par. 3-5b(1); JP 3-0, chap. 4, 3f. AJP-1 doe

not address this level of specificity; however, ATP-33(B), proposed chang

three, par. 506–7, discusses the need for close coordination between AI an

ground maneuver.

110. See AFM 1-1, vol. 1, par. 3-5a; JP 3-0, chap. 4, 2c; and AJP-1(A)

chap. 18, par. 1805.

111. Stein, Nolan, and Perry, 12–13.

484
Chapter 13

Soviet Military Doctrine and Air Theory:

Change through the Light of a Storm

Lt Col Edward J. Felker

Often, advances in technology have caused revolutions in

military affairs as they transformed the nature of war

Tanks, motor transport, mobile communications, an

airpower altered the battlefield of the early twentieth

century. In midcentury, nuclear weapons and missile

altered the strategy of the battlefield. Today, we se

high-tech conventional alternatives replacing battlefield

nuclear weapons. These new weapons reduce the likelihoo

of escalation yet create little or no collateral damage .

1

These were the changes to the future battlefield th

Russians analyzed in the Gulf War of 1991. The collapse o

the Soviet Union , the waning of the cold war, and the end o

the confrontation between communism and capitalism

created a new political-military situation. As a result, th

Soviets/Russians altered their military doctrine and view o

the nature of future war, based on their perceptions o

airpower in the Gulf War.

To the Soviets, military doctrine represented neither 

general theory nor the view of individuals. Instead, it was 

system of official state views, encompassing the leading

fundamental, official principles of military theory fo

mandatory practice. In its simplest form, military doctrin

carried politically approved sanctions of law for militar

structure and function. Doctrine codified the country’s

political goals and economic potentials into legislative acts

government decrees and resolutions, military regulation

and manuals, and basic military orders. 2

485
Russian View of Military Doctrine

To understand how the Gulf War affected the evolution o

Russian airpower doctrine, one must understand the broade

context of military doctrine from which it came. Th

Voroshilov Lectures define military doctrine as a system o

theories accepted by the state and the armed forces regardin

the character, form, and conduct of war. 3 They characteriz

military doctrine as the body of thought that prepares 

nation and its armed forces for war. Political leadership

develops the theories according to domestic and foreign policy

ideology, and military-scientific achievements. Thus, militar

doctrine reflects the economic, political, military, and historic

character of the people and their international commitments.

Benjamin Lambeth , a RAND analyst, defines this view o

military doctrine as “the sum total of scientifically based view

accepted by the country and its armed forces on the nature o

contemporary wars that might be unleashed by th

imperialists against the USSR, and the goals and missions o

the armed forces in such a war, on the methods of waging it

and also on the demands which flow from such views for th

preparation of the country and the armed forces.”5

Charles Dick notes a dual social-political and military

technical aspect of Soviet military doctrine. Political an

military leadership decides the tenets of military doctrin

according to “socio-political order, the level of economic

scientific, and technological development of the armed force

combat material, with due regard to the conclusions o

military science and the views of the possible enemy.”6 Th

political aspect is dominant and directive, while militar

doctrine forms the bedrock for force structure and militar

plans. The General Staff uses the social-political aspect o

doctrine to develop military strategy and operational art.

7

Relationship between Military Doctrine and Strategy

Military strategy decided the nature and role of the arme

forces in war. It resolved the form, type, organization, an

theoretical principles to plan the strategic actions of th

armed forces and provided an analytical foundation fo

studying strategy, characteristics, and capabilities.8 Militar

486
strategy provided the theoretical framework that unite

domestic politics, economics, history, morale, science

international politics, and military forces. It also unifie

military doctrine and operational art—its ultimate application

Military strategy linked political leadership and the Sovie

High Command in preparing the nation for war. The Sovie

High Command organized strategy, planned forc

deployments, prepared the armed forces for war, an

controlled them during war. Military strategy’s political basi

directly influenced the military-technical fundamentals o

doctrine. Because of this circular relationship between

military strategy and doctrine, any change in the theoretica

base of one produced changes in the other. Doctrine’s view

about future war guided strategy. Simultaneously, strateg

affected the formulation and perfection of doctrine’

military-technical component.

This military-technical aspect of doctrine remained 

dynamic idea, constantly adjusted to reflect changes in forc

posture, political requirements, economic factors, scientifi

achievement, and changes introduced by potential enemies

Timothy Thomas notes six considerations embraced by th

military-technical dimension of military doctrine: (1) th

character (nature) of the military threat; (2) the type an

struggle that may result (future war); (3) the requirements fo

defense (historical paradigm about war’s beginning, initia

period, timing, and interaction of technology); (4) the require

armed forces (strategic posture, mobilization, an

deployment); (5) the means to conduct armed struggle and th

use of the armed forces (force generation, manning, an

equipping); and (6) preparation of the armed forces t

accomplish these tasks (training, etc.). 9

Soviet military doctrine guided the development of militar

art , but military art was not its subset. Doctrine consisted o

general principles regarding the nature of war, wherea

military art concerned the practical issues of war fighting. 1

Given military doctrine’s view of the future battlefield, militar

art described the nature of warfare in general terms. I

articulated the likely enemy, types of action to expect an

prepare for, and measures to equip and train forces. Further

it provided the synthesis of the national economy an

487
population in supporting future war. Military art and it

doctrinal underpinnings, therefore, were closely coordinated

In the initial period of war, this coordination became critical. 1

According to army general M. V. Gareyev, the response in th

initial period most directly reflected the Soviets’ politica

intent. He observed that “while politics usually prevail

throughout a war, the political aspects are most prevalent on

the eve or at the beginning of a war.”12

Evolution of Soviet/Russian Military Doctrine

Soviet military doctrine changed in response to the comple

interrelationships that formed it—international political an

military environments, foreign military doctrines, history

technology, and ideology, as well as internal political, social

moral, and economic constraints. Perceived strategi

imbalance has remained the prime motivator in the Soviet

doctrinal evolution. Michael MccGwire notes that “Sovie

military doctrine has evolved in response to what have been

seen as a series of direct threats to the state’s existence. . . 

Nuclear testing aside, Soviet actions and the doctrines behin

them must be seen as responses to the perceived threat pose

by American decisions.”13

Russian military doctrine, therefore, represents an amalgam

of factors. The international political environment and an

assessment of the probability of war formed its politica

component. The evolution of Soviet military doctrine reflecte

the influence of foreign doctrines. Soviet history forged th

Soviet perspective of war. World War II, with its more than 2

million Soviet deaths, had a profound effect.1 4 Interna

political, economic, and social constraints, as well as th

nature of Soviet decision making, greatly affected the natur

of doctrine. Technological innovation also played a key role

Thus, Soviet military doctrine arose from the interaction of 

multitude of often conflicting factors.

Post World War II: Stalin’s Era (1945–53). The formativ

impact of World War II led military doctrine to cast future wa

in the mold of that experience—protracted land war, with

ground troops directly supported by tanks, artillery, an

aircraft. Soviet leaders believed that surprise attac

488
characterized this period.1 5 Although the war laid th

foundation of military doctrine, the Soviets conducted littl

critical examination of their failures in 1941 and 1942

Furthermore, Joseph Stalin placed great importance on atomi

weapons and rocketry for international prestige. US superiorit

in strategic nuclear weapons and airpower prompted a Sovie

emphasis on strong conventional forces and offensiv

counterattack into Europe from Soviet bases in Eastern Europe

The international political environment and Marxist-Leninis

ideology also shaped military doctrine. Marxist idealism

included the inevitable clash between capitalism and socialism

which reinforced the Soviets’ view of the world.

Most influential was the role played by the nature of th

internal Soviet political system. Under Stalin , the Soviet Union

became more authoritarian. Elevating to doctrinal statu

those factors he believed were responsible for winning the war

he ignored developments in conventional weapons, the role o

surprise on the battlefield, and any failures the Soviets ma

have had during the German push to Moscow , Leningrad, an

Stalingrad. Stalin considered these deficiencies irrelevant t

victory.

Both defense and offense played major roles in conventiona

warfare. Victory resulted from accumulating successful battle

along slowly moving, continuous fronts. Frontal breakthrough

occurred by massing forces on a main axis of attack. Th

military concentrated its forces in strike sectors for speed

firepower, and shock to penetrate, envelop, and thrust into th

enemy’s rear areas. Combined arms, with preeminent groun

forces in a European environment, became the primary vision o

future war.

16

Khrushchev’s Era (1954–64). Freed from the stupefyin

control of Stalin , military doctrine changed significantly unde

Nikita Khrushchev. The major doctrinal trend becam

adapting nuclear weapons and missiles to the old concepts o

future war.

17 Khrushchev dropped the idea of the inevitabilit

of a protracted ground war in Europe. Instead, war would

result from the presumed escalation of a small conventiona

war into a nuclear one. Short, intense, and massive exchange

of nuclear weapons dominated this view of war.1 8 Because o

489
this outlook, Khrushchev downgraded and partially demobilize

ground forces and tactical air forces. Conventional option

became obsolete, and the strategic rocket forces received th

lion’s share of the Soviet defense budget. Nuclear weapon

provided the means of establishing favorable conditions for rapid

ground advances. With the defense weakened, ground force

would break through and carry out decisive maneuvers to th

enemy’s flanks and rear. 19 This view led to the offense’

becoming the dominant form of battle, accordingly emphasizin

the role of surprise. Since war likely would not last long, th

initial period became most important, motivating both sides t

achieve the initiative immediately.

This doctrine created a different set of contributions fo

airpower. No longer viewed as long-range artillery directly

supporting ground forces , it became a prime instrument fo

delivering nuclear blows. Additionally, it became the force o

choice to counter an enemy nuclear response to the Sovie

offense. 20 US strategic nuclear superiority and the cold wa

challenge led to the Soviet policy of preemption . Now that th

Soviets no longer considered idealistic war inevitable

Marxist-Leninist dialectic had less impact on doctrine than it did

under Stalin . Replacing the dialectic became a concentrated

analytical process for determining historical lessons.

Brezhnev’s Era (1964–82). Only minor changes in though

occurred under Leonid Brezhnev. Given the massive nuclea

capabilities on both sides, military doctrine reflected a belie

that conflict would eventually involve large-scale exchanges o

nuclear weapons.

21 Conventional strategic operations within

the Western theater of military operations (TVD) opposit

NATO became dominant.2 2 The Soviets believed that a Warsaw

Pact strategic conventional offensive could preemptively den

NATO any incentive to initiate a nuclear war. Succes

depended on (1) early air superiority, (2) timely cooperation

among the Warsaw Pact allies, and (3) strategic surprise. 2

Thus, the reemergence of conventional operations became th

primary doctrinal change. In 1961 the United States began

moving away from massive retaliation to flexible response

making conventional operations more interesting to Sovie

planners —especially if the enemy might not strike with

490
nuclear weapons first. As a result, the initial conventiona

phase took on very specific characteristics. Time was the “coin

of the realm.” Friendly forces needed to destroy both th

enemy’s defensive lines and tactical nuclear weapon

quickly. 24 Since the most likely scenario involved a surpris

attack by the enemy, doctrine logically insisted on the primac

of the offense.

Other internal and external factors drove doctrine. Afte

achieving nuclear parity with the United States, the Sovie

Union for the first time possessed a credible nuclear offensiv

capability to deter nuclear escalation. In the internationa

political arena, tensions eased with other countries. As thei

economy began to expand domestically, the Soviets could field

the forces necessary to carry out the military doctrine the

espoused. The historical significance of two major world war

on the continent continued to influence military doctrine’

reliance on large conventional forces. The internal politica

apparatus under Brezhnev became more conservative

pluralist, and bureaucratic in decision making. The military

KGB, and heavy and light industry all received representation

on the Politburo. As a result, real appropriations to each o

these sectors increased significantly. In this context, militar

doctrine emphasizing a conventional option enhanced the role

of the ground forces, again making them “a more integral an

legitimate actor in the decision making process.”25

Gorbachev’s Era (1983–89). The era of Mikhail Gorbache

saw perhaps the most sweeping changes in Soviet militar

doctrine. In the mid-1980s, perestroika (restructuring) markedly

accelerated changes in military doctrine, and emphasis o

strategic defense, rather than preemptive conventional offense

marked the doctrine emerging from this period. Many factor

drove changes to this “defensive” doctrine. The inevitability o

this change appears in the comments of Eduard Shevardnadze 

then the Soviet foreign minister:

The achievements of our foreign policy would be much more

impressive if we could assure greater internal stability. The numerous

misfortunes that have befallen our country recently, the critical

situation in the economy, the state of ethnic relations and natural

calamities are reducing the chances of success in our foreign policy.

The policy of reform thanks to which our country has restored its good

491
name is undoubtedly giving rise in the world to a feeling of

compassion and a desire and readiness to help us. But it should be

frankly said that if our domestic troubles are multiplied by

conservatism and ill will, intolerance and selfishness and clinging to

dogmatic principles of the past, it will be more and more difficult for

us to uphold the cause of peace, reduce tensions, fight for broader and

irreversible disarmament, and integrate our country into the world

system. That is why our diplomats are not living with their heads in

the clouds. Their thoughts are turned to the harsh realities of our

domestic life.2 6

Military planners and politicians firmly believed that nuclea

escalation would destroy the Soviet state. They saw that thei

previous preemptive doctrine created a deadly paradox. Rapid

conventional success against NATO on any axis might accelerat

NATO’s nuclear first use—exactly what preemption was trying t

preclude. Thus, the previous Soviet strategic concept containe

the seeds of its own destruction. Further, in the 1970s and early

1980s, NATO leaders perceived the Soviet buildup a

threatening and destabilizing. As such, NATO responded wit

deliberate political and military measures. The resultant NATO

buildup in technologically superior forces and the political wil

for rapid reinforcement decreased the Soviets’ likelihood o

winning a conventional war in the initial period. 27 This produced

an economically and technologically draining competition wit

the Soviet civilian economy. The military capability to carry ou

preemptive doctrine became a burden the Soviet economy could

not endure. Direct costs imposed by military demands on th

workforce, material, and technology exacerbated the Soviets

decline on the world’s stage. Finally, the Soviet Union ’s interna

political turmoil resulted in the virtual disappearance o

Marxist-Leninist ideology from the formation of military doctrine

The Soviets put their view of others on a “back burner” in orde

to concentrate on their view of themselves.

In 1985 the Soviet political leadership redefined militar

doctrine to support pressing political, economic, and societa

concerns. Under the new doctrine, the defensive operation acted

as a precursor to strong conventional counterstrikes, followed b

a concentrated counteroffensive. Doctrine designed the defensiv

phase as a temporary measure to buy time in the initial period

of a conflict. The Soviets would use this time to mobilize

reinforce, and move rear echelons forward for the counter

492
offensive. The new doctrine focused almost exclusively on th

initial period of the defense, saying little about the counterstrik

and counteroffensive periods.28 It shifted away from th

aggressive nature of the Brezhnev years, becoming a so-calle

defensive doctrine with weapons of “reasonable sufficiency.”2 

The new doctrine led the Soviet military to develop plans t

conduct a more prolonged initial defense.

The new military doctrine, however, included a provision t

switch, perhaps suddenly, from the general strategic defensiv

to a counteroffensive, marking the end of the initial period o

war. To achieve a sufficient correlation of force for th

counteroffensive to succeed, the Soviets needed more force

than the new defensive doctrine prescribed. This put 

premium on mobilization of strategic reserves and forward

movement of follow-on echelons. After forces from th

strategic reserve moved forward, they would exploit th

success achieved by early counterstrikes at the front. Withou

fire superiority, the counterstrike’s surprise, maneuver, an

decisiveness were impossible. Soviet forces had to destro

enemy deep-fire systems and reconnaissance, mostly by air

so that maneuver forces had freedom of action.

This scenario mandated answering a NATO attack with 

“devastating rebuff,” although the doctrine did not clarify

whether one limited this rebuff to a counteroffensive only o

expanded it to a full-scale, strategic offensive operation. In

1987 Defense Minister Dimitriy Yazov called for a decisiv

offensive to follow a counteroffensive. By late 1989, however

when the new military doctrine emerged, he said, “Unti

recently, we planned to repel aggressions with defensive an

offensive operations. Now, however, we are planning defensiv

operations as the basic form of our combat action.”3 0

Central to the defensive doctrine was the prevalent concep

that victory came only by defeating the enemy through th

offensive mode. Yet, the Soviet military said little publicly on

issues related to the debate over the counteroffensive. John

Hines and Donald Mahoney feel that the military’s reticenc

stemmed from the atmosphere of uncertainty characterizin

Soviet military affairs after the announcement in Decembe

1988 of unilateral force reductions.3 1 Michael M. Boll assert

that the Warsaw Pact continued to exercise with simulate

493
nuclear weapons, in sharp contrast to the doctrine

reorientation, which emphasized defensive preparation. H

argues that the Soviets’ announced defensive position

remained more “in the realm of intent . . . than . . . immediat

reform.”3 2 Officially, the General Staff embraced the defensive

but continued an offensive spirit.

Immediate Pre–Gulf War Era (1990–91). This perio

marked the end of communism, the breakup of the Warsaw

Pact , the dissolution of the Soviet Republic, the rise of Bori

Yeltsin , and the formation of the Russian Federation . In 198

Gorbachev announced unilateral force reductions in Europe, 

move toward professionalism versus conscription, and forc

development began to focus on qualitative factors. Politica

factions reassessed the military threat from the West an

declared it less daunting. The central theme of doctrin

evolution during this period addressed ways of makin

defensive doctrine and reasonable sufficiency work afte

military restructuring. According to Lester Grau of the Foreign

Military Studies Office, many indicators show that th

declaration of a defensive doctrine was “a purely politica

decision made for economic and political purposes an

imposed on the military with little regard for the military logi

of that doctrine.”3 3 He points out that, after the new doctrin

declaration, professional books and journal articles publishe

in the USSR continued to reflect the Soviet military’

conservative approach to operational art. The Soviets foun

themselves on a trip down a poorly lit and twisting path

where perceptions and reality would come into sharp conflict.

New US and NATO systems were clearly a generation ahea

of those of the Soviets. The role of precision-guided munition

(PGM) and electronic warfare (EW) had added a great comba

additive to NATO forces. Although the Soviets clearly lagge

behind, they did not intend simply to mirror NATO ’s relianc

on technology as a force multiplier.34 Soviet militar

professionals asserted that they would “not follow in the wak

of the probable enemy and copy his weapons and employmen

concepts [but would] seek asymmetrical solutions, combinin

high combat effectiveness with economic efficiency.”35 Th

Soviet forces “are to become equipped with the latest in

494
science and technology and become increasingly more flexible

cohesive, and mobile.”36 The revamped force structure would

become compact, ready, and easily expandable by an

enhanced mobilization base. Finally, the restructured forc

relied on fully automated command, control, an

communications (C 3) infrastructure to facilitate mission

execution.37 The Soviets hoped that the synergy produced b

these factors would amount to an order-of-magnitude increas

in combat effectiveness.

The Soviets envisioned the future battlefield as a high

intensity, dynamic, high-tempo, air-land operation extendin

over vast land areas and space. The operation orchestrated

elements and preplanned fires, maneuver, counterattack forces

and counterstrike forces. Maneuver and countermaneuve

ensured the viability of the defense and created condition

favorable to a counteroffensive. Tempo allowed the Soviets t

counterattack into the operational depth of the enemy durin

operational/strategic counteroffensives.

One finds an interesting characteristic of this doctrin

common to all Soviet military doctrine. That is, the defens

creates a favorable condition to culminate in an offensive

Forces allotted to the defense remained secondary to th

counteroffensive, while operational reserves exploited th

counteroffensive. More than blunting an attack, the defens

became the means to seize the initiative from the aggressor

creating conditions leading to the enemy’s defeat

Counterstrike and preemption become keys to seizing th

initiative. Although a defensive doctrine highlighted this era

maintaining offensive capability remained the essence of thi

defensive doctrine. Therefore, one can view the ideas of th

“strategic defensive” and counteroffensive as the sam

doctrinal concept.

Soviet Military Doctrine Stereotype

Throughout its evolution, Soviet military doctrine took on

certain primary characteristics, albeit in many forms. But in

looking at the doctrine closely, we see a persistent an

recurrent theme involving offensive action—the doctrina

template the Soviets applied when the air phase of the Gul

495
War began in January 1991 and the comparative paradigm

they used to measure Western military performance agains

their 40-year-old ideas about the nature of future war.

In the strategic-operational plan, the high command o

forces organized on one or more strategic axes in a TVD.

3

Operational commanders within this TVD aimed to destro

the enemy and weaken his political alliances. The weakes

points of the enemy received the major blows, and in area

likely to receive counterattacks, friendly forces built defenses

Envelopment would destroy the enemy. The key to th

strategic-operational plan lay in achieving significant tactica

superiority in a strike sector where the main blow fell, whil

accepting local inferiority in passive or secondary sectors no

coming under attack. Soviet military planners stressed tha

only the offensive could achieve victory. Seizing the initiativ

at the outset of hostilities, before the enemy could fully

deploy, offered the Soviets the best opportunity to mass force

to break through the enemy’s prepared defenses.

The Offensive. Successful deep operations required

simultaneous fire suppression of the enemy throughout th

depth of the defense, rapid penetration, and high-speed, deep

attacks to achieve the objective as quickly as possible.3 

Motorized rifle, tank, and air-assault forces characterized thes

high-speed strikes. Echeloning forces built pressure on th

weakest sector. Generally, combined-arms armies made up th

first echelon of a front, containing the bulk of its forces, wit

tank armies normally in the second echelon. The mission of thi

first echelon was to overcome the enemy’s defenses and attack

through to the immediate operational depths.

The front’s second echelon, normally one army, exploite

the success of the first echelon and continued the main

thrusts to the subsequent objective. Thus, a significant forc

remained out of contact with the enemy until the first force

in contact either reached their objective or achieved 

breakthrough. Echeloning served to ensure the availability o

freshly committed forces for exploitation.40 Given th

importance that Soviet planners placed upon the attack, th

Soviets regarded the breakthrough as their center of gravit

upon which operational—and, by inference, strategic—

496
objectives rested.41 The second operational echelon containe

up to one-half of the entire front’s committed force to exploi

the breakthrough and advance into the enemy’s rear.4 2

Air support of ground forces during the offensive consiste

of four stages. First, support of the movement forward calle

for giving priority to deep targets, especially nuclear weapons

enemy aircraft on airfields, and combat helicopters—force

that might strike friendly forces far removed from the forward

edge of enemy defenses. The second stage occurred before th

onset of a ground offensive across a specified frontage. Thi

stage increased the mass of fires by combining artillery an

air strikes in the attack’s preparatory stage. An extension o

the second stage, the third stage provided direct support o

ground forces after the offensive started, concentrating on

targets beyond the range of frontal artillery. The Soviets calle

the final stage the “air accompaniment.” It occurred durin

the advanced stage of the offensive, when progress of th

ground forces had outstripped the prepared fire-support plan

This stage ensured support of ground forces as the

penetrated the enemy’s defensive positions.4 3

The Air Operation. Generally, strategic operations began

with an air offensive. As part of a strategic offensive operation

an air operation functioned as a joint operation of all aviation

resources coordinated on an operational-strategic scale. 4 4 Ai

operations entailed the aggregate of mass strikes, ai

engagements, and successive actions coordinated an

conducted simultaneously—or successively—by air forc

operational formations. They aimed to destroy enemy air a

well as operational and strategic reserves in the TVD

Additionally, the air operation prevented enemy strategi

movement within the TVD and destroyed the enemy’s militar

and economic potential. 45

Thus, the air operation attempted to destroy the enemy’s main

aviation groupings and create a favorable air situation. Thi

required air forces to seize the initiative, retain strike power

provide freedom of movement to frontal forces, and guarante

operational success. As the air operation concluded, aviation

units reverted to direct support of ground units.46 The ai

operation—the principal component of the total Soviet effort t

497
negate enemy nuclear capability in the initial periods of 

conflict—sought to establish air superiority. It differed from

support of the general offensive because it did not occu

coincidentally with the advance of ground-maneuver forces.

Russian Impression of the Gulf War

Studying the Gulf War proved important for the Soviets a

they redefined their military doctrine. Unfortunately, however

as Ben Lambeth says, “Operations Desert Shield and Deser

Storm occurred at a time when the Soviet political system wa

hopelessly unsuited to profit from any teachings of the wa

because of more pressing distractions, notably an economy in

ruin and the rapidly accelerating disintegration of the Sovie

Union .”47 Despite the unpropitious political climate, th

military’s receptivity remained keen. After all, military histor

and experience are key factors in the formulation of Sovie

doctrine. Unsurprisingly, then, lessons from the Gulf Wa

influenced the form that the new Russian military doctrin

eventually took. The Russians also used the Gulf War in

defining the nature of future war.

48

When the war began, the Soviet High Command set up 

special operations group “to gather, generalize, and asses

information received, and to evaluate the nature of the new

arms and equipment being used, forms and methods o

preparing and waging contemporary air-ground and amphibiou

assault operations, the control and communications systems

and questions of overall support.” General of the Army Mikhai

Moiseyev believed that the Gulf War served as a testing groun

for the military actions and state-of-the-art hardware of th

United States and NATO, and that the results would affect NATO

structure and equipment in the near future.49

These forums combined internal and external analysis with

recommendations for doctrinal changes. David M. Glantz o

the Foreign Military Studies Office notes that the Sovie

General Staff’s assessment of the Gulf War followed six ke

elements: (1) the initial period of war, (2) the likely intensit

and scale of combat, (3) the means (weaponry) employed, (4

the consequences for the Soviet economy and population, (5

the duration of the war, and (6) the influence of US and NATO

498
doctrine on the Soviet doctrine of reasonable sufficiency

Glantz notes that the Soviets found the Gulf War significan

because it “posed a new model of future combat in which th

new military-technical dynamics of conventional combat no

only have an impact upon the course and outcome of th

initial period of war in the theater of military operations, bu

also have become synonymous with the very outcome of th

war itself.”50

Strategy

To the Soviets, strategy linked political aims with the postur

of the military forces; it defined war’s conditions an

characteristics. Through strategy, the Soviets identified an

adapted experiences related to the preparation and conduct o

past wars with the study of future wars. Thus, the Gulf War wa

not just an exercise in weapons evaluation but a necessary an

basic requirement of the Soviets’ strategy-formulation proces

The Gulf War altered their strategic concept about th

characteristics of the danger or threat, the nature of future war

and the importance of the initial period of war.

For four decades, the Soviets’ military doctrine concerned

itself with opposing NATO. In evaluating the causes of the Gul

War, the High Command drew several conclusions concernin

the West. It believed that the United States showed weakness in

signaling a warning to Saddam Hussein of its probable respons

in late June 1990, when Iraq massed forces at the Kuwait

border. The High Command also believed that the failure of th

United Nations to act against aggression in South Lebanon an

Panama gave Saddam a false sense of security. Further, i

believed that the Western powers thought they could achiev

strategic goals through local conflicts, so that now they actually

encouraged war. In all these beliefs, the Soviets reinforced thei

old mistrust of Western hegemony.5 1

Maj Gen V. Zhurbenko, deputy head of the main departmen

of the Soviet General Staff, said in an interview with Tass tha

the Gulf War was “without analog since World War II.”52 Mary C

FitzGerald points out that since Soviets structured the armed

forces according to their view of the nature of future war, thei

military doctrine is “riveted to future military capabilities an

499
environments

 even in the era of new thinking and perestroika

Under the influence of Marshal N. V. Ogarkov in the early

1980s, the Soviets began to focus on developing advanced

conventional munitions (ACM), directed-energy weapons, an

space-based systems. The Soviets became convinced of th

inevitability of wide-scale deployment of these weapons by thei

opponents. Before the Gulf War, Soviet military theorist

envisioned a future war whose political-military objectives wer

not driven by seizing territory but by destroying the opponent’

military capability and infrastructure. To FitzGerald , the Gul

War represented a confirmation of how the Soviets envisione

future war. She notes three significant effects on Soviet militar

thought. First, the Soviets saw a new arms race coming tha

emphasized implementation of strategic mobilization an

deployments to theaters far from the homeland. Second, the

placed new emphasis on the role of surprise as the key t

victory, with airpower as the main means of achieving it. Finally

the Soviets stressed that the Gulf War served as the prototype o

technological operations. They responded to the war as 

confirmation of Marshal Ogarkov’s ideas about technology, a

invalidation of the defensive doctrine of 1987, a redefinition o

deterrence in terms of nonnuclear parity, and a cause fo

serious concerns about the future of US-Soviet arm

negotiations.

53

Soviet concepts of future war focused on keeping wa

conventional. To achieve parity, the Soviets assumed tha

having the same number of weapons as their adversar

created stability. For 40 years, they had emphasized quantity

but in the 1980s Marshal Ogarkov emphasized quality an

high technology. He redefined the type of war the Soviet

might realistically envision and the adjustments they migh

have to make to their military art.

54 The Gulf War heightene

and clarified the implication of future war and th

development of Soviet weapons.

Because the old idea of a military doctrine with littl

flexibility to respond to a variety of threats was no longe

viable, the Soviets required a more varied force structure an

strategic posture. Rapid reaction rather than defensive parit

had to become the hallmark of Soviet strategy. Preparation fo

future war would require greater flexibility and diversity in

500
forces. Military scientists would have to rely on their creativit

and adaptability to new circumstances, despite economic an

political problems.55

Local war rather than conflict between blocs of power in 

TVD replaced the Soviet view of the operational-strategi

scenario. Maj Gen Vladimir Slipchenko of the General Staf

noted that advanced-technology weapons created a military

technical revolution in military affairs. He noted that futur

wars would have “no front lines or flanks,” that enem

territory would consist of “targets and nontargets,” and tha

new technology would end wars quickly: “the politica

structure will destroy itself, and there will be no need t

occupy enemy territory.”56

The General Staff determined that local conflicts could lea

to strategic victories. Rather than an incrementa

tactical-operational/strategic progression, strategic goals ma

become the first ones attained in future war. The staff saw 

serious danger, since local conflicts generate a different set o

military-political objectives than do bloc struggles; thus, th

old concepts of struggles for national survival an

unconditional surrender were no longer operative. In man

ways, the Soviets saw this situation as a cause of direct US

involvement and of their own indirect involvement in a disput

among Iraq, Kuwait , and Saudi Arabia .

The General Staff argued that preemption offered the only

way to avoid defeat in progressively threatening situation

against a powerful opponent because the military would hav

no time to develop a defensive phase while preparing for 

viable counteroffensive. 57 This course of action becam

particularly important if the opponent waged an air operation

similar in size and scope to that in the Gulf War. The wa

vividly displayed the new strategic importance of the initia

period. If the fighting involved high-tech precision munitions

the Soviets realized that the initial period might decide th

war rather than simply influence its outcome and length

Future weapons capitalized on the qualities of speed, mobility

lethality, and accuracy, thereby significantly increasing th

value of two of the Soviets’ prized principles of war—surpris

and initiative. One General Staff officer observed that th

“war’s outcome was decided by gaining the initiative an

501
winning air superiority; Hussein did not preempt and so h

lost!”5 8 Security and support advanced from secondary t

strategic importance. General of the Army N. Klokotov note

that “Iraq made a strategic error. Its forces were prepared for 

battle in which the means of ‘strike’ were preeminent. To

civilized states this is a thing of the past. Now not only mean

of strike but also means of security such as reconnaissance

radio-electronic warfare, means of guidance, and effectiv

defense are of prime importance. Therefore Iraq’s strike mean

were unprotected.”5 9

The Soviets said that the conduct of the air operation

represented the most important factor in changing th

relevance of the initial period. Lt Gen A. E. Maliukov, then

chief of staff of the Soviet air force , said that the Gulf Wa

confirmed the impact of aviation on tactical surprise and it

execution. Future war required an air capability to repel initia

attacks and then mount its own air offensive . The key, as th

Soviets defined the Gulf War, lay in protecting the control o

air forces and training air commanders to act independently. 6

Of all the Soviet statements made about the Gulf War, L

Gen A. I. Yevseyev’s proclamation for Soviet doctrine had n

precedent. In contrast to past wars, he noted that “the main

content of the initial period can be the delivery by th

belligerents of nuclear strikes or strikes with conventiona

means of destruction . . . for achieving the war’s main

objectives.”6 1 In the past, Soviet military theorists believe

that only nuclear weapons achieved a war’s main objective in

the initial period. To Soviet military theorists, the coalition

had achieved nuclear effects in the initial period by usin

air-delivered, high-tech conventional weapons.

Operational Art

Operational art describes how Soviet forces are formed

organized, and employed to achieve military strategy. Sovie

operational art, which encompasses the operational-leve

commander’s sphere of actions, had become focused on speed

mass, shock, and firepower of preeminent ground forces , wit

other services in a supporting role. The success of the coalition

502
air operation in the Gulf War caused Soviet military theorists t

reassess their old concept of operational art.

Airpower’s Role. One of the first assessments appearing in

the Soviet press addressed airpower’s ascendancy. The Soviet

noted that the priority of actions of the United States (an

possibly theirs, by inference) had changed. Tass military analys

Vladimir Chernyshev commented, “The ‘classic’ form of comba

gave the main role to land forces in military actions, and the ai

force supports them. Here [the Gulf War] everything has bee

different: I would say the basic blows of strategic, decisiv

significance were struck by the Air Forces.”6 2

The Soviets saw the Gulf War as a repudiation of Giuli

Douhet’s ideas about airpower.63 They did not feel that the Gul

War justified building a force structure that emphasize

strategic bombardment; however, they felt they needed parity i

ground-air-space weapons to present a credible deterrent to 

potential threat.64 Although the Soviets saw success in war as 

joint effort of all the services, General Maliukov found Douhet

ideas of attacks against industrial and population center

relevant to the Gulf War’s outcome.65 He viewed these strikes a

part of the psychological warfare to wear down the Iraqi people

In the May 1991 issue of Voennaia mysl (Military Thought), h

said that the initial period of war confirmed the increased role o

aviation to combat power. The Gulf War confirmed the impact o

aviation on tactical surprise and its execution. Mor

importantly, he said that the defensive cast of Soviet militar

doctrine implied an air capability able to repel initial attacks an

mount its own air operation . He went on to state that this would

occur only by protecting the control of the air and giving ai

commanders the ability to operate independently.6 6

General Maliukov also said that the Gulf War “constituted 

textbook example of what air supremacy means—both for th

country that gained it and for the country ceding it to th

opponent.” When asked whether he felt the war reflected 

practical application of the American doctrine of AirLan

Battle, he answered,

I do not think so. There was no classical “air-land battle.” Why? The

point is that this war—and here General [Michael] Dugan comes to

mind—was obviously conceived from the outset as an air war to wear

out the opponent by means of air strikes, disorganize his command

503
systems, destroy his air defenses, and weaken the ground forces

striking power. In terms of the choice of objectives, it was more a case

of a classic air offense. And these objectives were achieved. Broadly

speaking, this is the first time we have seen a war which aviation took

care almost entirely of all the main tasks.6 7

The mobility, speed, and accuracy of modern weapon

systems are combat multipliers. This factor makes surpris

and initiative, especially in the initial period, the mos

important of all military principles. During the Gulf War, th

Soviets defined coalition airpower as devastating. Maj Gen I

Vorobyev, retired Soviet military scientist, underscored th

unique role of airpower when he said it played “the decisiv

role . . . in destroying the enemy. . . . This has never been

demonstrated so clearly in any operation in the past.”6 8 H

called for a “prompt and fundamental review of existin

[Soviet] ideas and propositions in the field of tactics an

doctrine,” noting that Iraq’s defeat was not caused by “an

weakness in weapons or combat equipment, but by the habit

dogmatism, stereotype, and conventionalism in the leadership

of the troops. . . . And this is a graphic lesson for everybody

This includes our armed forces” (emphasis added). 69 On th

operational and tactical levels, the Iraqis made errors force

on them by the loss of initiative and coalition air superiority.

7

The Soviets concluded that any force trying to defend withou

mobility or without the ability to strike a maneuvering enem

from the air would fail. Maneuvers by large ground force

required air superiority. To a degree, aircraft assumed th

primary role as the most maneuverable and long-range mean

of fighting, despite Iraq’s combat advantage in tanks.7 1

The General Staff examined the air operation in the March

1991 issue of Morskoi sbornik (Naval Anthology). It stresse

that command of the air made a systematic air campaign

possible. In the initial period, the air campaign struck Iraq

command and control (C2), air defense, and military-industria

targets. Following the initial phase, the campaign shifted t

interdiction , seeking to isolate the region of comba

operations. Following the air interdiction (AI) phase, the cente

of gravity for the air operation shifted to direct support o

ground forces. Capt First Rank K. Kzheb of the Soviet navy

outlined the coalition air operation : “The primary stake in th

504
war was placed in the allies

 massive use of their airpower t

keep losses on the ground to an absolute minimum. Th

immediate goal was to disarm, blind, deafen, and decapitat

the enemy from the very outset to achieve control of the air

Then, allied airpower was applied at will to systematically

destroy the Iraqi strategic infrastructure and ‘isolate the are

of upcoming combat operations, along with concurren

destruction of Iraq’s troops and military equipment.’ ”7 2

Perhaps the strongest proponent of airpower’s role in the Gul

War was General Slipchenko of the General Staff. He noted tha

the coalition air campaign set the outcome from the openin

moments of the Gulf War, even intimating that the war had cas

serious doubt on the relevance of the ground forces a

traditionally structured. “The Gulf War supports the fact that ai

strikes can by themselves form the basis of victory. . . . Airpowe

was responsible for the victory, because air superiority altere

the complexion of the war from the very outset” (emphasi

added). 73

Force Structure. The principle of strategic posturing ha

defined how the Soviets generated, positioned, and mobilize

forces. It called for forces capable of multidirectional fightin

and able to work with Warsaw Pact members; it also require

that they deploy in a fully developed TVD. Internal change

within the Soviet Union and the demise of the Warsaw Pact

however, invalidated this concept. With the bulk of the Sovie

forces undergoing redeployment, force structuring took on

new meaning as regards the concept of strategic security.

From the beginning of the Gulf War, coalition strategi

posturing impressed the Soviets. Initially, many Soviet officer

thought the coalition mission was impossible, given th

multiethnic makeup of the forces and the distances involved

As the war went on, however, this opinion changed. Th

Soviets cited coalition preparation and cooperation of th

forces as crucial to the victory. Further, examination of th

coalition heightened their awareness of a professional force

The Soviets saw that coalition professionals performed much

better than Iraq’s conscript force.7 4 Many General Staf

officers unanimously concluded that people controlling th

technology decided a war’s outcome more than the technolog

505
itself. 75 Gen N. Kutsenko of the General Staff expressed thi

sentiment best in his assessment that “more depends on th

professional training of the people operating and servicing th

equipment than its quality; it is of decisive significance.”76

With the initial period of war ascending to new importance

the Soviets saw implications for their mobilization plannin

and force structure. The coalition overcame distances through

extensive logistical support. For the Soviets, that placed 

premium on developing a rapid-deployment force to projec

power and protect vital interests. By building a simila

capability, they believed they could deter local wars and began

reorganizing their forces into a rapid-reaction force.

77 Th

General Staff argued that a key aspect of the coalition’

success lay in its ability to transport people and equipmen

halfway around the world through the close coordination of ai

and sea transport.

Technology, Research, and Development. Col-Gen Y

Shaposhnikov, commander in chief of the Soviet air force

noted in an interview that the Gulf War gave the General Staf

an opportunity to observe and evaluate American airpower—

the first time that circumstances had allowed an assessmen

under real combat conditions on such an unprecedente

scale. Dr. V. Tsygichko, head of Moscow’s National Securit

and Strategic Stability Studies Center , admitted at a lecture a

Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe on 5 March

1991, that models run by the General Staff before the Gul

War had grossly overestimated the coalition ’s losses and faile

to predict the outcome. He blamed this failure on not havin

reliable parameters to assign to the allied weapons, pointin

out that their models contained no factors to account for th

Iraqis’ poor discipline and morale. Finally, he noted that th

air campaign lasted considerably longer than most Sovie

analysts had predicted.7 8

Of extreme importance, these models contained algorithm

based on the Soviets’ previous notions of the nature of futur

war. The failure of the models repudiated the previou

doctrinal base for predicting what the nature of future wa

might hold. Marshal S. Achromeyev supported Tsygichko’

views by affirming that the Soviet estimates “were based on

506
classic AirLand Battle doctrine.

 Increasing the air campaign

to 40 days invalidated the projection models. Achromeye

implied that the models had their basis in a Central European

scenario by stating, “The conduct of air operations of such

duration against an enemy approximately equal in strength

would have been impossible.”79

The General Staff convened another roundtable in mid

March 1991 to evaluate the performance of Soviet air defens

equipment in the Gulf War and to determine the effects on

research and development (R&D). Senior officers stifled th

formal presentations, trying to avoid criticism and contentiou

issues. Consequently, some junior officers in attendanc

noted that most of the interesting and compelling comment

occurred “in the lobby.” Some of the core issues they though

needed attention included the “lamentable condition” of Sovie

military science and defense preparations and the failure o

their air defense organization (PVO) to provide them with “th

most modern systems available.” They also commented abou

the need to replace “obsolete models of weapons tha

accomplish little, as evidenced by the Gulf War.”80

Influenced by the coalition ’s success in the Gulf War, Defens

Minister Andrei S. Grachev listed the following seven priorit

items for continued R&D: highly mobile troops; army aviation 

long-range ACMs; command, control, communications, an

intelligence (C 3I) systems; space systems; air defense systems

and strategic arms. 81 As a result of the General Staff’s analysi

of the Gulf War, political and military leaders reached 

consensus on maintaining R&D at the expense of procuremen

as the Russian defense budget shrinks. The Russians believ

they cannot “be second best” in stealth and ACMs,

8 2 noting tha

they were seven to 10 years behind in the latter.

After talking to the editorial staff of Voennaia mysl in Apr

1992, Ben Lambeth deduced some broad outlines of the High

Command’s thinking as regards the meaning of Operation

Desert Storm . Four recurrent themes emerged that should

affect R&D: (1) the broadened role played by conventiona

airpower in deciding war’s outcome; (2) the criticality of goo

training and operator proficiency in getting the most out o

modern weaponry; (3) the disproportionate leverage offered b

high-tech weapons as a force multiplier ; and (4) the meanin

507
of these and related findings for future Russian defens

planning and policy.8 3 According to Lambeth, the Russian

concluded that the nature of modern war had change

radically in the last few years, noting that although airpowe

might not win a war by itself, it had become the decisive forc

which permitted the attainment of victory, yet kept friendly

losses to a minimum. Their assessment contained radica

ideas for planners of Russian military doctrine:

• The Soviet concept of redundant, overlapping, an

integrated air defenses contained serious flaws.

• Tanks become an endangered species without control o

the air.

• Quality beats quantity, but one must have enough of it t

matter.

• Coalition warfare works, but it’s difficult to conduct.

• Soviet concepts of offensive air operations need revision.

• Top-down centralization remains critical to effective comba

operations, but it must have flexibility in execution.

• Hardened shelters no longer shelter.

• Stealth is the wave of the future.

• Ground warfare, as well as air, has undergone a technica

revolution.

• The end of the cold war made Gorbachev’s defensiv

doctrine obsolete. 84

On 8 February 1989, Colonel-General Moiseyev, first deput

defense minister and chief of the USSR Armed Forces Genera

Staff, declared his candidacy as a USSR people’s deputy from

the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). He focuse

part of his campaign on changing the military doctrinal-review

process to give it greater meaning in the General Staff

Additionally, his comments seemed to possess clear foresigh

in describing the doctrinal review process that followed th

Gulf War two years later. His campaign speech noted that “i

appears that we should also revise our attitudes toward work

on long-term problems. . . . But responsibility for the en

results [of the General Staff] has been understated. Th

situation is different now. . . . Many difficult problems that th

troops are encountering today can be traced back, with carefu

analysis, to our lack of foresight, our shortsightedness. . . . Th

508
new nature of the tasks now being resolved requires th

development of creative activeness on the part of al

directorates and every official; it requires initiative an

inquisitiveness in work.”8 5

Emerging Russian Post–Gulf War

Military Doctrine

The Soviets had to respond to many internal and externa

political, economic, and social disruptions in the late 1980

and early 1990s, one such response involving a review an

revision of their military doctrine. The “crowning blow” ma

have been their reaction to the Gulf War in light of all th

other internal and external changes under way. The Gulf Wa

showed that planning for a counterattack, as Gorbachev’

defensive doctrine dictated, required the Soviets to reac

instead of act. To the Soviets, this was an unacceptable form

of action in light of their Gulf War assessment of an era o

high-tech weapons.

8 6

In May 1992, the Russian High Command released a new

draft of military doctrine by publishing it in Voennaia mysl

their foremost armed forces theoretical journal.8 7 In Novembe

1993, the Russians formalized this effort by releasing th

approved doctrine in Rossiyskiye Vesti (Russian News).

88 Th

new doctrine established the prevention of war as th

fundamental goal of security policy of the Russian Federation 

It also established a system of views regarding th

organization of the armed forces, the country’s defens

preparations, the countermeasures to threats to the state’

military security, and the utilization of the armed forces of th

Russian Federation. As in prior military doctrines of th

former Soviet Union , the effort stated that one carries out th

provisions of military doctrine by means of the “coordinate

measures of a political, economic, legal, and military natur

with the participation of all organs of state power an

administration, public organizations, and citizens of th

Russia Federation .”8 9 Military doctrine within the Russian

Federation derived its force of law from the agreement an

approval of the state’s legislative body, the Congress o

People’s Deputies .

509
The Threat

The new military doctrine listed several scenarios tha

future war might take. It placed primary emphasis on meetin

threats that endangered Russian sovereignty or territory—

either autonomously or as part of the Confederation o

Independent States (CIS). It also noted that hostilities migh

result from economic or political pressure from a majo

power.9 0 In the past, figuring out the character of a threa

normally fell to Marxist-Leninist ideology within th

sociopolitical dimension of military doctrine.

Although it did not specifically identify potential enemies, th

new doctrine listed several factors that could lead to conflict,9 

describing them as possible sources of “military danger.”92 Firs

the Russians viewed NATO’s military power and the America

presence in Europe and the Far East as their greatest potentia

danger.9 3 Second, the doctrine examined the anxiety over th

rise of global or regional powers, especially Germany, Japan 

Iran , and Turkey. Third, the doctrine noted the pressure exerted

by the leverage that Western economics might create against th

Russian government. Last, it echoed the concern over America

exerting military power beyond its borders to further the aims o

foreign policy.

9 4 The doctrine also described two direct threats t

Russia : (1) the introduction of foreign troops into any of it

adjacent states—a concept similar to the stereotypical direc

threat to Rodina 95 and (2) the buildup of air, naval, and groun

forces near Russian borders.96

View of Future War

According to the new doctrine, local wars represented th

most probable type of conflict. Large-scale conventional wa

could occur when local hostilities directed against the Russian

Federation, the CIS , or other states close to Russia ’s border

escalated into full-fledged coalition war. This evolution t

conventional warfare followed a fairly prolonged threat period

and general mobilization.97

According to this scenario, large-scale intervention by th

West against the CIS or Russia could occur with either long o

short warning. The hostility probably would occur in tw

phases. First, the enemy would attack with combined nava

510
and air offensive strikes at important economic and militar

targets, using PGMs and electronic jamming. These attack

would disable Russian command centers and prevent reserv

mobilization and force deployment. The opening attacks would

attempt to force an early withdrawal of Russia’s allies an

least reliable coalition partners from the war. The secon

phase of the war would include an intense ground campaign

conducted under the cover of powerful and decisive air forces

In many ways, the new military doctrine rehashed the factor

that won the Great Patriotic War—repulse of a massiv

conventional invasion requiring full mobilization of all th

state’s resources.

The Gulf War motivated the Russians to redefine aggression

and make adjustments to their fundamental ideas abou

operational art . The doctrine listed primary tasks to safeguard

military security when war threatened or seemed imminent

For the military, such tasks included mobilizing an

equipping forces to repulse and defeat an aggressor.9 8

Force Structure and Priorities

The new doctrine contained guidance for the composition

and priorities of Russian armed forces. It specified enough

forces in permanent readiness to deter and repel loca

aggression. Further, the doctrine identified mobile reserve

capable of rapid response and deployment to repel midleve

aggression when combined with the ready forces. Last, i

required strategic reserves to conduct large-scale comba

actions. The top priority task for all forces entailed developin

and exploiting “the emerging high precision, mobile, highly

survivable, long-range, stand-off weapons.”99

The Russians’ second priority was also directly linked to th

military-technical aspect of military doctrine. The new

doctrine specified “arms, equipment, and C3I systems whos

qualities allow a reduced quantity of arms” and called fo

reducing serial production while maintaining research

development, and production capabilities that rapidly surg

the emerging technologies (emphasis added). 100

The new doctrine saw the role of the Russian armed force

as defeating missile attacks, protecting strategic targets such

511
as administration and industrial infrastructure, and carryin

out retaliatory strikes.101 Defeating surprise aviation-missil

attacks represented a new strategic concept to the Russians

They saw Desert Storm as a new type of combat—the electroni

fire operation—consisting of surprise attacks involving masse

and prolonged missile, aerospace, electronic, and naval strike

conducted for several days or weeks. Further, the Russian

thought that by disrupting the military-economic capability t

ensure victory in political and economic arenas, thes

operations would deny the enemy the ability to continue the wa

and reconstitute his forces. Unlike massed ground warfare

these attacks did not aim to seize and occupy land.

Differences with Pre–Gulf War Military Doctrine

C. J. Dick points out that the new draft military doctrin

was drawn up by a General Staff that had not “undergone 

revolution of the mind and who, far from being in tune with

Gorbachevian ‘new thinking’ were still unreconstructed Cold

War warriors paying lip service to perestroika while trying t

preserve the old system as far as they could.” This situation

divorced the new military doctrine from government policy an

reality. In many ways, the new doctrine resembled the old

viewing the world through a distorted prism. It remaine

hostile to the West—implicitly, if not explicitly. Even after fou

years of internal political, economic, ideological, and socia

strife, the new military doctrine persisted in worst-cas

analysis. According to Dick , the Russian military failed t

recognize this approach as a major cause of the collapse of th

Soviet economy in the first place.102

In a marked departure from the pre–Gulf War Gorbache

era, the new doctrine made no provision for restricting th

scale or depth of the Russian army’s counteroffensive

Additionally, it made no explicit references to defensiv

strategy or defensive operations. In many ways, the new

military doctrine reminded one of Brezhnev doctrine, albeit 

high-tech version. But it differed significantly from that of th

Gorbachev era in several other ways. Specifically, the old

doctrine had emphasized the prevention of war by repellin

aggression, and the new doctrine specified optimized forces fo

512
all possible wars and combat missions.103 The new doctrine

s

main objective entailed “localiz[ing] a seat of tension an

terminat[ing] military operations at the earliest possible stag

in the interests of creating preconditions . . . on condition

that accord with the interests of the Russian Federation . . . 

The forms, methods and means of conducting comba

operations that best accord with the prevailing situation an

ensure that the initiative is seized and the aggressor defeate

must be chosen.”104

Under Gorbachev’s military doctrine, reasonable sufficienc

meant conducting no large-scale conventional operations

Under the new doctrine, however, the conventional-sufficienc

provision provided for additional deployments, makin

large-scale conventional operations possible and clearl

rejecting Gorbachev’s prohibition against large-scale

conventional offensives.105 Gorbachev’s doctrine stresse

repulsing an aggressor and forming subsequent defensiv

actions based on the nature of the enemy’s operations. Th

new military doctrine amplified an old theme—destruction o

the enemy.

The new military doctrine viewed nuclear war as an

extension of large-scale conventional operations. Thus, it saw

conventional “smart” weapon attacks against C2 facilities

storage depots for chemical and biological weapons, nuclea

energy and research facilities, and nuclear forces themselve

in the same light as releasing weapons of mass destruction

and inviting retaliation in kind. This perspective significantly

departed from a major tenet of the Gorbachev doctrine, which

held that nuclear war will be catastrophic. The new doctrin

refined this assumption to might be catastrophic. The old

doctrine discussed nuclear war as global in nature—

attempting to limit it to specific regions would prove almos

impossible. In the new doctrine, however, both concepts wer

missing, insofar as Russia refuted its commitment to no firs

use of nuclear weapons, seeing limited regional nuclear war a

a possibility.106

Doctrinal statements clearly reflect the lessons of the Gul

War. Specifically, the new doctrine expects Russian

commanders to balance troop training in both defensive an

offensive operations, hold the country’s vital areas, restore th

513
status quo along its borders, and eventually rout the enemy

Gorbachev’s earlier military doctrine espoused more modes

terms of cessation to hostilities. The pre–Gulf War doctrin

specifically addressed partial victory, enemy withdrawal, an

restoration of peace. The new doctrine’s resurrected idea o

“total victory” incorporates traditional Soviet thinking tha

prevailed well into the late 1980s.

Most important of all, the new doctrine stressed the decisiv

importance of the initial period of war.107 In Desert Storm , th

Russians saw the initial period consisting of air strikes aime

at disrupting enemy strategic deployments, disorganizin

civilian and military C3I, and collapsing any enemy coalition

The Russians’ new doctrine specifies the destruction o

economic and military targets by ACMs simultaneously o

preemptively with electronic warfare.

108 Of significance is th

Russians’ new belief that ACMs could accomplish mission

once thought possible only by nuclear weapons. To th

Russians, superiority in EW and C3I are necessary an

sufficient to ensure victory in warfare.109

Both the Gorbachev doctrine and the new military doctrin

stress the need to obtain high-technology weapons an

maintain a mass-mobilization capability. Neither doctrin

seems to accept the social, economic, and political reality tha

might stand in the military’s way of carrying out that doctrine

C. J. Dick aptly cites the Russian General Staff for living in an

“Alice in Wonderland world,” reinforced by its assertion tha

force reductions can take place only when the right military

technical, economic, and social conditions are created. 110

Analysis and Implications

In the early 1980s, Marshal Ogarkov argued that emergin

technologies were generating a new revolution in militar

affairs.

111 The Russians’ response to Desert Storm and thei

reformed military doctrine seem to confirm Ogarkov’

predictions by (1) reverting from a defensive to an offensiv

preemptive position; (2) reverting from no nuclear first use t

a possibility of nuclear escalation ; (3) guaranteeing the 2

million ethnic Russians living in former Soviet state

protection from any kind of retaliation; (4) emphasizing th

514
importance of military advancement in command, control

communications, computers, and intelligence (C 4I), smar

weapons, and increased mobility; and (5) emphasizin

strategic nonnuclear deterrent forces.

Several factors contributed to evolving Russian militar

doctrine: the explosion of nationalism in the face o

communism’s collapse, the diminished role of the military in

developing policy, and Russian loss in controlling the direction

of the CIS. Clearly, the new doctrine represents the Russians

response to what they saw in the Gulf War , especially th

impact of airpower on its outcome. More than just a respons

to social, political, and economic changes, the new doctrin

represents the reemergence of the Russian military as a polic

developer in the new state. The Russians saw the Gulf War a

a new form of war, involving the decisive use of surprise an

high-tech systems. More importantly, they saw the initia

period of war change from a preparatory phase to perhaps it

only phase, in which airpower’s role had become dominant

Because their doctrine proved inadequate for building on th

Desert Storm experience, they changed it to address thei

lessons of the Gulf War.

They did so because they saw that deep first strikes with

technologically superior weapons could achieve strategi

objectives quickly and inexpensively. Thus, the Russian

reverted to a revisionist military doctrine, reinforcing thei

earlier ideas about the preeminence of the offense. The Gul

War cleared their perception and put security threats in 

different light: the need to protect their interests following “th

breakup of the former Soviet Union , the loss of their forme

allies, the emergence of new hotbeds of military tensions alon

their southern borders, and the deterioration of the interna

political and social fabric” of their country.112 Lambeth i

correct when he points out that the fate of the Russian

military remains “inseparably tied to the political an

economic fate of post-Soviet Russia .”113

During the final days of the Soviet Union , defense outlays

fell more than 23 percent—2.3 million rubles—from the 199

levels. In 1992 the Russians redirected about 70 percent o

their defense budget into the social sector. Additionally

Russian politicians programmed almost 70 percent of th

515
remaining defense budget for construction of military famil

housing to solve critical shortages and fund social programs fo

badly deprived military personnel. By late 1993 the promise

military funding allocations were more than three trillion ruble

in arrears. To compensate for declining investment in militar

equipment, the Russian military bartered first-line arms fo

capital to augment its declining operations and maintenanc

costs.114 Jacob Kipp points out that the Russian military wa

using many of the arms sales and barters to pay for the cost o

demobilization.115 Yet, the defense minister claimed that th

Russian army would “eventually have the most advanced

weapons,”116 while at the same time the economic crisi

compelled the Russians to cut their military force structur

considerably—to as low as 1.5 million.117 Clearly, it is a lon

way from bartering for operations and maintenance funds back

to military superpower status.

In the new military doctrine, the General Staff all bu

ignores political instability from within and prepares to figh

an air-space war against a major adversary. To many militar

and civilian leaders, this strategy represents the Russian

clearest chance at maintaining military superpower status. In

the near term, they will rely on countering the US air-spac

domination of air-space technology—namely cruise missiles

space sensors, stealth , and so forth. For the long term, the

plan to build the infrastructure capable of producing th

advanced technologies they need for the Russian armed

forces. Somewhere in between is what Mary FitzGerald call

the “transition period,” with its reliance on limited nuclear wa

to deter and defeat worse-case threats. Given the Russian

analysis from the Gulf War that they lag the United States in

weapons technology, their policy of nuclear first use make

sense. The revolution in military technology meant that th

Russian Federation would no longer hold its own in 

conventional conflict with the United States. What better wa

to avert military disaster than to convince their adversary tha

Russia would use nuclear weapons from the very outbreak o

war? This tactic provides protection only in the near term an

does not solve Russia ’s other problems with militar

technology.

118 In short, this threat of a return to massive

retaliation may have a healthy component of deception

516
designed to delay the outbreak of a conflict until Russi

masters new advances in warfare.

According to Andrei Kokoshin , civilian deputy defens

minister in charge of Russia ’s military-industrial comple

(VPK), the new doctrine focuses R&D efforts to create 

“scientific-technical reserve in critical technologies .”119 Th

new doctrine reduces serial production but maintains R&D

and production capacity to rapidly surge new technology when

required. This allows the R&D effort to “hover,” so that th

defense industry can leap over a generation of weapons b

focusing on prototypes. Their own analysis of the Gulf Wa

should have taught the Russians that future war will be shor

and decisive and will have a fairly short notice. Even th

five-month buildup and redeployment during Operation

Desert Shield proved fairly rapid, given the amount of materia

and personnel involved. Relying on hovering assumes tha

Russia will have sufficient strategic warning to chang

prototypes and hovered technology into weapons fo

employment. The timing of future war may leave the Russian

no time to turn technological potential into weapons reality.12

It is one thing to possess the R&D but another matter to turn

that into weapons production.

One cannot discuss Soviet/Russian military doctrine apar

from the political structure from which it is derived. The new

doctrine still implies that the political-social means give th

military doctrine form; however, it completely ignores politica

means for preventing war. It never mentions crisi

management or war termination. As in the Great Patrioti

War, destruction of the enemy and victory become possible

only when armed force carries out the will of the state. Th

force structure needed to station forces forward to protec

borders and the capital expenditure for high-tech weapon

should cause concern to Russia as it tries to rebuild it

economy. To carry out this new military doctrine, Russia wi

need to spend on the military as it did before, risking th

same economic disaster. In the new Russian military lexicon

the idea of “geopolitics ” replaces that of the domination of th

political-social component of military doctrine. This chang

amplifies the Russians’ primary focus on threats nearer t

their own borders, with aggression from former Soviet state

517
and forces within Russian autonomous regions taking on

added importance.

Perhaps even more perplexing, the new military doctrin

identifies factors beyond those discussed in the forme

versions. The new doctrine’s identification of rights of Russian

citizens in foreign states, external political pressure, an

economic pressure as an excuse for war is most troubling. 12

Speaking in February 1994, President Yeltsin called Russi

the “guarantor of stability” throughout the former Sovie

Union , saying that the fate of ethnic Russians living in

neighboring states was “our national concern. . . . When i

comes to violations of the lawful rights of Russian people, thi

is not the exclusive internal affair of some country, but als

our national affair, an affair of our state.”122 He warned Eas

European countries not to join NATO without Russia . Further

he noted that Russia ’s foreign policy sought to promote th

country’s own interests. Surely, Russia ’s neighbors will worr

about these ill-defined rights and the use of military force.

Everywhere one looks in Russia today, the military i

implementing ambitious plans to reshape its forces. Clearly

economics and the demise of the Soviet Union forced a goo

deal of this restructuring on the Russian military. In man

cases, the final force structure was determined by what th

Russians could afford—not what their new doctrin

advocated. The Russian air force is a case in point.123 The new

structure makes the once powerful air defense forces extinct

with their combat elements absorbed by the Russian air force

The surface-to-air units of the defense forces will go to th

ground forces . The independent air armies of the Suprem

High Command are restructured into territorial commands, in

which frontal aviation forces will also reside. Thi

reorganization fractures the Russians’ air forces vertically an

horizontally at the exact time their new doctrine reinforce

what they say they learned about airpower from the Gulf War

With the new doctrine focused on threats from the “nea

abroad,”124 army mobile forces have emerged as preeminent.

Thus, the Russians reverted to a military functiona

structure based on their stereotypical operational art

Although they recognize that Western airpower and spac

power represent the primary threat to Russian joint comba

518
operations, practical Russian airpower theory plays down it

independent role in combat operations, thus emphasizing it

support of ground operations. Regardless of emerging aerospac

technology, then, Russian airpower will remain fragmented.

Clearly, the new doctrine gives the Russian military exactly

the theoretical base it always wanted. By 1991 the Russia

military had become institutionally paralyzed. The new thinkin

under Gorbachev led to radical changes in security policy tha

proved increasingly untenable. In 1987 the Ministry of Defens

began subverting and resisting Gorbachev’s changes to 

defensive posture. In effect, progressive dissolution of politica

controls over the military emancipated the General Staff to ac

first covertly and then openly, in revising doctrine to its forme

offensive high. As Communist Party control atrophied, th

General Staff increasingly expanded its influence over politician

and elevated its standing with President Yeltsin by putting dow

the “White House” revolt. Col-Gen Igor Rodionov’s opposition t

Russia ’s first doctrinal draft, which refuted the first use o

nuclear weapons, eliminated defensive sufficiency, and refine

the nature of future war, indicated the rise of the Russia

military in political stature and control. The net result is 

politicized Russian military. Rather than accept tenets o

doctrine passed to it from its political masters, as in the pas

the military formed its own doctrinal ideas and passed them t

the politicians for approval. More importantly, Rodionov

success in changing the doctrine to a more provocative an

revisionist view by carrying it from a defensive to an offensiv

posture, shows how far the politicization process may alread

have come. The Russian military is now a developer of doctrine—

not just an implementer, as in the past. The emergence of a

offensively structured doctrine dramatically displays th

commitment that Yeltsin is willing to make to the military.

Today, the pressing demands of military housing and socia

crisis within its forces preoccupy the Russian military. Forc

modernization, training, tactics, and other mission-relate

concerns remain on the back burner. Clearly, the new militar

doctrine shows that the Russians became excessively

impressed and concerned about the technological wizardr

unleashed during Desert Storm . Preoccupied with lookin

outward, they neglected to look inward at the contribution

519
made by the former Soviet military to the collapse of the Sovie

Union and the Warsaw Pact.

In essence, Russian military doctrine lacks reality. An

analyst reading the new doctrine must wonder whether th

Russians learned any lesson at all from the collapse of th

USSR, the Warsaw Pact , and the Russian economy. Even

though the populace of the former Soviet Union rejected th

military’s perception of the requirements for defense, th

Russian Federation General Staff seems determined t

continue chasing that chimera. At a time when Russians ar

seeking help from the West to stimulate their economy an

social structure, one wonders about the Russian Genera

Staff’s grasp of reality—namely, Russia ’s status in the world

the condition of the CIS , and the domestic situation. A clos

reading of the Russian Federation ’s draft military doctrin

shows a clear danger of Russian military policy movin

divergently from foreign and domestic policies.

Notes

1. Charles Dick, “Russian Views on Future Wars,” Jane’s Intelligenc

Review, September 1993, 390.

2. M. A. Gareev, “On Military Doctrine and Military Reform in Russia

Journal of Soviet Military Studies, December 1992, 540.

3. Doctrine (voennaia doctrina), as defined by the Soviets, has tw

important framing aspects: sociopolitical and military-technical. Th

military policy of the Communist Party expressed the sociopolitical aspec

based on a classic Marxist-Leninist view of the world. Its ideas about th

political essence of modern war stemmed from the nature of the Soviet stat

and social system, and from historical principles of military organizationa

development. It took account of the international correlation of forces and 

scientifically based thesis on the psychological and moral-political nature o

the people.

The military-technical aspect determines the character of the militar

threat and the type of armed struggle to be fought. It serves as the basis fo

determining defense requirements and needs of the armed forces. Further

it establishes the means to conduct armed struggle and prepare the arme

forces to accomplish their missions and tasks. See Timothy L. Thomas, “Th

Soviet Military on ‘Desert Storm’: Redefining Doctrine?” Journal of Sovie

Military Studies, December 1991, 594–620; Soviet Studies Research Centre

The Sustainability of the Soviet Army in Battle (Sandhurst, United Kingdom

Royal Military Academy, 1986), 4–32; and The Voroshilov Lectures: Material

from the Soviet General Staff Academy, ed. Graham H. Turbiville Jr. an

520
comp. Ghulam D. Wardak, vol. 1, Issues of Soviet Military Strateg

(Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1989), 380–84.

4. The Voroshilov Lectures, vol. 1, 385.

5. Benjamin Lambeth, How to Think about Soviet Military Doctrine (Sant

Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1978), 4.

6. Charles J. Dick, “Initial Thoughts on Russia’s Draft Militar

Doctrine,” Journal of Soviet Military Studies, December 1992, 552.

7. Strategy dealt with the preparation, timing, and execution of strategi

operations by groups of fronts in separate or adjacent theaters of militar

operations (TVD); operational art concerned actions of fronts and othe

operational groupings. TVD is a Russian acronym for Teatr voenykh deistvi

In the Soviet context, front describes an organization of tactical units int

an operational-level force structure. Fronts are created from combined-arm

armies, tank armies, and front air armies. In the Soviet lexicon, the term

describes force structure, organization, and strategic mission instead of 

geographical area. See The Voroshilov Lectures, vol. 1, 357–68.

8. Ibid., 55–59.

9. Thomas, 595.

10. John G. Hines and Donald Mahoney, Defense and Counteroffensiv

under the New Soviet Military Doctrine (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1991), 13.

11. The “initial period of war” occurs when operations are carried out b

those forces deployed before the outbreak of war to achieve the initia

strategic objectives or to create favorable conditions for the committal o

main forces which are mobilizing and deploying during the initial period

Dick, “Initial Thoughts,” 555.

12. M. V. Gareyev, “Frunze—Military Theorist,” in Hines and Mahoney, 13

13. Michael MccGwire, “Soviet Military Doctrine: Contingency Plannin

and the Reality of the World War,” Survival, May–June 1980, 107, 112.

14. One analyst stated that “lessons learned by the Soviet militar

leadership during World War II . . . provided the most important impetus t

the development of modern Soviet military doctrine.” See William Schneide

Jr., “Soviet General-Purpose Forces,” Orbis, Spring 1977, 96.

15. Dr. Jonathan R. Adelman, “The Evolution of Soviet Military Doctrine

1945–84,” Air University Review, March–April 1985, 28.

16. V. D. Sokolovskii, Soviet Military Strategy, trans. Herbert Dinerstein

Leon Gourè, and Thomas Wolfe (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall

1963), 83.

17. S. N. Kozlov, The Officer’s Handbook: A Soviet View, trans

multilingual section, secretary of state, government of Canada (Washington

D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1971), 29.

18. Marshal V. D. Sokolovskii pointed out that “armed conflict in groun

theaters would also be different,” predicting that missile attacks woul

become the primary means of defeating an enemy’s ground forces, missiles

tanks, and aircraft. He saw nuclear weapons as the primary means o

resolving combat in a TVD. Sokolovskii, 299, 306.

19. The Voroshilov Lectures, vol. 1, 263–76.

521
20. S. Biryuzov, 

The Lessons of the Beginning Period of the Grea

Patriotic War,” Soviet Military Review, no. 8 (1964): 26.

21. M. Povaliy, “Development of Soviet Military Strategy,” Soviet Militar

Review, February 1967, 70.

22. The Voroshilov Lectures, vol. 1, 382.

23. Hines and Mahoney, 7.

24. B. Samorukov, “Combat Operations Involving Conventional Means o

Destruction,” Soviet Military Review, August 1976, 28–30.

25. Adelman, 33.

26. Quoted in Dr. Robert F. Miller, “Echoes of Perestroika,” Pacifi

Defense Reporter, December 1989–January 1990, 7.

27. Graham T. Allison Jr., “Testing Gorbachev,” Foreign Affairs, Fa

1988, 23–26.

28. Andrew C. Goldberg, “The Present Turbulence in Soviet Militar

Doctrine,” Washington Quarterly, Summer 1988, 164–67.

29. Raymond L. Garthoff, “New Thinking in Soviet Military Doctrine

Washington Quarterly, Summer 1988, 137–41.

30. Dimitriy Yazov, “Interview with General Yazov,” Danas, 15 Novembe

1989, 54–58, in Joint Publications Research Service (JPRS), JPRS-UMA

89-002-L, 19 January 1989, 8.

31. Hines and Mahoney, 100.

32. Boll uses evidence from Soviet and East German archives to mak

clear that the Soviets’ war plans were clearly offensive at a time when thei

“official” doctrine was defensive. He implies that at the operational, tactica

and training levels, the Soviet and Warsaw Pact militaries disregarded th

defensive doctrine imposed by Gorbachev. See Michael M. Boll, “By Blood

Not Ballots: German Unification, Communist Style,” Parameters, Sprin

1994, 71–75.

33. Lt Col Lester W. Grau, “Continuity and Change: A Soviet Genera

Staff View of Future Theater War,” Military Review, December 1991, 13–17

34. Marshal Ogarkov had seen this technological advantage coming fo

the West as early as 1984:

Rapid changes in the development of conventional means of destruction and the emergence in developed countries of

automated reconnaissance-strike complexes; long-range, highly

accurate, terminally guided combat systems; remotely piloted

vehicles; and quantitatively new electronic control systems make

many types of weapons global and make it possible to increase

sharply (by at least an order of magnitude) the destructive poten -

tial of conventional weapons bringing them closer in terms of

effectiveness to weapons of mass destruction. The sharply in -

creased range of conventional weapons makes it possible to

extend combat not just to the border regions, but to the territory

of the entire country. This was not possible in past wars. This

qualitative leap in the development of conventional means of

destruction will inevitably entail a change in the nature of the

522
preparation and conduct of operations, which will in turn predetermine the possibility of conducting military operations using

conventional systems in qualitatively new, incomparably more

destructive forms than before.

Quoted in I. Rodionov, “Approaches to Russian Military Doctrine,” Koen

naya mysl, special edition, July 1992, in JPRS-UMT-92-012-L.

35. Vitaly Shabanov, “USSR Deputy Defense Minister for Armament

The Country’s Defense—New Approaches,” Krasnaya zvezda, 18 Augus

1989, in Foreign Broadcast Information Service (Soviet Union

(FBIS-SOV)-89-160, 21 August 1989, 119–22.

36. M. A. Moiseyev, “From Defense Doctrine Positions: Colonel-Genera

M. A. Moiseyev, Candidate USSR People’s Deputy Meets Communists from

the USSR Armed Forces General Staff,” Krasnaya zvezda, 1 0 Februar

1989, in FBIS-SOV-89-028, February 1989, 77–81.

37. Ibid., 79.

38. John Erickson, “The Soviets: More Isn’t Always Better,” Militar

Logistics Forum, September–October 1984, 59–60.

39. US Army, Soviet Armed Forces (Carlisle, Pa.: War College Pres

1988), 46.

40. John Erickson, Lynn Hansen, and William Schneider, Soviet Groun

Forces: An Operational Assessment (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1986)

214–18.

41. I. Krupchenko, “Methods of Exploitation in the Operational Dept

with Forces of Tank Armies and Tank and Mechanized Corps,” Sovie

Military Historical Journal, 1981, 70–81.

42. A. I. Radzievskiy, Army Operations, ed. and trans. Soviet Studie

Research Center (Sandhurst, United Kingdom: Soviet Studies Researc

Center, 1977), 61.

43. Field Manual (FM) 100-2-1, “The Soviet Army: Operations an

Tactics,” final draft, 18 June 1990, 11-3 through 11-4, 11-24 through

11-27.

44. Philip A. Peterson and John R. Clark, “Soviet Air and Anti-Ai

Operations,” Air University Review, March–April 1985, 42.

45. The Voroshilov Lectures, vol. 1, 315–16.

46. Ibid., 312–13.

47. Benjamin Lambeth, Desert Storm and Its Meaning: The Viewpoin

from Moscow (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1992), v.

48. In fact, Gen V. Lobov, former chief of staff of the Warsaw Pact, sai

that the Gulf War would give NATO an “unfair” advantage, pointing out tha

the Warsaw Pact was in the process of dissolution, but NATO had th

opportunity to test weapons in the Gulf: “The fact alone that the Warsa

Pact will soon disappear but NATO will remain means that there is n

longer any parity.” See Brigitta Richter, “Interview with General V. Lobov

Warsaw Pact Chief of Staff: The War Has Become a Means of Destroyin

Iraq,” Der Morgen, 18 February 1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-036, 22 Februar

1991, 81.

523
49. Mikhail Moiseyev, 

On Occasion of an Anniversary,Krasnay

zvezda, 29 February 1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-041, 1 March 1991, 53.

50. David M. Glantz, “Soviet Military Art: Challenges and Change in th

1990s,” Journal of Soviet Military Studies, December 1991, 558, 565.

51. See Jacob Kipp, “First Lessons of the War,” Foreign Military Studie

Office (FMSO) Daily Bulletin, 22 July 1991; and S. Korolev, “In Too Much o

a Hurry with the Bombing,” Rabochaia tribuna, 29 January 1991, i

FBIS-SOV-91-023, 4 February 1991, 17.

52. Oleg Moskovskiy, “Interview with Major General V. Zhurbenko, Chie

of the Main Department, USSR Armed Forces General Staff,” Tass, 2

February 1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-038, 26 February 1991, 11.

53. Mary C. FitzGerald, “The Soviet Military and the New Air War in th

Persian Gulf,” Airpower Journal, Winter 1991, 65–66, 76–77.

54. Mary C. FitzGerald, “Russia’s New Military Doctrine,” Militar

Intelligence, October–December 1992, 24–26.

55. Thomas, 615.

56. V. Slipchenko, “Soviet Officers’ Visit to Army War College,” Sovie

Army Studies Office Network (SASONET) report (Fort Leavenworth, Kans

Foreign Military Studies Office, 25 March 1991).

57. Thomas, 602.

58. See Nikolay Buryga, “Interview with General V. Gorbachev . . . Tank

Will Not Save the Day,” Izvestiya, 21 January 1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-014

22 January 1991, 18–19.

59. Nikolay Buryga, “Military Experts Examine and Assess War in Gulf

Izvestiya, 21 January 1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-014, 18–19.

60. Kipp.

61. Quoted in FitzGerald, “The Soviet Military,” 73.

62. Vladimir Chernyshev, “Tass Military Expert Views Militar

Maneuvers,” Tass, 17 January 1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-013, 18 Januar

1991, 8.

63. Ben Lambeth points out that the Soviets identified the wron

airpower theorist, claiming that Desert Storm came closer to supportin

Billy Mitchell’s ideas: “Whereas Douhet had looked on aircraft other tha

bombers as ancillary—nice to have, perhaps, but not absolutel

necessary—Mitchell could argue the case for all types. The important thin

for him was not strategic bombing, but rather the centralized coordinatio

of all air assets under the control of an autonomous air force command

freed from its dependency on the army. If that goal could be achieved, h

felt, everything else would fall into its place.” See Lambeth, Desert Storm

and Its Meaning, 50; and David MacIsaac, “Voices from the Central Blue

The Air Power Theorists,” in Peter Paret, ed., Makers of Modern Strategy

From Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Universit

Press, 1986), 631.

64. Thomas, 598.

65. Cited in Kipp.

66. Cited in ibid.

524
67. A. Sidorov, 

Interview of Lieutenant General of Aviation Maliukov

The Gulf War: Initial Conclusions—Air Power Predetermined the Outcome

Krasnaya zvezda, 14 March 1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-053, 19 March 1991

50–51. Lt Col Ed Mann, USAF, expanded this idea: “There is nothing wron

with Air-Land Battle so far as it goes. It’s fine when ground forces are th

primary tool, but it assumes they always will be. While airpower plays a

important and integral role in the ground battle . . . that’s not all it can do

Sometimes airpower alone, or in a lead role, can be more effective and sav

lives. Airpower doctrine doesn’t deny utility to Air-Land Battle. It goe

beyond it to consider additional options.” See Lt Col Edward C. Mann

“Operation Desert Storm? It Wasn’t Air-Land Battle,” Air Force Times, 3

September 1991, 27, 61.

68. Quoted in Lambeth, Desert Storm and Its Meaning, 67–69.

69. Ibid.

70. Thomas, 600.

71. Buryga, “Interview,” 18–19. Asked about Iraq’s numerical superiorit

in tanks, General Gorbachev replied that Iraq did indeed hold a numerica

advantage and that the bulk of the Iraqi tanks were the Soviets’ newe

T-72s. He pointed out, however, that the “400 Apaches are capable o

nullifying Hussein’s advantage. . . . Having no opposition in the air, th

coalition will be able to carry out its task one way or another.” Buryga

“Interview,” 18–19.

72. Quoted in Lambeth, Desert Storm and Its Meaning, 71.

73. V. Slipchenko, “Major General Slipchenko of the Soviet General Staf

Academy Answers Questions during a Working Session before the Start o

the NDU Conference,” SASONET report (Fort Leavenworth, Kans.: Foreig

Military Studies Office, 28 March 1991), 12. When asked about the succes

of the strategic air campaign, Slipchenko said, “First and foremost was you

ability to fly so many sorties per day. Never in our wildest calculations di

we believe you could sustain so many sorties logistically and overcome pilo

fatigue. After winning air superiority . . . the war became . . . a war o

technology, something Hussein did not have.” Lambeth, Desert Storm an

Its Meaning, 72–73.

74. Buryga, “Interview,” 19.

75. S. Bogdanov, “The General Staff Is Closely Monitoring th

Developing Situation,” Krasnaya zvezda, 31 January 1991, in

FBIS-SOV-91-022, 1 February 1991, 6.

76. N. Kutsenko, “Lessons of Combat Operations,” Izvestiya, 2

February 1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-042, 4 March 1991, 41.

77. Gelyy Batenin, “How to Overcome the 1941 Syndrome,” New Times

26 February 1991, 12–14.

78. Shaposhnikov and Tsygichko quoted in Brian J. Collins, “Airpowe

in the Persian Gulf: Soviet Analysis,” SHAPE Defense Studies (Brussel

Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe, 12 February 1992), 12.

79. S. Achromeyev, “Achromeyev Comments on Iraqi Defeat,” Novoy

vremya, no. 10 (March 1991), in JPRS-UMA-91-018, 8 July 1991, 54.

525
80. A. Ladin, 

Prepared Statements from the Podium, Honest Talk in th

Lobby,” Krasnaya zvezda, 22 March 1991, in FBIS-SOV-060, 28 Marc

1991, 38.

81. Cited in Maj Gen I. Losev and Lt Col A. Yakovlevich, “Desert Storm

Revisited: Lessons from the Persian Gulf War,” Vestnik protivovoz dushno

oborony, 7 July 1992, JPRS-UMA-92-040, 57–59.

82. Quoted in Maj Gen V. Shevchenko, “Soviet Air Force Col-Ge

Shaposhnikov Assesses Air War in Gulf,” Krasnaya zvezda, 25 Januar

1991, FBIS-SOV-91-021, 9.

83. Lambeth, Desert Storm and Its Meaning, 43–44.

84. Ibid., 69–88. One apocalyptic Soviet correspondent, Pave

Felgengauer of Nezavisimaya gazeta, may have expressed a concern on th

minds of many of the General Staff when he said, “The indestructible Re

Army, made up for the most part of unprofessional officers an

semi-trained conscripts, could hardly manage to put up sustaine

resistance to the professional NATO armies and modern highly accurat

superweaponry. The clash of brute force and reason, a bullfight in essence

would end, like all bullfights, with the moment of truth.” Quoted b

Stanislav Kondrashov in “Political Observer’s Notes,” Izvestiya, 28 Januar

1991, in FBIS-SOV-91-021, 31 January 1991, 15.

85. Moiseyev, “From Defense Doctrine Positions,” 81.

86. Thomas, 594.

87. FitzGerald, “Russia’s New Military Doctrine,” 6.

88. “Basic Provisions of the Military Doctrine of the Russian Federation

Russia’s Military Doctrine,” Rossiyskiye vesti, 18 November 1992, i

FBIS-SOV-92-222-S, 1–11 (hereinafter Russian Draft Military Doctrine).

89. Ibid., 1.

90. Ibid., 2–3.

91. Ibid.

92. The draft doctrine defines “military danger” as an immediate threa

of direct aggression against the Russian Federation, describing the dange

in terms of social, political, territorial, religious, national-ethnic, and othe

conflicts. The military danger derives from the desire of a number of state

and political forces resolving their problems through armed struggle. I

describes armed conflict from aggressive nationalism and religiou

intolerance as posing “a special danger.” A military danger becomes 

“military threat” when there is an immediate danger of war. See ibid., 2–3.

93. Moiseyev, “From Defense Doctrine Positions,” 78.

94. Natalie Gross, “Reflections on Russia’s New Military Doctrine

Jane’s Intelligence Review, August 1992, 339.

95. Rodina (the motherland) is a Russian concept that links preservatio

of state, cultural pride, and nationalism. It elevates patriotism an

self-sacrifice for the motherland to a near-religious level. See Dick, “Russia

Views,” 362. Marshal Sergei F. Akhromeyev noted as early as March 199

that “a military threat to the Soviet Union no longer exists, but a militar

danger does” (emphasis added). According to Timothy Thomas, Defens

526
Minister Yazov later echoed these concerns about military danger instead o

military threat. See Thomas, 596.

96. Russian Draft Military Doctrine, 2–3.

97. Ibid., 5–6.

98. Ibid., 5.

99. Ibid., 7–9.

100. FitzGerald, “Russia’s New Military Doctrine,” 45.

101. Russian Draft Military Doctrine, 5–6.

102. Dick, “Initial Thoughts,” 560.

103. Russian Draft Military Doctrine, 6–8.

104. Ibid., 8.

105. FitzGerald, “Russia’s New Military Doctrine,” 45–46.

106. Russian Draft Military Doctrine, 2.

107. Ibid., 6.

108. Ibid.

109. FitzGerald, “Russia’s New Military Doctrine,” 46.

110. Dick, “Initial Thoughts,” 562.

111. Amidst the domestic stagnation of the Brezhnev years and th

resurgence of American strength, Ogarkov evinced deep concern about th

Soviets’ ability to keep pace with the “truly revolutionary transformation o

military affairs now occurring as a result of the development o

thermonuclear weapons, the rapid evolution of electronics and weapon

based on new physical principles, as well as the wide, qualitativ

improvements in conventional weaponry.” Quoted in Ilana Kass and Fre

Clark Boli, “The Soviet Military: Back to the Future?” Journal of Sovie

Military Studies, September 1990, 392.

112. Aleksandr Stukalin, “Armed Forces Viewed after One Year i

Existence,” Kommersant-Daily, 8 May 1993, in FBIS-SOV-93-088, 10 Ma

1993, 36–38.

113. Benjamin S. Lambeth, “Red Phoenix Redux: The Fitful Emergenc

of a New Russian Air Force,” draft (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, Marc

1994), x.

114. Ibid., 28–32.

115. An interesting observation by Kipp pertains to the impact of arm

sales on the overall Russian economy. Since industrial plant costs wer

already accrued (sunk costs) and with labor costs also very low, militar

sales were actually making money and stimulating the economy. Although

one central theme of this essay holds that the Russian economy will have 

deleterious effect on the Russian military, Kipp’s reasoning might at fir

appear to counter that notion. It might prove interesting to consider ho

much of the Russian military the politicians are willing to sell for thi

temporary economic stimulation. I do not believe that the Russians wil

“mortgage the state” at the expense of the military. Dr. Jacob Kipp, Foreig

Military Studies Office, Fort Leavenworth, Kans., interviewed by author, 2

March 1994.

527
116. Aleksandra Nadzharov, 

Defense Minister Grachev Interviewed

Nezavisimaya gazeta, in FBIS-SOV-93-109, 9 June 1993, 47.

117. A. Zarayelyan, “Commentator Views Russian Army Anniversary

Moscow Ostankino Television First Channel, 7 May 1993, i

FBIS-SOV-93-088, 10 May 1993, 37.

118. Mary C. FitzGerald, Hudson Institute, Washington, D.C

interviewed by author, 24 March 1994.

119. Quoted in Mary C. FitzGerald, “Russia’s Vision of Air-Space War

Air Force Magazine, December 1993, 79.

120. During the mid-1980s, I participated with top US scientists an

industrialists in several industrial mobilization forums conducted at th

Naval War College during the annual Global Wargame and at Nationa

Defense University. The main problem with industrial mobilization an

surge was “rampup.” For example, changing from peacetime production o

one type of US missile to its wartime surge requirements took about 1

months. Certain technologies (computer chips, optics, composite materials

etc.) tend to be the pacing items in the production hierarchy. The problem

was not economic. No amount of money could increase the production rat

of some of the subcomponents. Certainly, one might build new productio

facilities and hire additional technicians, but the lead time for capita

improvements and training might add four to five years to the productio

schedule. This surge delay had to do with a weapons system in the U

serial production pipeline. If only a prototype or shelved technology wer

available, going from no production to surge would certainly tak

considerably longer.

121. Draft Russian Military Doctrine, 2–3.

122. Quoted in Fred Hiatt, “Yeltsin Promises Assertive Russia,

Washington Post, 25 February 1994, 1.

123. Brian Collins, “Russia Fragments Its Airpower,” Air Force Magazine

February 1994, 62–65.

124. More and more Russians use the term near abroad in reference t

the ex-Soviet nations on Russia’s rim.

528
Chapter 14

Ascendant Realms: Characteristics

of Airpower and Space Power

Maj Bruce M. DeBlois*

At the onset of World War I, the United States found itself in

a position as a major world sea power , arguably second only

to Britain . Completion of the Panama Canal provided evidenc

of its desire to dominate the Western Hemisphere. The Navy

maintained several overseas bases, a force structure of mor

than two dozen battleships, and a variety of other suppor

vessels. A thriving industrial base that focused on oversea

trade supported this seafaring nation. Twenty-five year

earlier, however, that same nation had no overseas territories

only a few modern battleships, a military dispersed over it

own frontier, an economy based on internal commerce, and 

population that still viewed itself as an agrarian-base

democracy. What happened to dramatically change th

national focus over this relatively short period of time? Simply

stated, the time was right.

A unique combination of factors contributed to the rise o

American naval power during the first decade of the twentieth

century. Primary among those factors was the acclaimed se

power vision of Alfred T. Mahan ’s book The Impact of Se

Power upon History, 1660–1783, published in 1890, which

provided a clear operational means by which an emerging se

power could attain international status. That vision resonate

with an American population in the process of becoming mor

aware of its international position—and with a dynamic youn

president, Theodore Roosevelt . As assistant secretary of th

Navy, he had recognized the potential of the United States a

a world leader, as well as the mechanism to attain it: se

*The author recognizes the significant contributions of Maj Cynthia A. S. McKinle

a strategy and policy analyst for Headquarters Air Force Space Command/XPXS, an

Maj Michael A. Rampino, a J6 (Communications Directorate) strategy and poli

analyst for the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

529
power as prescribed by Mahan . If the popular Mahanian

theoretical base and presidential endorsement were no

enough, technological growth (smokeless guns, turbin

engines, and submarines), naval successes in th

Spanish-American War (1898), several South American

ventures, and a growing threat of German naval power in th

Pacific all gave impetus to the production of a very capabl

Navy. The rise of American sea power pushed the Unite

States onto the international stage.1 The lesson is clear: i

those periods possess (1) the necessary resources, (2) an

unencumbered economy, (3) an immediate motivation (here

an immediate threat), and (4) a common vision that support

specific technologies, they are temporary and present window

of opportunity.

At the turn of the century, the United States stood poise

on the threshold of a great era: the preeminence of sea power

We are again at the turn of a century and again at th

threshold of another great era: the preeminence of spac

power . The question is no longer one of “if” but “when.” Is th

time right for the US military to follow suit with 

Mahanian-type book outlining The Influence of Space Powe

upon History? Are airpower theory and doctrine logical point

of departure? The answers to these questions lead directly t

key military issues dealt with in this chapter: What impac

can current airpower theory have on space power theory? Is 

separate Space Force required? If so, when?

To determine the potential impact of airpower theory upon

space power theory, one must understand current Air Forc

thinking, which is offered here as an “aerospace powe

conjecture”—to wit, one should build space power theory an

doctrine upon airpower theory and doctrine. Current Air Forc

doctrine strongly indicates acceptance of this conjecture

Specifically, Air Force Manual (AFM) 1-1, Basic Aerospac

Doctrine of the United States Air Force, states that “th

aerospace environment can be most fully exploited when

considered as an indivisible whole. Although there ar

physical differences between the atmosphere and space, ther

is no absolute boundary between them. The same basi

military activities can be performed in each, albeit with

different platforms and methods.”2 Air Force Spac

530
Command

s practice of distinguishing between the two media

however, apparently has had some impact on Air Forc

doctrine. Air Force Doctrine Document (AFDD) 1, “Basic Ai

Force Doctrine,” the yet-to-be-published replacement for AFM

1-1, recognizes some distinction between air and space forces

although the latest version of that doctrine still reflects th

“aerospace power” mentality: “The distinguishing qualities o

aerospace power are flight and the ability to rise above th

earth’s surface and operate in three dimensions through an

above the atmosphere.”3

This essay does not accept the aerospace power conjectur

at face value but examines its plausibility by evaluating both

airpower and space power against a backdrop of the roles

missions, and characteristics of each. The examination o

roles and missions is relatively short because roles an

missions have typically not served as the primary justification

for establishing separate theories for the application o

military power 4 (vested, in turn, in separate services)

Differences in land power, sea power , and airpower stem from

distinctions in characteristics—that is, the different means b

which one prosecutes the roles and missions. Correspond

ingly, the Army, Navy, and Air Force organize, train, and equip

the joint war-fighting command.

If an examination of the characteristics of airpower an

space power shows great similarity among them, one can

accept the aerospace power conjecture—which would prov

extremely useful, since one could build space power theor

upon 50 years of airpower theory. 5 One could embed spac

responsibility in the very strong culture of the Air Force—

currently the de facto approach. If, on the other hand

examination of the characteristics of airpower and spac

power yields significant differences, then one must reject th

aerospace power conjecture. Perhaps drawing from the mor

general principles of airpower, land power, and sea powe

theory, one would then have to build space power theory from

its foundations. The most prudent, unbiased means o

accomplishing this would require a distinct Space Force. In

the following discussion, the novelty—not the relativ

importance—of space power warrants the emphasis on space

related issues.

531
Roles and Missions

A role is a general military objective, while the mission i

the means of accomplishing it. Missions are options—no

laundry lists of what forces always do—and the role/mission

pairing is not exclusive.6 Current Air Force doctrin

emphasizes war-fighting roles and missions 7 but overlook

the operationalization of the strategic aspects of the “globa

presence ” concept. “The foundation of this approach i

power projection. Power projection is a means to influenc

actors or affect situations or events in America ’s nationa

interests. It has two components: warfighting an

presence.”8 The concept of presence used here explicitl

connotes the idea of being in the environment (physically o

virtually). Further, it implicitly connotes the idea of globa

watchfulness or vigilance. The following six roles an

missions, created from a base of doctrine and literature

facilitate comparison between the air and space realms

They reflect the need to recognize both the peacetime an

wartime operational roles that support the strategic concep

of global presence . The first two deal specifically with

ongoing peacetime operations while the last four deal with

conventional war-fighting operations:

1. role: realm presence.

mission: posturing the full complement of militar

capability and/or maintaining the recognized capabilit

to access and dominate a particular realm with th

intent to deter or compel allies and adversaries in

consonance with US national objectives.

9

2. role: realm vigilance.

mission: continuous monitoring and analysis of an

from the realm in support of global awareness. Thi

includes a subset of information operations (weather

intelligence , surveillance , and reconnaissance).

3. role: realm control.

mission (“counterrealm”): discriminating application o

combat power against enemy forces within the realm o

against their infrastructure supporting the realm.10

532
4. role: force application .

mission: discriminating application of combat powe

from the realm against critical nodes of an adversary. 11

5. role: force enhancement.

mission: enabling military functions in order to multiply

combat effectiveness. This includes refueling, specia

operations, and information operations (electroni

combat; weather; intelligence ; command, control

communications, and computers [C 4]; precision

navigation; surveillance; and reconnaissance ).1 2

6. role: force support.

mission (“sustenance of assets; defense”): logistica

support (lift, deployment of forces, maintaining

replenishing/sustaining deployed forces, and bas

operability) and defense of assets to support sustained

combat operations.13

Although the details of prosecuting the missions may var

due to the characteristics of the realm, these roles and relate

missions apply equally to airpower, land power, sea power

and space power. All forms of military power have th

peacetime responsibilities of presence and vigilance. Primar

wartime objectives of airpower, land power, sea power, an

space power include providing force enhancement and forc

support to facilitate both realm control and the potential o

force application . If one can find a distinction between spac

power and the other forms of military power within the contex

of general roles and missions, it lies in the role of forc

application.

Airpower, land power, and sea power are all currentl

capable of force application and have historical precedents fo

its use. Furthermore, although aircraft were initially used fo

surveillance and reconnaissance in a support role, ever sinc

the strategic doctrinal conception of airpower, people hav

viewed it primarily as an offensive application of force.1 4 Bu

the capability of space power force application remain

unproven, and no precedent exists for its use. The forc

application role from space may never be politically palatabl

because it is “unilaterally forbidden by congressional mandat

533
(e.g. prohibition against deploying an anti-satellite system)

and curtailed by international treaties (e.g. the Anti-Ballisti

Missile Treaty).”15 Even as a mental construct, forc

application from space does not begin with the primacy of th

offensive. In fact, current technological pursuits and fundin

emphasize the use of space weapons in defensive roles—fo

example, the ongoing discussion about employing spac

weapons for ballistic missile defense.16

These roles and missions, though sorted, are complementar

in practice. Clearly, realm presence, force enhancement, an

force support facilitate realm control and force application 

Moreover, the six generic or “joint” roles and missions are no

unique to airpower and space power but apply equally to lan

power and sea power .

Apart from the minor distinction made in the forc

application role, the objectives of the roles and missions o

airpower, land power , sea power, and space power ar

indistinguishable. Whether or not the means of prosecutin

these objectives are similar or distinctive remains to be seen

Historically, the specific means by which one pursues role

and missions have distinguished airpower, land power, an

sea power. These means traditionally appear as rules o

employment, tenets of military power, or capability to achiev

the immutable principles of war. To avoid debate, one can us

the general term characteristics of military power t

accommodate all of these notions.

One can place various characteristics of military power in 

taxonomy of politics, development and employment, realm

access, realm environment, and realm-afforded capability. 1

Such characteristics provide the basis for distinguishin

among airpower, land power, and sea power. The purpos

here is to determine whether these same characteristic

distinguish or unify space power and airpower. Befor

proceeding, however, one would do well to briefly examine US

space policy.

Space Policy

Emotional, legal, and rational political consideration

directly affect the will to use space power and, as such

534
influence standing US space policy. Indeed, they have th

effect of putting the political will to weaponize space ver

much in question.

Emotional Factor

Competing schools of thought lie at the root of the debat

over space weaponization . In his book On Space Warfare,1 8 L

Col David Lupton summarizes four competing schools o

thought that surfaced during the 1980s, when the issue o

weaponizing space received a great deal of publicity.

The Sanctuary School views space as a realm free o

military weapons but allows for military-related systems tha

provide the functions of treaty verification, intelligenc

activities, and so forth. Advocates maintain that the only wa

to ensure the legal overflight aspect of current space treaties i

to declare space as a war-free zone or sanctuary. This schoo

calls for virtually no funding of military space programs aime

at weaponizing space. The Sanctuary School of thought has 

substantial following in the domestic and internationa

populace, though many people within the military see it as 

“head in the sand” approach to national security.

The Survivability School also argues that military force

should deemphasize space access, but for less idealisti

reasons. It assumes that space forces are inherently expose

and vulnerable. Survivability adherents assert that th

probability of using nuclear weapons in the remoteness o

space is higher than in other media. This notion—along with

the fact that weapons effects have longer ranges outside an

inhibiting atmosphere, as well as the inherent vulnerability o

predictable orbit locations—supports the survivabilit

position. Remoteness also allows for plausible deniability o

the attacker, which increases the probability of attack. Th

Survivability School calls for recognizing that space forces ar

not dependable in crisis situations. Thus, one should limi

military space missions to communications, surveillance

reconnaissance , and weather reporting. From this perspective

investment strategies ought to fund those missions, alon

with redundant space/terrestrial programs and perhap

ground-based antisatellites (ASAT).

535
The Space Control School recognizes space power a

coequal with airpower, land power, and sea power; thus

military space policy must balance investments in airpower

land power, sea power, and space power to meet th

anticipated threat. The Department of Defense (DOD) and th

Air Force have favored the Space Control School since th

1980s. Current political emphasis on jointness and th

mentality that “everybody has a hand in space” prompt 

Space Control School approach, as clearly reflected in

published and proposed Air Force and joint doctrine.

19

The High-Ground School advocates space as the high

ground—the location from which a nation will win or lose futur

wars. Using space-based ballistic missile defense (BMD) t

convert the current offensive stalemate of mutually assured

destruction to mutually assured survival has some appeal. Th

supporters of this school advocate the militarization of spac

and the adoption of a corresponding policy. In their view

investments ought to focus on both offensive and defensiv

space systems at the expense of air, land, and sea systems

Funding would include space-based ASATs, directed-energy

weapons (DEW), and BMD with maneuverable, space-to-space

space-to-air, and space-to-ground capability. Air-to-spac

(airborne laser or kinetic miniature homing vehicle ASATs)

2 0 an

ground-to-space (direct-ascent ASATs ) systems would als

warrant investment.

Objecting to the weaponization of space on moral ground

(Sanctuary School) or on grounds of space systems’ vulnerabilit

(Survivability School) may seem as unrealistic as objecting t

maintaining a military at all. Yet, space power advocates mus

appreciate that objections made from an emotional perspectiv

are a real issue—one that could manifest itself in policy a

dictated by the democratic process.

Legal Factor

In addition to the various schools of thought, severa

important treaties have made a significant impact on militar

space policy. Of note are the following:

1. The Outer Space Treaty (OST) of 1967 states tha

international law applies beyond the atmosphere. Th

536
treaty reemphasized standing international laws (e.g.

one sovereign state cannot threaten the territoria

integrity or political independence of another—Unite

Nations [UN] Charter, 1947) and initiated new space

related laws (e.g., free access to space and celestia

bodies for peaceful intent, prohibitions on nationa

appropriations of space or celestial bodies, prohibition

on putting any weapons of mass destruction in space o

on celestial bodies).

2. The Antiballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty of 1972 (Unite

States and USSR only) banned the development, testing

and deployment of space-based ABMs .

3. The Convention on Registration (1974) requires partie

to maintain a registry of objects launched into space an

report orbital parameters and general function of thos

objects to the UN.

4. The Environmental Modification Convention (1980

prohibits the hostile use of environmental modification.

What is not stated in international law is probably mor

important than what is; legal interpretation follows th

convention that if the law does not explicitly prohibit something

it implicitly allows it.21 One must also understand that treatie

are just mutual agreements between signatories—they hold in

peacetime but not necessarily in wartime. 22 Given thes

considerations, weapons of mass destruction , ABMs , an

environmental modification weapons are all prohibited, bu

many conventional weapons (including ASATs) and tests o

those weapons are allowed in space. The appropriation o

space or any celestial body is illegal. Military maneuvers

bases, or installations on celestial bodies (the Moon) are als

illegal; however, military maneuvers, bases, and installation

in space (artificial satellites) constitute legal uses of tha

realm. Unreported space vehicles are prohibited, but reportin

vague functional specifications and changing orbita

parameters after launch are not prohibited.

In addition to international law, several domestic laws affec

how the military might use space, although they certainl

do not inhibit the use of space. They include th

537
Communications Act of 1934, whereby the president can

commandeer private communications assets in times of crisis

and the Commercial Space Launch Act of 1984, which

provides commercial customers access to military space

launch facilities (at a price). Taken as a whole, internationa

and domestic law limits but does not preclude th

conventional weaponization of space.

Rational Factor

Military space policy, which derives from national securit

policy, must support national security and internationa

collective security interests and remain consistent with

domestic economic and social interests. Any treaty negotiation

aimed at bolstering national security would have to consider 

variety of factors. To name a few, current military spac

capabilities along with the corresponding dependencies of th

United States, our allies, and our potential adversaries are o

primary importance. From a broader perspective, investmen

in expensive space weapons creates an opportunity cost

trade-offs with more conventional military systems become 

significant consideration. The difficult matter of verification

which remains a concern, was a prime motivator behind th

US rejection of several Soviet treaty proposals to control spac

weapons in the early 1980s. 23

The bureaucratic decision process that combines th

emotional, legal, and rational factors into a coherent spac

policy is complex. Analysis of bureaucratic decision making a

the level of national policy is a science (or an art) unto itself. 2

Certainly, personal agendas, timing, and organizationa

structures all play a role in such decisions. This essa

assumes that a rational decision-making authority recognize

national security and/or international collective security a

primary drivers, understood the emotional perspective an

legal limitations, and subsequently produced the curren

space policy. The unilateral congressional moratorium on th

funding of space-based weapons resulted from that rationa

process, which is not mandated by law but perhaps by bette

judgment.25 Emerging from this decision process are th

national, DOD, and Air Force policies pertaining to th

538
military use of space. National space policy includes th

following points:

1. The United States is committed to the exploration an

use of outer space by all nations for peaceful purpose

and for the benefit of all mankind. Peaceful purpose

allow for activities in pursuit of national security goals.

2. The United States will pursue activities in space in

support of its inherent right of self-defense and it

defense commitments to its allies.

3. The United States rejects any claims to sovereignty b

any nation over outer space or celestial bodies, or an

portion thereof, and rejects any limitations on th

fundamental right of sovereign nations to acquire dat

from space.

4. The United States considers any space systems of an

nation to be national property with the right of passag

through and operations in space without interference. 26

DOD space policy calls for fulfilling the military spac

functions of space support , force enhancement, space control

and force application ,

27 whereas Air Force space policy offer

the following provisions:

1. Space power will be as decisive in future combat a

airpower is today.

2. We must be prepared for the evolution of space powe

from combat support to the full spectrum of militar

capabilities.

3. The Air Force must integrate and institutionalize spac

throughout its operations.

4. The Air Force must accomplish four missions.

a. aerospace control (acquire and operate ASATs [battl

management and command, control, and communi

cations (C 3) for space control operations]).

539
b. force application (develop, deploy, and operate BMD 

the United States decides to pursue it [battl

management and C3 for force application]).

c. force enhancement (acquire and operate navigation

meteorology, tactical warning and assessment

nuclear detonation detection, and multiuse

communications systems).

d. space support (provide launch support).28

The policies do not read congruently; that is, the nationa

space policy reads as if it is of the Sanctuary School (subtly

leaving an option to weaponize), while the DOD and Air Forc

policies read as Space Control School perspectives

anticipating space weaponization . Air Force policy even seem

to suggest that current space control doctrine migh

appropriately shift to a high-ground doctrine in the future. 2 

Although the policies are not congruent, they make sense

National policy typically reflects the posture of where th

United States would like to see the world community proceed

while DOD and service policies reflect the military’s role o

anticipating and preparing for aggressive action in defense o

US national security interests.

Political Characteristics of Military Power

Three characteristics of military power that directly affec

political decisions regarding the use of a particular realm

include political access to the realm, sovereignty, and th

likelihood of reduced casualties. Political access refers t

domestic and international attitudes and agreements tha

have the potential of inhibiting access to a particular realm

Sovereignty addresses the issue of national claims in th

realm, whereas likelihood of reduced casualties concerns th

emerging idea that a combination of (1) precision lethalit

bolstered by technology and (2) the media’s access to th

battlefield has reduced American and international tolerance

of casualties.

540
Political Access to the Realm

Political access to the realm does not show up in curren

literature on airpower, land power, and sea power because in

times of crisis, people rarely call into question the political will t

dominate those realms.30 Political control—imposing limitation

on the application of military power—is a constitutional reality

Limitations placed on the employment of airpower—rules o

engagement (ROE)—particular to each situation distinguis

airpower from space power. Air campaign planners have th

freedom to plan for the full exploitation of the air realm an

recognize that ROE may constrain the use of the plan in a give

situation. Space campaign planners must recogniz

fundamental limitations on the exploitation of the space realm

even in the planning phase.

Rational, emotional, and legal factors, discussed above

produce these limitations, which affect current policy as wel

as transient actions such as the current bans on ASAT

production and testing, in place since 1985. Rational an

emotional factors currently dominate; that is, the limitation

do not affect what we can do but what we have the will to do

The distinction between the access of airpower and spac

power to the respective realms stems from political limitation

placed upon military access and use of space, referred to her

as “political access.” A political limit to the access of militar

space has existed since the 1960s and is not likely t

disappear in the near future. Airpower does not have such 

limitation on access. Therefore, political access to the realm i

a characteristic advantage of airpower.

Sovereignty

Nations retain sovereignty over their air realm, but by virtu

of the Outer Space Treaty of 1967, they can claim n

sovereignty of the space realm—sovereignty rests with th

spacecraft and not the medium.3 1 Although this situation

imposes some limitations since no national borders protec

space assets, it facilitates most operations. Unrestricte

access to and overflight of every nation on Earth exist fo

space operations but not for air operations, a situation tha

poses advantages for a nation with superior space power an

541
disadvantages for less capable space powers. Internationa

agreements supporting free rights to the space realm are 

characteristic advantage of space power.

Likelihood of Reduced Casualties

Operation Desert Storm evidenced at least two new facets o

warfare: extensive media coverage, which brought the war int

people’s living rooms, and unprecedented precision-strik

capabilities. The combination of witnessing both unjus

collateral damage and having a capability to avoid it ha

placed another political constraint on American involvemen

in military ventures: reduced casualties.

3 2 Calls to limi

casualties have currently made airpower the militar

instrument of choice. Precision capability affords limite

collateral risk, while stealth and the remoteness of th

airborne platform minimize operator risk. Space power, a

opposed to airpower, offers a remoteness/precision trade-off

By virtue of being even further removed from the battlefield

space power provides lower operator risk33 but higher risk o

collateral casualties (due to less precision caused by tha

remoteness). The concept of requiring reduced casualtie

distinguishes airpower and space power on two counts:

1. The remoteness of space affords reduced operato

casualties: limited risk to US personnel is a characteristi

advantage of space power.

2. The proximity of the air affords reliable precision an

reduced collateral damage: limited risk to collatera

personnel is a characteristic advantage of airpower.

Political characteristics of military power are transient; tha

is, they exist by human convention and are subject to change

Although the similarities or distinctions between airpower an

space power suggested by these characteristics remain

transient, they are currently real considerations and wil

probably not change significantly in the near future. Severa

more characteristics, which owe their existence to human

convention, involve the way people have chosen to develop

and employ military systems and operations.

542
Development and Employment

Characteristics of Military Power

After considering the political merits of airpower and spac

power , one may logically begin analyzing them by examinin

their technological development and the means by which on

uses them (employment). Research, development, operationa

insertion, and command/control/execution constitute th

process by which emerging technologies integrate with an

contribute to military power. Basic research and developmen

(R&D) and operational insertion methods are similar for air

land, and sea services, as dictated by the DOD acquisition

system. Features of this process that could highligh

similarities or distinctions between airpower and space powe

include relative technology dependence and philosophies o

command and control (C 2) and execution.

Technology Dependence

The development of air and space technology is virtually

synonymous with high technology. Humans have existed in

the land and sea realms for thousands of years. Although

technological advance remains crucial to exploiting both

realms, people do not need it to access them. In contrast

people have needed high technology to provide air and spac

access from the outset. Investment in high-technology R&D i

essential to the progress of both airpower and space power

More so than on land or at sea, where technology is a forc

multiplier and numbers are often the determinant, in air an

in space, technology is not just the force multiplier but th

force itself. In the future, the role of humans will remain

essential, but their primary value will lie in the preparation

and orchestration of assets before the fight—not in a fight tha

will occur at speeds beyond human comprehension. Exposur

of expensive technological assets may distinguish airpowe

and space power in terms of environmental characteristic

(see below). Insofar as both airpower and space power heavil

depend on advanced technology for access and manipulation

of air and space, technology dependence is a characteristi

similarity of airpower and space power.

543
Command and Control

Parceling out ground or sea forces may seem realistic—fo

example, one cannot immediately move the Pacific Fleet t

support an Atlantic crisis. Air and space forces do not have suc

a constraint on speed of response: they can affect any part of th

battle space within much shorter time spans. Experienc

dictates that optimum use of air forces requires centralized C2 t

orchestrate limited resources. The same ubiquity of capabilit

driving high demand on a limited supply of assets exists fo

space forces. Additionally, the current space architecture o

predominantly unmanned space assets efficiently linked t

centralized ground control stations strongly suggests tha

centralized C2 is the most prudent option.

Although current Air Force doctrine calls for it,34 centralize

space C2 simply doesn’t exist. Gen Charles A. Horner, USAF

Retired, former commander in chief (CINC) of US Spac

Command (USSPACECOM), when asked by Sen. Sam Nunn 

chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, “Are you i

charge of space?” felt compelled to reply, “That depends.” I

depends because CINCSPACE is the one CINC who exercise

little control over his or her own command. The Nationa

Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), Defens

Information Systems Agency, Ballistic Missile Defense Office 

Central Intelligence Agency, Central Imagery Office, Nationa

Reconnaissance Office, National Oceanographic an

Atmospheric Administration , Departments of Commerce 

Transportation and Interior, National Science Foundation , an

White House Office of Science and Technology Policy all intrud

upon CINCSPACE’s budget, and many of the same organization

intrude upon his or her launch, on-orbit control, R&D , an

acquisition authority. 35

The ubiquity and responsiveness of air and space asset

both require centralized control in order to orchestrat

optimum allocation of assets throughout the battle space. In

this regard, centralized C2 ought to be a characteristi

similarity of airpower and space power. Unfortunately, US

government bureaucracy has not permitted this level o

control of space assets or operations. Centralized C2 is 

characteristic advantage of airpower.

544
Execution

Air Force doctrine cites “effective spans of control

responsiveness, and tactical flexibility” as justification for th

decentralized execution of airpower.3 6 This essay does no

challenge the historical legacy supporting this air doctrine fo

manned flight. Suffice it to mention that one may question th

value of decentralized execution when (if) centrally controlle

unmanned aerial vehicles (UAV) come to dominate the air realm

Ironically, experience in the space realm may provide insight

for those airpower theorists considering centralized execution .

Space provides for an ideal adaptation of centralize

execution . The tactical flexibility typically provided b

decentralized execution is not an efficient option for employin

centrally controlled, speed-of-light-responsive, unmanne

national space assets with global reach . Space power require

centralized execution in order to orchestrate optimum use o

assets throughout the battle space. Tactical effectiveness wil

rest on speed-of-light requests for support to some centra

buffer, priority assignment (some automated, some screened)

and subsequent centralized execution . An extreme example

warranting decentralized execution might involve spaced

based-laser close air support. But even though th

requirement is near instantaneous, a priority-one input by th

field commander would still have to go through a centra

control node that would subsequently execute the command

Assigning direct control of a satellite to the local commande

would waste the potential use of the asset in other areas of th

battle space at other times.

Air Force space doctrine currently under developmen

agrees. For example, in the draft version of AFDD 4, “Spac

Operations Doctrine,” Gen Thomas D. White comments that “a

lack of centralized authority would certainly hamper ou

peaceful use of space and could be disastrous in time of war

Failure to properly coordinate peaceful space activities unde

common direction could cause confusion. . . . In war, when

time is of the essence and quick reaction so necessary

centralized military authority will surely be mandatory.

Further, with regard to unity of command, the documen

observes that “centralized control and decentralized execution

545
are essential to the successful and optimal use of spac

power . Since space forces are global in nature and includ

critical national assets, they should be tasked and assigne

from a global perspective. In a regional conflict, the theate

commander should have control over accurate and timely

products from space but should not have actual physica

control of the satellite, its control systems, or ground contro

nodes.”37

This view marks a significant departure from air doctrine

which calls for the regional commander’s complete physica

control of assigned air assets. Ironically, Air Force doctrin

maintains that this is still decentralized execution —bu

nowhere does that doctrine explain decentralized execution

This situation clearly results from force-fitting a basic tenet o

airpower onto space power. If the regional commander “should

not have actual physical control of the satellite, its contro

systems, or ground control nodes,” where does that contro

lie? The answer is that the centralized control of spac

assets—and the controlling element for remote spac

assets—is almost always the executing element.

General White ’s comment strongly supports “centralize

military authority.” The span of “military authority

encompasses C2 and execution. Decentralized execution

requires both a clear understanding of the mission and th

autonomy to carry it out. The price of optimally applyin

space assets across the worldwide battle space is a centralize

buffer with automated or screened prioritization, which

detracts from the autonomy of any one regional commander

Both cost and capability optimization of space assets driv

centralized control and centralized execution . Airpower, on th

other hand, does not have to make the autonomy/efficienc

trade-off. Most airpower assets are not national assets with

near-instantaneous global reach . As such, efficient operation

warrants assigning air assets to regional commanders, an

arrangement that affords both efficient centralized control an

offers lower-level commanders/operators the tactical flexibilit

of decentralized execution. Decentralized execution is 

characteristic advantage of airpower.

Consideration of the political and development/employmen

characteristics of military power has revealed severa

546
distinctions and similarities between airpower and space power

But these characteristics have resided in human creations—

politics, laws, development methods, and employment plan

More fundamental to the comparison is the physical nature o

the two realms.

Realm-Access Characteristics

of Military Power

Technological advances in aerodynamics, materials

propulsion, guidance, and control all facilitated access to th

air realm at the turn of the twentieth century. Similarly, in

astrodynamics, ongoing studies of forces and motion in spac

suggest that proliferated access to the space realm is near a

hand. But one should remain cautious about such

technological optimism: “Scientists and engineers now know

how to build a station in space that would circle the Earth

1,075 miles up. . . . Within the next 10 or 15 years, the Earth

will have a new companion in the skies, a man-made satellit

that could be either the greatest force for peace ever devised

or one of the most terrible weapons of war—depending on wh

makes and controls it.”38

Surprisingly, those comments came from Wernher von

Braun, speaking in 1952. Relatively recent experience with

understanding the air realm, together with the ability t

rapidly overcome air-flight-related technical obstacles

naturally led to the same expectation for spaceflight-relate

technical obstacles. The experiences of the last 45 years with

space research have emphasized a real difference between

understanding a theoretical environment and buildin

systems to gain physical access to it. The air access–spac

access analogy breaks down for several reasons: access to th

air realm, at the lowest technological level, is as easy a

throwing a rock or glider. But space is not a realm to which

we have immediate access or in which we have experience

Prior to specifically addressing the realm-acces

characteristics of airpower and space power , therefore, on

needs some background regarding space-lift efforts, includin

significant technical hurdles to space lift, technologica

development designed to negotiate those hurdles, and th

547
means by which the United States nurtures that technologica

development.

Boost to the space realm requires a large amount of energ

that must be generated, harnessed, focused, and stabilized

To illustrate the difference in energy requirements fo

aircraft-type and spacecraft-type operations, one should

consider the thrust required to place an F-16 aircraft in t

low Earth orbit (LEO). Scaling the thrust-to-(weight-to-orbi

ratio of the space shuttle down—or scaling the Atla

thrust-to-(weight-to-orbit) ratio up—yields roughly 1.1

million pounds of thrust required to get an F-16-sized vehicl

with a reasonable payload to LE0 .

3 9 Current air-breathin

F-16 engines produce 29,000 pounds of thrust 40—roughly

one- fortieth the amount required by an F-16-sized, space

capable, non-air-breathing, rocket-powered spacecr aft

Thus, thrust requirements provide one indication of th 

drastic differences between aircraft and spacecraf

technologies.

Furthermore, to make the space vehicle F-16-like fo

operations, one would need to reconfigure and pull th

external, expendable booster stages inside the craft an

drastically reduce the elaborate ground-support infrastructur

required by current space operations. Aircraft-type operation

for a spacecraft are easy to imagine, but the analogy hides th

fact that from an engineering perspective, aircraft operation

and spacecraft operations differ not merely in the degree o

advanced technology required but differ fundamentally in th

kind required. As a further complication, any means of gainin

access to the space realm must work equally well in the ver

different environment of the air realm, since one must travers

the atmosphere in order to reach space.

The remoteness of space also causes serious maintenanc

and supportability problems. When aircraft component

malfunction, the aircraft lands to be fixed. When aircraft run

out of fuel, tankers refuel them in the air, or they land fo

refueling. Spacecraft currently have neither of these options. 4

Whether the motive is operations or maintenance an

support, access to space becomes a matter of gettin

there—and that requires space lift .

548
One use of the term lift involves moving something from on

place to another. Airlift and space lift are similar in thi

regard. A fundamental difference, however, exists between th

two. Physical access to the space realm is the objective o

space lift, while the objective of airlift is not one of physica

access to the air realm but one of delivering materials t

different points on the ground. Two technological methods fo

gaining space access are afoot: better propulsion and lighte

payloads. Each appears to hold promise; indeed, an entir

community has dedicated itself to achieving physical access t

space. Such access to the air and space realms remain

distinct and affects both operations and maintenance/

support.

Physical Access to the Realm (Operations)

Intense efforts are under way to overcome the very dauntin

task of cheap, on-demand access to space—a task that i

orders of magnitude more complex and fundamentally

different than that which allowed access to the skies

Regardless of technical advances, access to the space realm

requires mastery of the air and space realms, which i

inherently much more difficult than the mere mastery of th

air realm. Access to the realm (operations) is a characteristi

advantage of airpower.

Physical Access to the Realm

(Maintenance and Support)

The maintainability and supportability aspects of airpowe

depend upon a ground-based infrastructure that deals wit

assets on the ground. Maintainability and supportability o

space power, at least for the foreseeable future, require 

ground-based infrastructure to deal with assets orbiting in

space. In addition to this complication, space systems ar

technically more complicated than air systems and will requir

more sophisticated maintenance and support operations.

The real problem, though, lies in fixing these technologically

advanced spaceborne systems when they fail. That task often

requires access that is far and away more difficult than

returning an aircraft to the maintenance shop. 4 2 In addition t

549
the cost of access, one requires significant technologica

improvements in communications, rendezvous docking, an

space-robot technology for future resupply activities in space.4 

No matter the state of technological advance, the maintainabilit

and supportability of space systems as compared to that of ai

systems are destined to be much more technically difficult, a

well as much more costly. Access to the realm (maintenance an

support) is a characteristic advantage of airpower.

Realm-Environment Characteristics

of Military Power

Methods of operations within the air and space realms ar

drastically different. The underlying cause of this differenc

lies in the unique composition, size, and position of th

respective realms—characteristics that have significant impac

on the employment of military power.

Composition of the Realm

Space is both a more threatening environment to life and 

more difficult environment in which to operate. Th

fundamental difference between air and space is composition

air is a medium of substance, whereas space is void o

substance. Altitude provides the one measure that correlate

with the presence of that substance which defines ou

atmosphere. Air density drops off exponentially with

altitude, 44 as does a human’s ability to exist and function

there (table 1).

If the lack of necessary elements for human survival is no

threatening enough, the presence of harmful elements ough

to be. Although mass in space is rare, energy is not. The mos

dangerous effect of solar radiation is its capacity to produc

heat. Since a satellite in space is thermally isolated, it has n

natural means to vent excess energy absorbed from the sun

Without the screening and natural cooling capability of th

atmosphere, an object in space quickly overheats on the sunli

side. Resolution requires a technological means of collectin

excess energy and radiating it back into space. Balancing th

level of heat in any spaceborne system presents a difficul

550
problem—even more so if that system must meet the ver

narrow tolerances for sustaining human life.

Aside from heat, surges of electromagnetic energy—often du

to solar flares associated with solar or cosmic radiation, radi

bursts, proton events, and geomagnetic storms—can also pose 

threat. High-energy solar or cosmic radiation can prove lethal t

humans, while radio bursts, proton events, and geomagneti

storms can interrupt communications. Another space hazard

involves energetically charged particles that often becom

trapped in magnetic fields associated with planets or stars (suc

Table 1

The Changing Atmospheric Medium

 Altitude (km) Density (d)/Density at Sea Level (d0)

 0 d0 = 101 8 particles/cm3

 5 d = .492 x d0 (one-half of Earth’s

 atmosphere is below this)

 10 d = .242 x d0 (supplemental oxygen

 required for respiration)

 15 d = .119 x d0 (supplemental pressure and

 oxygen required for respiration)

 24 d = .033 x d0 (compressing external air is

 no longer economical; humans

 require self-contained environments)

 32 d = .011 x d0 (operating limit of turbojet

 engines)

 45 d = .002 x d0 (operating limit of ramjet

 engines)

 100 d = 1012 particles/cm 3 (aerodynamic

 effects become insignificant)

1,000 d = 105 particles/cm3

2,000+ d = one particle/cm 3 (the “hard vacuum”

 of space)

551
as Earth

s Van Allen radiation belts). These particles can pos

serious threats to space systems and humans. Due to th

amounts of electromagnetic radiation in space, unfiltered by th

atmosphere, all space-faring systems require a variety o

thermal and radiation shields—but shields may not be enough.

In many cases, shielding will not protect a space vehicl

from micrometeoroid impacts. The Pegasus Explorer XV

satellite reported 62 penetrations in its seven-month spac

mission during 1963. Although the impacts did not seriously

hamper operations, the sheer number of strikes wa

surprising. The extremely small size of most space meteor

(10-5 grams) is offset by their incredible speeds (between

30,000 and 160,000 MPH). Coupled to this naturally

occurring problem is the growing amount of man-made spac

debris. Over seven thousand objects larger than 10 cm and an

estimated 30,000 to 70,000 smaller objects between 1 cm an

10 cm have been deposited into Earth orbit. But the rea

problem may be the 10 billion objects in the .1 mm to 1 cm

range that we currently have no means of tracking. 45 Fo

example, a .2 mm paint-chip impact on a side window

necessitated a $50,000 shuttle window replacement followin

shuttle mission STS-7. The high velocity and relativ

permanence of most spaceborne platforms make them

extremely vulnerable to space-faring debris. In addition t

thermal and radiation shields, debris shields—as well a

continuous long-range monitoring and maneuver capability—

reduce the risk of impact damage.

Perhaps the most distinctive feature between the air an

space environments is not a matter of the threat that the spac

medium poses to human life, but a matter of physical operation

allowed by the composition of the air realm: aerodynamics an

the two fundamental forces afforded by the air medium—dra

and lift. In space, there is no cushion of air (i.e., drag) upon

which to float and maneuver; further, there is no lift to gain

altitude.4 6 For example, the terminal velocity of a free-fal

parachuter is between 100 and 120 MPH. By contrast, n

terminal velocity exists in space. If a person were to free-fall i

the Earth’s gravitational field 47 without the benefit of an ai

cushion, his or her velocity after traversing 20,000 feet in 3

seconds would amount to an astonishing 770 MPH.

552
One cannot overstate the benefit of lift within th

atmosphere. 48 Mankind has known of rockets for thousand

of years yet forsook the question of flight until the discovery o

lift. Aircraft require propulsion for manned flight, but the rea

test of flight rests with the ability to manipulate tha

propulsion in a manner that optimizes lift. To illustrate th

benefits of lift, one should consider a situation that uses n

lift. Fuel consumption rates of a British Aerospace Sea Harrie

on a typical combat air patrol (CAP) mission allow 

90-minute flight. The same aircraft can stay airborne in 

fixed location (no lift, thrust only) for approximately 2

minutes.4 9 Lift quadruples the flight time and adds the benefi

of maneuver. Had the same Harrier required thrust capabilit

(without lift) to maneuver in a CAP role at standard aircraf

speeds, its flight time would amount to just a few minutes

Obviously, the lift/glide factor in our ability to man the skie

remains very significant—a factor not available in space.

Space maneuver requires one of two modes: free fall in orbi

or thrust-powered maneuver. Both modes differ drastically

from maneuvering through the air. From the reference fram

of the satellite , orbits are simply the right combination o

lateral velocity and altitude that allow the Earth to move ou

from beneath the free-falling satellite. Thrust-powere

maneuver from a fixed orbit position requires an incredibl

amount of thrust for altitude changes, as illustrated by th

example above and by previous discussions of space lift 

Lateral changes are permanent; that is, the atmosphere exert

no damping effects once the satellite is in motion. A latera

move to a fixed distance in space requires thrust in th

opposite direction to initiate the move—and an equal amoun

of thrust in the same direction to halt the move.

The operating medium of space differs dramatically from th

air realm. People cannot live in the medium and cannot “fly” in

it. If humans are to realize the advantages offered by space, the

must continue to develop technological solutions tha

accommodate them and their systems in that hostil

environment. Those solutions, along with the nature of th

environment, will dictate the need for unique operations an

corresponding doctrine. The composition of the space realm

bears absolutely no resemblance to the composition of the ai

553
realm. Composition of the realm is a characteristic advantag

of airpower.

Size of the Realm

One may locate a conservative air-space boundary at an

altitude of 100 km, the point beyond which aerodynami

effects become negligible (see table 1). The volume o

atmosphere encompassed by this boundary is roughly 5.18 

101 0 km 3. Near Earth space, from the 100 km altitude out t

geosynchronous earth orbit (GEO), encompasses roughly 3.1

x 101 4 km 3—more than six thousand times the operatin

environment of the atmosphere. 50 As technology advances an

“near Earth” comes to encompass the Moon, the operatin

space environment increases a thousandfold beyond GEO

The larger the size of the realm, the more potential for freedom

of movement and military operations. The size of the realm is a

characteristic advantage of space power.

Position of the Realm

The relative position of the realm with respect to othe

realms is an important environmental characteristic. Becaus

the space environment encloses the air environment, spac

operations have a tactical advantage over air operations. Th

space environment also has an energy advantage because i

maintains the high ground. If one overlooks the acces

problem previously addressed, space power enjoys an obviou

advantage due to elevation. The relative position of the realm i

a characteristic advantage of space power.

If the environmental characteristics of the air and spac

realms are so drastically different, why such a strong effort t

merge the two? In order to justify exploitation of the aerospac

environment as a unified whole, AFM 1-1 points to the fac

that no absolute boundary exists between air and space. Th

authors erroneously assert that the distinction between land

sea, and aerospace forces is attributable to a clear boundar

between each. They further propose that since a clea

boundary does not exist between air and space, one can mak

no such distinction.5 1 But the distinction between militar

realms is based on the nature of the environment—not on th

554
boundaries between them. The flawed logic of AFM 1-

probably results from creating evidence to support a decision

already made—specifically, consumption of space roles an

missions by the Air Force . Unsurprisingly, an initial draft o

AFDD 1, which clearly separated air and space without eve

using the term aerospace, was disapproved. But the term

dominates the latest draft version of AFDD 1 (14 May 1996)

which is now on the verge of acceptance. 5 2

The only difference between the air and space environments is

altitude and/or level of technology required to operate within th

realm. The fundamental flaw in such an argument rests in th

very different mediums. The air realm, which varie

continuously with altitude, is dense with substance, screened

from cosmic radiation, and confined to an area within 100 km o

the Earth’s surface. The space realm, however, is a constan

void of substance, immersed in radiation, and literally infinite in

dimension. If substance density is a valid gauge, the differenc

between the air and space realm is a factor of 1,018; if size is th

criterion, the difference is far greater. Differences in composition

and size require significant differences in the technologica

means of conquering those mediums. The technologica

requirements that distinguish flying in air from traversing spac

are more profound than the distinction between motion in wate

and traversing the atmosphere. Both sea and air travel involv

progressing through a medium of substance, whereas spac

travel involves motion within a void. Scientists and engineer

have a more difficult time merging air and space environment

as compared to merging air and sea environments, yet one hear

nothing of “aerosea” power.

The man-made political, development, and employmen

characteristics, as well as the inherent realm-environmen

characteristics of military power significantly distinguis

space power from airpower. Correspondingly, these difference

drive different capabilities.

Realm-Afforded Capability

Characteristics of Military Power

Autonomy of operation, surveillance and reconnaissance 

duration (staying power/presence), range, maneuver, flexibilit

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of response, precision, speed of response, firepower, an

stealth are all capability characteristics of military power. A

one might expect, differences in political, logistical, an

environmental characteristics between the air and spac

realms dictate differences in the ability to project militar

power from those realms. In order to make a fair comparison

of air and space capability, one must assume the existence o

a reasonable number of space-based surveillance an

strike-capable assets. Clearly, a capability comparison

between an existing developed force (airpower) and an existin

but immature force (space power) would not prove very useful

Decisions made today will influence force structure an

capabilities 20 years from now. Assuming a more matur

space power appropriately levels the playing field upon which

those decisions are made.

Autonomy

Evaluation of this characteristic assumes that system

dependence on external information is undesirable. Lack o

autonomy represents vulnerability. This view does not advocat

complete decentralization but simply recognizes the fact tha

necessary or not, external dependence further exposes th

system. Considering just the communications aspect of an

spaceborne system , one notes that large-scale data transmission

capacities will require innovations in both data transmission

(bandwidth and data-link security) and processing (exper

systems for data synthesis and computing power). The advent o

remotely piloted airborne vehicles will place the sam

requirements on many airborne platforms. The critical elemen

in the evaluation of this characteristic is not whether the system

is airborne or spaceborne but whether the system is manned o

unmanned. Unmanned systems inherently lack autonomy an

critically depend on secure, high-transmission data links

Because spaceborne systems are much more difficult to man

autonomy is a characteristic advantage of airpower.

Surveillance/Reconnaissance

The idea that space assets provide omniscience/omnipresenc

is a common one: “24 hours-a-day, 365 days-a-year, continuou

556
multispectral sensor data, instantly fused and synthesize

into processed information” represents a typica

embellishment of the real situation.5 3 Computing powe

becomes the means to achieve this goal.

But military planners do not realize that although “2

hours-a-day, 365 days-a-year, continuous multispectra

sensor data” is within reach, the ability to instantly fuse an

synthesize it into processed information is a myth. Militar

war games continue to overlook the very difficult problem o

processing, assuming it to be a simple matter of computin

power. Typically, planners summarize the concept as a “dat

fusion” black box and summarily dismiss it. 54

A brief examination of the “data fusion myth” require

familiarity with the following terms:

• data - raw perception of the environment by any variety o

means: sensed, encoded, and communicated.

• information - decoded and collected data by a few simple

categorizing algorithms or methods.

• knowledge - the recall of information as it applies to 

specific situation.

• understanding - coordination of many groups o

knowledge as they may apply to a variety of situations.

• wisdom - coordinated understanding in the context of 

lifetime of experience.

• vision - use of wisdom to construct a path to the future.

The data fusion myth blindly assumes the potential o

complete automation at all levels, from data acquisition

through insightful decision making (e.g., data - information 

knowledge - understanding - wisdom [“genius”] - vision)

Automation of these functions diminishes as the proces

proceeds from data to vision. Wisdom and vision simply ar

not programmable. Computers do not make decisions; the

can only follow the algorithms—programmed paths that lea

to decisions. The data fusion accomplished by any compute

will be only as good as the decision paths previously code

into it by the programmer, who is removed in time, space, an

responsibility from the very decision being made (i.e., he o

she has no particular situational awareness). One canno

synthesize massive amounts of data in a variety of forms, from

557
a variety of platforms, in order to tailor the results for 

particular application, by massive computation alone

Advances in computing power have facilitated the potential fo

processing, but computing power does not equate t

processing. Inflated expectations of data fusion provide mor

of a problem for space power simply because experience ha

tempered airpower expectations.

In spite of this weakness, one must not understate the impac

of space surveillance and reconnaissance capabilities—

highlighted by the Gulf War. A host of US and foreign

communications, navigation, surveillance, early warning, an

meteorological satellites contributed to the coalition wa

effort.55 In the future, such support will proliferate, 5

one-meter resolution will become available commercially b

1997, 57 and one can only imagine the real limit of resolution

capability. Very fine resolution and wide-area coverage

multiplying current levels of data flow, only complicate th

problem of data fusion. If planners continue to dismiss dat

fusion simply as a computing-power problem, massiv

amounts of data flow will leave the analyst or operato

drowning in data but starving for knowledge. Data obtaine

from airborne platforms bears the same burden; space-base

systems simply afford a wider range of data opportunities. Th

persistence and position afforded by space platforms presen

the opportunity to collect huge quantities of surface data; th

difficulty lies in deciding what data to collect, how to proces

it, and what to do with the processed information. Given th

benefit of position, surveillance and reconnaissance capability

provides a characteristic advantage of space power.

Duration

Geosynchronous satellites provide a persistent an

continuous presence. One can also arrange satellites in LEO

to provide a similar presence.5 8 Aircraft presence is transient

and even though long-loiter UAVs may extend aerial presenc

significantly, aircraft presence requires sortie generation

and support—satellites do not. Duration is a characteristi

advantage of space power.

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Range

Airpower and space power both have global range. Eithe

medium provides access to any surface target. The range o

space power extends beyond the near-Earth environment

currently out to GEO. Although airpower assets such a

airborne lasers or kinetic miniature homing vehicle ASAT

may soon offer regular access to LEO, they will not have

access to deep-space locations. Considerable time may pas

before the range extension of space power exceeds that o

airpower, particularly in a strike capacity. Inherently, though

range is a characteristic advantage of space power.

Maneuver

A satellite in LEO (200 km) travels at roughly 7,790 meter

per second (17,425 MPH). 59 A small satellite (100 kg) travelin

at this speed has the kinetic energy roughly equivalent to an

F-16 traveling at Mach 2 (sea level). 6 0 Unlike the F-16

however, the satellite has no air on which to maneuver or slow

down, and because it is so expensive to lift fuel to space

satellites typically have very little energy available to provid

on-orbit thrust, which in turn equates to maneuverability. Th

cross-range capability of satellites is so low, in fact, that th

most maneuverable, powered, space concepts—the curren

reusable launch vehicle (RLV) designs—allow only for eleven

hundred miles of lateral maneuver capability. 6 1 This essa

has already mentioned the incredible costs incurred by liftin

mass (fuel) to orbit for such maneuvers. These are dauntin

obstacles; as such, the virtual immobility of spaceborne asset

from fixed orbit stands as their biggest drawback. Maneuver i

a characteristic advantage of airpower.

Flexibility

System flexibility equates to options. Spacecraft options a

compared to aircraft options are severely limited on severa

counts:

1. As discussed, the energy cost of maneuvering spac

assets reduces the number of target options.

559
2. The energy cost of access to space inhibits satellit

reconfiguration, resulting in a lack of reconnaissanc

and strike options. One can reconfigure aircraft prior t

launch in order to meet particular situational needs. In

the event of a crisis, most of the space power available i

already present; satellite strike and reconnaissanc

capabilities are not reconfigurable without high-cos

space lift and/or on-orbit maneuver.

3. The absence of autonomy (unmanned) requires spacecraf

to rely on data-linked decisions regarding availabl

options. The time delay or data-link vulnerabilities could

limit options.

The flexibility that characterizes military power is no

merely a summation of maneuver, access, and autonom

characteristics. Maneuverable, autonomous systems with eas

realm access could conceivably lack flexibility. The combi

nation of extreme limitations on autonomy, maneuver, an

access characteristics of space power severely constrain

flexibility. Flexibility is a characteristic advantage of airpower.

Precision

Automated terminal guidance and control are equally

applicable from the air and space. Remote, data-linke

terminal guidance provides its own inherent limitations

however. Because data-link vulnerability is always an issue

as are weather restrictions, the Air Force continues to retain

manned aircraft with ballistic bombing capability. Typically, in

the absence of terminal guidance, the precision of ballisti

weapons is directly related to release range—and releas

range from terrestrial targets is less for air assets as compare

to the further-removed space assets. The proximity of the ai

realm provides precision as a characteristic advantage o

airpower.

Speed of Response

If one removes the three previously considered limitations o

space power (maneuver, flexibility, and precision) from th

calculation,6 2 space-based response time can become almos

560
instantaneous. Airpower response time can occur as quickly

as putting F-117s on target anywhere in the world within 2

hours of notification; however, providing sustained airpowe

(limitation of duration) requires extensive mobilization—

witness the huge buildup prior to the onset of Desert Storm.

6

The potential for immediate response of space-based platform

makes speed of response a characteristic advantage of spac

power.

Firepower

An Mk 84 two-thousand-pound all-purpose bomb withou

any explosive charge, released at 30,000 feet and 530 knots

carries the energy equivalent to roughly 145 pounds of TNT

The same Mk 84 dumb bomb in LEO carries one hundre

times the energy—the explosive power of seven tons of TNT. 6

This may seem like a great deal, but several mitigating factor

come into play:

1. If that energy is employed, most is lost due to dra

effects upon reentry.

2. The explosive power of modern conventional weapon

comes from their explosive filling rather than thei

kinetic energy: the explosive charge of an Mk 84—428 k

of Tritonal6 5—is equivalent to roughly nine hundre

pounds of TNT. Other conventional explosives marginally

exceed Tritonal capacity. 66

3. Many lofted weapons (e.g., cluster bombs) requir

specific velocities for employment, completely negatin

the space-stationed energy advantage.

4. The cost of putting “dumb” energy in orbit is prohibitiv

(at $10,000/pound, putting a “dumb” Mk 84 in orbi

would cost an astronomical $20 million).6 7

As far as mass is concerned, firepower from space ha

significant limitations. Directed energy weapons provid

another option. Currently, concerted efforts are under way t

produce high-powered lasers with very significant atmospheri

range. The Phillips Laboratory’s airborne laser program ha

561
pushed laser state of the art to new levels: megawatt power

submicroradian beam control (one-foot “wiggles” at 200 km)

and lethal ranges extending out to hundreds of kilometers.6 

Beaming energy to a spaceborne platform, storing it, an

reradiating it from a satellite DEW becomes at least plausible. O

course, whatever one can do from the remoteness of space, on

can also accomplish from the air, without the need to radiate th

energy to the platform—exactly the approach of the airborn

laser. Although space strike may prove more responsive

firepower capability from space has significant limitations

Assuming a surface target, the proximity of the air realm

provides firepower as a characteristic advantage of airpower.

Stealth

Because of their close proximity to the surface, aircraft ar

exposed to low-technology, surface-based threats such a

antiaircraft artillery and surface-to-air missiles. Thei

exposure, however, is transient and limited by variou

unpredictable factors: timing, flight path, velocity

maneuverability, stealth technology, and weather.

The high speed and remote aspects of spacecraft clearl

provide certain security advantages. A spacecraft in near

circular LEO with an apogee and perigee of approximately

2,128 miles travels a set path at a known velocity of roughly

17,420 MPH, while a satellite in a near-circular GEO (22,24

miles) requires a velocity of 6,880 MPH to remain stationary

relative to the Earth’s surface.6 9 But as technical access t

space proliferates, the advantages of remote speed give way t

the disadvantages of predictable locations and paths. Physica

cluster areas at LEO, GEO, and Lagrange points7 0 also add t

the exposure of space assets. Additionally, the absence of an

inhibiting atmosphere greatly extends space-based sensin

capability and weapons effects, further complicating th

space-security issue. Historically, space support based in th

continental United States has remained more centralized than

air-support infrastructure, thus increasing its vulnerability

After defining stealth as a military term referring to th

difficulty of acquiring, locking, and killing a potential target

and after comparing the transient, maneuverable, low-leve

562
capabilities of airpower with the predictable, continuou

exposure of space assets, one concludes that stealth is 

characteristic advantage of airpower.

Summation and Integration

of Characteristics

To support military decisions regarding the employment o

airpower and/or space power, one must integrate capabilit

characteristics in the context of the current situation. An

inherent limitation of examining each of these characteristic

independently is that, in reality, one must consider them in

total. One makes trade-offs between positive and negativ

attributes in order to determine the correct response

depending on the situation. For example, a skirmish halfwa

around the world may require immediate response time, ligh

firepower, and extreme precision. A directed-energy

space-to-surface, strike-capable satellite may provide th

appropriate speed of response, but due to its remoteness an

weather limitations, the satellite may not provide the require

precision. In terms of the assessment of characteristics, thi

circumstance is reflected by both space power’s advantage in

speed of response and airpower’s advantage in precision. Th

decision maker must trade off these advantages required b

the given situation and choose the best approach. A

discussed above, planners often overstate the concept of dat

fusion , which will not supplant a continued requirement fo

military genius.71

Conclusion

Clearly, the characteristics of airpower and space power ar

quite different, as indicated by highlighting their relativ

advantages (table 2). Only the characteristic of technologica

dependence shows a significant similarity between airpowe

and space power. One should note, however, that techno-logica

advances will mitigate some of the differences in

characteristics. Unfavorable characteristics of airpower ma

change significantly with the advent of long-loiter UAVs , whil

563
unfavorable characteristics of space power may change with

the advent of transatmospheric vehicles (TAV). Determinin

whether or not a given characteristic is advantageous t

airpower as opposed to space power —or vice versa—i

debatable and not critical to the argument. The significan

differences between airpower and space power discusse

within the context of each characteristic, however, are critica

to the argument. In spite of the potential for som

technological mitigation of the vast differences in th

characteristics of airpower and space power, one mus

conclude that the aerospace power conjecture is false.

That is, one cannot build space power theory and doctrin

in general upon airpower theory and doctrine. Theories an

doctrines of airpower, land power , and sea power ma

Table 2

Characteristic Advantages of Airpower and Space Power

Airpower Space Power

Politics Political access to the realm Sovereignty

Likelihood of

reduced casualties

Development/

Employment

Centralized C2

Decentralized execution

Realm Access Access to the realm

(operations)

Access to the realm

(maintenance/support)

Realm

Environment

Composition of the realm Size of the realm

Position of the

realm

Realm-Afforded

Capability

Autonomy

Maneuver

Flexibility

Precision

Firepower

Stealth

Surveillance and

reconnaissance

Duration

Range

Speed of response

564
contribute significantly to the development of the theory an

doctrine of space power, but space power clearly require

fundamental, bottom-up, theoretical and doctrina

development. The most conducive environment for such

development remains a separate space corps or service.

Before completely dismissing the aerospace powe

conjecture, one might articulate a consistent argument tha

favors it: the merging of airpower and space power a

aerospace power is based upon their functional equivalenc

(employing military power from the third dimension). N

distinct boundary exists between the two, and they both afford

the same elevated perspective of the battlefield. Technolog

will eventually overcome the significant environmenta

distinctions between the air and space media. Th

technological pursuit of space planes provides evidence tha

once technology overcomes the space medium, militar

function will blur any environmental distinction.

This argument is compelling and has its merits. Th

counterargument, however, is at least as compelling: th

merging of land and sea power as “surface power” is base

upon their functional equivalence (employing military powe

from the two-dimensional surface). The boundary between th

two is not so distinct, and they both afford the same surfac

perspective of the battlefield. Environmental distinction

between land and sea media are significant, but technolog

has overcome them. So why is there no surface powe

following? The answer is that five hundred years of Western

experience have demonstrated that the argument, though

consistent, is wrong. Despite the existence of a functiona

equivalence between two forms of military power (accepted a

the roles-and-missions equivalence at the outset of this essay

and the existence of the technical means to accomplish thos

functions, the fact remains that the environment and th

technological means that posture us in those environment

remain different. This is true of land and sea power; th

examination of characteristics indicates that it is also true o

airpower and space power.

The additional argument posed by advocates of the spac

plane is beside the point. Should a space plane actually com

to exist, it would merely reflect the capabilities of both

565
airpower and space power. Historically, though, dual

environment vehicles have proved more expensive and les

capable than separate vehicles designed especially for each

environment—witness the failure of the national aerospac

plane (NASP). (One should note that there are few, if any

sea-capable tanks.) Such experience should at least call int

question the wisdom of pursuing a space plane in the firs

place. Thus, doctrinal unification of aerospace power is n

more justifiable than doctrinal unification of surface power.

In spite of compelling evidence that airpower and spac

power remain distinct, one can argue credibly that the Ai

Force, in practice, ought to manage both. The current

battle-proven emphasis on jointness runs counter to splittin

off another component of the joint force and thereby providin

one more seam in the battlefield. Fiscally, a separate spac

organization would require more overhead—a distinc

bureaucracy, independent R&D , test and evaluation programs

and another acquisition stovepipe. The counterargumen

concedes that any new capability necessarily entails a cost

Because the United States could not exploit the new strategic

capabilities offered by airpower in the confines of Arm

culture and doctrine, it paid the cost of producing a separat

Air Force . Likewise, we cannot exploit the new capabilitie

offered by space power in the confines of Air Force culture an

doctrine. We need only decide whether that capability justifie

the cost.

Roles, missions, and basic tenets have always served a

unifying themes across the services. Joint doctrine reflect

common roles, missions, and tenets. Land, sea , and spac

power , as well as airpower, are functionally equivalent, base

upon these common roles and missions. Furthermore

airpower and space power are closely tied by their mutua

strategic function of effecting the use of military power from

the third dimension. But airpower, land power , and sea powe

part company in the pursuit of those common roles, missions

and tenets. Realm-unique characteristics have justified th

segregation of the air, land, and sea services. Comparing an

contrasting the characteristics of airpower and space powe

serves to highlight the fact that space power is also a uniqu

form of military power. Space power—as much as airpower

566
land power, and sea power —warrants separate development o

theory and doctrine, as well as a separate service to organize

train, and equip forces to support that doctrine. It’s a goo

news/bad news situation for the Air Force.

First, the bad news (and the answer to both questions pu

forward at the outset): once technological development allow

us to pursue the full spectrum of roles and missions from space

and the domestic will recognizes that the capability justifies th

cost, the Air Force will have to cut its child loose in the form of a

new Space Force .

72 Ironically, this essay has repeatedly cite

Joint Doctrine Tactics, Techniques, and Procedures (JDTTP

3-14, Space Operations, to support many statements mad

herein, even though the essay’s conclusion is diametrically

opposed to Rear Adm Richard Macke’s opening statement in

that publication:

Space cannot be considered a separate warfare arena. It crosses all

warfare areas and all warfare services. Just as space surrounds and

encompasses the entire globe, it surrounds, encompasses, and

supports all warriors. To say space is the battleground of any unique

warfighting group is paramount to disaster. All warfighters, regardless

of the device on their chest or color of their uniform, must embrace

space, understand space, and use space or be destined not to enjoy

the tremendous advantage space can give.7 3

This is simply wrong. If one subtracts 50 years and replace

space with air, the same old flawed argument presents itself. I

became apparent then, as it does now, that the characteristic

of the new realm differed so dramatically from those of th

current realms, that one needed a new service to organize, train

and equip forces in order to employ the tenets and satisfy th

roles and missions assigned to joint military forces.

The statement in JDTTP 3-14 indicates an attitude o

responsibility sharing that has forced the military away from 

basic tenet of space power—centralized control. An elite Ai

Force Association (AFA) advisory group made the statement

“Who’s in charge of the space program is the fundamenta

problem” (emphasis in original). That is on target. However

the group erred in concluding that “the solution lies in vestin

R&D and acquisition functions for military spac

requirements of all services in the Air Force” (emphasis in

original). 74 The distinctions between airpower and spac

567
power , as well as the service infighting that would result

suggest that such a solution is simply unworkable. A mor

palatable solution lies in the creation of a Space Force . Th

entire argument made in the AFA report supports such 

move and eliminates many of the drawbacks mentioned. In

any event, given the major differences in airpower and spac

power , such a Space Force is clearly on the horizon. Th

question is no longer if but when and how.

When

As mentioned above, we should create a separate Spac

Force when the technological development and domestic wil

allow pursuit of the full spectrum of roles and missions from

space (i.e., not yet). Apparently, a compelling immediat

motivation is missing. We find ourselves in a period tha

possesses (1) the necessary resources, (2) an unencumbere

economy, 75 (3) a weak immediate motivation (here, the threa

of proliferated space access), and (4) a common vision tha

supports specific technologies . It may be temporary, but i

presents a window of opportunity.

The lack of centralized control—which results in servic

infighting, inefficiency, and duplication—may warrant a mov

now. A reasonable compromise would entail creation of 

Space Force whose roles and missions statements do no

include force application but whose theoretical and doctrina

development ought to include the potential for forc

application from space. Aspects of each service culture should

contribute to that theoretical and doctrinal development: w

must plan to fight while living and operating in a hostil

environment (Navy ), from a fixed, possibly fortifie

position/orbit (Army), and achieve the objective by forc

application from the third dimension (Air Force ). Th

dominant nature of the last element, together with the fac

that one must traverse the air in order to reach space

currently gives the Air Force a lead role in developing spac

systems.

7 6 The Air Force is clearly the primary player in

military space, having an estimated budget of $2.6 billion fo

fiscal year 1996, as compared to projected Army spending o

$110 million and Navy spending of $120 million.77

568
An often overlooked spin-off of the notion of a separate Spac

Force, however, carries good news for the Air Force. As noted

space power has some attributes that airpower cannot match

but the opposite is also true. The danger of the Air Force 

holding on to responsibility for space is that it will lose sight of th

very necessary and unique capabilities that airpower, apart from

space power, provides. In addition to losing focus on airpowe

organization and doctrine, the Air Force will inevitabl

shortchange airpower if it tries to hold on to space in terms o

organizing, training, and equipping space forces, despite limite

funding.78 Segregating airpower and space power is a good mov

for both, leaving experts in each to decide how best to develop

theory and doctrine and subsequently invest in supportin

organization, training, and equipment.

How

Because the standard military acquisitions approach fo

investment in space power may be premature, the followin

suggestion may have some merit: Given the enormity of th

physical problems discussed and the opportunity afforded by

the collapse of a major threat, perhaps the United States ough

to spend more of its current space budget on space-relate

education, training, and R&D, as opposed to operations an

procurement. If technological difficulties are enormous now

and if theoretical technical advances continue at the curren

pace, it makes sense that access to space will become much

cheaper in the future. Rather than producing next-generation

dinosaurs, it is better to put money into R&D that will benefi

the United States 25 years from now.

Objections to the effect that this would mean abandonin

the defense technological and industrial base (DTIB) ar

unfounded. All fiscal decisions affect the DTIB. The question

is not one of supporting the DTIB but of deciding what part o

the DTIB to support: near-term manufacturing/production

lines and operations or education, science, and R&D leadin

to long-term capabilities. The idea of a flawed approach tha

leads to the misallocation of limited military resources (i.e.

trying to do too much too soon) is not new. The Third Reich

made enormous investments in rocket technology—to th

569
benefit of technology and to the detriment of Germany: 

Th

technical fascination of being able to break through traditiona

limits . . . had overwhelmed any rigorous analysis of its likely

impact. The most fundamental flaw in their thinking lay in th

lack of any well-thought-out strategic concept of how th

missile could actually affect the course of the war. It was th

product of a narrow technological vision that obscured th

strategic bankruptcy of the concept.”79

At many military “futures and technology” conferences, th

space technology of choice always assumes space weaponization

in the form of various systems, such as TAVs. Why? Th

international community seems strongly opposed to th

weaponization of space. Might an investment now to produc

military space systems in the near term be a narrow

technological vision that obscures the strategic bankruptcy o

the concept? Some of the futures studies directed by the Ai

Force chief of staff are seriously considering the possibility o

moving funds away from systems and toward basic research.80

We are on the threshold of a new era—the preeminence o

space power. One should note that the preeminence of se

power did not immediately follow the ability to access the sea

but required prolific, developed access to the realm, as well a

domestic will, economic capability, and an accommodatin

international environment. The convergence of these factor

for space has not occurred but seems close at hand. An

examination of the characteristics of airpower and spac

power shows that the two are not identical. The time is righ

to establish an organizational structure that can plan for ou

future in space but not inhibit the unique and necessar

development of airpower. When the worldwide technological

economic, and political environment does converge—an

space power becomes preeminent—will the United States b

an economically burned-out nation that boosted the world

into space 20 years early, or will it lead the world into spac

when the forces converge naturally?

Unity of command and unity of effort are basic military an

managerial concepts that date from antiquity. For a brie

period in the 1960s, President John F. Kennedy provided tha

unity, and it propelled us to the Moon. Such unity in th

space community is sorely lacking today. The Air Force is th

570
wrong place to focus that unity. To do so constitutes an attemp

to force the merger of two unique realms. That is bad for spac

power and bad for airpower. The Air Force ought to be a majo

player—but not the only player. A unifying, independent spac

organization—drawing on the experience of NASA, the thre

armed services, and industry—has the best chance of makin

the right investment choices today that will put the United

States at the forefront of space power tomorrow.

Notes

1. E. B. Potter, ed., Sea Power: A Naval History (Annapolis: Nava

Institute Press, 1981), chap. 18. The notion of motivating discussion b

alluding to the emergence of sea power at the turn of the century come

from a paper by Lt Col R. Pelligrini, prepared for a course in Science

Philosophy, Military Theory, and Technological Investment Strategy, Schoo

of Advanced Airpower Studies, Maxwell AFB, Ala., April 1995.

2. AFM 1-1, Basic Aerospace Doctrine of the United States Air Force, vol. 

March 1992, 5.

3. AFDD 1, “Basic Air Force Doctrine,” draft, 14 May 1996, 1.

4. As used here, military power is synonymous with land, sea, and spac

power, as well as airpower. The four realms recognized here are air, land

sea, and space; the prospect that information constitutes a fifth realm is ye

to be confirmed and is not assumed.

5. One should note, however, that despite the publication of a variety o

airpower theories, there is no comprehensive theory of airpower on par wit

the land power theory of Clausewitz or the sea power theory of Mahan. Se

H. Winton, “Air Power Theory: A Black Hole in the Wild Blue Yonder,” A

Power History 39 (Winter 1992): 32.

6. As noted in AFM 1-1, a strategic attack (e.g., bombing an aircraf

factory) can be a vital part of the realm-control mission, even if peopl

typically see it as a force application mission.

7. AFDD 1 states that global reach/global power is supported by fiv

war-fighting pillars: air superiority, space superiority, precisio

employment, information dominance, and global mobility (page 11). AFD

4, “Space Operations Doctrine,” 22 May 1996, states that Space Forc

operations should gain space superiority, which is further broken down int

the conventional roles of control, force application, force enhancement, an

force support (pages 6–10).

8. Department of the Air Force, Global Presence (Washington, D.C

Department of the Air Force, 1995).

9. For example, air presence includes forward basing of airpower assets

the recognized projection capability of US airpower, involvement of airpowe

in humanitarian efforts, and the strategic role of the Air Force’

intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) force.

571
10. The definition provided here is consistent with Air Force and join

doctrine on the subject of air and space forces: “Aerospace Control,” role no

1 in AFM 1-1, vol. 1, 7; “Counterair, Counterspace, and Counter

information” in AFDD 1, 42; “Space Control” (assure friendly use whil

denying use to the enemy) in AFDD 4, 4; “Space Control” in Joint Doctrin

Tactics, Techniques, and Procedures (JDTTP) 3-14, Space Operations, Apr

1992; and “combat against enemy forces in space and their infrastructure

in the latest draft of JP 3-14, 13 March 1996. As used here, the term

discriminate emphasizes US tendencies to avoid the use of indiscriminat

weapons (weapons of mass destruction, various “nonlethal” weapons, etc.).

11. Subtle but important differences exist between Air Force and join

doctrine regarding force application. While joint doctrine focuses only o

attack against enemy forces, Air Force doctrine allows for the possibility o

attacking enemy critical nodes or key targets, including both enemy force

(interdiction, close air support, and C2 attack) and strategic critical node

(strategic attack) that are not necessarily part of the enemy force.

12. The definition provided here is consistent with Air Force and join

doctrine on the subject of air and space forces. The one interna

discrepancy involves lift. AFM 1-1 includes lift in force enhancement, whil

JDTTP 3-14 puts it under force support. This essay assumes that lift fall

under support, not enhancement, as does AFDD 4 (see page 9). As note

earlier, though, the role and mission matchups are not exclusive. Further

although one typically assumes that space assets will support terrestria

military functions, force enhancement could eventually cut both ways—tha

is, terrestrial assets may support space warfare.

13. The definition provided here is consistent with Air Force and join

doctrine on the subject of air and space forces.

14. See Giulio Douhet, The Command of the Air, trans. Dino Ferrar

(1942; new imprint, Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1983)

and Phillip S. Meilinger, Ten Propositions Regarding Air Power (Washington

D.C.: Air Force History and Museums Program, 1995), 14–19.

15. AFDD 4, “Space Operations Doctrine,” draft, August 1995, 5.

16. “Defining Missile Defense: What Missile, Which Defense?” Militar

Space 13 (8 January 1996): 1–5. Current budget debates focus on the leve

of Department of Defense (DOD) ballistic missile defense (BMD) spending

This is not a question of whether or not to pursue BMD but one of ho

much and how soon. President William Clinton recently vetoed the $

billion proposed by Congress, which exceeded his request of $2.44 billion.

17. The outdated AFM 2-25, Air Force Operational Doctrine—Spac

Operations, March 1991, sorted Space Force characteristics into environ

mentally, logistically, and politically influenced characteristics. Th

taxonomy used in this essay renames these as realm environment, realm

access, and political characteristics, and adds the categories o

development/employment and realm-afforded capability.

18. Lt Col David Lupton, On Space Warfare: A Space Power Doctrin

(Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, 1988), 33–46.

572
19. AFM 1-1; AFDD l; AFDD 4 (1995); JDTTP 3-14; FM 100-5

Operations, 14 June 1993, 2-16 through 2-18; JP 3-14 (“purpose: t

present a framework for thinking about future space control operations”)

One should note that although capabilities-based planning has meri

threat-based and objective-based planning are other options wort

consideration.

20. Paul Stares, The Militarization of Space: US Policy, 1945–1984 (Ne

York: Cornell University Press, 1985), 206–7. As early as 1978, miniatur

homing vehicles were successfully launched from F-15 platforms, usin

first-stage boost via a modified Boeing short-range attack missile (SRAM

and second-stage boost via a Vought Altair III.

21. Maj Ronald M. Reed, USAF judge advocate, Maxwell AFB, Ala

interviewed by author, January 1996. Additionally, “as with all othe

branches of international law, space law is based on the premise tha

conduct is presumed to be lawful in the absence of prohibitions.” C

Christol, The Modern International Law of Outer Space (New York: Pergamo

Press, 1982), 59–60.

22. “Legal writers differ greatly in their views of the effect that th

outbreak of war between parties to a treaty has on that instrument. 

general statement on the subject would have to mention that certain

treaties, such as those regulating the conduct of hostilities, actually com

into full effect at the outbreak of war; that treaties of friendship or alliance

as well as all other agreements classifiable as political in nature, conclude

between opposing belligerents prior to a war, come to an end at th

beginning of the conflict; that nonpolitical agreements are suspended fo

the duration of the conflict; and that a certain few types of treaties involvin

matters such as private property rights and possibly also boundar

agreements not related to frontiers involved in the conduct of hostilitie

remain in force during the war. Similarly, agreements that by their ver

nature were final in character would not be affected at all by the outbrea

of war.” Gerhard von Glahn, Law among Nations: An Introduction to Publi

International Law (New York: Collier-Macmillan, 1981), 623–24.

23. Air University (AU)-18, Space Handbook: A Warfighter’s Guide t

Space, vol. 1, December 1993, 41.

24. Several well-known texts include G. Allison’s Essence of Decisio

(New York: HarperCollins, 1971); and J. March’s A Primer on Decisio

Making (New York: Free Press, 1994).

25. Not published as official US space policy, the unilateral move not t

fund the production of ASAT weapons and their testing in space occurred i

the late 1980s in response to a similar move by the Soviets. Current U

funding decisions do not favor the weaponization of space.

26. National Space Policy, National Security Directive 30 (Washington

D.C.: Office of the White House Press Secretary, 2 November 1989).

27. Department of Defense Space Policy (Washington, D.C.: Governmen

Printing Office, March 1987).

573
28. Findings of the Air Force Blue Ribbon Panel on the Future of the Ai

Force in Space, as reported in AU-18, vol. 1, 73.

29. See C. McKinley, “Air Force Space Command’s High Groun

Strategy,” draft, AFSPACECOM/XPX, 23 February 1996.

30. P. Calvocoressi and G. Wint, Total War: The Story of World War I

(New York: Pantheon Books, 1972), 522. One should note that the politica

will to dominate a particular realm has historically been a “touchy” issu

when humanity is on the threshold of gaining significant access to a ne

environment. The Hague Convention of 1899 prohibited the bombardmen

of cities from aerial balloons at the outset of mankind’s accession to the air

This prohibition, however, was not renewed in 1907.

31. The Navy means of satisfying its role of forward presenc

(demonstrating national commitment) differs somewhat from the air or lan

means. Freedom of the seas does not require negotiated forward basing o

air and land assets on sovereign territory. By virtue of the Outer Spac

Treaty of 1967, the means of satisfying forward presence in space is muc

more akin to the means of doing so on the sea.

32. One can argue that this is simply the result of recent US fighting fo

matters of less than “vital” interests. It does not detract from th

significance of the characteristic, because American military involvement i

foreign ventures that require fighting for less than vital interests will n

doubt continue.

33. Space operators are typically “remote”—data-linked to the spac

asset but physically isolated from the battlefield by virtue of being based i

the continental United States.

34. AFDD 4, 22 May 1996, 3.

35. See Air Force Association Special Report, Facing Up to the Spac

Problem, 1 November 1994.

36. AFM 1-1, 8.

37. AFDD 4 (1995), 3.

38. Wernher von Braun, “Man Will Conquer Space Soon,” Collier’s, 2 

March 1952, 1. One should note that, at the time, the Van Allen radiatio

belts had yet to be discovered. Von Braun did not realize that an orbit at a

altitude of 1,075 miles would be a dangerous place to put a space colony

This raises another caution regarding our lack of experience in space: wha

else don’t we know?

39. The shuttle carries its empty weight of 105,000 kg and a maximum

payload of 21,140 kg to LEO (204 km, 28.45°) and uses a total launc

thrust of 7,781,400 pounds (6,600,000 pounds in the first two minute

contributed by the solid-rocket expendables, and 1,181,400 pounds ove

the first eight minutes and 50 seconds by the orbiter main engines). An

Atlas II can place 6,000 kg in a similar orbit with its 485,000 pounds o

launch thrust. Jane’s Space Directory (Alexandria, Va.: Jane’s Informatio

Group Ltd., 1995), 274.

Placing an empty F-16 (11,300 kg) and a reasonable payload (3,700 kg

in the same location via a shuttle-type approach requires 15/105 the thru

574
of the shuttle—roughly 1.1 million pounds. Placing an empty F-16 an

reasonable payload in the same location using an Atlas-type approac

requires 15/6 the thrust of the Atlas—roughly 1.2 million pounds.

40. The 29,000 pounds of thrust of the F-16’s General Electri

F110-GE-129 engine is at sea level; thrust declines slowly with increasin

altitude, and the mass density of air above 20 miles will cause the engine t

flame out.

41. The space shuttle does have a capability to service and/or retriev

spacecraft, but it is neither efficient nor responsive.

42. One can make a good argument that if spacecraft are small an

cheap and if launch is fast and cheap, satellites ought to be replaced—no

recovered and repaired. The counterargument is (1) those are big ifs and (2

one would eventually have to deal with an abundance of throwaway spac

systems because they would clutter LEO.

43. Theo Pirard, “Space Ambitions in a Changing World,” Spacefligh

January 1996, 2.

44. Density = exp(–mgz/kT), where z is altitude, m is the molecula

weight in kg of air, g is the local acceleration of gravity, k is Boltzmann’

constant, and T is temperature (degrees Kelvin).

45. R. McNutt, “Orbiting Space Debris: Dangers, Measurement an

Mitigation” (Hanscom AFB, Mass.: Phillips Laboratory Directorate o

Geophysics, 1992).

46. Although the “air” has one-millionth the density at LEO as oppose

to sea level, the net accumulation of drag effects at LEO can becom

significant over the extended duration of satellite lifetimes.

47. Integrating acceleration of 32 ft/s2 with respect to time (t), velocity 

32t ft/s, and integrating this again with respect to t, distance = 16t 2 f

Note: 88 ft/s = 60 MPH.

48. The propulsion benefit of lift in the atmosphere does come at th

cost of drag. The example demonstrates that the benefit clearly outweigh

the cost.

49. Harrier in CAP: 1.5 hrs. Stationary Harrier, with the same fuel loa

as the CAP Harrier (2 x 228 gal external tanks + 757 gal internal) = 1,21

gal, at ~ 6 lb/gal ⇒ ~7,300 lb of fuel. The Harrier’s Pegasus 11-61 engin

takeoff performance rating is 23,800 lb of thrust, while an optimisti

estimate of its specific fuel consumption is .8 lb/hr for every pound o

thrust. The burn rate for a stationary Harrier is about .8 x 23,800 = 19,04

lb per hour. With 7,300 lb of fuel, the Harrier could stay in such a positio

for roughly 23 minutes. Jane’s Atlas of the World’s Aircraft (Alexandria, Va

International Thomson Publishing Company, 1995).

50. The volume of a sphere of radius r is Vr = (4/3)7 πr

3

. Using the radiu

of the Earth re = 6,371 km, the volume of the atmosphere below 100 km i

V100 = V6,471 -V6,371 = 5.18 x 101 0 km3, and the volume of space out to GEO

is VGEO = V42,157 – V6,471 = 3.13 x 101 4 km 3.

51. AFM 1-1, vol. 2, 63–70.

52. See AFDD 1, draft, 15 August 1995 and 14 May 1996.

575
53. J. Hyatt et al., Space Power 2010 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University

May 1995), 32.

54. The aerospace control war game, held at the Air Universit

Wargaming Center, Maxwell AFB, Ala., August 1995, and the Navy’

technology initiatives game (TIG)-95, National Maritime Intelligence Cente

Suitland, Md. (attended by this author).

55. P. Anson and D. Cummings, “The First Space War: The Contributio

of Satellites to the Gulf War,” in Alan D. Campen, ed., The First Informatio

War: The Story of Communications, Computers, and Intelligence Systems i

the Persian Gulf War (Fairfax, Va.: AFCEA International Press, 1992), 130.

56. N. Hudson, “Air Force Researching Ground-Based Lasers,” Air Forc

Times, 30 May 1993. Air Force Space Command estimates that 30 countrie

will have satellite reconnaissance capability by the year 2000.

57. For information about the USA Eyeglass Satellite, see Berner

Lanphier, and Associates, “Many Nations Feed Commercial Imager

Market,” Space News, 6 March 1995.

58. That is, in coordinated orbital paths and networks.

59. Circular Keplarian Orbital Velocity: Vc = (m eG/rs)

1/2 where Eart

mass: m e = 5.974 x 102 4 kg,

Earth radius: r e = 6,371 km,

Satellite orbital radius: rs = r e + altitude, and

Newton’s gravitational constant G = 6.673 x 10–11 Nm2/(kg2)

Orbital Velocity LEO (200 km): 7,789 m/s ~ 17,425 MPH

60. Kinetic energy, or work done against inertia, is the appropriat

measure since the inertia of the satellite must be maneuvered.

Mach 2 at low altitude ~ 1,440 MPH or ~ 645 m/s

Kinetic energy KE = (1/2)mv2:

KEsat = (1/2) x 100 kg x (7,800 m/s)2 ~ 3 x 109 Nm

KEF-16 = (1/2) x 14,625 kg x (645 m/s)2 ~ 3 x 10 9 Nm

61. M. Rampino, Maxwell AFB, Ala., interviewed by author, Januar

1996. The figure mentioned is not an eleven-hundred-mile lateral movemen

in orbit capability. It refers to lift-and-drag-aided RLV maneuverabilit

within the atmosphere, minimizing the more expensive proposition o

spending fuel to change orbit.

62. This assumes that the right satellites are in the right orbit (limitatio

of maneuver) with the right capability (limitation of flexibility) and tha

those satellites can precisely acquire the right target (limitation o

precision).

63. Thomas A. Keaney and Eliot A. Cohen, Gulf War Air Power Survey

vol. 3, Logistics and Support (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Ai

Force, 1993), chap. 3.

64. Total Energy = Kinetic + Potential Energy

KEsat = (1/2) x 908 kg x (7,800 m/s)2 ~ 2.762 x 101 0 Nm

PEsat = 908 kg x (9.807 N/kg) x 200,000 m ~ 1.781 x 10 9 Nm

TEsat = 2.94 x 101 0 Nm

A one ton (2,000 lb) TNT explosion equates to 4.184 x 109 Nm.

576
530 knots ~ 608 MPH ~ 272 m/s

KE30K = (1/2) x 908 kg x (272 m/s)2 ~ 3.359 x 10 7 Nm

PE30K = 908 kg x (9.807 N/kg) x 30,000 m ~ 2.671 x 10 8 Nm

TE30K = 3.007 x 108 Nm

65. Duncan Lennox and Arthur Rees, eds., Jane’s Air Launche

Weapons, no. 19, Low Drag General Purpose Bombs (Alexandria, Va.: Jane’

Information Group Ltd., 1992).

66. Lt J. Wesson, Air Force Wright Labs, Eglin AFB, Fla., telephon

interview by author, February 1996. Tritonal has 120–125 percent of th

explosive power of TNT, while state-of-the-art conventiona

explosives—including experimental APET-257 and PWX MOD19—hav

demonstrated explosive capability on the order of 140 percent of TNT

Surprisingly, few if any new explosive materials have presented themselve

since World War II. Current research efforts basically address evolutionar

improvements to TNT derivatives.

67. Joseph Anselmo, “NASA Issues Wake-Up Call to Industry,” Aviatio

Week & Space Technology, 19 February 1996.

68. Lt Col Stephen A. Coulombe, “The Airborne Laser: Pie in the Sky o

Vision of Future Theater Missile Defense?” Airpower Journal 8, no. 3 (Fa

1994): 62.

69. Circular Keplarian Orbital Velocity calculation yields

Orbital Velocity GEO (35,786 km): 3,075 m/s ~ 6,880 MPH

Orbital Velocity LEO (204 km): 7,787 m/s ~ 17,420 MPH

70. Lagrange points are gravity wells in space—equilibrium points tha

remain stationary with respect to the rotating coordinate frame. Fiv

naturally occur in the near-Earth/Moon environment.

71. As defined by Carl von Clausewitz, genius affords human decisio

making based on wisdom and requires intellect, experience, and bold mora

character. On War, ed. Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton, N.J

Princeton University Press, 1976).

72. One could also make a good argument that functional command

could take on the responsibility of organizing, training, and equipping al

forces (i.e., provide the money). This would be a dramatic shift, since th

services would be relegated to operational corps status. As such, the ne

Space Force already exists in the form of US Space Command. This essay

however, does not address this level of the organizational argument.

73. JDTTP 3-14, 1.

74. Gen Russell E. Dougherty et al., Facing Up to the Space Problem, A

Force Association Special Report, 1 November 1994, 12.

75. The present economy is at least as “unencumbered” as that of th

late nineteenth century. The lack of an immediate threat actually afford

the luxury of redirecting funds toward new environment exploits.

76. Dougherty, 14.

77. “Military Space $ on Rise in FY96,” Military Space, 20 Februar

1995, 1.

577
78. From the space power perspective, space systems will also find i

difficult to compete with air systems in an Air Force environment.

79. Michael Neufeld, The Rocket and the Reich: Peenemünde and th

Coming of the Ballistic Missile Era (New York: Free Press, 1995), 52.

80. Revolutionary planning efforts include New World Vistas: Air an

Space Power for the 21st Century (Washington, D.C.: USAF Scientifi

Advisory Board, 1995–1996), which seriously considers basic research as 

funding priority; and 2025 (Maxwell AFB, Ala.: Air University Press, 1996)

consisting of three monographs and four volumes of white papers.

578
Chapter 15

Reflections on the Search

for Airpower Theory

Dr. I. B. Holley Jr.

Technology advances—novel weapons as well as ancillar

equipment—are devised, but until suitable doctrines ar

formulated to optimize their potential, they remain under

exploited. In short, there is an intellectual dimension to ever

significant advance in weaponry. The Paths of Heaven is abou

that intellectual dimension, beliefs, and the manner in whic

military people and scholars have conceptualized the way the

would exploit the air weapon as it has evolved in the twentiet

century.

Some people have been rigorously disciplined in thei

thinking; others have not, clearly reflecting the limitations o

their thought processes and, by implication, their deficiencie

in education. When one attempts to grapple with the problem

of how these thinkers, especially officers in the differen

services at various times, have tried to integrate technologica

innovations effectively in their organizations, the crucia

importance of professional military education becomes clear

A service that does not develop rigorous thinkers among it

leaders and decision makers is inviting friction, folly, an

failure.

In an attempt to embrace all these varied individuals, thi

book’s subtitle promises that The Paths of Heaven is an

account of “the evolution of airpower theory”—a survey o

some of the leading thinkers. In studying the foregoin

chapters, this author was struck by the unsystematic

undisciplined thinking that all too often characterized th

writings of the “theorists” described. Establishing a baselin

against which to measure the thinkers in question may b

useful.

579
One can classify ideas by the way they are authenticated.

The following array of terms gives us a useful spectrum

against which to set our airpower thinkers:

• Theories are ideas that are systematically prepared fo

authentication.

• Visions are ideas not systematically prepared for authen

tication.

• Illusions are ideas that could not survive systematic prepar

ation for authentication.

• Myths are ideas that exempt themselves from any sys

tematic authentication.

• Facts are ideas that have already passed the authentication

process.

• Falsehoods are ideas certain to fail the authenticatio

process.

Clearly, Gen Giulio Douhet was a visionary . With only th

scantiest empirical evidence to go on, he visualized th

concept of strategic air war. By sheer imagination, he als

recognized the necessity of air supremacy or what he calle

“command of the air”—all this before Italy had even entere

the war in 1915. Not surprisingly, these profound visions o

what the future would bring were, when it came to details

seriously flawed. Douhet failed to anticipate the character o

air-to-air combat, vastly overestimated the impact o

conventional bombing, and misunderstood the importance o

aircraft other than bombers. In these and many othe

respects, Douhet’s vision was decidedly flawed. But th

evidence of experience would overcome these details. Th

significance of visionaries lies not in the details but in th

stream of thought they set in train.

Although Douhet’s works were not widely used by militar

schools in other countries, his vision of strategic airpowe

undoubtedly was a significant inspiration to Edgar Gorrell an

Gen Billy Mitchell, who carried his ideas to the United State

and ran with them in their own way. We may conclude, then

that Douhet had a grand vision of airpower, but—lacking th

factual evidence of experience—his vision was no

systematically prepared for authentication. It would remain

elusive and difficult to assess.

580
The British thinkers about airpower, Hugh Trenchard an

Jack Slessor, had an advantage over Douhet in that they ha

more extensive experience in the application of the ai

weapon. Given the fragile condition of British ground forces

Trenchard early defined the offensive character of airpower

concentrating on air superiority and interdiction . But he als

visualized the importance of strategic bombing and late in th

war had the opportunity to organize an independent air forc

to that end. In contrast to Douhet, he specified appropriat

industrial targets big enough to be identified from th

air—evidence of practical realism born of experience.

Thus far, Trenchard would seem to rank as a theorist

resting his ideas on factual evidence, but like so man

airpower thinkers, he indulged in visions or even illusions

When he claimed that the psychological effects of bombin

outweighed the material as 20 to one, he was speculating—

with no whit of factual evidence to support his contention. I

this had been an ill-judged remark casually tossed off, on

would attach no great significance to it, but his belief tha

airpower could break the morale of enemy populations—which

in turn would force the hostile government to sue fo

peace—became one of his basic tenets. This view of “war [as

largely a psychological effort” (p. 54)2 found its way into Roya

Air Force (RAF) manuals throughout the interwar period—an

example of an unsupported belief or supposition becoming th

basis of service doctrine.

The idea that war was largely a psychological effort reache

even more deeply into British thinking. Given the vulnerabilit

of London , so accessible by air from the Continent, and given

the British propensity to be repelled by the thought o

indiscriminate bombing of cities (read “women and children”)

responsible RAF officers were at pains to insist that thei

targets would be legitimate industrial sites supporting th

enemy war effort. Even from the vantage point of hindsight, i

is easy to see how completely this line of thinking under

estimated the scope of population control in an authoritarian

state.

Although RAF thinking about airpower contained flaws

there was also a good deal of sound thinking based on th

experience of World War I—as revealed by Jack Slessor’

581
writings. His perceptions on the need for close cooperation

with ground forces and the utility of collocating air an

ground headquarters were fully certified by World War II

Nonetheless, one is left aghast at the extent to which

unchallenged assumptions permeated RAF official thinking

given that the very survival of the nation almost certainly

hinged on the soundness of its airpower.

Was Billy Mitchell, “the messiah of American airpower” (p

80), any more rigorous in his thinking than his RAF

contemporaries? The present-day United States Air Force ha

made an icon of Mitchell, but a close reading of his writin

shows how shallow his analysis actually was. Moreover, hi

most spectacular accomplishment, sinking the battleship

Ostfriesland, involved—as his naval critics charged, not to pu

too fine a point on it—cheating.

The whole story of the battleship trials is more comple

than the popular image of Mitchell’s triumph. To begin with

the Navy offered as a target the obsolete battleship Iowa

unmanned and radio-controlled, steaming off the Virgini

Capes. Mitchell , well aware of how difficult it would be to fin

a moving ship, let alone hit it, declined the offer. He preferre

a sitting duck.

By the agreed-upon terms of the Ostfriesland trial, Ai

Service bombers were to make a series of attacks with

different weights of bombs, allowing for inspection between

bombings. Attacks were to be carried out at a prescribe

altitude, above the probable volume of antiaircraft fire if th

vessel actually had been manned and defended. Mitchel

ignored these terms, especially the altitude stipulations, an

dropped his bombs from an unrealistically low level to ensur

fatal hits. He got what he wanted—those wonderfu

photographs of the Ostfriesland , keel up and about to plunge

to the bottom.

In short, were Mitchell’s claims to have replaced the Navy

mere illusions (ideas that could not survive systemati

preparation for authentication) rather than sound theories

Should we knock him off his pedestal with the righteou

indignation of iconoclasts? Perhaps so on the facts of th

matter. But there’s another perspective. Like Douhet, Mitchel

was more visionary than theorist. He was a careless an

582
unsystematic thinker, but he inspired men with his vision 

Hap Arnold , Carl Spaatz , and Ira Eaker —to name only th

obvious individuals—were among his votaries, carrying th

torch for strategic airpower and an independent air forc

through the difficult interwar years. Sometimes visions an

even myths are more powerful than the most meticulously

and rationally supported theories.

Mitchell brought trouble on himself needlessly. In calling fo

a single air arm that would include the air components of th

Navy, he aroused the implacable opposition of the sailors. Ha

he given even superficial thought to British experience—th

failure that followed the absorption of naval air assets by th

RAF—he could have avoided the opposition on the part of th

Navy that has persisted in some quarters even to the present.

Ironically, Mitchell may have been the unwitting agent in

creating the carrier Navy. Although all battleship admiral

were by no means as reactionary and opposed to aviation a

sometimes pictured, the Ostfriesland sinking clearly playe

directly into the hands of the small coterie of naval aviation

pioneers. Even the most obdurate mossback admirals could

scarcely reject the naval pilots’ contention that the Navy would

be far better off developing its own air arm than allowing th

task to slip into the hands of Mitchell and his congressiona

allies, who were calling for an independent air service with 

monopoly of all military aviation.

The Navy’s success in developing aviation appears to hing

on two fortuitous events. The first was the decision to pu

William Moffett, a “safe” and experienced battleship admiral

in charge of aviation. The second was the unintended

consequence of the naval disarmament treaty of 1922. Force

to discontinue construction on two unfinished battle cruisers

the Navy, at the instigation of Moffett, converted these hull

into the carriers Lexington and Saratoga . Is it too much t

suggest that the doctrinal development and training of nava

aviators provided by these two carriers in the interwar year

were crucial to the Navy’s role in winning the war in th

Pacific in World War II? By the end of that war, carrie

admirals were governing the Navy in much the same wa

bomber generals would govern the Air Force a few years later

In this respect, one might say that naval aviators wer

583
somewhat more successful than their Air Force colleagues in

bringing their organization and airpower theory together.

French aviation fared badly in World War II. Several factor

contributed to this; the political upheavals of the Popula

Front and the labor unrest that followed, as well as th

nationalization of the aircraft industry, all took their toll. Th

root cause, however, lay in the prevailing perception o

airpower. Senior army leaders saw support of the army as th

primary mission of aviation . Moreover, the high command wa

defense oriented, so even after the air arm became a separat

service in the 1930s, even modest attempts to foster 

strategic role were blunted.

Some airmen, inspired by Douhet’s vision, articulated th

notion that strategic bombardment might have a major role in

bringing victory. But in the prevailing climate, which frowne

on dissent from established doctrine, scant support existed fo

any radical shift to offensive strategic aviation . This chill on

free discussion is all the more curious in light of the superb

educational infrastructure the French military possessed in

the École Superior. Was it actually as good as people perceive

it to be? Whatever the shortcoming of French theory an

practice with regard to aviation , no evidence shows that it ha

significant impact one way or another on airpower theory in

the United States during the interwar years.

Although Douhet’s vision of strategic bombardment had bot

direct and indirect impacts on US thought, this was not true fo

most other Italian theory and practice during the interwar year

In a cynical display of early “political correctness,” Air Marsha

Italo Balbo paid lip service to Douhet, who was a favorite o

Mussolini, but put into practice the concepts of Gen Amede

Mecozzi, which favored army support over an independen

strategic role for aviation. The Italian air force performed

effectively in its army-support role in Spain , thus seeming t

confirm the validity of Mecozzi’s theories.

A massive strategic bombardment of Barcelona , ordered b

Mussolini, not only failed to break the will of the Catalonian

but stiffened their resistance. This may have persuade

Mecozzi that he was on the right track in downplayin

Douhet ’s ideas, but from the vantage point of the present it i

of particular interest, for it was a lesson that seems to hav

584
had no impact whatever on the British belief that strategi

bombing would result in the collapse of civilian morale. Thi

British failure to derive much benefit from the air operations o

the Spanish Civil War, a neglect roughly paralleled by the Unite

States, raises questions about the character and effectiveness o

the attaché and observer systems then in place—not to mention

the whole question of military intelligence.

Soviet influence on US airpower theory in the interwar year

was virtually nonexistent. This is scarcely surprising, given

the language barrier, the long delay in establishing forma

diplomatic recognition, and the country’s general remoteness

Because of the backwardness of Soviet industry, one doubt

whether the USSR could have fielded an effective strategic

bomber force, even if Stalin ’s paranoia had not liquidate

such promising theorists of strategic air war as Mikhai

Tukhachevsky and A. N. Lapchinsky.

Of all the European powers, Germany was in the bes

position to perfect airpower theory. Even though denied an ai

force by the terms of the Versailles Treaty, the country ha

already established a firm tradition on which to mount an

independent air arm. During World War I, it acquired 

centralized air command and a separate air general staff

During the Weimar years, the Germans kept these alive with 

shadow staff and their curious eight-year expatriate operation

in Russia . With the Luftwaffe ’s strong tradition of objective

after-action reporting and thorough analysis of foreign

airpower theories, its officers in the 1930s came up with 

remarkably broad-gauge doctrine that stressed the primacy o

strategic bombardment but did not neglect the importance o

tactical support of the armies.

Thus by 1936, Luftwaffe doctrine called for a bomber-heavy

force. Several circumstances were to warp this orientation

substantially. Because the Luftwaffe lacked an adequat

bombsight in quantity production, its experience with

high-level bombing proved disappointing. Further, thinkin

largely in Continental terms, especially of France and Polan

as enemies, the Germans designed their bombers for relativel

short-range flights. And just at this juncture, Gen Ernst Ude

witnessed the effectiveness of US Navy dive-bombers an

returned home to insist on converting the Luftwaffe to 

585
dive-bomber force. The success of Condor Legion dive-bomber

against Republican ground forces in Spain exercised a subtl

but powerful reorientation of Luftwaffe thought toward suppor

of the army.

What then was the message that all the Continental power

displayed on the eve of World War II to any potential inquirer

All gave lip service to the possibility of a strategic strike force

but they configured their air arms and oriented their doctrin

largely in terms of support for ground arms. Little in th

surviving record suggests that US officers of the interwa

years engaged in any serious inquiry into European air theory

It seems clear, however, that with the exception of the RAF 

the air arms of the great nations of Europe offered substantia

affirmation to the prevailing notion of the US Army Genera

Staff that the principal function of aviation was to suppor

ground forces .

In the United States, the air arm was still a part of th

Army. The experience of World War I had convinced Arm

leaders that aviation remained a vital component—absolutely

necessary to survival. For that reason, they clung tenaciously

to retaining control of air assets. They were not totally blind t

the concept of strategic bombing, but their views of what thi

constituted tended to be more restricted to Army concern

than were the views of airmen.

If Army leaders seemed less than enthusiastic abou

strategic air, one must admit that they had some good reason

for their stand. During the war, strategic bombing had faile

to measure up to the brash claims and expectations of Billy

Mitchell and others. In one notable incident, a flight o

American Expeditionary Force (AEF) bombers into German

had become disoriented and mistakenly landed on a German

airfield. The Germans, with an uncharacteristic sense o

humor, sent a message across Allied lines saying, “Thanks fo

the airplanes, but what should we do with the fligh

commander?” The nub of the difficulty, of course, lay in th

fact that the claims of strategic bombing visionaries fa

outstripped the technical capabilities of equipment then

available. The situation persisted almost down to th

beginning of World War II, when long-range, high-altitud

bombers such as the B-17 became available.

586
With the Army clinging to the air arm as essential to it

operations, votaries of Mitchell’s vision came to believe tha

only by creating a separate service would aviation ever be able

to prove that it could provide a more efficient route to victor

than that offered by conventional surface forces. A rationa

approach to this goal would seem to call for a campaign t

convince the Army that aviation could accomplish th

strategic mission without jeopardizing the support function.

Unfortunately, Mitchell’s followers were, for the most part

zealots who sponsored bills in Congress to establish 

separate air force with its promise of a strategic raison d’être

This only hardened Army determination to hang on to its ai

arm. The very word strategic became anathema, making i

increasingly difficult for airmen to secure funds fo

ever-heavier, long-range, high-altitude bombers rather than

aircraft more suited to Army support roles. With some justice

the Army could complain that airmen were ungrateful. Afte

all, the War Department spent an increasing percentage of it

funds on the air arm—more than a quarter of its annua

outlay by the eve of World War II. From the perspective of th

infantry, artillery, and all the supporting services, the Ai

Corps seemed to be getting more than its fair share—

especially in proportion to the small number of air officer

involved.

Why were the airmen so blind? Why did they fail to see tha

the situation called for subtle tactics and a bette

understanding of Army sensibilities? The answer appears t

lie in the institutional arrangements established to develop Ai

Corps leaders. In its final configuration, the nearest thin

airmen had to a think tank was the Air Corps Tactical Schoo

(ACTS)—supposedly their premier educational institution—a

Maxwell Field, Alabama. Sadly, ACTS was more oriented t

training than to true education, as revealed by the doctrine

devised there.

The faculty of ACTS were, for the most part, hardworkin

officers, brave men, and able pilots. They were not, on th

whole, broadly educated. They turned out doctrines tha

pursued the Mitchell vision but largely lacked the necessar

authentication. In many respects, their doctrinal pro

mulgations were illusions (ideas that could not surviv

587
systematic preparation for authentication). The meanderin

positions taken by both sides in the debate over the issue o

escort fighters for strategic bombers, described in an earlie

chapter, are but one example that illustrates the lack of rigo

in the thinking of airmen. They confused supposition with

fact, and they left unexplored and unanswered assumption

floating in midair. To be sure, some perceptive individuals—

students as well as faculty—did on occasion raise skeptica

challenges, but these seldom seem to have led to an

significant reworking of the official line. In sum, although

official and unofficial historians laud ACTS , a close study o

the thinking done there in the interwar years can often be an

embarrassment to the present-day Air Force.

Isn’t it ironic that one finds the portrait of Muir “Santy

Fairchild , the man who had the vision to establish Ai

University after World War II, in an obscure position at th

back entrance to the magnificent Air University Library. B

contrast, Claire Chennault , whose shoddy thinking an

self-serving retrospective distortions muddied the doctrina

picture so badly, is memorialized with a prominently place

granite monument. One can only hope that the monumen

reflects his World War II leadership of the Flying Tigers—no

the quality of his thinking at ACTS as an airpower theorist .

In sum, the officers who advanced airpower theory at th

interwar Air Corps Tactical School were undoubtedly on th

right path when they defined the primary objective of the air arm

as strategic. But their thinking on how best to implement tha

faith was seriously flawed. Their assumptions about bombe

defense were unrealistic, as were their assumptions about th

accuracy of precision bombing, which largely ignored

considerations of weather and the difficulties of navigation an

target identification. For all their talk about the “industrial web,

when the war came, their target folders, for the most part, wer

empty. Given the paucity of funds for experimentation, on

could forgive them for many shortfalls if the record showed tha

they were asking searching questions on these topics, even i

they lacked the resources to answer them. But they were no

asking such questions, and that is the lesson that should goa

future generations of Air Force officers.

588
Among all the notable airpower thinkers, Alexander d

Seversky is one of the most interesting. He is the outsider

Although he had a spectacular career as an air officer in th

Russian service in World War I, his advocacy for airpowe

came many years later, when he was a civilian and successfu

aircraft designer. So he came to his role from a rather differen

context than did virtually all the other advocates of strategi

air. In point of fact, de Seversky was not really an origina

thinker and contributor to theory but a publicist

propagandist, and purveyor of the ideas of others.

De Seversky is, however, well worth consideration, for hi

career sheds a good bit of light on the very shortcomings tha

this chapter addresses. He was a brilliantly creative enginee

and aircraft designer whose P-35 fighter represented a grea

stride forward in its day; it proved especially noteworthy for it

influence on the mighty “Jug”—the P-47 of World War II. Bu

de Seversky’s brilliance extended beyond designing aircraft

He was certainly on the right track when he patented 

scheme for air-to-air refueling and formulated big plans fo

internal tankage to extend the range of fighter aircraft. To b

sure, a patent on air-to-air refueling is not the same thing as 

fully perfected system in actual use after much trial and error

Of interest here is the brush-off he received from Air Corp

officials when he proffered these ideas.

Airpower theory is not just a matter of defining the variou

roles and missions of air weapons. Such theory requires th

conceptualization of ways to implement it. De Seversky saw th

need for bomber escorts to accompany strategic bombers, whic

would require long-range capabilities. He turned to increase

internal tankage and the notion of air-to-air refueling. At th

time, neither possibility may have been an entirely satisfactor

solution to the problem, but he was thinking toward a solution

whereas Air Corps leaders were not.

The ultimate solution to the escort fighter was, of course

the drop tank. Here, too, Air Corps leaders were so narrowly

committed to the mission of fighters in their fighter-versus

fighter role that they refused to visualize them functionin 

as escorts. Long after the need to extend fighter range wa

manifest, no less an individual than Carl Spaat

recom-mended against the adoption of drop tanks. Curiou

589
about the seeming blindness on the part of an unquestionably

able officer, this writer sought out the staff correspondence on

this issue. Sure enough, Spaatz signed the document, but i

was drafted by one of his subordinates—Hoyt Vandenberg. I

it not ironic that the two men who later became the first an

second chief of staff, respectively, of the newly established US

Air Force both displayed so little imagination in grappling with

this critical problem?

De Seversky was a brilliant designer but a mediocr

businessman, so nudging him out of control of his compan

so that it could achieve a high level of production wa

probably a prudent move. But did Hap Arnold handle th

transition as tactfully as he should have? The depth o

Arnold ’s involvement remains unclear, but given the assaul

on de Seversky’s self-esteem, not only ousting him from hi

position but also wounding his pride by changing the name o

his company to Republic Aircraft was probably a mistake

Surely, Arnold might have expended greater effort in

assuaging de Seversky’s damaged ego. This too was an aspec

of airpower thinking. Arnold ’s failure would cost him—and th

air arm—dearly.

Was de Seversky a good publicist and propagandist? He wa

certainly indefatigable, and undoubtedly he had a profoun

impact upon public opinion in the United States. Nonetheless

he too was a flawed thinker. His petty vindictiveness toward

Arnold was counterproductive, and his public criticism of th

Air Force would have been more productive if done privately

Even more serious was his unexplained but implacabl

criticism of the Navy, which was rapidly turning into an

effective carrier service, even as he lambasted battleship

dogma.

Did the atomic bomb substantiate Douhet’s and Mitchell’

claims about strategic bombing? Well, yes and no. On the on

hand, the atom bomb certainly made it possible to destroy 

nation. On the other hand, nations soon learned that th

balance of terror—usually presented as the doctrine o

mutually assured destruction (MAD)—gave political an

military leaders reason to peer over the abyss and draw back

This was deterrence , an aspect of airpower theory no

envisioned by the early military theorists. Curiously enough

590
theory in the nuclear world has remained largely the produc

of academic scholars rather than military officers and ha

involved a subtlety of reasoning far more sophisticated than

that of the early airpower thinkers.

The scholars seemed to turn the equation upside down

Intercontinental missiles for destroying enemy weapon

destabilize because they offer a first-strike threat, but thei

launching facilities are vulnerable. By contrast

submarine-launched missiles, though less accurate, pose 

real threat to civilian populations. Thus, they become 

stabilizing force because their relative invulnerability make

them available for a second strike. As Karl Mueller observes

this amounts to saying that “being able to kill weapons is bad

while being able to kill people is good” (p. 303). After coming t

the obvious conclusion that antiballistic missile (ABM

defenses are destabilizing, we enter treaties to curb their use

This is not a characteristic posture for military men who hav

generally favored more weapons rather than fewer.

But wait. As George Orwell might have put it, som

weapons—at least in the eyes of airmen—seem to be more equa

than others. Despite the success of the German V-2 , the Ai

Force was slow to enter the missile field. Just before steppin

down at the end of World War II, Hap Arnold was willing to leav

missile development to the Army and the Ordnance Department

saving for the Air Force only those aircraft that depended upon

wings for sustentation. This was but a flagrant example of wha

Carl Builder later called the “Icarus Syndrome”—the Air Force

love affair with the airplane.3 The story of the Air Force 

reluctance to fund missile research, even up to the appearanc

of the capable Minuteman in the 1960s, underscores this failing

The Soviet success with Sputnik I in 1957 jarred Air Forc

thinkers into a reappraisal of intercontinental missiles. Perhap

even more significant in changing Air Force thought was th

Navy’s success in developing submarine-launched inter

continental missiles.

A cynic might be inclined to suggest that interservice rivalr

may be a more powerful incentive to realistic thinking abou

airpower than the traditional goad of hostile threat. By th

same sort of reasoning, the intense desire to hang on to th

airplane has led to some wonderfully imaginative innovations

591
stealth , standoff weapons, and a whole range of electroni

devices to suppress enemy measures, which have certainly

gone far in prolonging the useful life of manned aircraft.

When low intensity conflicts (LIC) became especially acut

in the 1960s, some casting about occurred in the Air Force t

define the role of airpower in relation to such threats. No

surprisingly, however, given their preoccupation with strategi

air war à outrance, especially against the Soviet Union , Ai

Force officers showed remarkably little interest in devisin

doctrines appropriate for LIC. No significant airpower thinke

emerged with a particular interest in this area. At best, the Ai

Force seemed to see its tasks primarily in a supporting role

although the gunship perfected during operations in Vietnam

showed promise for the future. The shallowness of the ai

arm’s interest in its LIC role may well have stemmed from th

fact that the preeminent air weapon for LIC operations is th

helicopter. Since Army helicopters satisfied that need, ai

officers seemed to lose interest.

If Air Force officers showed little interest in the air aspect

of LICs, this did not in any case signal declining interest in

airpower theory. With the Vietnam quagmire behind it, th

nation welcomed two significant airpower theorists—Col John

Boyd and Col John Warden . Both were far more sophisticate

in their reasoning than most of their predecessors. Along with

the officer corps as a whole, both were also better educate

than those who had gone before them.

Taking his cue from Basil H. Liddell Hart (“think in terms o

paralyzing”) and J. F. C. Fuller (“brain warfare, a shot through

the head”), Boyd conceived of proper strategy as one tha

disrupted or incapacitated the enemy’s ability to cope b

forcing him to operate at a tempo beyond his ability t

respond effectively. Success favors the side that can observe

orient, decide, and act (OODA) sooner than the enemy. Which

is to say, one must get inside his “OODA loop ” o

decision-making cycle. In sharp contrast to the fatally flawe

“methodical battle” of the French, with its carefully planne

time-phased actions, Boyd ’s thinking required the exercise o

initiative at low echelons—opportunistic, fast-breaking

imaginative leadership. He saw any single doctrinal path t

victory as predictable and therefore vulnerable. For Boyd , th

592
issue was not a matter of doctrine, but of doctrines—a whol

quiver full of options to be applied in rapid, staccato thrusts. Hi

approach to strategic paralysis did not entail battering th

enemy’s economy but his leadership and its control over th

country.

In a similar vein, John Warden ’s conceptualization of the ai

campaign was more political than economic. 4 His scheme fo

translating national political objectives and strategic goals int

theater air campaigns involved identifying the enemy’s cente

of gravity—the point where he is most vulnerable to air attack 

Although Warden visualized five concentric rings—targets in

descending order of priority—he leaves no doubt tha

leadership at the national center, and in each successive rin

or target, is always the preferred objective.

The beauty of Warden ’s work for the strategic planner is th

way he relates ends (political objectives), ways (strategies t

attain those ends), and means (identifying specific targets t

execute the chosen strategy). Because his well-trained team

carried out this process in planning air operations for Operatio

Desert Storm, we have a helpful degree of authentication fo

Warden’s airpower theories. Taken together, the work of Boyd

and Warden offers an impressive index of the remarkabl

advance in airpower thinking beyond the crudities of Douhe

and Mitchell. However, that both Boyd and Warden retired a

colonels strongly suggests the marginal status of airpowe

theorists in the contemporary Air Force .

The increasing sophistication of airpower though

represented by the work of Boyd and Warden had parallels in

many respects elsewhere in the Air Force . One sees a notabl

instance of this in the greater willingness of airmen to work

constructively with the Army to resolve the long-standin

problem of hammering out an effective air-groun

relationship. Many factors contributed to this “partnership”

indeed, the very use of the term seemed to signal a new set o

attitudes in both parties. In part, the shift in attitude ma

have reflected the rise of the “fighter mafia ,” replacing th

“bomber mafia ” in Air Force command circles. The net resul

was a mutual recognition that the Army and the Air Forc

depended upon one another. The Army knew that it could no

593
operate without air cover, and the Air Force understood that i

depended heavily upon ground forces to screen its air bases.

The Army and Air Force achieved much of th

rapprochement between 1946 and 1986, culminating in majo

doctrinal promulgations by both services. These specified th

roles of each service in the new partnership called “AirLan

Battle,” even though in actual fact the devised doctrine

extended beyond any given “battle” to the campaign as 

whole. Confidence in the viability of the concept of AirLan

Battle increased as a result of the authentication it acquire

from repeated testing of its features in Red Flag force-on-forc

air combat trials and Blue Flag air-ground command pos

exercises.

Although the services achieved heartening advances in

harmonizing air-ground cooperation by tactical units, agreemen

proved harder to obtain at the operational level of command

Airmen have long insisted that, for optimum effect, the characte

of airpower demands centralized control and decentralized

execution . But should this leave every decision on the allocation

of sorties—for interdiction, by way of example—entirely to th

judgment of the air component commander ? Understandably

Army corps commanders, under heavy pressure from th

enemy, objected to being left to the mercy of a decision by 

distant air component commander—especially since th

intelligence for making such decisions would have to come from

ground sources. Experience from World War II had shown tha

collocation of higher command headquarters could resolve man

of these tensions, but the manpower-saving decision t

eliminate Army headquarters threatened this promisin

solution—at least temporarily.

If the Army–Air Force turf battle had remained merely 

debate over theoretical control procedures to be defined in

doctrinal manuals, the issue might have continued endlessly

But the issue was not theoretical. The two services operated in

an active theater, in NATO , with a realistic cold war enem

across the border. Further, living within the political realitie

of multinational NATO made the Air Force acutely aware o

Clausewitz’s definition of war as an extension of politics. Thi

may not have induced Air Force officers to give up thei

convictions or rewrite their doctrinal manuals, but it certainly

594
did force them to accommodate, at least within NATO, an

approved doctrine on interdiction.

The old saw “he who is persuaded against his will is of th

opinion still” may be pertinent here. The Air Force mad

concessions in the NATO context but probably did no

significantly alter its theory of airpower in so doing

Characteristically, bureaucratic fiefdoms—when confronte

with intractable differences—defer rather than resolve them.

Were the procedural adjustments—the agreement

hammered out between the Army and the Air Force an

among the constituent member nations of NATO—an

expression of airpower theory? Or were they merely an

incremental accommodation arrived at by the labors of 

multitude of staff officers—conferring, bargaining, an

adjusting—with all sides making good-faith efforts to fin

acceptable common ground, only occasionally digging in thei

heels when they sensed some vital interest to their service wa

at stake. Does this mean that airmen become recalcitrant only

when some fundamental tenet of their perception of airpowe

theory is threatened?

In such negotiations, no individuals stand out a

preeminent theorists. Staff assignments rotate; generals com

and go. Procedures to ensure control, coordination, an

synchronization are contrived. One may consider thes

adjustments advances in airpower theory only insofar as on

extends the definition of that theory to include means as wel

as ways and ends.

Although the Soviet threat that originally mobilized NATO

has diminished—for the moment at least—studying how th

Soviets and their successors think about airpower remain

worthwhile. Any such study should begin with a caveat. Th

Soviet Union was never really an integral part of Europe. On

should expect differences from a nation that failed t

standardize the gauge of its railroads in conformity with th

nations of Western Europe. In the USSR the term doctrine, fo

example, was not at all the same as what it meant in Western

culture. Doctrine for the Soviets was mandatory and carrie

the sanctions of law. What the Soviets called military ar

comes closer to what the West called doctrine.

595
During World War II, the Soviet air arm was essentially 

ground-support force, an orientation continued until th

death of Stalin in 1953. Under his successor, Nikit

Khrushchev, Soviet airpower theory changed drastically. H

pushed for greater emphasis on strategic air war, with aircraf

capable of delivering nuclear weapons. More importantly, h

downgraded conventional ground forces and moved the majo

share of the defense budget to strategic rocket forces, with an

eye toward preemptive strikes. But the realization that NATO

nuclear forces were at least a generation ahead of the Soviet

led to a gradual shift from offensive thinking to defensive.

The war in the Gulf had a chilling impact on Sovie

thinking. The miserable performance of Soviet arms in Iraq

hands proved profoundly disturbing. The tank-heavy Sovie

army found it especially disconcerting that tanks had becom

“an endangered species without control of the air” (p. 508)

Although senior Soviet officers, in characteristic authoritarian

fashion, tended to stifle criticisms arising from elaborat

analysis of the Gulf War experience, younger officers manage

to come up with a realistic assessment of the future characte

of air war that parallels US airpower theory in many respects

Notably, the pendulum of theory once again swung back from

Mikhail Gorbachev’s “defensive doctrine” to an appreciation

for the primacy of the offensive. The collapse of the Sovie

Union leaves the significance of this shift very much in

doubt—especially insofar as it relates to investments in

research and development for space.

The final substantive chapter in this volume attempts t

provide a rigorous analysis of the comparative characteristic

of airpower and space power. The analysis is indee

illuminating, dealing as it does with the radically differen

characteristics of the air and space realms. However, in

contrast to the earlier chapters of this book, which treat thei

subjects historically and descriptively, this chapter sets u

what its author calls a space power conjecture, positing tha

space power is merely an extension of airpower. Major DeBloi

then sets out to demonstrate that the conjecture is false. Th

Air Force , he concludes, will eventually have to cut loose it

child and create a separate Space Force.

596
Whether one accepts or rejects the author

s thesis depend

upon one’s willingness to recognize his conjecture as th

operative question. Certainly, the characteristics of the air an

space realms pose drastic differences that will undoubtedly

produce acute tensions in contests for funding between th

two realms. But does it inexorably follow that such difference

must lead to separate institutions? The continued existence o

the Marine Corps within the Navy shows just how malleabl

the armed services can be in the face of logic to the contrary

As the Air Force moves increasingly toward unmanne

vehicles and as the Icarus Syndrome weakens, will not th

thrust for institutional survival virtually dictate a drive t

retain space as an appropriate responsibility?

What, then, do the foregoing chapters tell us about airpowe

theory? Much of what has been written on the subject is not

strictly speaking, airpower theory at all but descriptions o

varied efforts to implement the then-current conception o

such theory. Across the decades from the Wright brothers

first powered flight, theorists have generally promised mor

than they can deliver. The frictions and uncertainties of war

described so well by Clausewitz, persist in emphasizing th

distance between theory on the one hand and actua

execution in war on the other. Even the advent of nuclea

weapons, for all their destructive potential, has not brough

complete fulfillment to theorists’ claims. This has resulted no

from any limitation on the awesome power of the weapons bu

from the fear of comparable retaliation .

What insights emerge from this survey of airpowe

thinkers? First and foremost is the troubled and errati

development of the concept of the air weapon as primarily 

support for ground arms. This is understandable in light o

the centuries-long history of surface warfare, with its deeply

embedded traditions, slowly evolved doctrines, and elaborat

systems of officer education and training. Moreover, the fac

that early visionaries such as Douhet and Mitchell mad

sweeping claims for airpower that reached far beyond th

then-available technology tended to induce skepticism in

traditionally conservative military circles. As the capabilities o

the air weapon improved, surface forces became increasingly

anxious to control this new weapon. The more persistent thei

597
grasp, the more insistent the airpower advocates became in

claiming that aviation was primarily an offensive strategi

weapon with an independent role in war. This unfortunat

tension, which still lingers in some measure, became mute

with the post-Vietnam air-ground “partnership”—a comin

together significantly hastened by the necessity of cooperatin

in a NATO context.

The airpower advocates themselves caused some of th

difficulty encountered in winning acceptance of their strategi

vision when they disagreed over the nature of their targets

Those who visualized civilian morale as the primary targe

differed from those who saw the industrial web—the economi

infrastructure—as the main objective. Both views suffere

from lack of evidence. Those who favored morale as the targe

did so as an act of faith; those who favored economic target

displayed a surprising lack of effort in defining and refinin

their target folders. This, in turn, suggests the generally

flawed character of air-arm intelligence efforts.

Yet another common thread that runs through the histor

of airpower theory is the Icarus Syndrome, mentioned earlier

The enthusiasm of pilots for flying, although understandabl

in itself, has led to a persistent downgrading and neglect o

many supporting aspects of the air weapon. The stunting o

bomber self-defense during the interwar years offers a classic

illustration, as does the treatment of logisticians and othe

groundlings in the same period. But the most strikin

instance of the Icarus Syndrome is the Air Force’s long dela

in putting major resources into missiles. One may well as

whether the resistance of so many people to the acceptance o

space weapons as a logical extension of the Air Force sphere o

operations is yet another manifestation of the lack of rigor in

the service’s professional education system.

Finally, can any survey of airpower be truly comprehensiv

if it neglects to consider the role of carrier aviation an

submarine-launched strategic missiles? Interservice rivalry i

a valuable goad to progress. True, it can be wastefull

duplicative, but one should never overlook the value o

competition.

The airplane has been around for nearly one hundred years

but, given its remarkable potential, surely one is surprised b

598
the dearth of really comprehensive thinkers and theorists on

airpower. Science and technology have made enormou

strides—putting people on the Moon and precision-guide

weapons into the third window to the left in the designate

target—but has our professional military education system

kept pace?

The more than nine decades of air-arm thought depicted in

this volume lead to one rather obvious conclusion: airpowe

theory, aerospace power theory, is forever unfinished. Th

challenge to a rising generation of air officers is manifest. Wil

they develop the rigorously authenticated theories required b

successive advances in technology, or will they be satisfie

with ill-supported visions or even suffer illusions?

Notes

1. Thomas Sowell, Knowledge and Decisions (New York: Basic Book

1980), 4–5.

2. Parenthetical page references in the text are to The Paths of Heaven.

3. See Carl H. Builder, The Icarus Syndrome: The Role of Air Powe

Theory in the Evolution and Fate of the U.S. Air Force (New Brunswick, N.J

Transaction Publishers, 1994).

4. See John A. Warden III, The Air Campaign: Planning for Comba

(Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1988).

599
Contributors

Lt Col Mark A. Clodfelter was a professor of airpower histor

at the School of Advanced Airpower Studies (SAAS) from 199

to 1994. He received his BS from the US Air Force Academy in

1977, MA from the University of Nebraska, and PhD from th

University of North Carolina. He is the author of the critically

acclaimed The Limits of Air Power: The American Bombing o

North Vietnam (Free Press, 1989), as well as numerous article

dealing with military and airpower history. A weapon

controller with a tour in South Korea, he is currently professo

of aerospace studies at the University of North Carolina a

Chapel Hill. His latest project is a history of American

strategic bombing, to be published by Free Press.

Dr. James S. Corum has been a professor of comparativ

military studies at SAAS since 1991. After completing hi

undergraduate education at Gonzaga University, he receive

an MA from Brown University, an MLitt from Oxford

University, and a PhD from Queen’s University in Canada. 

major in the US Army Reserve, he has served as an

intelligence officer in Germany and Honduras. Hi

award-winning book The Roots of Blitzkrieg: Hans von Seeck

and German Military Reform (University Press of Kansas

1992) was a History Book Club selection. He has also written

numerous articles on the Luftwaffe, military history, and th

role of airpower in peacekeeping operations. His forthcomin

book on the Luftwaffe will soon be published by the Universit

Press of Kansas.

Maj Bruce M. DeBlois has been a professor of air and spac

technology at SAAS since 1994. After receiving a BS and an

MS in mathematics from Union College, he attended Oxford

University, where he received his doctorate in computationa

fluid mechanics in 1991. He has served as a research analys

at Nellis Air Force Base (AFB), Nevada, and as a research

601
astrophysicist in Sunnyvale, California. He is the author o

several articles on scientific and engineering subjects, as wel

as “Dropping the Electric Grid,” the top research project at Ai

Command and Staff College in 1994. He is currently editing 

book on space theory and doctrine.

Prof. Dennis M. Drew was the dean of SAAS in 1991–92 an

has been the assistant dean of SAAS since his retirement from

the Air Force in 1992. He completed his undergraduate work

at Williamette University and earned graduate degrees at both

the University of Wyoming and the University of Alabama

During his 28-year career in the Air Force, he served as 

personnel officer, missile crew commander, staff officer a

Headquarters Strategic Air Command, and director of th

Airpower Research Institute at Maxwell AFB, Alabama. One o

the world’s leading authorities on airpower doctrine, he is th

author of three books, dozens of articles, and a biweekly

column in Air Force Times. In addition, he was the primar

author of the 1992 edition of AFM 1-1, Basic Aerospac

Doctrine of the United States Air Force .

Lt Col Peter R. Faber served as a professor of airpowe

history at SAAS from 1992 to 1994. After completing hi

undergraduate work at UCLA in 1976, he went on to receiv

graduate degrees from the University of Arkansas and th

University of Alabama, and is completing his PhD at Yal

University, under the guidance of Sir Michael Howard an

Paul Kennedy. He is the author of numerous articles on

airpower history and theory, and in 1989 was chosen as th

outstanding instructor in the History Department at the US

Air Force Academy. He has served as a missile crew

commander and is currently a student at the US Naval Wa

College.

Lt Col David S. Fadok graduated from SAAS in 1994. He wa

a distinguished graduate of the US Air Force Academy in

1982. Selected as a Rhodes Scholar, he graduated from

Oxford University in 1984 with a master’s degree in

psychology, philosophy, and physiology. He has flown as an

602
aircraft commander and instructor pilot in both EC-130s an

C-5s, and has served in the Plans Division on the staff a

Headquarters Air Mobility Command, Scott AFB, Illinois. A

the present time, he is the commander of the 2d Air Refuelin

Squadron at McGuire AFB, New Jersey.

Lt Col Edward J. Felker graduated from SAAS in 1994. H

has an undergraduate degree from the University of Main

and graduate degrees from Ball State University and the US

Army’s Command and General Staff College at For

Leavenworth, Kansas. He has served as a logistics officer in

Turkey and Germany, as an analyst in the Checkmat

Division on the Air Staff in the Pentagon, and as 

maintenance squadron commander. He is currently assigne

to the Doctrine Division in the Joint Warfighting Center a

Fort Monroe, Virginia.

Dr. I. B. Holley Jr. was one of the founding fathers of SAAS

recognizing early on the importance of airpower education

within the Air Force. The dean of American military airpowe

historians, he is professor emeritus at Duke University an

has also taught at West Point and National Defens

University. During his prestigious academic career, he ha

published three books, including the seminal Ideas an

Weapons: Exploitation of the Aerial Weapon by the Unite

States during World War I (Yale University Press, 1953—now

in its third edition) and dozens of articles on military an

airpower history, theory, and doctrine. After receiving his PhD

from Yale University, he enjoyed a long and distinguishe

career in the Air Force Reserve, retiring in 1981 as a majo

general.

Col Maris “Buster” McCrabb was professor of economi

warfare at SAAS from 1994 to 1996. After completing hi

undergraduate work at Bowling Green State University, h

received an MS and MPA from Troy State University and then

completed his DPA at the University of Alabama. A fighte

pilot and Fighter Weapons School graduate, he has flown F-4

and F-16s in the Philippines, Germany, and Korea, as well a

603
in combat during the Persian Gulf War. He is one of the Ai

Force’s leading experts on air campaign planning, ha

published extensively on the subject, and is currently chief o

the Command and Control Integration Division a

Headquarters Air Combat Command, Langley AFB, Virginia.

Col Phillip S. Meilinger was the dean of SAAS from 1992 t

1996. He graduated from the Air Force Academy in 1970 an

the University of Colorado in 1975. He received his PhD from

the University of Michigan in 1985. A command pilot, he ha

flown C-130s and HC-130s in both Europe and the Pacific

while also serving a tour on the Air Staff in the Pentagon from

1989 to 1991. He is the author of Hoyt S. Vandenberg: Th

Life of a General (Indiana University Press, 1989), as well a

over 20 articles on airpower theory, history, and employment

At present, he is a professor in the Strategy and Polic

Department at the US Naval War College in Newport, Rhod

Island.

Dr. David R. Mets has been a tenured professor of technolog

and innovation at SAAS since 1990. After graduating from th

Naval Academy in 1953, he transferred to the Air Force, wher

he spent 27 years, including a tour as commander of an

AC-130 gunship squadron during the Vietnam War. H

received his master’s degree from Columbia University and hi

PhD from the University of Denver. Between 1976 and 1979

he was editor of the Air University Review at Maxwell AFB

Alabama. He has written three books, including a biography o

Gen Carl Spaatz—Master of Air Power: General Carl A. Spaat

(Presidio Press, 1988)—and dozens of articles and review

dealing with airpower history. He is currently completin

histories of air-delivered munitions and of Air Force–Nav

rivalry over aviation issues.

Dr. Karl P. Mueller has been a professor of comparative

military studies at SAAS since 1994. After finishing hi

undergraduate work in political science at the University o

Chicago, he received his MA and PhD in politics from

Princeton University. Before coming to SAAS, he taugh

604
political science at Kalamazoo College and the University o

Michigan. He has authored several articles on alliance an

deterrence theory, and his book on that subject will soon b

published by Cornell University Press.

Dr. Harold R. Winton has been a tenured professor o

military history and theory at SAAS since 1990. He graduate

from West Point in 1964 and served a distinguished career in

the Army, including three tours in Vietnam as a Green Bere

and as deputy director of the Army’s School of Advance

Military Studies. He received his MA and PhD from Stanford

University in 1977, studying under Peter Paret. He is th

author of To Change an Army: General Sir John Burnett-Stuar

and British Armored Doctrine, 1927–1938 (University Press o

Kansas, 1988) as well as numerous articles on military histor

and theory. He is currently completing a manuscript on th

Battle of the Bulge that will be published by the Universit

Press of Kansas.

605
Index

Abrams, Creighton W., 411–12, 430

Achromeyev, S., 506–7

acquisitions/policy, 127, 543–44, 566–67, 569

advanced conventional munitions (ACM), 500, 507, 514

Aegean Sea, 456

aerial

refueling, 282

spotting, 121–22, 125–26, 129, 152, 170–71

aerospace control, 539

Aerospace Studies Institute, 335

Afghanistan, 49, 340, 342, 347

air

attack, 10, 13–16, 20, 26–27, 32, 43, 46, 50, 52, 54, 56–57, 59,

93, 95, 97, 99, 106, 120, 123, 166, 197, 203, 215, 217,

220–21, 255, 259, 265, 345–46, 383–84, 447, 468, 471, 593

base defense, 421

battle, 10, 14, 23–24, 30, 52, 67, 93, 98, 101, 129, 156, 253–54

campaign, 12, 29–30, 45, 51, 108, 166, 220, 255, 334, 344, 371,

504, 506, 593

combat, 63, 98

commander, 11, 22, 28, 65, 107, 168–70, 457, 459, 466, 502

command operations center (ACOC), 454, 459

component commander, 338, 412–13, 421, 594

control, 49, 54–56, 58, 70, 98

defense, 9–10, 16, 26–27, 42, 51, 54, 67, 93, 155, 157, 160, 196,

198, 217, 220, 282–85, 288, 304, 402, 407, 409–11, 418, 421,

423, 426, 446, 448–49, 451, 455, 460, 468, 470, 504, 507–8,

518

defense commander (ADC), 465

interdiction (AI), 400, 402, 407–8, 415, 418, 421–24, 448,

456–58, 465, 467, 471, 504

offensive, 30, 60, 84, 87, 502

operations, 10, 45, 47, 50, 55, 58, 151, 184, 193, 199, 208, 333,

335–36, 339, 402, 411, 423, 427, 446, 449, 451–53, 460,

465–67, 497, 501–4, 507–8, 541, 585, 593

operations center, 467

plans, 209, 225

607
policing, 264–65

reserve, 10, 160

strategy, 28, 54, 57–60, 67

strikes, 15, 50, 60, 62, 371, 427, 503, 505, 514

superiority, 24, 45, 51–54, 59, 62–63, 65–66, 93–94, 122, 128,

156–57, 169–70, 196, 199, 250, 253, 260, 264, 267, 338, 371,

374, 448–49, 453–54, 466, 470, 490, 498, 502, 504–5, 581

support, 87, 159, 401

support operations center (ASOC), 424, 457, 459

supremacy, 10, 62, 98, 170, 214, 503, 580

tasking message (ATM), 459

tasking order (ATO), 459

warfare, 14, 16, 29, 31, 34, 51, 54, 60, 64–66, 68, 82, 86, 90,

131, 163, 165–66, 169, 171–74, 176, 186–87, 211, 215–16,

220, 224–25, 239, 249, 252–53, 291, 305, 337, 342, 382, 400,

428, 503, 592, 596

air-to-air refueling, 242–43, 453, 589

Air Campaign, The: Planning for Combat, 343, 371–72, 428

Air Command and Staff College, 344

Air Corps, 33, 52, 64, 105–8, 120, 184, 186–93, 195–210, 219,

222–25, 243–45, 247, 255, 266, 587, 589

Air Corps Act, 105

Air Corps Board (ACB), 200–203, 211

Air Corps Reserve, 243

Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS), 28, 71–72, 108, 115, 187–88,

192–95, 198–201, 206, 210–12, 214–24, 264, 266, 291, 371,

383, 587–88

aircraft

A-10, 409–11, 420, 423, 425, 450

AH-1 Cobra, 413

AH-64 Apache, 413–14, 427

airborne warning and control system (AWACS), 450

Allied bombers, 24

armed helicopters, 431

Army helicopters, 429

assault, 162, 167

attack, 95, 209, 285, 459

attack helicopter, 411, 413–14, 420

B-2, 285, 287

B-17, 106, 201, 203–4, 243, 269, 586

B-18 Bolo, 106

B-19, 254, 268

608
B-24, 269

B-29, 31, 132, 268

B-36, 134, 264, 269

B-52, 336

battle plane, 7, 14–16, 19, 24, 99, 154, 222

Boeing 247, 17

bomber, 4–6, 14–15, 18, 20, 27, 46–47, 52, 54, 57, 67, 71, 79,

87–88, 90, 93, 95, 98–100, 102, 105, 108, 133, 135, 155–56,

158–59, 162–63, 167, 170, 172–73, 175, 183–84, 187, 196,

198–99, 201–3, 206, 211, 214, 216, 218–21, 224, 242–44,

254–55, 258, 264, 268–69, 281–89, 296, 303, 307, 430–31,

449, 580, 582–83, 585–89, 598

bombing, combat, and reconnaissance (BCR), 154

Breda 65, 161

Breguet XIV, 152

British Aerospace Sea Harrier, 553

BT-8, 243

Caproni bomber, 4, 6–7

cargo, 7

carrier, 93, 121–23, 127, 197, 248, 583

De Havilland D.H.4, 185

De Havilland D.H.4B, 185, 188

dive-bomber, 123, 128, 158, 161, 173, 175, 246, 585–86

Douglas DC-3, 17

E-3, 450

escort, 14, 18, 22, 98, 132, 167, 172, 220, 242, 244, 258, 588–89

F-4G Wild Weasel, 455

F-14, 451

F-15, 450–51

F-16, 450, 548, 559

F-86 Sabre, 363

F-111F, 450

F-117, 24, 561

fighter, 42, 52, 67, 98, 155–56, 158, 162, 167, 173, 214, 242–44

249, 251–52, 269, 285, 288, 346, 430, 449, 451, 462, 589

German, 12, 24, 27, 154

Giant, 42

Gotha, 42

Handley Page, 86

helicopter, 341, 414, 497, 592

HH 53-H PAVE LOW III helicopter, 421

Hind helicopter, 412

609
Hurricane, 67, 249

interceptor, 27, 52, 258, 284, 288

Ju-88, 175

Lockheed Vega, 17

Messerschmitt, 252

MiG, 430

MiG-15, 363

Mi-24 Hind, 342

NATO airborne early warning (NAEW), 450, 463

night bomber, 88

P-35, 243, 246, 589

P-40, 252

P-47 Thunderbolt, 221, 243, 246, 589

P-51 Mustang, 221

pursuit, 93–95, 196, 209

reconnaissance, 14, 155–56, 162, 173

SEV-3, 243

SM 79, 161

Spad VII, 152

Spad XIII, 152

Spitfire, 67, 125, 249, 252

stealth, 108, 285, 287

Stuka, 159

tactical, 85, 463

tanker, 17

TB3, 166

Tornado, 450–51

aircraft carriers, 92–94, 119–20, 122–23, 127–29, 131, 134, 136,

196–97, 248, 250, 583, 590

aircraft industry, 10, 100, 152, 156, 165

Air Force Association (AFA), 333, 567–68

Air Force Course, 215

Air Force Doctrine Center, 465, 467

Air Force Space Command, 531

air-ground operations, 400, 402, 409, 412, 417, 419, 421–23, 429

AirLand Battle, 417

air-land battles, 166

Air-Land Forces Application (ALFA), 411–12, 415, 423

Air-Land Forces Program Office (ALPO), 411

airlift, 330, 408, 420, 549

airmail service, 192

air-mindedness, 101, 188–89, 204

610
Air Ministry, 48, 66, 68

Air Ministry (French), 153–54, 157

Air Ministry (Italian), 161, 176

airpower

American, 79–80, 83, 88

as artillery, 26, 64, 186

atomic, 346–47

attributes of, 9, 15, 23, 26, 254, 371, 418

British, 72

carrier, 126–27

conventional, 288, 294, 307–8

counterguerrilla, 329

decisiveness of, 19–20, 79, 269

defensive, 26

effectiveness of, 256, 268

French, 328

global, 263–64, 267

land based, 126, 129, 184, 197

limits of, 28

long range, 197

missions, 157

nonnuclear, 280

offensive, 70, 86

operational, 279

peaceful applications of, 265

peacetime roles of, 187

as propaganda, 257, 265

psychological effects of, 51

Russian, 166, 519

strategic, 12–14, 18, 41, 44, 51–52, 65, 72, 164, 171, 202, 206,

214, 250, 252, 255, 261, 269, 279, 290–93, 306–7, 331, 334,

357, 385, 580, 583, 586, 589

tactical, 12–13, 30, 65, 171, 255, 328, 334, 426

Air Service, 33, 80, 85–91, 96, 99, 101–2, 104–5, 107, 119–20, 124,

184–92, 196–97, 204–10, 212–14, 242–43, 383, 582

Air Service Field Officers’ School (ASFOS), 186, 211, 213–14, 216

Air Service Information Office, 188

Air Service Tactical School (ASTS), 33, 187, 198, 211, 213–14, 216

Air Service Technical Section, 85, 383

Air Service Training and Operations Group, 213–14

airships, 43, 93–94, 103, 119, 122

air-space boundary, 530, 554, 565

611
airspace control, 455–56, 466

airspace control authority (ACA), 455, 465–66

airspace control system (ACS), 466

Air Transport Command, 217

Air University, 329, 331, 335, 337, 588

Air War College, 336, 344

Air War Plans Division, Plan 1 (AWPD-1), 187, 224–25

Algeria, 335–36

Alksnis, Ya. I., 167

Allen, Lew, 423

Allied Air Forces Central Europe (AAFCE), 422–24, 457, 460

allied

armies, 170

tactical air force (ATAF), 455, 457, 459–60

tactical operations center (ATOC), 454–55, 459–60

Allied Command Europe, Mobile Force (AMF), 463

Allied Forces Central Europe (AFCENT), 422–24, 451, 455

American Expeditionary Force (AEF), 85, 87, 184–85, 197, 213, 586

amphibious operations, 135–36

Andrews, Frank, 108, 207

annihilation, 4, 23, 215, 299, 308, 361

Anthis, Rollen H., 336

antiaircraft artillery (AAA), 168, 218, 220, 288, 562

Antiballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty, 534, 537

antisatellites (ASAT), 535–37, 539, 541, 559

antisubmarine warfare (ASW), 119, 135, 263

apportionment, 454, 467

Arab-Israeli War, 406

armistice, 7, 17, 35, 48, 74, 87, 91, 127, 184–85

Armor Center, 415

arms

control, 131, 287, 303–4

race, 290, 450, 500

Army Air Corps, 199

Army Air Forces (AAF), 83, 201, 203, 212, 225, 247, 251–52, 256,

258, 263

Army Air Service, 216

Army Command and General Staff College, 211

Army League of the United States, 195

Army War College, 199, 205, 210

Arnold, Henry H. “Hap,”47, 83, 104, 106–8, 186–90, 198, 200–201,

203, 207, 217, 224–25, 245–47, 251, 256, 258, 266, 583, 590–91

612
Arquilla, John, 386

Asia, 269, 327

assured destruction, 295–99, 301, 303–4

Atlantic Alliance, 443

Atlantic Command, 470

Atlantic fleet, 197

attrition warfare, 23, 45, 183, 215

Austria, 11, 13

aviation

Army, 94, 105, 125, 188, 191, 205, 207, 209, 507, 587

assault, 160

attack, 158–59, 414

auxiliary, 13–14, 18, 30, 208

carrier, 132, 196–97, 598

ground attack, 161, 164, 177

industry, 16, 155, 162

land based, 197–98, 202

legislation, 207

long range, 202–4

naval, 94, 119–20, 125, 127, 136, 172, 191, 198, 248, 583

pursuit, 214, 241

strategic, 170, 177, 584

support, 153, 156, 158, 160, 170–71, 176–77

tactical, 153, 156, 160, 167

transport, 175

Axis, 71, 224

Baker Board, 106, 192, 200, 210

Baker, Newton D., 87, 105, 208

Balbo, Italo, 18, 160–61, 584

Baldwin, Hanson, 205

Baldwin, Stanley, 20, 57, 288

Balfour, Harold, 50

Balkans, 461–62

ballistic missile defense (BMD), 290, 304, 536, 540

Ballistic Missile Defense Office, 544

Barcelona, Spain, 162, 584

Barents Sea, 305

Barker, J. D., 183–84

Battle of Britain, 24, 67, 250–51

battle coordination element (BCE), 413

613
battlefield air interdiction (BAI), 421–24, 426, 456–57, 459–60, 465,

467

battle fleet, 122, 127

Battle of Guadalajara, 158

Battle of Jutland, 119, 126

battleships, 100–101, 105–6, 118, 120–24, 126–30, 136, 196–97,

248, 250

Beatty, David, 48–49

Belgium, 22

Bell, Alexander Graham, 195

Bellinger, Patrick N. L., 116, 120, 122

Berlin blockade, 445

Berlin, Germany, 84

Betts, Richard, 295

Bishop, William, 188

Bismarck, 125

Bismarck, Otto von, 462

Bissolati, Leonida, 5

Blue Flag, 413, 419, 594

Boeing Company, 185

Bolling, Raynal, 6

Boll, Michael M., 493

Bolshevism, 165

Bomber Command, 69–71, 253

Bomber Mafia, 187, 193–94, 206, 211, 215–18, 220–21, 224, 593

bombing, 21, 46, 53, 61, 67, 86–87, 154, 157, 170, 258, 334

aerochemical, 25

area, 68

atomic, 291

British policy on, 69

civilian, 46, 55–56, 68–69, 71, 96, 162, 173–74

conventional, 285, 291, 294, 580

daylight, 253

dive, 174–75

high level, 585

indiscriminate, 70, 581

industrial, 66, 88, 97

of Japan, 132

long range, 47, 172, 175

morale, 21, 64, 70

precision, 25, 383, 449, 588

psychological effects of, 20, 43, 46, 221, 268, 581

614
strategic, 7, 17, 22–23, 33–34, 42, 44–46, 54, 61, 64, 71, 79, 87,

132, 134, 136, 154–56, 161–62, 164–65, 167, 171–73, 221,

249, 268, 292, 294, 327, 334, 347, 383, 449, 503, 581,

584–86, 590

terror, 12, 56

urban, 12, 57, 70–71, 268

bombs

aerochemical, 15, 22, 30

electro-optical guided, 450

gas, 15, 30

glide, 82

high explosive, 15

incendiary, 15

laser guided, 450

Bosnia-Herzegovina, 472

Boxer Rebellion, 81

Boyd, John, 357–58, 363–70, 379, 381–82, 384–89, 592–93

Bradley, Omar, 264

Brant, G. C., 223

Braun, Wernher von, 547

Brezhnev, Leonid, 490–91, 493, 512

Briey Basin, 152

British Army Staff College, 42

Brodie, Bernard, 24, 28, 266, 279

Brooke-Popham, Robert, 58–59

Brooks Field, Texas, 190

Brown, George S., 411, 430

Brussels, Belgium, 446

budget

aviation, 14

defense, 263–64, 432

military, 48, 106, 190, 327

Russian defense, 490, 507, 515–16, 596

space, 569

Builder, Carl, 591

Bullard, Robert Lee, 197, 204

Bülow, H. D. von, 377

Bureau of Aeronautics, 124, 131

Bureau of Navigation, 124

Cable, Larry, 340–41

Cadorna, Luigi, 5

615
Canada, 464

capital ships, 100, 120, 128–29, 136, 242, 250

Caproni, Gianni, 3, 6, 98, 184

carrier task force, 129, 136

Carter, Jimmy, 408

Catalonia, Spain, 162

Center for Low Intensity Conflict, 344

centers of gravity (COG), 57, 64, 66, 195, 198, 216, 325–26, 339,

343, 365, 371–74, 376–78, 386–88, 466, 471, 496, 504, 593

Central Army Group (CENTAG), 422–23

Central Imagery Office, 544

Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 410, 544

centralized

control, 283, 338, 421–22, 454, 457, 466, 544–46, 567–68, 594

execution, 545–46

military authority, 546

Central Powers, 83

Chain, John T., 420

Chassin, G. J. M., 328

Checkmate Division, 370, 373

Chennault, Claire, 52, 188, 244, 588

Chernyshev, Vladimir, 503

Chess Air, 188

Chief of Naval Operations (CNO), 118, 123, 131, 134

China, 81, 92, 369

China-Burma-India theater, 324

Churchill, Winston, 48–49, 258, 298

civil

aviation, 16–17

defense, 289–90, 303–4

civilian

casualties, 25, 469

morale, 20–21, 30, 585

Clausewitz, Carl von, 96, 34, 116–17, 220, 268, 360, 364–65, 372,

374, 377–81, 388, 416, 443, 594, 597

close air support (CAS), 152, 158–61, 171–75, 338, 342–43, 400,

405, 407–10, 414, 421–26, 429, 448, 456–57, 459–60, 465, 472,

545

coalition forces, 1, 25, 197, 385, 433, 463, 502, 504–8, 510–11, 558

Coastal Command, 258

coastal defense, 120, 199, 202

Coffman, Robert D., 467

616
Cohen, Eliot, 376

cold war, 31, 217, 279–80, 287–88, 295–96, 306, 485, 490, 508,

512, 594

collateral damage, 25, 307, 341, 485, 542

combat air patrol (CAP), 553

Combined Air Force Course, 215

Combined Arms Center (CAC), 412, 416, 426

Combined Arms Combat Development Activity, 410

Combined Bomber Offensive, 292

Command of the Air, The, 8, 13–15, 17–18, 23, 26, 31–33, 98–99,

153, 159

command and control (C 2), 28, 296–97, 302, 307, 328, 338,

384–85, 450, 452–57, 466, 471, 504, 513, 543–44, 546

command, control, and communications (C 3), 297, 495, 539–40

command, control, communications, and computers (C 4), 533

command, control, communications, computers, and intelligence

(C4I), 386, 515

command, control, communications, and intelligence (C 3I), 466,

507, 511, 514

command and control warfare (C 2W), 465

Commercial Space Launch Act, 538

Communications Act, 538

Communism, 461, 485, 494, 515

Communist Party, 369, 519

Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU), 508

Condor Legion, 586

Confederation of Independent States (CIS), 510, 515, 520

Congress (US), 94, 101–2, 105, 131, 133, 185, 190, 206–9, 222,

265, 412, 432, 587

Congress of People’s Deputies, 509

conventional warfare, 263, 280, 300, 321, 323–25, 327–28, 330,

333, 337–39, 341–43, 347, 489, 510

Convention on Registration, 537

Cook, Orvel, 222

Coolidge, Calvin, 103, 197

Cot, Pierre, 154–58, 176

counterair operations, 202, 338, 407, 421, 423, 453–56, 459–60, 466

counterforce battle, 23–24, 54, 253, 300

counterinsurgency, 322–23, 329, 332–33, 335–39, 341–43, 345

Crabb, Jarred, 206

Creech, Wilbur L., 419, 423, 425, 430

Crete, 250–51

617
Cuba, 80, 82

Cuban missile crisis, 19, 450

Curry, Charles, 207

Curry, John F., 101

Curtiss Aviation School, 83

cyberwar, 386

Czechoslovakia, 445

Dargue, Herbert, 107–8, 209

data fusion myth, 557–58, 563

Dean, David, 342

decapitation, 300, 305, 371

decentralized

command, 117

control, 452

execution, 421, 454, 545–46, 594

decision makers/making, 127, 130, 367, 386–87, 488, 491, 538,

557, 563, 579, 592

Deep Attack Program Office, 426

deep battle, 163–64, 400, 417, 425–27

Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), 409

Defense Information Systems Agency, 544

defense technological and industrial base (DTIB), 569

defensive counterair (DCA), 451, 455, 466, 468–69

Delbruck, Hans, 358, 360

Demain, Victor, 155

Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRVN), 403

Department of Aeronautics, 99, 207

Department of Commerce, 544

Department of Defense (DOD), 108, 128, 133, 536, 538, 540, 543

Department of the Interior, 544

Department of National Defense, 99, 207–9

Department of Transportation, 544

DePuy, William E., 404–6, 411, 413, 415–16, 430

Dern, George, 192

De Seversky, Alexander P., 28, 239–69, 248, 292, 428, 589–90

De Seversky, Evelyn, 244–45, 266

deterrence, 66, 135, 293–95, 297–99, 301–2, 304, 306–7, 328, 464,

500, 590

Dick, C. J., 486, 512, 514

Dickman Board, 209

Dien Bien Phu, 327

618
Dinger, H. C., 125

directed-energy weapons (DEW), 536, 562

dirigibles, 2, 4, 82, 94, 102, 195

disarmament, 131, 492

Disney, Walt, 256–58

Dixon, Robert J., 411–12, 419, 430

doctrine, 42, 127, 403–5, 424, 431, 454, 471–72, 487, 491, 532,

553, 569, 579

Active Defense, 400, 405, 407, 414–17, 431

ACTS bombardment, 222–23

Air Corps, 255

Air Force, 214–15, 322, 331, 333, 337, 339, 344–47, 400, 403–4,

407–9, 414–15, 419, 421, 425, 429, 444, 448, 451, 453, 455,

465, 469–71, 530–32, 536, 544–46, 566

Air Force writers of, 418

AirLand Battle, 400, 414–17, 420, 425, 427, 431, 433, 456, 458,

503, 507, 594

airpower, 151–52, 176–77, 185–87, 211, 213, 216, 322, 337,

342, 451, 473, 530, 545–46, 569, 584, 586–87, 593

Army, 214, 400, 402–4, 414, 566

economy of force, 219

flexible response, 490

foreign military, 488

French, 152–53, 155–59, 176

German, 153, 169–76, 446, 585

Gorbachev, 513–15

interdiction, 595

Italian, 160–62

joint, 408, 414, 432, 444, 453, 465, 467, 470–71, 536, 566

LIC, 592

Luftwaffe, 174, 585

manuals, 42

massive retaliation, 444, 469, 490, 516

military, 168, 486–89, 491, 500

mutually assured destruction (MAD), 590

NATO, 421–24, 443–45, 448–49, 451–55, 459–61, 464–65,

467–73, 499

naval, 115–17

negotiated, 444, 460

nuclear, 281, 302, 449

operational, 151

preemptive, 492

619
RAF, 42, 53–54, 60, 70–71, 382

reasonable sufficiency, 499, 513

Russian, 486, 488, 498, 508–20

Soviet, 163, 167, 410, 485–95, 498–99, 500, 502–4, 508–9,

512–13, 517, 519, 595–96

space control, 540

space power, 530, 564, 567

strategic airpower, 222, 362–63, 382

strategic bombing, 332, 383

war fighting, 301

Dodd, Townsend F., 99

Doolittle, Jimmy, 188, 190, 245

doomsday machine, 299–300

Douhet, Giulio, 1–34, 46, 55, 61–62, 71, 80, 92, 95, 98–99, 121,

130, 153–54, 157, 159–61, 171–72, 174, 176, 183, 246, 253,

255, 259, 261, 264, 266, 268, 279, 281, 288, 291–92, 329, 357,

428, 503, 580–82, 584, 590, 593, 597

Dowding, Hugh, 52, 67

Dresden, Germany, 70

drop tanks, 108, 589

Drum Board, 201, 210

Drum, Hugh, 205–6

Dugan, Michael, 503

Dunkirk, France, 70, 250

Dutch East Indies, 92

Eaker, Ira C., 107, 187–90, 266, 583

Earhart, Amelia, 190

Easter offensive, 334

East Germany, 410, 444, 448, 468

economy of force, 206, 359, 428

Eglin AFB, Florida, 331, 363

Eighth Air Force, 221, 253

8th Pursuit Group, 223

Eisenhower, Dwight D., 263–65, 327, 408

electromagnetic pulse (EMP), 297

electronic

countermeasures (ECM), 426

fire operation, 512

jamming, 511

warfare (EW), 24, 288, 453, 455, 494, 502, 514

Eller, Deryck, 340

620
El Salvador, 340, 347

encounter battle, 163

Environmental Modification Convention, 537

Estes, Howell, 205

Ethiopia, 161, 204

Eurocorps, 462

Europe, 33, 62, 66, 70, 81, 83, 85, 119, 151, 159, 184, 213, 224,

245, 249, 251, 269, 305, 327–28, 339, 347, 400, 405–7, 409,

413–15, 430, 433, 443, 446–47, 451, 461–62, 464, 467–68, 470,

489, 494, 510, 586, 595

European Command, 470

Fairchild, Muir, 216–17, 219, 588

Falk, C. E., 190

Fall, Bernard, 335

Far East, 510

Far East Air Forces (FEAF), 331

Farley, James A., 192

Fascist Party, 8, 160

fast transient maneuvers, 363–64

Fechet, James E., 108

Federal Aeronautics Administration,108

Federal Republic of Germany, 445

Felmy, Helmuth, 170, 172

Ferrying Command, 217

Fiebig, Martin, 165

Field Officer’s School, 194

5th Bomber Command, 217

V Corps, 415

Fifth Fleet, 131

Fighter Command, 52, 67, 125

fighter mafia, 593

Fighter Weapons Center, 410, 412

firebombing, 281

fire support coordination line (FSCL), 427, 457

1st Aero Squadron, 89

I Air Corps (French), 155

First Army, 86, 89

1st Brigade, 86

I Corps, 86

1st Infantry Division, 87

FitzGerald, Mary C., 499–500, 516

621
Five Power Treaty, 120

five-rings model, 373–74, 376–77, 381, 385–87, 428, 593

Flanders, 51

fleet defense, 47

flexible response, 460, 469

flying boat, 121–22, 254, 268

Flying Tigers, 588

follow-on forces attack (FOFA), 456, 458–59, 469

force

application, 533–34, 539–40, 568

enhancement, 533–34, 539–40

multiplier, 507, 543

structure, 52, 505–6, 516–18, 529, 556

support, 533–34

Forces Command (FORSCOM), 411

foreign internal defense, 339, 345

Foreign Military Studies Office, 494, 498

foreign policy

Russian, 518, 520

US, 510

Forrestal, James V., 133–34

Fort Benning, Georgia, 411

Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, 82, 211, 412, 426

Fort Monroe, Virginia, 411

Fort Riley, Kansas, 83

Fort Sam Houston, Texas, 102, 108

42d “Rainbow” Division, 91

forward line of own troops (FLOT), 467

Foulois, Benjamin “Benny,” 47, 80, 89, 91, 108, 186, 192, 204, 207–9

4th Allied Tactical Air Force (4ATAF), 422, 455, 460

4400th Combat Crew Training Squadron (CCTS), 331–32

France, 22, 26, 32, 43–44, 46–47, 50, 58, 61, 69–70, 80, 85, 89, 94

151–52, 154–55, 159, 171, 176, 249–51, 284, 297, 370, 383–84,

445–46, 462, 471, 585

air force, 50, 121, 152–59, 171, 176

army, 26, 153–59, 171, 250

navy, 155

Franco, Francisco, 174

French

Plan I, 155–56

Plan II, 156

Plan XVII, 45

622
Frunze, Mikhail, 163

Fullam, William, 120

Fuller, J. F. C., 171, 358–59, 361, 371, 592

future war, 321, 382, 385, 387, 401, 407, 430–31, 485, 487–89,

496, 498–502, 506, 510, 517, 519, 536

Gabriel, Charles A., 420, 430, 432

Gallery, Dan, 134–35

Gamelin, Maurice-Gustave, 153, 157–59, 176

Gareyev, M. V., 488

gas warfare, 25, 57

Gaulle, Charles de, 157, 446

General Board of the Navy, 121, 125

General Headquarters (GHQ)

Air Force, 105–6, 108, 201–4, 209–11, 222–23

Brigade, 84

Reserve, 88

General Staff Academy (Soviet), 165

Geneva Disarmament Conference, 57, 204

Geneva Protocols, 25

geopolitics, 517

George, Harold Lee, 107–8, 194, 216–18, 224

geosynchronous earth orbit (GEO), 554, 559, 562

Germany, 7, 11–12, 20, 22, 24, 30, 42–44, 46–47, 69, 71, 85,

87–88, 121, 135, 151, 168–69, 171, 176, 185, 221, 224, 249–50,

257, 260, 288, 307, 384, 449, 510, 570, 585–86

air force, 161, 165, 168–69, 173–76

air service, 168–69

army, 46, 82, 84–85, 165, 168–71, 173–74

military, 168–69, 171

navy, 119, 168, 175, 240

rearmament of, 204

Gilkeson, A. H., 223

Glantz, David M., 498–99

global

awareness, 532

presence, 532

reach, 545–46

war, 328

Goldwater-Nichols Department of Defense Reorganization Act, 432,

444, 467, 470

Golovine, Nicholas N., 22

623
Goodpaster, Andrew, 451, 460

Gorbachev, Mikhail, 491, 494, 508–9, 512–14, 519, 596

Göring, Hermann, 175

Gorrell, Edgar “Nap,” 6–7, 80, 85–86, 88, 183, 186, 383, 580

Gothlin, Oliver P., Jr., 223

Grachev, Andrei S., 507

Grau, Lester, 494

Great Britain, 7, 20, 30, 32, 41–43, 46, 48, 50–51, 57, 61–62,

67–71, 84, 94, 119, 123, 125, 172, 175, 249, 251, 261, 281, 284

306, 336–37, 382, 451, 529

air force, 50, 121

army, 45–47, 49, 61, 63–64, 70, 250

navy, 49, 63, 119–20, 125, 250

Great Patriotic War, 302, 511, 517

Greely, Adolphus, 81

Green, John, 342

ground

attack, 154

battle, 90, 157, 160

campaign, 153, 511

commander, 65, 82, 84, 422–23, 427, 429, 457–58, 460

defenses, 183

forces, 12–13, 20, 47, 55, 65, 94, 107–8, 152, 158, 164–65, 166,

170, 184, 202, 206, 212–13, 250, 265, 372, 402, 408, 414,

418–19, 427, 448, 456, 468–70, 488, 490–91, 497, 502,

504–5, 518, 581–82, 586, 594

operations, 62, 429, 519

support, 421

warfare, 96, 265, 489, 508, 512

Guadalajara, Spain, 166

Guatemala, 340, 347

guerrillas, 324, 333, 335–36, 340–42

operations, 336

tactics, 324, 329, 331, 341

warfare, 322, 402

Gulf War. See Persian Gulf War

Gullion, Allen, 103–4

Haig, Douglas, 45, 47

Halsey, William, 130–31

Hammes, Thomas, 340

Hammond, Grant, 341, 382

624
Hannibal, 19

Hanoi, North Vietnam, 335

Hansell, Haywood, 206, 210, 216–17, 224

Harbord, James G., 85

Hardie, Robert L., 336

Harmon, Millard F., 198, 223

Harris, Arthur, 70–71

Hay, James, 83

Henderson, David, 43–44

high-altitude precision daylight bombardment (HAPDB), 186, 192,

211–12, 216–17, 219–22, 224

Hines, John, 493

Hirohito, 258

Hiroshima, Japan, 259, 281

Hitler, Adolph, 33, 70, 133, 249

HMS

Prince of Wales, 129, 250

Repulse, 129, 250

Ho Chi Minh, 331

Horner, Charles A., 544

House Military Affairs Committee, 101

Howard, Michael, 400

Howell Commission, 184, 210

Hukbalahaps (Huks), 322, 326, 328, 330

Hurlburt Field, Florida, 419

Hussein, Saddam, 433, 499, 502

hyperwar, 378

Ia Drang Valley, 402

Icarus Syndrome, 591, 597–98

Iceland, 463

immediate-reaction forces, 464

incendiary attacks, 87

independent air force (IAF), 14, 23, 49, 79–80, 86, 88–91, 94–95,

99, 102–8, 125, 128, 133–34, 136, 151, 153, 169, 176, 186–87,

208–10, 225, 256, 267, 291, 322, 333, 346, 581, 583, 587

Independent Force, 44, 46–47, 52

India, 48–49, 61, 81, 92

Indochina, 326, 328, 405

Indonesia, 330

industrial

revolution, 4

625
triangle, 193–95, 197

Information Age, 384, 387, 389

information dominance, 385–86

Inskip, Thomas, 67

insurgency, 322–26, 328–33, 335–36, 338–41, 343–47, 462

insurgent forces, 324

integrated air defense system (IADS), 454

intelligence, 60, 67, 324–25, 407, 424, 532–33, 535, 594, 598

air, 66

Army, 426

economic, 55

industrial, 64

military, 29, 585

strategic, 219

interdiction, 62, 64–66, 106, 152, 158, 160–61, 166, 170, 173, 214,

325, 328, 338, 405, 408, 418–19, 422, 424, 427, 429, 451, 453,

460, 466, 504, 581, 594

atomic, 447

close, 342

deep, 327, 422

inter-German border (IGB), 468

internal defense and development (IDAD), 344–45

international

law, 53, 56, 68–69

politics, 308

relations, 298, 408

interservice rivalry, 48, 591, 598

Iran, 510

Iraq, 49, 265, 285, 290, 306, 344, 373, 385, 463, 499, 501–2, 504–5

Iraqi army, 13

isolationism, 100, 117, 186, 262

Israel, 30–31, 306

Italy, 1–6, 13, 17, 19, 25, 29, 32, 46, 92, 98, 151, 159–62, 176,

249, 580

air force, 3–4, 6, 8, 160–62, 584

army, 2, 6, 31, 160–62

Nationalist air force, 61

Nationalist army, 162

navy, 31

Japan, 2, 20, 30–31, 81, 92, 96, 123, 126, 132, 135, 204, 254,

257–60, 369–70, 510

626
army, 370

carriers, 130

navy, 126–27, 129–30

Jervis, Robert, 302

Jeschonneck, Hans, 175

Jimmie Allen Flying Club, 189

joint

air-ground operations, 166

campaign, 63

force, 54, 164, 420

force air component commander (JFACC), 465–67, 471

operations, 417, 465

surveillance, target attack radar system (JSTARS), 421, 426

task force, 417

Joint Board, 197–98, 203

Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), 129, 322, 432, 452

Joint Low Intensity Conflict Project, 344

jointness, 269, 432, 536, 566

Joint Strategic Survey Committee, 217

Jomini, Henri de, 34, 116, 268, 377, 379, 381, 389

Jones, R. M., 200

Jungle Jim, 332

Junior Birdmen of America, 189

Kahn, Herman, 266, 299

Karp, Aaron, 42

Kauch, Robert, 200

Kennedy, John F., 329, 331, 570

Kenney, George C., 199

Kerensky, Alexander E., 241

Key West Agreement/Conference, 133–34

KGB, 491

Khrushchev, Nikita, 489–90, 596

Kilbourne, Charles E., 106

King, Ernest, 130–31, 134

Kipp, Jacob, 516

Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, 104

Klingaman, Jerome, 341

Klokotov, N., 502

Knerr, Hugh, 205, 223

Kokoshin, Andrei, 517

Korea, 25, 92, 262–64, 269, 327–28, 339, 412, 446

627
Korean War, 134, 262, 331, 327, 363

Kubrick, Stanley, 280

Kugler, Richard L., 444

Kuter, Laurence, 200, 216–17, 224

Kutsenko, N., 506

Kuwait, 373, 433, 463, 501

Kzheb, K., 504

Lagrange points, 562

Lahm, Frank, 209

Lambeth, Benjamin, 486, 498, 507–8, 515

Lampert Board, 208–9

Lampert, Julian, 101

land

battle, 87, 119, 267

campaign, 61–62, 65–67, 267

force commander, 14, 79, 247, 252, 456, 460

forces, 10, 12–13, 16, 19, 29, 32, 53, 63, 72, 79, 96, 252, 254,

261–62, 267, 269, 371–72, 408, 419, 456, 503, 597

operations, 61, 339, 423

power, 16, 18, 183, 195, 531, 533–34, 536, 541, 565–67

warfare, 9, 17–18, 23, 30, 62, 68–69, 72, 95, 117, 119, 151, 251,

400, 597

Langley AFB, Virginia, 411, 465

Langley Field, Virginia, 187, 211, 213

Lansdale, Edward, 337

Laos, 329

Lapchinsky, A. N., 164, 166–67, 585

Lassiter Board, 209

launch under attack (LUA), 297

LeChambre, Guy, 158–59

Leites, Nathan, 343

LeMay, Curtis E., 332, 403–4

Leningrad, USSR, 489

Leyte, 130

Libya, 3

Libyan War, 3, 23

Liddell Hart, Basil H., 20, 358, 361–62, 592

Liggett, Hunter, 89

limited

conventional war, 340

nuclear options (LNO), 300

628
war, 108, 263, 269, 322, 328, 331–32, 340

Lindbergh, Charles, 190, 250

lines of communications (LOC), 130, 156, 199, 202, 336, 343,

345–46, 383, 468

Lipetsk, USSR, 165

Lloyd George, David, 47

logistics, 324–25, 329

London, England, 43, 50, 57, 60, 71, 121, 581

Lovell, George E., Jr., 223

low earth orbit (LEO), 548, 558–59, 561–62

low intensity conflict (LIC), 269, 321–23, 331, 340, 342–44, 592

Luce, Stephen B., 117

Ludendorff, Erich, 174, 176

Ludlow-Hewitt, Edgar, 56, 59–60

Luftwaffe, 24, 33, 59, 67, 70, 154, 159, 172, 174–75, 221, 249–50,

585–86. See also Germany

Lupton, David, 535

Luxembourg, Belgium, 463

MacArthur, Douglas, 129, 198, 262

MacArthur-Pratt Agreement, 199–200, 203

Macke, Richard, 567

Macmillan, Harold, 291

Maginot Line, 153, 250

Mahaffey, Fred K., 420

Mahan, Alfred Thayer, 34, 101, 116–17, 119, 123–24, 130, 261,

529–30

Mahoney, Donald, 493

major subordinate commander (MSC), 455, 471

Malaya, 326, 328, 335–36, 342

Malayan Emergency, 337, 342

Malayan People’s Anti-Japanese Army, 326

Maliukov, A. E., 502–3

Manchuria, 204

maneuver

battle, 361

forces, 471, 493

war, 166, 170, 364

Manhattan Project, 281, 292

Manila, 326

Mao Tse-tung, 323, 369–70

March, Peyton, 87

629
Mariana Islands, 130

Marshall, George, 264

Marshall Plan, 446

massive retaliation, 265, 300

Maxwell AFB, Alabama, 266, 329, 344

Maxwell Field, Alabama, 28, 71, 187–88, 192, 200, 211, 587

McAndrew, James W., 88

MccGwire, Michael, 488

McCook Field, Ohio, 242

mechanized warfare, 62

Mecozzi, Amedeo, 160–62, 584

Mediterranean, 162, 456

Menoher Board, 208

Menoher, Charles T., 91, 94, 127, 196, 208

Mesopotamia, 56

methodical battle, 152, 592

Metz, France, 87

Mexico, 119

Meyer, Edward C., 415–16, 420, 423

Meyer, Luigi, 465–66

Middle East, 55, 58, 61, 264

Middle East War, 405–6

MiG Alley, 363

Military Agency for Standardization (MAS), 451–52

Military Airlift Command, 217

military art, 487–88, 500, 595

Milling, Thomas, 183, 185–86, 195–96, 199, 206, 213–16

Ministry of Air, 47

Ministry of the Interior (French), 157

Ministry of War, 47

missiles, 283–84, 288, 485, 489, 598

air to air, 288

air launched cruise (ALCM), 296

antiballistic (ABM), 283, 288–90, 303–4, 537, 591

Army tactical system (ATACMS), 426–27

Atlas, 548

ballistic, 283, 286, 288–89, 534

cruise, 82, 285, 516

ground launched cruise (GLCM), 450, 463

guided, 266

Hellfire, 413

infrared-guided antitank, 450

630
interceptor, 289

intercontinental, 591

intercontinental ballistic (ICBM), 135, 283–88, 295–96, 303

intermediate-range ballistic (IRBM), 283

joint tactical system (JTACMS), 421

land based, 283, 287

long-range guided, 264

medium-range ballistic (MRBM), 283

Minuteman, 591

mobile, 287, 296

mobile ICBM, 285

MX (Peacekeeper), 287, 296

nuclear, 284, 286, 289

Patriot, 451

Pershing II, 450

Polaris, 135

precision television guided, 450

Scud, 31

sea-launched ballistic (SLBM), 134, 283–88, 296, 303

short range, 285

short-range ballistic (SRBM), 283

Soviet, 299, 305, 450

submarine launched, 591, 598

submarine launched ballistic (SLBM), 134

surface to air (SAM), 282, 284, 288, 342, 562

surface to surface, 463

Trident D-5, 284, 296

V-2, 591

Mitchell, Elizabeth, 92, 102

Mitchell, William “Billy,” 28, 33, 47, 61, 79–108, 121, 124–25,

128–30, 133, 171, 183, 186, 191, 195–96, 207, 213–14, 242,

246–49, 253, 259, 261, 266, 268, 343, 362–63, 371, 383, 428,

580, 582–83, 586–87, 590, 593, 597

Mitscher, Marc, 131

Moffett, William A., 116, 120, 124, 127–28, 583

Moiseyev, Mikhail, 498, 508

Momyer, William, 337

Monroe Doctrine, 203

Moon, Odas, 216

morale, 52–53, 55, 60, 63, 70–72, 98, 121, 128, 173, 215, 221, 268

383, 581

Morgan, J. P., 103

631
Moris, Maurizio, 2, 4

Morocco, 153

Morrow Board, 90, 103–5, 204, 209

Morrow, Dwight, 103

Moscow Academy for Air Commanders, 165

Moscow, USSR, 461, 489, 506

mujahideen, 340, 342

multiple independently targeted reentry vehicle (MIRV), 284, 287,

303

multiple launch rocket system (MLRS), 427

Mussolini, Benito, 8, 18, 162, 584

Mustin, Henry, 118–19, 124

mutual assured destruction (MAD), 10, 292, 295–98, 300–302,

304–7, 536

Nagasaki, Japan, 259, 281

Naisbitt, John, 387

Napoléon, 8, 133, 378

National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), 544, 571

national

aerospace plane (NASP), 566

defense, 193, 197–200, 210, 249, 430

objectives, 119, 265, 532

policy, 407, 540

security, 79, 115, 118, 124, 136, 306, 405, 535, 538–39

National Defense Act of 1916, 83

nationalism, 193

National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration, 544

National Reconnaissance Office, 544

National Science Foundation, 544

National Security League, 197

National Security and Strategic Stability Studies Center, 506

National War College, 371

nation building, 333, 338

naval

blockade, 116, 128, 130, 132–33, 135, 294

commander, 467

forces, 36, 103, 107, 123, 184, 197, 202, 250, 408

operations, 197, 305

thinking, 136

warfare, 41,115, 119, 151

Naval Academy, 117–18

632
Naval Aircraft Factory, 125

Naval On-Call Force Mediterranean, 463

Naval War College, 116–17, 120, 124, 126–27, 131, 335

Nazi

Germany, 66, 69

ideology, 174

Nellis AFB, Nevada, 410, 412, 419

Netherwood, Douglas B., 200

Newport Agreement/Conference, 133–34

Nicaragua, 340

Nimitz, Chester, 131, 133

XIX Tactical Air Command, 412

Nivelle, Robert, 83

Nixon, Richard M., 334, 403

Nolan, Kimberly, 455, 472

North Africa, 71

North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD), 217

North Atlantic Council, 463

North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 327, 405, 408, 410,

413, 415, 421, 430, 443–56, 458–73, 490, 492–94, 498–99, 510,

518, 594–96, 598

Central Region, 424, 445, 448, 456–57, 467

Northern Region, 445, 456

Southern Region, 445, 456, 462

Tactical Air Working Group, 424

Northern Army Group (NORTHAG), 422, 457

Northrop Corporation, 285

North Sea, 42

North Vietnam, 334

North Vietnamese Army (NVA), 402

Norway, 250–51, 456

nuclear

age, 294

arms control, 280

attack, 282, 286, 289, 308, 447

decapitation, 307

deterrence, 299

employment, 451

energy, 513

escalation, 300–301, 304, 491–92, 514

first strike, 289–90, 295–97, 300–301, 303–7, 591

fission, 281

633
fusion, 282

proliferation, 298, 306

retaliation, 289, 293–97, 299, 303–6, 597

second strike, 296, 299, 303–6

strike, 300

superiority, 301

triad, 287, 297

war, 290–91, 296, 300–302, 304–6, 308, 337, 513, 516

Nunn, Sam, 544

observation, orientation, decision, and action (OODA) loop, 366–67,

369, 381, 384, 386, 388, 592

offensive air support (OAS), 423–25, 453, 456, 459, 465, 467,

471–72

offensive counterair (OCA), 449, 455, 458, 469

Office of the Chief of the Air Corps (OCAC), 200–201, 210–11

Office of Technical Development (German), 175

Ogarkov, N. V., 500, 514

Okinawa, Japan, 132

Olds, Robert, 107–8, 193, 195, 207, 216–17

Olson, William, 340, 342

operational

art, 428, 486–87, 494, 502–3, 511, 518,

control, 455, 466

level of war, 64

operations

Barbarossa, 22

Deny Flight, 472

Desert Shield, 399, 405, 409, 429, 433, 498, 517

Desert Storm, 25, 29, 34, 371, 374, 378, 386, 388, 433, 498,

507, 512, 514–15, 519, 542, 561, 593

Farmgate, 332

Linebacker, 334

Linebacker 2, 335, 403

Ranchhand, 329

Rolling Thunder, 334

Ordnance Department, 591

Orwell, George, 591

Ostfriesland, 90–91, 94, 102, 242, 582–83

Outer Space Treaty (OST), 285, 536, 541

Pacific

Command, 131, 470

634
fleet, 197, 544

theater, 217

war, 123, 127, 131, 135–36, 583

Palestine, 49

Panama, 20, 499

Panama Canal, 123, 194, 197, 529

Pape, Robert, 368

parallel

attack, 307, 375–76, 382, 388

operations, 15–16, 63

warfare, 365, 374

paralysis, 15, 52, 60, 65, 217–18, 264, 358–63, 365–66, 368–69,

373, 375–76, 379, 382–84, 387–89. See also strategic

paratroop force, 173, 175

Paret, Peter, 330

Paris, France, 83, 446

parochialism, 196

Parsons, David, 343

Partnership for Peace (PFP), 462, 464–65

Partridge, Earl “Pat,” 188

Paschall, Rod, 340

Patrick, Mason, 89, 91–92, 107–8, 185–86, 191, 198, 204, 242

Patton, George, 412

peacekeeping, 322, 464

peacemaking, 322

peacetime contingency operations, 322

Pearl Harbor, 120, 122–23, 127, 129, 131, 248

Pentagon, 301, 370, 372, 402

Pentland, Pat, 377

People’s Anti-Japanese Army, 326

People’s Liberation Army, 326

Perera, Guido, 208, 210

perestroika, 491, 500, 512

Perry, Robert, 455, 472

Pershing, John J., 85–89, 184, 186, 209

Persian Gulf War, 1, 13, 20, 24, 30–31, 285, 306, 321, 344, 374,

385, 414, 444, 461, 463, 467, 471, 485–86, 496, 498–509,

511–18, 558, 596

Peru, 340, 347

Petain, Philippe, 153, 176

Philippines, 81–82, 92, 126, 322, 326, 328, 337, 340

Phillips Laboratory, 561

635
Pike, Douglas, 324

planners/planning/plans, 459

air campaign, 541

Air Force, 409, 413, 451

airpower, 221, 255, 264, 292, 468

Allied, 220

Army, 413

campaign, 372

military, 373, 461, 492, 557–58, 563

mobilization, 506

NATO, 446–48, 464, 470

Russian/Soviet, 490, 496, 508

space campaign, 541

strategic, 373, 593

TRADOC, 424

war, 280, 292

poison gas, 87, 90, 96

Poland, 69, 250–51, 384, 585

policy

Air Force, 540

defense, 262, 264

foreign, 486

limited war, 262

military, 249, 292

national, 249, 262, 538

national security, 538

nuclear, 279, 286

public, 267

security, 294

Soviet foreign, 491

space, 535–36, 538–40

policy makers/making, 292, 294, 340, 374

Politburo, 491

Popular Front, 584

Posen, Barry, 305

Post, Wiley, 190

power projection, 134, 532

Pratt, William V., 120, 126, 198

precision-guided munitions (PGM), 108, 307, 410, 450, 494, 501,

511

precision location strike system (PLSS), 426

preemption, 490, 492, 495, 501

636
preemptive attack, 287, 289, 301, 304–5

Preparedness Movement, 195

Primary Flying School, 188, 190

principal subordinate commander (PSC), 455, 467, 471

Pritchard, Gilbert L., 332–33

professional military education, 579, 598–99

Progressivism, 186, 220

Project Control, 265

propaganda campaigns, 174

protracted revolutionary war, 325–27, 329–31, 334–40, 343–47,

369–70

psychological operations (PSYOP), 330, 338, 343

Pujo, Bertrand, 152

Pustay, John, 335

Rabaul, New Britain, 217

RAF Staff College, 32, 42, 72

Ramstein Air Base, West Germany, 460

RAND, 286, 292, 301, 386, 409–10, 486

Randolph Field, Texas, 190

rapid-deployment force, 506

rapid-reaction force, 464, 506

rapid response, 511

Reagan, Ronald, 290, 305

reconnaissance, 3, 14, 23, 82–83, 121, 127, 129, 152–54, 157,

170–71, 186, 196, 332, 341–43, 407–8, 418, 427, 453, 493, 502,

532–33, 555

Red Flag, 419, 594

reentry vehicle (RV), 284, 289

Reichswehr, 171

Reid, Frank, 103

remotely piloted vehicles (RPV), 108, 410, 556

Republic Aircraft, 246, 590

research and development (R&D), 16, 192, 507, 517, 543–44,

566–67, 569, 596

reserve forces, 464

Return of Forces to Germany (REFORGER), 411

reusable launch vehicle (RLV), 559

revolution

airpower, 294, 307

aviation, 281

industrial, 384

637
information, 384–86

in military affairs, 485, 514

military-technical, 501

nuclear, 280–81, 294, 303, 307

technological, 280

Reynolds, Clark, 128

Richardson, William R., 416

Rickenbacker, Eddie, 190

Ritter, Hans, 172

Rodionov, Igor, 519

Rogers, Bernard, 458

roles and missions, 193, 195, 197–98, 204, 207, 531–34, 555,

565–68, 589

Ronfeldt, David, 386–87

Roosevelt, Franklin D., 192, 200, 203–4, 224, 245, 247, 258

Roosevelt, Theodore, 529

Root, Elihu, 186

Rothermere, Lord, 43–44

Rougeron, Camille, 157

Royal Air Force (RAF), 24, 32, 41–43, 46–58, 60, 66–72, 94, 125,

191, 249–50, 253, 258, 264–65, 337, 342–43, 362, 382, 385,

422, 452, 455, 457, 581–83, 586. See also Great Britain

Royal Air Force Staff College, 53

Royal Flying Corps (RFC), 43, 46–47, 84

Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS), 43, 46

rules of engagement (ROE), 541

Russia, 11, 240–41, 461, 510, 513, 515–20, 585

air force, 167, 518

army, 512

Russian

Federation, 494, 509–10, 513, 516, 520

military-industrial complex (VPK), 517

Russo-Japanese War, 2

Russ, Robert D., 425–26

Saint-Mihiel, France, 86

Salvaneschi, Nino, 6–7, 184

Sarkesian, Sam C., 340

satellites, 286, 537, 545–46, 550, 552–53, 558–59, 562–63

Saudi Arabia, 501

Scapa Flow, 123

Schelling, Thomas, 279, 294, 307

638
Schlesinger, James, 412

Schweinfurt, Germany, 27

Scotland, 119

sea

battle, 118, 120, 127–30

forces, 32, 72, 79, 254, 372

lanes of communications (SLOC), 195–96

power, 16, 18–19, 101, 117, 124, 127–29, 183, 195, 248, 250,

258, 261, 529–31, 533–34, 536, 541, 565–67, 570

warfare, 128, 251

seaplanes, 188

search and rescue, 453

II Air Corps (French), 155

2d Air Division, 336

2d Allied Tactical Air Force (2ATAF), 422, 455, 457, 460

Second Army, 197

Second Indochina War, 220

sector operations center (SOC), 455

Seeckt, Hans von, 169–71

Senate Armed Services Committee, 544

Seventh Air Force, 336–37, 411

Seversky Aircraft Corporation, 243, 245

Shaposhnikov, Y., 506

Shenandoah (dirigible), 102–3

Sherman, William, 107–8, 183, 186, 206, 212–16

Shevardnadze, Eduard, 491

Shy, John W., 330

Siam, 92

Signal Corps, 80–83, 85

Signal Corps Aviation Section, 83

Sims, William, 120

single air commander, 403, 467

Slessor, John “Jack,” 28, 42, 61–66, 68, 72, 258, 385, 581

Slipchenko, Vladimir, 501, 505

Smuts, Jan, 43, 47

Somaliland, 49

Sorensen, Edgar B., 200

South Africa, 43

Southeast Asia, 326, 328–31, 339, 341

Southeastern Aviation Conference, 190

South Lebanon, 499

South Vietnam, 334, 336

639
Southwest Pacific Area, 129

Soviet air defense organization (PVO), 507

Soviet threat, 269, 337, 347, 595

Soviet Union, 22, 133, 135, 151, 162–63, 165–67, 171, 176,

260–62, 265, 281, 283, 287, 289–90, 295–97, 302, 305, 334,

445, 447, 449, 460–61, 485–86, 489, 491–92, 494, 498, 505,

508–9, 515, 518, 520, 537, 585, 592, 595–96

air force, 162–64, 167, 502, 506

army, 163–65, 261, 596

military, 163

navy, 504

Spaatz, Carl “Tooey,” 107, 583, 589–90

space

access, 535, 541, 547–50, 554, 560, 562, 568–69

control, 539

corps, 565

forces, 535

hazards, 551

lift, 547–49, 553, 560

operations, 541, 548, 554

plane, 565–66

policy, 534

power, 518, 530–31, 533–34, 536, 539, 541–47, 549, 554–56,

558–61, 563–71, 596

reconnaissance, 535, 558, 560

research, 547

shuttle, 548, 552

strikes, 562

support, 539–40

surveillance, 535, 556, 558

systems, 549–50, 552, 556, 568, 570

threats, 552

vehicles, 537

weaponization, 535–36, 538, 540, 570

spacecraft, 541, 548, 552, 559–60, 562

spaceflight, 266

Space Force, 530–31, 567–69, 596

Spain, 80, 158–59, 161–62, 166–67, 174, 176–77, 472, 584, 586

Spanish-American War, 530

Spanish Civil War, 161, 585

Spanish War, 162, 174, 177

special air warfare, 338–39

640
Special Air Warfare Center, 331–33

special operations, 331, 339, 342, 344, 408, 418, 453, 533

special operations forces, 421

Sperrle, Hugo, 170, 172

Spruance, Raymond, 130–31

Sputnik I, 283, 591

Stalingrad, USSR, 489

Stalin, Joseph, 163, 165, 167, 302, 489–90, 585, 596

standoff munitions, 410

Starry, Donn A., 415–16, 419, 423, 430

stealth, 374, 507–8, 516, 542, 556, 562–63, 592

Stein, David, 452, 454–55, 472

Stirling, Yates, Jr., 123

Strait of Dover, 119

Strategic Air Command (SAC), 292, 328, 332, 336

strategic

air force, 47

air war, 580, 585

attack, 325, 334, 374, 403, 407, 465–67, 471

aviation, 85

decapitation, 297

defense, 302–5

paralysis, 307, 357–63, 368, 370, 376–77, 382–84, 386, 388–89,

593. See also paralysis

posturing, 505

strikes, 47

superiority, 332

thinking, 120

triad, 135

Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty (SALT), 289

Strategic Bombing Survey, 217

Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), 290

strategists

airpower, 373–74, 376–77, 388

civilian, 286

military, 381

NATO, 469

nuclear, 286, 292, 328

strategy

airpower, 185, 268, 444

annihilation, 360, 375

attrition, 360

641
battle, 360

counterinsurgency, 340

counterrevolutionary, 340

defensive air, 169

flexible response, 450–51

French military, 446

German, 175

imposed cost, 375

insurgent, 323

maneuver, 360

maritime, 305

massive retaliation, 263

military, 358–59, 361, 374–76, 402, 408, 419, 443–44, 486–87

national security, 407

NATO, 445, 447, 450–51, 461, 463–64, 468

nuclear, 279–80, 292–93, 297, 300, 305–6

revolutionary, 340

security, 293

Soviet, 499–500

targeting, 264

war, 248, 379–80

Student, Kurt, 170

Submarine Officers’ Conference, 132

submarines, 107, 117, 119, 121, 132, 135, 284–85, 287–88, 297

fleet ballistic missile (SSBN), 297, 299

German, 71

nuclear, 134, 286

Soviet, 134–35

warfare, 82

Sub-Saharan Africa, 340

Sudan, 49

Sukarno, 330

Sun-tzu, 364, 384

suppression of enemy air defenses (SEAD), 408, 420–21, 423,

429–30, 453–55, 460

Supreme Allied Commander, Atlantic (SACLANT), 445, 452

Supreme Allied Commander, Europe (SACEUR), 445, 451–52, 458

Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE), 452, 455,

506

surprise attack, 488, 491, 500–504, 512

surveillance, 341, 408, 453, 532–33, 555

Sweden, 297

642
Sykes, Frederick, 44, 47–48

Tactical Air Command (TAC), 331, 405, 409–11, 414, 419, 421,

423–25, 432

tactical

air control center (TACC), 412–13

air control system, 338

air coordination element (TACE), 413

air forces, 490

airlift, 400

air operations, 453–54

air reconnaissance (TAR), 400, 456

air support, 426, 445

aviation, 85

control, 455

superiority, 496

Tactical Air Working Party (TAWP), 444, 452, 456–57, 464–65,

472–73

Taranto, Italy, 125

targeting/targets,11, 14, 25, 28–29, 53, 60, 64, 255, 304, 459

civilian, 55–56, 68, 264, 298, 308, 598

countervalue, 295

economic, 449, 511, 514, 598

guerrilla, 335

identification, 46, 338

industrial, 41–42, 45, 60, 68, 70–72, 85, 156, 255, 267, 382–83,

388, 449, 466, 581, 598

information, 382, 388

interdiction, 45

leadership, 371, 377

military, 42, 46, 55, 57, 61, 68, 71, 504, 511, 514

morale, 51, 55

priorities, 225

selection, 52, 54

strategic, 64, 85, 215, 219, 221, 252, 325, 330, 511

strategic nuclear, 307

tactical, 215, 330

target lists/sets, 28, 64, 68, 202, 211, 219, 221, 268, 292, 375, 403

technology, 8–9, 24, 31, 82, 90, 95, 99, 117, 119, 134, 161, 167,

171, 173, 184, 219–20, 240, 261, 267, 323, 342, 346, 357–58,

376, 379, 382, 389, 422, 427, 431, 458, 471, 485, 487–88, 492,

643
494–95, 500–501, 505, 511, 514, 516–17, 530, 540, 543, 548,

554–55, 565, 568, 570, 579, 597, 599

aerial, 165

aeronautical, 260

aerospace, 519

airpower, 340–41

air and space, 516, 543

aviation, 151

flying boat, 121–22

German, 173, 175

high, 543

jet engine, 266

military, 516

missile, 287

naval, 103

nuclear, 134, 279–82, 284, 290, 294

rocket, 570

smart, 459

space, 548, 550, 570

stealth, 24, 284, 288, 307, 562

submarine, 135

weapons, 516

Tedder, Arthur, 56, 60

terrorism, 340, 462

theater

air commander, 422

commander, 65, 132

of military operations (TVD), 490, 496–97, 501, 505

theorists, 281

ACTS, 264

Air Corps, 196

airpower, 32, 44, 61, 168, 240, 246, 253, 255, 258, 268–69, 291,

345, 357–58, 545, 579, 581–82, 585, 588, 593, 595, 597, 599

insurgency, 336

MAD, 300–302

mechanized warfare, 157

military, 163, 265, 590

nuclear, 29, 280, 291–93, 302, 328

Soviet, 164, 500, 502–3

strategic, 167, 298

strategic paralysis, 381

644
theory

bombing, 55

classical military, 268

conflict, 357, 363–64, 368, 388

deterrence, 280, 291, 298, 305, 307

energy maneuverability, 363

European airpower, 586

German airpower, 169–70, 172, 174–75

insurgency, 336, 338

Jominian, 379–80

land power, 531

military, 380, 485

naval, 115, 132

nuclear, 280–81, 290, 306, 591

paralysis, 385

sea power, 531

Soviet airpower, 596

space power, 530–31, 564, 567

strategic airpower, 264

strategic attack, 357, 388

strategic bombardment, 160, 165, 218, 323, 334, 347

strategic nuclear, 295

strategic paralysis, 376–77, 382, 387

war, 380–81

Third Army, 412

Third Reich, 570

Third World, 298

Thomas, Timothy, 487

Tinker, Villa, 192

Tirpitz, Alfred von, 123

Toffler, Alvin and Heidi, 384, 387, 389

Tokyo, Japan, 92, 281

total

quality management, 387

war, 269, 293, 341

Towers, John, 124, 131

Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC), 344, 404–5, 409–11,

413–16, 419, 421, 423, 425, 432

transatmospheric vehicle (TAV), 564, 570

Transjordan, 49, 265

transportation nodes, 28

treaty negotiation, 538

645
Trenchard, Hugh, 28, 41–53, 56–58, 61, 63, 65, 70–72, 79–80,

84–85, 95, 125, 130, 171, 266, 362–63, 382–83, 581

trench warfare, 83, 90

Truman Doctrine, 446

Truman, Harry S, 133, 262, 265

Tsygichko, V., 506

Tukhachevski, Mikhail, 163–64, 166–67, 585

Turkey, 3, 463, 472, 510

Twentieth Air Force, 132

21st Bomber Command, 217

Twining, Nathan C., 124, 205

U-boats, 119, 125

Udet, Ernst, 175, 585

Udorn AFB, Thailand, 423

Unification Act of 1947, 133

United Kingdom, 444–45, 452, 454, 457, 471

United Nations (UN), 131, 462, 499, 537

United States, 6, 14, 25, 30, 33, 70, 79, 81, 83, 87, 89–90, 92,

97–101, 104–5, 108, 115–17, 125, 133–35, 183, 185, 187,

189–90, 192–99, 204, 212, 239, 242–43, 249, 251–52, 254, 257,

260–64, 267–69, 283–84, 286–90, 295, 297, 299–300, 302, 306,

327, 332–33, 337, 347, 370, 382–83, 399–400, 403, 407,

443–46, 450–52, 454, 457, 462, 464, 467, 471, 490–91, 498–99,

503, 510, 516, 529–30, 532, 537–40, 548, 562, 566, 569–71,

580, 584–86, 590

United States Air Force, 79–80, 109, 124, 134–35, 209, 212, 224,

258, 263–64, 286, 321–22, 330–34, 338–40, 342, 344–46, 357,

370, 399–405, 407–16, 418–33, 444, 450–53, 455–58, 465,

468–70, 531, 536, 538–40, 555, 560, 566–71, 582–84, 588,

590–98

United States Air Service, 6–7

United States Army, 81–82, 85–90, 94–96, 99–100, 102–4, 106–7,

117, 119–20, 124–26, 131, 184–87, 191–92, 194, 198–99, 201,

203–11, 213–15, 219, 258, 263–64, 327, 344, 371, 399–433,

451–52, 458, 531, 566, 568–69, 586–87, 591–95

United States Army Air Service, 185

United States fleet, 134

United States Marine Corps, 117–18, 124, 134, 330, 419, 452, 597

United States Naval Institute, 117

United States Navy, 82, 90, 93–94, 99–103, 106–7, 115–20, 122,

124–29, 131–36, 184, 186, 188, 191–201, 203–4, 206–9, 222,

646
247–48, 256, 258, 263–64, 419, 452–53, 529–31, 568–69,

582–83, 585, 590–91, 597

United States Senate, 262

United States Space Command (USSPACECOM), 544

United States Strategic Bombing Survey, 132, 136

unity

of command, 88, 206, 208, 545, 570

of effort, 570

unmanned aerial vehicles (UAV), 545, 558, 564

USS

Chicago, 116

Langley, 93, 126

Lexington, 93–94, 115, 122, 126–27, 583

Ranger, 127

Saratoga, 93–94, 115, 122, 126–27, 583

Utz, Curtis, 127

Vandenberg, Hoyt, 590

Vauthier, P., 33, 157

Versailles Conference/Treaty, 169, 585

Vessey, John W., Jr., 423

Victory through Air Power, 251, 254–56, 265

Vietcong, 25

Vietminh, 327–29

Vietnam, 25, 269, 327, 329–30, 332–33, 335–37, 347, 399, 402–3,

405, 407, 409–11, 413–14, 431–32, 455, 592, 598

Vietnam War, 31, 243, 333, 339, 346, 399, 403, 405, 409, 412–14,

423, 429–30, 458

vital centers, 1, 11–14, 17, 28, 53–54, 59, 62–63, 95–96, 98–99,

101, 128, 186, 198, 215–17, 221, 252, 255, 259, 268, 334, 362,

371, 383

Vorobyev, I., 504

Voroshilov Lectures, 486

Vuillemin, Joseph, 155

Walker, Kenneth, 107–8, 193, 212, 216–18, 224

war

of attrition, 8–9

fighting, 66

games, 123, 132, 165, 171–72, 176, 212, 417, 557

Warden, John M., III, 343, 357–58, 363, 370–79, 381–82, 384–89,

425, 428–29, 592–93

647
War Department, 83, 102–3, 105–8, 191, 197–98, 201, 205–9, 211,

213–14, 224, 247, 587

warfare

aerial maneuver, 363

chemical, 410

control, 358, 382, 384–85, 387–89

economic, 358, 382–85, 388

incapacitation, 384

information, 387

psychological, 503

revolutionary, 370

strategic nuclear, 347

tactical nuclear, 333

unconventional, 338

War Plans Division, 106

Warsaw Pact, 31, 400, 405–7, 409–10, 414, 430, 445–51, 458–63,

468–70, 490, 493–94, 505, 520

Washington Conference, 132

Washington, D.C., 81, 92, 123, 136, 241, 262, 295

Washington Naval Conference of 1922, 92

Washington Treaty, 204, 463

weapons

advanced technology, 501

antisubmarine, 135

atomic, 31, 259–60, 265, 281–82, 291, 293, 449, 489, 590

ballistic, 560

biological/chemical, 306–7, 463, 513

conventional, 282, 285, 307, 489, 537

directed energy, 290, 500, 561

environmental modification, 537

future, 501

high tech, 507, 509, 514, 517

high-tech conventional, 502

of mass destruction, 307, 463, 469, 513, 537

nuclear, 10, 30, 34, 130, 133–34, 260–61, 264, 268, 280–82,

284–86, 288, 292–94, 296–99, 302–6, 327, 329, 332–33, 443,

447–49, 461, 463, 469, 485, 489–91, 494, 497, 502, 513–14,

516, 519, 535, 596–97

precision, 29, 374, 599

smart, 307, 513, 515

Soviet, 500

space, 285, 534, 538, 598

648
standoff, 284, 288, 592

strategic, 267

strategic nuclear, 285, 287, 489

tactical nuclear, 281, 285, 491

thermonuclear, 282, 289, 293, 296, 308

Weaver, Walter “Buck,” 188

Webster, Robert, 183, 194, 196, 216, 219

Weeks, John W., 102

Wehrmacht, 167–68

Weir, Gary, 119

Weir, William, 44

Western European Union (WEU), 462

western front, 47, 62, 84, 86, 90, 119, 126, 362

Westervelt, George, 120–21, 125

West Germany, 443, 445–46, 448, 457

Westover, Oscar, 108, 189–90, 198, 201, 207

West Point, 82, 89, 420

Wever, Walter, 172–73, 175

Weygand, Maxime, 153, 176

Weyland, O. P., 412

White House, 334

White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, 544

White, Thomas D., 546

Wickham, John A., 420, 430, 432

Wilberg, Helmut, 169–71, 173

will, 55, 66–67, 97, 162, 194, 218, 255, 268, 359, 364

civilian, 28

enemy, 10–12, 15, 41, 59–60, 79, 96, 101, 174, 259, 264, 268,

360, 374

to fight, 97, 217, 466

to resist, 194, 197, 219, 221, 359, 361, 365, 378, 381, 383, 388

Wilson, Donald, 193, 216–19

Wilson, Henry, 48–49

Wimmer, Wilhelm, 172

Wingate, Orde, 324

Winged Defense, 100, 102–4

Wohlstetter, Albert, 286

Wolf, Charles, Jr., 343

World War I, 4, 8–9, 11, 13, 16–17, 19–20, 23, 25–27, 30, 33,

41–42, 50, 54, 58, 61, 66, 71–72, 79, 89, 91, 106, 115, 117–19,

121, 123, 125, 128, 151–52, 160, 164, 168–71, 174–76, 183–84,

649
188, 195, 206, 212, 214, 240, 250, 291–93, 303, 358, 361–62,

383, 388, 529, 581, 585–86, 589

World War II, 15, 20, 23, 25, 27, 29–34, 42, 46, 60, 66, 70, 72, 83,

115, 123–24, 127, 129–31, 133, 135, 151, 155, 158, 160,

162–63, 168, 173–74, 187, 204, 212, 216, 219–21, 224, 239,

257, 259, 262–63, 267, 281, 288, 291, 293, 307, 321–22, 324,

326, 328, 331, 384, 406, 412, 427, 445, 449, 468, 488, 499,

582–84, 586–89, 591, 594, 596

Wörner, Manfred, 463

Wright brothers, 82, 89, 104, 187, 597

Yazov, Dimitriy, 493

Year of Mass Surrender, 327

Yeltsin, Boris, 494, 518–19

Yevseyev, A. I., 502

Yom Kippur War, 458

Yugoslavia, 443, 461–62

zeppelin, 7, 42

Zhurbenko, V., 499

Zone of the Advance, 86

650
The Paths of Heaven

The Evolution of Airpower Theory

Cover Design

Phil Meilinger

Air University Press Team

Chief Editor

Marvin Bassett

Copy Editors

Debbie Banker

Lula Barnes

Joan Dawson

Cover Illustration

Steven C. Garst

Illustrator

Susan Fair

Composition and

Prepress Production

Linda C. Colson